White Feathers (37 page)

‘That is, er, very clever,’ said Kepa. ‘Lovely work, Mrs Heath,’ he added heartily as she bustled up behind them, her face red from cooking and her hair escaping from its pins.

‘Yes, I think so,’ she agreed proudly. ‘It’s probably the best I’ve ever done, I should think. No, don’t touch it!’

James stepped smartly away from the cake, in mortal fear of accidentally damaging it, and muttered, ‘Yes, very nice. I’m just getting Kepa a drink.’

‘The liquid refreshments are in the study,’ said Mrs Heath, employing her best vocabulary in honour of the occasion. Then her eyes skimmed over the food on the tables, checking again to make sure nothing had been omitted or was sloppily presented, and she dismissed the two men with a flick of her tea towel.

Also in the study were Andrew, Joseph and Owen, standing in front of the fire with drinks in their hands looking uncomfortable in their good clothes. Outside Duncan and Liam were racing noisily up and down the hall, almost apoplectic with excitement, their jackets unbuttoned and shirt-tails already hanging out.

James handed Kepa a drink and motioned him to a seat. He opened his mouth to speak but before he could there was a shriek of pain mixed with indignation from the hall.

‘Oh God,’ he said, ‘that’s Duncan. Where the hell’s Lucy?’

He put his drink down and went out to see what his son had done to himself this time.

‘Where
are
the girls?’ Andrew asked bemusedly.

Joseph said, ‘Upstairs helping Erin to get ready, I think.’

‘All four of them?’

‘Well, I think Mam might be in the sewing room but the others are with Erin.’ He put his own glass down. ‘In fact, I might just go and see how she’s getting on.’

‘Hang on, apparently you’re not allowed to see the bride before the wedding,’ cautioned Andrew quickly. ‘There’ll be hell to pay if you see her before she comes down those stairs.’

Joseph rolled his eyes as he went out.

‘Perhaps he is a little nervous,’ Kepa said in an amused tone.

‘Yes, well, it’s not every day a chap gets married,’ noted Andrew.

‘No, of course not,’ Kepa agreed chattily. ‘You know I initially cautioned him against it? Marrying Erin, I mean, not the institution of marriage itself. A man can never have too many
mokopuna
.’

There was a silence before Andrew said in an uncharacteristically cool tone, ‘Did you?’

‘Yes, I did. Did Tamar not tell you?’

Owen suddenly decided he should go and ask Mrs Heath if she needed a hand with anything.

When he’d gone, Andrew asked evenly, ‘And what were your reasons for cautioning him? Surely you don’t consider Erin an unsuitable match?’

‘Actually, yes I did. At first.’

‘Do go on,’ Andrew said, very frostily now.

‘I wanted him to marry a woman from among his own people.’

As Kepa said this, he winced inwardly, hearing an unwelcome echo of his Uncle Te Kanene’s voice. Years ago Te Kanene had cautioned him against — in fact actively campaigned to prevent — any possibility of a marriage between himself and Tamar after it had become clear that Kepa was the father of her child. It had sounded pompous and dictatorial then, and it sounded no less so now.

He added quickly, ‘I consider Erin to be a fine young woman,
and of course I am delighted that she has consented to marry my son and become a member of our family, but at the time I admit I did harbour some doubts as to whether the union would be wise. I know times have changed since … well, over the years, but the marriage of a Pakeha woman to a Maori man is still considered somewhat unusual, as you yourself are no doubt aware. People can still be very censorious.’ He gestured at the brandy decanter. ‘May I?’

‘Of course,’ replied Andrew. ‘And I take it you also discussed this with Tamar?’

‘Yes, or rather she discussed it with me,’ Kepa said, pulling a wry face as he poured another measure of brandy. ‘This was, oh, it must have been a month or so after Joseph arrived home. He had evidently told her of my concerns, and she approached me about it not long after that.’

Andrew felt rather disturbed by the realisation that Tamar had sought Kepa out and he had known nothing about it.

‘She tore a strip off me actually, as they say,’ Kepa went on conversationally, apparently oblivious to Andrew’s discomfort. ‘There is really no other way of putting it. She was most upset at the thought of my interference. She is like that with Joseph, as I am sure you have noticed. Will not let anyone say a word against him or do anything that might jeopardise what she sees as his happiness. She informed me that he is a grown man more than capable of making up his own mind about whom he wants to marry, and that Erin is a very lovely girl. And of course she was right on both counts.’

