Song of the Spirits (88 page)

Caleb, who had indeed separated from Florence, was walking toward the group with his eyes lowered. Perhaps he had chosen this particular moment precisely to avoid being alone with Kura and William. Florence watched him, a little concerned but more triumphant than anything.

“Mrs. Martyn, Mr. Martyn, Miss Keefer. How are you, Mr. Lambert?”

Timothy smiled. “I’d say I’m doing a good deal better than you. You were quite a sight hauling that Florence Weber of yours through the church.”

“Since when is she ‘that Florence Weber of yours’?” Kura asked.

Caleb blushed. “Well, how can I put this… you see, Miss Weber and I became engaged yesterday.”

The news did not particularly come as a surprise to William. To Timothy, even less so. The girls, however, stared at Caleb without fully comprehending.

“It’s like this, Kura. I spoke with her,” Caleb began, breaking the awkward silence. “We talked it over, so to speak. And she doesn’t care.”

“She doesn’t care about what? That you’re a qu—”

“Kura, please!” William jumped in.

“She says she would give me every freedom in our marriage as long as I… well, let her have a greater role in running the mine than is customary for women.”

“She’ll undoubtedly do an excellent job,” Timothy said kindly. “One can only congratulate the Biller Mine on that. But you don’t look too pleased yourself.”

“Well, you know how it is,” Caleb said vaguely. “But I can continue to dedicate myself to my interests. Music, art, Maori culture. It’s not just the music that interests me, as you know. As a private scholar, so to speak, I will—”

“Very nice.” William interrupted Caleb’s rambling speech. “We were just talking about that recently. Everyone should live as he chooses. My hearty congratulations. Perhaps you’ll continue arranging songs for Kura. And you’re not going to leave us in the lurch for this concert in Blenheim, are you? We’re counting on you for that. We won’t be able to find a replacement on such short notice.”

Caleb bit his lip. He was visibly struggling with himself, but then he shook his head.

“I’m sorry. But I can’t. I tried. Really, I did, but you can hear it yourselves; I hardly hit a right note anymore. My nerves just get the best of me. I’m not made that way. And Florence thinks—”

“Go ahead, put this on her,” Kura said wrathfully. “Then you don’t need to admit that you’re not only queer but a coward to boot. A coward above all. There’s nothing wrong with the other.”

Elaine pressed closer to Timothy.

“What does she mean by ‘queer’?” she whispered.

While Timothy struggled not to laugh, Kura struggled in vain against her tears. For the first time since Elaine had known her, Kura began to cry—in public, moreover. She sobbed wildly and uncontrollably. The usually cool and self-possessed girl was virtually unrecognizable.

“You’re ruining my life, Caleb, can’t you see that? If we cancel the concert now, my chance won’t come again. Damn it, I planned it all for you! The entire program was initially intended to show you off as an artist. I didn’t leave you in the lurch when you wanted to play at being engaged. But you—”

“I’m sorry, Kura,” Caleb said, deeply embarrassed. “I’m truly sorry.”

With that, he turned away. He gave the impression that a great weight had fallen from him as he returned to his family. Florence shoved her arm into his—and showed at least enough decency not to look at Kura.

“Will you really not be able to find a replacement?” Timothy asked. He did not care much for Kura, but seeing the girl cry so desperately moved him to pity.

“In three weeks? On the West Coast? In Blenheim? Maybe if we went there straightaway. But then the novelty element would be gone. If we appeared there without a proper plan, with a local, hastily instructed pianist…” William shook his head.

“Mrs. Redcliff could play,” Kura said hopefully.

“But she won’t. We just encouraged her to embrace her career as an art patroness. She won’t take to the stage now. Besides, what would her husband say to that? Forget it, Kura.” William put his arms around his wife.

Elaine chewed on her upper lip.

“I haven’t heard what you’ve been working on over there,” she said, “but is it all that difficult? The piano part, I mean?”

Kura looked at her, and Elaine recognized a hopeful illumination in her eyes. “Not extremely difficult. A little unconventional in places, with some rapid passages. The player should have at least a few years of experience performing on the piano.”

