Song of the Spirits (74 page)

Kura nodded. “Elaine? She’s still there. She plays piano in a pub. Why? Do you know her?”

“We found her awhile ago and sent her to Greymouth. She was doing rather badly, having wandered through the mountains for days with her little dog and horse. I would have liked to keep her with us, but the men thought it was too dangerous. And they were right to be cautious. He’s still looking for her. But as long as she stays where she is, she should be safe.”

The woman turned away. Kura checked her curiosity and held back her questions about what made Greymouth so much safer than any other backwater on the West Coast and who was looking for Elaine anyway. Probably the husband she had fled. But that was a long time
ago. He should have long since accepted the fact that Elaine would not be coming back.

With respect to love and marriage, Kura had been entirely shaped by her mother’s culture. A girl sought out the man she wanted to belong to, and if he did not meet her expectations, she took another. Why did the
pakeha
always have to combine that with marriage? Kura cast a cross look at Caleb. His parents would eventually push him to get married.

Kura hardly wanted to picture the afflicted girl’s wedding night.

W
illiam Martyn had practically flooded the North Island with sewing machines. At first, he had been assigned to a rather unattractive region on the East Coast. However, true to the teachings of the sales genius Carl Latimer, who had himself unloaded masses of sewing machines on the women-starved West Coast of the South Island, William had ridden complaisantly from farm to farm. Along the way, he informed himself of the most important gossip so that he always had something to chat about with the mistress of the house before he unpacked his wonder machine.

The ladies’ covetousness was then quick to awaken—Carl Latimer had not exaggerated on this point. Though it was true that the more isolated regions comprised a smaller market for his machines, he was always offered a free, and occasionally even heated, place to sleep. In those cases, William used every tactic at his disposal to close the deal. Sometimes he wondered if the women—especially the well-off but lonely women on the bigger farms—bought his machines only so they could avail themselves of his “maintenance services” the next time he stopped in the area.

He won over the more impoverished women and girls with arguments for saving money by sewing their own clothes and the possibility of making some extra money by touching up clothes for the neighbor women. It wasn’t long before his sales figures demolished all expectations, and the firm moved him to the much more attractive area around Auckland, where William additionally suggested that the machines might be used for the industrial production of articles of clothing. Instead of only inviting women to his demonstrations, he also passed out flyers to men—immigrants looking to establish themselves
in their new country. By purchasing three or four sewing machines, according to William, anyone could produce clothing in bulk and earn a profit. William promised to provide the training himself on his next stop in the area, and he did just that. Although most of the businesses soon failed due to a lack of business savvy, two or three of the small companies operated successfully. One of his clients ordered new machines every few months as his business continued to expand.

The notion of ridding themselves of several machines at a time in this manner caused something of a sensation among the sales management. They invited William to give presentations on the concept in the North Island’s training center and entrusted him with another interesting sales area. William had begun driving a carriage appropriate to his standing with an elegant horse to pull it. He dressed in the latest fashion and enjoyed his new life. The only thorn in his side was the fact that he had not been able to track down Kura and the opera ensemble—though, truth be told, he did not know how his life and hers could be brought back into harmony. Sewing-machine marketing and opera singing were hardly compatible, and he knew that Kura would never have wanted to give up her career so soon.

As he directed his horse through the lively streets of Wellington on the lookout for his company’s main New Zealand offices, he contemplated that the opera singers must long since have been in Australia, the South Island, or even back in Europe. Had they taken Kura with them? William did not believe they had. The troupe’s director had given the impression that he wouldn’t tolerate any gods beside himself. And Kura certainly had what it took to be a star in Europe. Even if her gift was not enough for the grand opera houses, her appearance alone would have smoothed her path.

William finally located the office and found a place for his horse behind the building. The company’s sales director had personally invited him to an interview, and William was looking forward to it but not concerned. He knew his sales numbers and was expecting a bonus, not an admonishment. Perhaps there would be new assignments too. He tied his horse up and took the folder with his latest balance sheets out of the carriage before brushing the last bits of dust
from his gray three-piece suit. The suit fit him admirably—though it had not actually been finished, as he always claimed, in one of the new factories using Singer sewing machines but by one of Auckland’s best men’s tailors.

Daniel Curbage, the sales director, greeted him amiably.

“Mr. Martyn! Not only punctual to the minute but also with a pile of new sales contracts under his arm!”

The man seized the contents of William’s folder at once. “I have to tell you how much your efforts never cease to impress us. May I offer you something? Coffee, tea, something a little stronger?”

William decided on tea. No doubt the whiskey would be excellent, but he had learned long ago that successful negotiations required a clear head, not to mention the fact that it always made a better impression when one did not reach for the bottle immediately.

