Call of the Kiwi (51 page)

After slipping out of the house and retrieving the horses from the stables, they were on their way. Gloria found she almost enjoyed riding next to Jack beneath the starry sky. It had cleared up, and they had a little moonlight.

“That’s the Southern Cross, do you see it?” Gloria asked, pointing upward. “Miss Bleachum showed it to me once. It helps sailors navigate.”

“Did it help you in Australia?” Jack asked quietly. “There were people at Gallipoli from the Outback. They said it was incredibly beautiful but vast and dangerous.”

“I didn’t think it was beautiful. This is beautiful.”

The circle of stone warriors rose up before them, and the dogs were driving the sheep briskly ahead. The ride had hardly taken an hour, and now the ewes spread themselves out, feasting around the stone circle. Jack secured the sacred site with a roll of barbed wire he had brought.

“Do you think Grandpa James’s spirit is really here?” Gloria asked, helping him stretch the wire between the monoliths. Though the shadows of the stone warriors looked a little eerie in the moonlight, she was not afraid.

“Of course. Don’t you hear him laughing? He would have taken a devilish pleasure in all this. Just now he’s recalling how he herded the sheep away from the bog farms at night while the shepherds played cards in their barracks. Regardless of what Mother says tomorrow, James McKenzie would be proud of us.”

Gloria smiled. “Hi, Grandpa James,” she called into the wind. Jack had to hold himself back from putting his arm around her.

The grass seemed to rustle in reply.

By morning the two of them had distributed some five thousand sheep across various pastures. Jack collapsed dead tired into bed, falling into a deep sleep during which he dreamed of neither Charlotte nor Gallipoli.

Gloria slumbered restlessly. She expected to be pulled out of bed and scolded at any moment, but nothing happened, even though the missing sheep must have stood out to the stockmen that morning.

The workers, however, did not report the missing sheep to Gwyneira right away, turning instead to Maaka. He knocked on Jack’s door late that morning.

“I found the sheep,” Maaka said, “and I just wanted to tell you that I didn’t tell Tonga. I already suggested herding the sheep out there three months ago. Not just to Mrs. McKenzie. I also spoke with Tonga and Rongo Rongo. Rongo didn’t have any misgivings, but Tonga was outraged at the idea of even a single sheep nibbling on sanctified grass. You’re best off just ignoring him. If you’re lucky, he won’t notice until I’m gone in a couple of days, and then he won’t be able to do anything. He can’t herd the beasts back alone, and these
pakeha
fellows are pretty helpless without direction. Wilkenson, of cours
e . . .
”

“Wilkenson’s only waiting to take over your position,” Jack warned.

Maaka grinned. “Again, the last thing Tonga wants. A Maori foreman suits his plans much better. When are you going to come back, Jack? The farm needs you.”

Jack frowned. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Maaka shook his head. “Your body is here, but your soul is stuck on two beaches, one on the North Island and the other in that country—I can’t even pronounce the name. In any case, either is a bad place for your soul. Just come home, Jack.”

In order to distract himself, Jack began looking through Charlotte’s things. It was torture opening her drawers, taking out her clothing, and arranging it in boxes for charity. Jack found her letter paper—and a letter to the University of Otago she had begun. As he read it, his eyes filled with tears. Charlotte was offering her research to the linguistics department. Caleb Biller had been right. She had wanted to pass on her records. And she had sensed that she would not be coming back from that trip to the North Island. What she could not have known was that Jack would not organize her papers until years later.

In the furthest corner of her desk, he came upon a packet.

Jack
.

Jack read his name in Charlotte’s large handwriting. He trembled as he opened it. Out of it fell her small jade pendant. So she had not lost it in the sea. She had set it aside. For him. For the first time Jack looked at it more closely—and realized the jade stone depicted two figures intertwined in one another. Papatuanuku and Ranginui, the earth and the sky before they were torn apart. Jack unfolded the page in which the amulet had been wrapped.

Remember that the sun could not shine until Papa and Rangi separated. Enjoy the sun, Jack.

With love,

Charlotte

That afternoon Jack wept for Charlotte for the last time. Then he opened the window and let the sun in.

8

G
wyneira McKenzie had dozed off over her papers in the office. She had always hated paperwork and could no longer give it the attention it required.

