Song of the Spirits (22 page)

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Jenny Greenwood repeated her remark, this time to Stephen. She had found him for the first dance, as promised. As Kura kissed William passionately—in anticipation of their wedding night, it seemed—Jenny vacillated between exhilaration and discomfort. The scene was visibly embarrassing for the groom. He looked as though he wanted to disappear and went so far as to rudely push his young wife away from him. A few unkind words followed. It was not a very harmonious start to a marriage.

“And she’s supposed to sing beautifully too. My mother sometimes likes to say that all the fairy godmothers gather around some people in their cribs.” There was a hint of envy in Jenny’s voice.

Stephen laughed. “They say that about Sleeping Beauty too, but as it turned out, one person doesn’t always get it all. Besides, I don’t think she’s that pretty. There’s another girl at this party I much prefer.”

Jenny blushed and couldn’t even look at him. “You’re fibbing,” she whispered.

George Greenwood had introduced Stephen to his wife and daughter after the ceremony as Ruben O’Keefe’s oldest son, soon after which Jenny and Stephen started chatting familiarly with each other.
Though the O’Keefes’ last visit to Christchurch had been some ten years before, they had played together as children then. Jenny’s little sister, Charlotte, who now scurried around them curiously, had still been in her crib back then.

Stephen lay his hand on his heart. “Jennifer, in important matters, I never fib… At least I haven’t yet. If I ever find a position as an attorney, that might change. But today, I tell you on my honor and conscience that I see several girls here who I find prettier than Kura-maro-tini. Don’t ask me why—I couldn’t tell you—but that girl is missing something, something important. Besides, I don’t like it when people make others feel small. And you looked completely done in earlier after just one look from her.”

Jenny’s hair curtain opened a little as she looked up at him. “Are you going to dance with all the girls you think are prettier than her?”

Stephen laughed and gently moved one of her locks out of her face.

“No, just with the girl I find the prettiest.”

William realized that the two glasses of champagne Kura had drunk had caused her to completely lose her inhibitions. Not even his cold reaction to her kiss could dampen her spirits. She would not take her hands off him. He breathed a sigh of relief when the fireworks were set off and they could take their leave. Kura giggled unabashedly as they walked toward the house. She wanted to be carried over the threshold, so William picked her up obediently.

“Up the stairs too?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” Kura yelled, still laughing.

With great ceremony, William climbed the open, winding staircase up to the second floor, where the family’s sleeping quarters were located. William was very pleased with the agreement that had been reached over the couple’s future chambers. At first, Kura had wanted to keep her rooms. She had a spacious bedroom, a dressing room, and a “work room” where Miss Witherspoon had tutored her. The suite
had once belonged to Gwyneira’s first husband, Lucas Warden. They had just added another room for William, but William had been querulous.

“You’re the heiress, Kura. Everything here belongs to you, but you make do with apartments that look out on the backyard.”

“I don’t care where my rooms are,” Kura said placidly. “All you can see is grass in any direction.”

This last remark made it clear that she had never looked out the window. Kura’s rooms had a view over the stables and a few paddocks, and Gwyneira’s windows looked out on the gardens, but William had his eye on the rooms that faced the approach and the road.

“Those are the apartments meant for the owner of the manor. And you should have them. You could even set up your piano there.” The suite William was talking about was where Gerald Warden had once lived. It had stood empty for sixteen years. Gwyneira had never even touched the furnishings, and James certainly had no interest in them. He was happy with Gwyneira’s bedroom and had never wanted a separate one for himself. Jack lived in what had once been Fleurette’s nursery.

Gwyneira was surprised when Kura demanded to move.

“Do you two really want to live with all that old furniture?” she asked. Just the thought of living surrounded by Gerald’s old furnishings—let alone sleeping in one of the rooms he had inhabited—sent a shudder down her spine.

“Kura can refurnish it,” William explained when Kura did not respond. She clearly could not have cared less about the furniture—as long as it was expensive and in keeping with the latest fashion. It seemed that what she feared most was Miss Witherspoon’s critique—and so Kura eliminated all her possible objections by leaving practically the entire refurbishment up to her. Heather Witherspoon threw herself giddily into the project, flipping through catalogs and selecting the most beautiful pieces she could find without sparing a thought to cost. William was happy to help her in this endeavor, and the two of them spent entire afternoons discussing the relative merits of native versus imported wood, a question they ended up answering by having all
of the furnishings sent from England. Gwyneira did not say a word about the costs, as Kiward Station seemed to be awash in gold.

The freshly wallpapered and newly furnished rooms suited William’s taste perfectly. Kura had acquiesced to the decor with her typically apathetic mien.

“We won’t be living here all that long, in any event,” she had said placidly, almost giving Miss Witherspoon a heart attack. The governess had been certain that Kura would give up her lofty professional goals after the wedding was announced.

“Let my fiancée dream. She’s still so young,” William had said, sounding indulgent. “After she has a child…”

Heather Witherspoon had smiled. “Yes, that’s true, Mr. Martyn. But it’s such a waste. Kura has such a beautiful voice.”

William agreed with her. Kura would sing their children to sleep with the most beautiful voice in the world.

He carried his young wife over the threshold into their common bedroom. There were additional private rooms for each of them, of course. The room was done in warm colors, and the bed’s curtains and the drapes were of heavy silk. William saw that someone had made the bed, and Kura’s lady’s maid stood by, ready to help her undress.

“No, leave us,” William said, breathing heavy with arousal. Holding Kura in his arms had only further stoked his passion.

The girl left, giggling. William laid his wife down on the bed.