Andrew nodded, slightly mollified now at the thought of Tamar telling Kepa off. ‘And what was Joseph’s reaction? When you talked to him?’

‘He told me to mind my own business. But then he always has.’

‘Yes, children do that these days.’

‘Indeed,’ agreed Kepa. He drained his glass. ‘And on that note, I think I will take a short walk and stretch my legs.’

At the top of the thickly carpeted stairs he stood quietly and listened. From behind a closed door to his left he could hear giggling and women’s voices, and assumed correctly that the room belonged to Erin; the doors to the rest of the rooms on the first floor were all open, except for one at the far end of the hall which was only slightly ajar. He padded down and stood outside it for a moment, listening again. He heard a small sound from within and pushed the door open a few inches. Inside, at her sewing table, sat Tamar, dressed in all her mother-of-the-groom finery and with tears running down her face. He stepped in and closed the door quietly behind him.

Tamar turned with a small gasp. ‘Kepa! I didn’t hear you.’ She ran her fingers under her eyes to collect the tears.

‘Is something wrong?’ he asked gently.

‘No,’ she replied, and tried to smile. She looked up at him, and shook her head despondently. ‘Yes, there is.’ She picked up a slim sheaf of crumpled and dirt-smeared note paper. ‘This is from Thomas. It arrived this morning. I haven’t shown it to Andrew yet, I’m not sure whether I should or not. Not today any way. It’s about Passchendaele and it’s awful.’

She blew her nose and continued dully, ‘Sometimes, in the mornings, especially when the weather’s fine and warm, I wake up and hear Duncan and Liam galloping about the house, and for a few seconds I’m sure …’ Her voice cracked and she swallowed with a visible effort. ‘… I’m sure it’s James and Thomas belting about, and Ian, out of bed before anyone else like they always used to be, and then I remember they’ve all grown up and there’s a war on and Ian won’t ever be coming home and James is never
going to be the same as he was before he went away and neither is Joseph. And Thomas, well, I don’t even know whether Thomas will come back to us.’ She glanced up at Kepa despairingly. ‘Oh, I know he says he’s doing all right and that he’s a survivor, but how can I really know what will happen to him? How can
he
really know?’ She stopped to blow her nose once more because she was crying again, and to take a deep breath as bitter anger pushed her sadness roughly aside. ‘It all seems so arbitrary to me, who lives and who dies. There doesn’t seem to be any
sense
in it. I’m so tired of it, Kepa! Is it
never
going to end?’

Kepa stared back at her, surprised and dismayed at this sudden outburst. He wondered how many other outbursts there had been in the privacy of her room or while she was off across the paddocks on one of her frequent solitary walks. Too many, he imagined. Or perhaps not enough.

‘I do not know the answer to that, Tamar,’ he said eventually. ‘God knows I wish I did.’

His heart ached for her and as she stood he reached out his hand to her. She took it and he gently laid her palm against the skin of his cheek.

‘It will be over one day,’ he said quietly as he briefly savoured the warmth of her skin on his, ‘we can be sure of that. We just have to go on being strong until then.’

Tamar took another deep breath. ‘I know. I know, and I will.’

‘Come on then, dry your eyes and come downstairs. Our son is getting married today, remember. This is a day of celebration.’

The parlour was elegantly decorated for the occasion. The French doors had been closed against the chill in the July air and the curtains pulled back to frame the view of the manicured lawns and neat flowerbeds outside. In front of the doors a white-painted
wrought-iron arch had been set up and entwined with fresh flowers and trailing greenery. Elsewhere about the room were arranged bowls and large vases filled with beautifully arranged flowers and foliage, all of which added a faint but delectable scent to the room. In fact, Tamar and Jeannie had gone so overboard regarding the floral arrangements, now placed strategically throughout the house and in the marquee outside on the lawn, that they’d almost denuded the garden and the hothouse and more flowers had been delivered from town.

By the time Andrew had herded everyone into the room, Joseph had reappeared and was standing a little apprehensively to one side of the arch, waiting for Erin to be escorted into the parlour by her father. When she appeared in the doorway on Lachie’s arm, looking beautiful, serene and radiantly happy, Joseph’s face relaxed in a slow and delighted smile.