“Mrs. McKenzie?”

Gwyneira shot up from her slumber and found herself face-to-face with a fully armed Maori warrior. Naturally she recognized Tonga as soon as she got a second look, but before she could express her anger, she had to calm her wildly beating heart.

“Tonga? What the devil are you doing here?”

“It’s less your devil than the spirits of our dead that led me here,” Tonga said with a gravelly voice.

Gwyneira felt an old anger rise up within her. Who did this impertinent brute think he was to break into her house with his clan and scare her to death?

“Whoever led you here, you could easily have waited for Kiri or Moana to announce you. It’s sheer impudence to simply to show up here an
d . . .
”

“Mrs. McKenzie, it’s an urgent matter.”

Gwyneira’s eyes flashed.

“What is it then? Did you discover a way to bring the spirits back to life by scaring an old woman?”

Tonga frowned. “Do not mock me. I’m sorry that I woke you.”

Gwyneira sat up with a dignified air. “So, what do the spirits say?” she asked impatiently.

“You are flouting our agreement, Mrs. McKenzie. The sheep of Kiward Station are desecrating the sacred sites of the Ngai Tahu.”

Gwyneira sighed. “Again? I’m sorry, Tonga, but we don’t have enough grass. The animals are hungry, and that makes them resourceful. We can’t even patch the fences before the beasts are out again. Where are they hiding this time? We’ll send a man to herd them back.”

“Mrs. McKenzie, we’re not talking about a few dozen sheep. This is about thousands of sheep purposely driven onto our land.”

“Your land, Tonga? According to the governor’s decre
e . . .
” Gwyneira was exhausted.

“Sacred ground, Mrs. McKenzie. And a promise you’ve broken. You’ll remember that you assured me back then.”

Gwyneira nodded. Tonga had asked for a few favors when he had allowed James’s burial in the stone circle. Since Kiward Station had pastureland in abundance, Gwyneira had been happy to promise to leave a few more supposed Maori holy sites alone. Over the last few years, however, the number of sites had grown.

“I’m sure it was an oversight, Tonga,” she sighed. “Maybe one of the new hires.”

“Maybe Gloria Martyn!” thundered Tonga.

“Do you have any proof of that?” She was angry at Tonga, but if Gloria had really defied Gwyneira’s explicit instruction
s . . .

Tonga looked at her coldly. “I am sure that proof can easily be furnished. Just ask around your stables. Surely someone heard or saw something.”

Gwyneira glared at him. “I’ll ask my great-granddaughter herself. Gloria won’t lie to me.”

Tonga snorted. “Gloria is not exactly known for her straightforwardness. Her deeds contradict her words. And she has no respect for
mana
.”

Gwyneira smiled cruelly. “Did she contradict you? Now I am awfully sorry for you. In front of the whole tribe, as I understand it. Is it true that she did not want to marry your son?”

Tonga straightened himself up to his full height and started to turn around. “The last word on the inheritance of Kiward Station has not yet been spoken. So far Gloria has not chosen a
pakeha
either. Who can say what the future will bring?”

Gwyneira sighed. “Finally, something I can agree to without reservation. Well, let’s wait and cease making plans, Tonga. As far as I know, that’s what all your spirits would advise. I’ll see to the sheep.”

She dismissed Tonga. But he did not go before having the last word.

“I hope so, Mrs. McKenzie. Because until the situation is corrected, no man of the Ngai Tahu will be seen on Kiward Station. We’ll feed our own stock and cultivate our own fields.”

He walked proudly out through the manor house’s main entrance.

Gwyneira called for Gloria.

“It doesn’t matter what your intentions were or what is or isn’t
tapu
,” Gwyneira said angrily to Gloria and Jack, who stood before her like children being scolded. “You’re not to simply ignore my directions. Tonga appeared here, and I knew nothing about it. What was I supposed to tell him?”

“That in an emergency you had to deviate from a promise given under very different circumstances,” Jack explained. “That you’re sorry, but it’s your right.”

“I have not deviated,” Gwyneira said with dignity.

“But your great-granddaughter and heiress did. After consultation with the local spiritual authority, if I can put it that way. Rongo Rongo gave her blessing.”