“Well, I’ve been playing piano for ten years. Not at your level, naturally, as you’ve done me the kindness of making clear several times. But if I practice for three weeks…” Elaine’s smile took the edge off her words.

“You’ve gotten a great deal better,” Kura replied. “But seriously, Lainie—would you do it? You’d come with me to Blenheim to play accompaniment?”

“If I can handle the pieces.”

Kura looked as though she wanted to fling her arms around her cousin’s neck.

“And she’s very pretty too,” William remarked. “It’ll make a much more attractive picture than Caleb.”

Elaine looked at him skeptically. Did he say “pretty?” Three years before, her heart would have danced at the word; that day, however, her gaze wandered from William’s youthful features to Timothy’s face—which no longer looked amiable and amused, but contorted in pain.

“Lainie, you can’t do that, no matter how much you want to help Kura. Of course you’d play infinitely better than Caleb Biller and
look more beautiful doing it than all the pianists in the world, but Blenheim? The travel, the city, the risk.”

“When did you become so anxious?” William inquired. “Compared to the risk your wedding represents—”

“And what exactly is so dangerous about getting married?” Elaine snapped. “You looked at me so strangely the last time it was mentioned.”

William rolled his eyes. “Well, you are both surely aware that you’re committing a crime by marrying. And even if you don’t care, you’ll probably want to have children someday.”

Elaine laughed, though it came out a bit forced. “Heavens, William. My children won’t care whether their mother’s maiden name was O’Keefe or Keefer. We could even pass it off as a spelling mistake.”

William frowned and looked at her almost in disbelief. “But your children will certainly care when they find out someday that their name is Sideblossom, not Lambert, and that they’re going to inherit a farm in Otago, while their mine will go to some distant relatives. This marriage is illegitimate; that has to be clear to you!”

Elaine turned pale. Her pupils widened.

Timothy shook his head. “But Thomas Sideblossom is dead,” he said calmly.

“Oh?” William asked. “Since when? He may indeed wish he were dead every day, but as far as I know, he’s just as alive as you or I.” William let his gaze move from one to the other. Was it possible that Elaine and Timothy were playing dumb? But he came to realize that at least the horror in Elaine’s face was real.

“I… I shot him in the face,” she whispered.

William nodded. “You can tell. The bullet entered here.” He pointed to his left cheek. “It passed rather smoothly through the nose and into his head. You shot upward from below, probably aiming at his chest but without accounting for the recoil. In any event, you successfully put him hors de combat. He’s paralyzed on his right side, blind in his right eye, and almost blind in his left. The bullet’s supposedly still in there pushing on the optic nerve. But he’s not dead. You have to believe me, Lainie.”

Elaine raised her hands to her eyes. “That’s so horrible, William! Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I thought you knew,” William said. “You did, didn’t you, Kura?”

Kura nodded. “I didn’t know the details, but I knew he wasn’t dead.”

“And you let me get engaged?” Elaine tried to sound angry, but incomprehension was fighting with relief and hope in her head. “I’ve been scared to death for two and a half years.”

Kura shrugged. “Sorry, Lainie, but no one gave me a detailed account of your affairs. I was a little surprised, but you could have been divorced, for all I knew. Or Thomas Sideblossom might have died in the meantime. Isn’t he not in his right mind?” She turned to William.

“Not as far as I know. Although he goes to great lengths to drink his mind away, on top of taking morphine. He does suffer from constant headaches and hallucinations. But with all that morphine and whiskey, I probably would too.”

“You’ve seen him?” Elaine clenched Timothy’s hand as she stared at William in horror. “You’re sure?” Her face was pale as death, and her eyes looked huge, seeming to consist entirely of pupils.

“Good Lord, Lainie, don’t stare at me like that. Of course I’m sure. I was on Lionel Station for two or three weeks awhile back, and I saw him once or twice. They can only rarely convince him to go out. Apparently, he can’t stand the light of day. But you can’t fail to hear him. He roars at the workers, screaming for his whiskey and his medicine. A distinctly unpleasant patient, if you ask me. But not quite crazy, and what’s more, certainly not dead.”