Standing at the back of the room, Kepa saw this and allowed himself a small, sad little smile of his own as he realised what had been unsettling his son — the awful and obviously much-contemplated possibility that Erin might, even at the last minute, change her mind about marrying him. And, privately, Kepa understood Joseph’s fear. As he knew from personal experience, there was no greater disappointment and sorrow than that which comes from having to accept that the woman you desperately wanted to marry would be forever beyond your reach.

Owen needed a leak. He pushed his chair back from the table, forgetting that the marquee was pitched on grass, and almost toppled over backwards. Clutching wildly at the tablecloth to right himself, he felt his face burn as both James and Keely, sitting across from him, roared with laughter. He straightened the cloth, wondered vaguely how his head was going to feel the following
day, then got to his feet and carefully moved his chair back. He was drunk, but not horrendously so, and he made a mental note to keep it that way: matching James drink for drink was turning out to be somewhat unwise. He was a good sort, James, but God he could knock it back.

Suddenly aware of eyes on him, he glanced across the table again to see Keely staring straight back at him with a small, private smile on her face. She looked quite devastating today; the sherry she had been rather injudiciously quaffing had given her cheeks a rare rosy glow and her eyes far too much sparkle for her own good. Her champagne-coloured dress suited her colouring and the rich sheen of her auburn hair, and Owen imagined he could see a hint of shadowed cleavage through the chiffon of the bodice. As he looked, Keely winked, slowly and deliberately. It was extremely uncharacteristic, and oddly disturbing.

His bladder twinged suddenly and he was reminded of why he had stood up in the first place. Stepping back he only just avoided treading on Liam, who was squatting on the ground with Duncan and enthusiastically encouraging Strawberry the house cat to eat a bowl of pudding heaped with whipped cream. Strawberry already had cream on her whiskers and on her ears and her sleek belly was alarmingly distended. Owen hoped for the sake of Tamar’s fine Oriental carpets that the animal would be relegated outdoors for the night.

Outside it was almost dark; the clouds hadn’t dissipated — they looked even more swollen if anything — but so far the rain had stayed away. Owen went around to the back of the house to use the toilet next to the washhouse, sighing with exquisite relief as his urine streamed noisily into the bowl.

He sat down on the steps of the back porch, retrieved his pouch of tobacco from his pocket and set about rolling a cigarette, a process that always seemed to fascinate Duncan and Liam every
time they saw it. They thought it was very clever of him to do it one-handed, not realising that the maiming of his other hand had given him no choice. He closed his eyes as he drew the mellow smoke deeply into his lungs, then exhaled with exaggerated leisure.

‘Enjoying yourself?’ asked an amused voice.

Owen’s eyes snapped open. Keely stood in front of him, her head to one side and her hands on her hips; he hadn’t even heard her approach. He must be drunker than he thought.

‘Yes, I am,’ he replied.

‘Good. I’ve come to use the toilet,’ Keely said, brushing past him up the steps and pushing the toilet door open.

Embarrassed, Owen leaped up and moved away from the porch to give her some privacy, but could still hear her as she yanked the chain with a clank and a rattle, then marched back out defiantly. God, he thought, why does she have to make so much out of everything? It was only a pee.

‘That’s better,’ she stated, and burped gently. ‘All that sherry, I expect. I don’t like it myself, it’s too sweet, even the dry stuff. I prefer brandy or whisky, but Da does go on about women drinking hard liquor in public. Says it’s unbecoming.’ She snorted inelegantly, wavering slightly in her high heels, then thought for a moment. ‘Still gets you drunk, though. The sherry, I mean.’

‘Clearly,’ Owen said, although he was hardly in a position to talk.

‘I suppose you think it’s unbecoming as well, do you?’

‘Women drinking hard liquor, or women being drunk?’

‘Either.’

Owen shrugged and said truthfully, ‘I try not to make judgments.’

‘Yes, you would, wouldn’t you? You’re such a
decent
person, Owen.’

He ignored the sarcasm in her voice, although he was disappointed that her unpleasant behaviour seemed to have resurfaced.

As if sensing his disapproval, she said suddenly, ‘Look, I’m sorry, it’s the alcohol talking. Take no notice.’

They both knew this wasn’t true — Keely was still rude and sarcastic to him most of the time — but Owen let it pass.