“This isn’t about Rongo Rongo’s blessing but mine,” Gwyneira informed him. “Gloria has no authority in these matters. And you’ve abdicated your position as foreman, Jack! So don’t try to give me orders. Tomorrow you’ll herd the sheep into the highlands. Or no, actually you two will remain home. Who knows what else you’ll think up.”

“Are we grounded?” Gloria asked importunately.

“If you want to call it that. You’re acting like a child. So don’t complain when people treat you like one.”

“We should have approached it differently,” Jack said as they watched Maaka and the remaining
pakeha
stockmen herd the sheep together and head west. “She’s not entirely wrong. We should have acted openly.”

Gloria shrugged. “She was wrong. And it doesn’t have to do with the sheep or the
tapu
anymore. It went exactly like we planned it. The supposed sacrilege had long since taken place; the land was no longer untouched. And if Tonga had not sent her more workers, well, then we would not have had enough men to herd the sheep from the
tapu
land. Grandmum could have hanged him with his own rope. But she didn’t want to do that. She didn’t want to hang Tonga but, instead, me.”

Gwyneira wondered how everything had derailed. Though she loved Gloria with every fiber of her being, the girl did nothing but fight with her. Gwyneira simply could not bear the hatred in Gloria’s eyes.

Gwyneira could not stand it in the house that day. Gloria was ensconced in her room, and Jack was bringing box after box of Charlotte’s personal belongings downstairs. Gwyneira thought of the time when Jack and Charlotte had lived there happily, when the house had been full of laughter and the hope for grandchildren. Now there was only sadness and anger. Gwyneira wandered through the deserted stables and sheep pens. The men were all in the highlands; only the handful of
pakeha
that huddled sneeringly around Frank Wilkenson had stayed behind. Fortunately Maaka was still there; he defied his chieftain and appeared for work like he did every day. He had tried once more to make Gwyneira change her mind.

“Mrs. McKenzie, the weather looks fine at the moment, but that could change. It’s only the beginning of October. And the sheep are freshly shorn; they won’t survive two weeks in the highlands if there’s a cold snap. Let Tonga protest. He’ll calm down again.”

“This isn’t about Tonga,” Gwyneira repeated. “It’s about my authority. I keep my promises, and I expect my directions to be followed. So, be on your way, Maaka, or should I ask Wilkenson to lead the herding?”

So Maaka had shrugged and left. Gwyneira felt more alone than she ever had in her life. She went over to the horses and tossed them some hay. Gloria would have to take over the feeding. Hopefully she would do it. The girl had been smoldering in her room since their last confrontation, but the horses were close to her heart.

Gwyneira scratched Princess, the riding pony, on her forehead, lost in thought. It had all started with her. Gwyneira cursed herself for having ever allowed Gloria to play the wild tomboy on the pony. She was still convinced that that was what had first alerted the Martyns to her failure to raise the girl into a lady. And then her second mistake. Gwyneira remembered Gloria’s expression only too well when she had asked about Princess’s foal. Jack had promised her that horse. How could Gwyneira have given it to Lilian? Though a new foal would soon be born, Gloria had yet to show the slightest interest.

Gwyneira stroked the horse. “It’s all probably my fault,” she sighed. “It’s not yours, anyway.”

She could not know then that just a few days later Princess would spark the next commotion.

The men were back, and it was raining again. A warm, spring rain, but no less irritating for that. The farmworkers stayed in the barns and played cards. Jack was supposedly still seeing to Charlotte’s estate, though in all likelihood he was just sitting in the room they had shared and brooding dully.

Gloria tried to stick to a certain routine. If she stayed inside, filling one drawing pad after another with her gloomy pictures, she would go mad. Hence she dutifully trained the dogs and took Ceredwen out on rides. She was just heading out one afternoon when she glanced over at the muddy paddocks and saw that Princess was thrusting out her back and shivering. She called on the first farmworker she came across in the stables. Frank Wilkenson appeared, apparently on his way back from the privy to the circle of card-playing men in the barn.

“Mr. Wilkenson, would you please be so kind as to bring Princess inside and give her some oats? I’m going to give her a blanket; it looks like she’s freezing.”

Wilkenson grinned disdainfully. “Horses don’t freeze, Miss Martyn.” He emphasized the “Miss” as if the polite address did not suit the girl. “And we don’t have any fodder to spare. It’s being rationed.”