“That changes everything, of course,” Timothy said calmly, pulling Elaine to him. She was now shaking uncontrollably and crying. “As long as you’re officially Mrs. Sideblossom, we can’t get married. But you haven’t murdered anyone either. So calm down. In principle, that’s good news. You’ll turn yourself in and confess. You can say it was an accident. The weapon just went off. We’ll talk to a lawyer about whether it makes more sense for you to tell the whole story or to feign remorse. In any case, they won’t hang you for it. You can get
a divorce and then live with me completely legally. Here, or in Wales, or wherever.”

“I’d rather go to Wales,” Elaine whispered. She suddenly felt an urgent need to put as many miles between Lionel Station and herself as she could. Part of her was relieved not to be a murderer, but she had felt safer when she believed Thomas Sideblossom was dead.

“Can’t we just run away without my turning myself in first?”

Timothy shook his head. “No, Lainie. William’s right. We can’t let our children grow up as the official offspring of Thomas Sideblossom, no matter where we raise them. We’ll see this thing through, Lainie. You and I together. Don’t be afraid!”

“But not until after the engagement party. Right, Tim? Please. I won’t be able to handle it if everything implodes just now. Your mother, the whole town will be talking about us.” Elaine was crying uncontrollably. It was all too much.

Timothy stroked her and rocked her in his arms. “Certainly, after the engagement party is fine with me. Although I don’t like it. I’m worried about this celebration.”

“But it’s taking place in Greymouth,” Kura burst out. “As long as Elaine is in Greymouth, nothing can happen to her.”

Three confused pairs of eyes stared at her.

“Are the spirits saying that, dear?” William asked, attempting a joke.

Kura shook her head. “A Maori woman told me that a few weeks ago. They were still looking for Lainie, she said, but she was safe in Greymouth.”

E
laine clung to the words of the Maori chieftain’s wife indicating that she would be safe in Greymouth. But part of the message unsettled Timothy:
They were still looking for Lainie.
And on the sixteenth of August, the Lamberts would present her to half the West Coast as his bride-to-be. Timothy tried to keep Elaine in sight. Although it scandalized his mother, he slept at Elaine’s place in the pub and tried to persuade her to leave her room as little as possible.

Naturally, that did not work. Elaine had to go to her last dress fitting. And Nellie Lambert expected her help with decorating the house. The town slowly filled with strangers that Marvin Lambert had invited. All the rooms in Greymouth had long since been booked. Guests were staying as far away as Punakaiki and even Westport. It was impossible to get a good look at all of them before the celebration. Timothy would first see the guests when they lined up to greet the couple at the party, and he’d be meeting many of them for the first time; his father had invited a whole slew of old acquaintances. All of this greatly wore on Timothy’s nerves. Overly anxious, he took up his last battle with his mother before the event. In all seriousness Nellie had asked him—for the sake of appearances—to forgo his leg splints and crutches and greet the guests in his wheelchair.

“You needn’t be ashamed of the fact that you can’t walk, son.”

“I
can
walk!” Timothy replied, agitated. “My God, Mother, I’m standing right in front of you! Do the two of you really not understand that I just want to be normal?” Timothy limped out of the room, wishing he could slam the door behind him. For a few seconds, he considered asking Roly to do so, but then he saw the humor in it and he smiled grimly.

“Get Fellow ready, Roly. I’m fleeing to the pub. Or, no—hitch him to the carriage. You look like you could use a beer too. You’ve been helping out in the house all day, haven’t you? How many garlands did you hang?”

“Too many, Mr. Lambert.” Roly grinned. “We stopped counting after Mrs. Lambert had us rehang them for the fifteenth time. Your suit for tomorrow is pretty big, by the way, Mr. Lambert. You could probably wear your splints underneath.”

“Not a chance,” Timothy spat. “My mother’s right about one thing. I don’t have anything to feel ashamed about.”