“Do you want to take off your dress or—”

“What dress?” Kura ripped her neckline open, not bothering with the bodice’s many hooks. And why should she? She would never be wearing it again. William felt his excitement grow. Her wildness defied all convention. He tossed his concerns aside and began to tear at the delicate fabric while liberating himself of his pants as quickly as he could. Still half-dressed, he then threw himself on top of her. He kissed her neck and the tops of her breasts, as he untied her corset, which went slowly since the whalebone offered some resistance. Finally, she was naked and stretching toward him with desire.

William had learned that one had to be careful with virgins—his tenants’ daughters had occasionally cried after he had slept with them,
and occasionally even during their lovemaking. Kura, however, knew no such sense of shame. She seemed to want to feel him inside of her and to know exactly what awaited her. William found that strange. He did not think a woman should be so lusty. But then he gave himself over entirely to her passion. He kissed her and rubbed against her, and then thrust himself into her triumphantly. Kura let out a short cry—William could not tell whether of pleasure or pain—and then moaned loudly when he began to move inside her. She dug her fingernails into his back as though she wanted to force him deeper into her. He exploded in ecstasy as Kura buried her teeth in his shoulder and cried with pleasure at the long-awaited release of her desire. Then she began kissing him again and asking for more.

William had never experienced anything like this before. Indeed, he would not have believed such sensuality was possible. Kura had melted into a stream of melodies and feelings that no aria, no love song had ever been able to release in her. Music had dominated her life up to this point, and there would always be harmonies. But this was something stronger, and she would do anything to experience it again and again. Kura’s armor of apathy burst that night, and William fulfilled all her dreams.

James McKenzie observed Gwyneira as she fluttered from one dance partner to another. It was hard to believe that this whirlwind of energy would soon be sixty. But that evening, Gwyneira saw herself fulfilling her dearest wishes—it was very different from so long ago, when James had watched her dance with Lucas Warden. As a seventeen-year-old, she had been formal and stiff, and nervous about her wedding night—during which, it turned out, nothing had happened. Gwyneira was still technically a virgin when she asked James a full year later to help her conceive a child, an heir for Kiward Station. James had done his best, but that lineage had already been replaced. And who knew what it had bound itself to with William Martyn.

James suddenly had an urge to go see Monday. He had left her in the stables—just as Gwyneira had done with her beloved dog Cleo at her and Lucas’s wedding. He laughed to himself when he thought of the dog show Gerald Warden had wanted to have the afternoon of the wedding ceremony. He had bought a litter of Welsh border collies, born sheepdogs, and had wanted to show his friends and neighbors how the dogs could revolutionize farmwork. The best, most fully trained dog back then had belonged to Gwyneira, but since the bride could not present the dog herself, James had been asked to show off its abilities for her. He would never forget how Gwyneira had stood there, in a state of excitement in her bridal gown, and the concerned look on her face when she realized Cleo was not minding James’s instructions, forcing her to intercede. She then led the dog masterfully through its tasks with her veil flapping in the wind. And she had given James that happy smile that Lucas had never been able to draw out of her. Much later, she had given him Friday, Cleo’s daughter, before he had gone into exile. Monday, James’s current dog, was also Cleo’s grandchild.

James stood up and made his way to the stables. The wedding party would manage without him, and champagne was not his purview anyway. He would prefer to empty a few glasses of whiskey with Andy McAran and the other workers.

The path back to the stables was like a walk into the past. The fireworks were just being set off above the house, and James remembered how he had danced with Gwyneira for the first time on a New Year’s Eve many years before. This evening, too, young farmworkers were swinging girls in a circle to the improvised music of a fiddle and an accordion, and just like before, it was infinitely cheerier than the rather stuffy party in the garden.

James smiled when he noticed a couple who did not entirely belong there. His grandson Stephen was blithely leading Jenny Greenwood in a jig. Little Charlotte tried to convince Jack to dance with her, but he was attempting to run away. Jack did not care whether it was a waltz or a jig—he found all dancing strange.

Monday and a few other dogs left Andy and a few of the older workers who were passing a bottle around the fire, and trotted over to James. After greeting his four-legged friends, James accepted the bottle.

Andy McAran pointed to the hay bale beside him.

“You’re welcome to have a seat here, if that nice suit can take it—I hardly recognized you today.”

James was wearing an evening suit for the first time in his life.

“Gwyn wanted everything to be perfect,” he said, taking his place.

“Then I’d have looked around for another son-in-law,” smirked Poker Livingston, another veteran shepherd with whom James had shared a decades-long friendship. “That Martyn boy looks good—I’ll give him that—but is anything going to come of it?”

James knew that Andy was skeptical. During the six weeks that he and Kura had been engaged, William had occasionally helped out on Kiward Station, giving the men the opportunity to look him over. He had not made the best impression, particularly during the sheepshearing, when every last man was needed and had to bring everything he had. It had soon become clear that William Martyn had never sheared a sheep before in his life—which ordinarily would not have been a problem, but given how often the young man had boasted about his upbringing on a sheep farm, it had caused no small amount of snickering. William had likewise proved himself incompetent with regard to the herding of the animals and the handling of the dogs—and seemed unwilling to learn. He had thought of “helping” more in terms of overseeing. When it was finally revealed that he was a sharp observer and knew how to work with numbers, good-natured Andy had handed over control of shearing shed three. Unfortunately, William had not simply counted the sheep per shearer, as he had been asked to do, but had become seized with ambition. Every year, the best shearing shed was awarded a prize, and in order to win, William had come up with the strangest ideas for shortening the work process. But most of his suggestions were impractical at best. At worst, they proved to be a stretch for the shearing company’s workers, who had never reacted well to criticism, given that they saw themselves as an elite
force among New Zealand’s labor force and had corresponding egos. Andy, James, and finally even Gwyneira had to soothe and conciliate them multiple times—not a good sign for William’s future on the estate.