Daniel Curbage nodded, clearly pleased, and waited for his secretary to bring the tea. Only then did he get down to business.

“Mr. Martyn, as you are well aware, you are one of our top workers—and naturally, during your training, you were singled out for possible advancement within the company.”

William nodded, though he hardly remembered that period. Back then, he had spent more time grappling with hemstitching than career planning.

“From a position as sales director for one of the larger districts, you could climb up to… well, up to my position,” Daniel Curbage said, laughing heartily as though the latter were a rather daring leap of the imagination. “And I had actually already selected you for a management position here in the office.” He looked at William, expecting appreciation.

William made an effort to look appropriately enthusiastic, though in truth, he was not crazy about the prospect of a desk job. The post would have to be very well compensated to lure him off the road.

“However, the board of directors in England—you know how those people are—think that after only a year’s experience, you might still be a little too… well, too green for such an assignment. Besides,
the gentlemen seem to believe that the machines more or less sell themselves in cities like Auckland.”

William wanted to object, but Daniel Curbage gestured with a conciliatory motion of his hand to stop. “You and I both know that’s not the case. But then again, we both come from the practical side of things. The directors, however…” The sales director’s expression made it clear what he thought of the pencil pushers in far-off London. “Well, it’s not worth talking about. All that matters as far as you and I are concerned is that I must now burden you with a sort of field test. Please don’t take this as an affront, let alone a punishment. On the contrary, consider it as a springboard. Your predecessor, Carl Latimer, recently received the commission to take over the training center on the South Island.”

William’s thoughts raced. “Carl Latimer? Who used to travel the West Coast on the South Island?”

Curbage nodded, beaming. “You have an excellent memory, Mr. Martyn. Or do you know him? You’re from the South Island as well, aren’t you? Well, perhaps you’ll be delighted then to return.”

William bit his lip.

“Mr. Curbage, Latimer blanketed the West Coast with sewing machines,” he dared to object. “The fellow is a genius. He put a Singer in the hands of practically every human being, even the ones who only looked feminine.”

Daniel Curbage laughed. “Well, that leaves you the fifty percent of the population that’s male,” he joked. “And here in Auckland, you’ve already shown how that’s done.”

William suppressed a sigh. “Do you know the West Coast, Mr. Curbage? Probably not, or you would have placed the male percentage higher. I think it’s more like eighty or ninety percent of the population. And those are tough Kiwis: seal hunters, whalers, coal miners, gold miners, and the like. As soon as they have a cent in their pockets, they take it to the nearest pub. None of them will take to the idea of a sewing machine, I guarantee you that. Where’s any ambitious business-minded fellow going to scrounge up enough seamstresses? If a girl’s not a prude, she makes a lot more in a cathouse.”

“Another possibility for expansion, William,” Curbage said, switching over to a more familiar form of address. “Save these women from themselves! Make it clear to these girls that it’s infinitely more worthy of them to strive for a respectable life as a seamstress than it is for them to continue pursuing a life of sin. Besides, more and more coal miners are flocking to the area, some with their entire families. Their wives should be delighted at the prospect of making a little extra money on the side.”

“Only they don’t have the hundred and fifty dollars for the machine. That’s how much they cost now,” William noted drily. “I don’t know, Mr. Curbage.”

“Please, call me Daniel. And don’t look so gloomy. As soon as you get to know your new area, something will come to you. Besides, I’m working on a new payment option especially for miners’ families. Make the most of your new assignment, William. Make me proud. So, how about that drink now? I have some top-notch whiskey.”

William felt a little deflated when he finally left the office. This new region had little appeal for him. And he would have to start all over again. Even if he were to take his horse and carriage along to the South Island, his fiery horse and sleek little chaise were ill suited to the muddy roads of the West Coast, as was his elegant, urban clothing. He would need to equip himself with boots, leather bags, and waxed jackets again. Three hundred rainy days a year and hardly any sheep farms with lonely mistresses—instead, he could count on hotels with exorbitant prices that usually only rented their rooms by the hour. William especially dreaded vermin-infested lodgings. However, he needed to put a positive spin on this new plan or he could forget about making any sales. After all, Carl Latimer had sold a reasonable number of machines on the West Coast, and the towns there were prospering. That meant there would be more women—and, therefore, more customers for William.

The young man squared his shoulders. His competitive spirit had awakened. They probably would not leave him on the West Coast any longer than a year, and during that time he would do his best to
top even Carl Latimer’s miraculous numbers. And what about the Maori? Had anyone ever tried to sell a Singer to a native?

Later that same day, William asked about ferry connections to Blenheim. A week later, he handed over his region to his successor, selling the man his horse and carriage in the process. Then, his old demonstration model in hand, he set off for the South Island. Though there were more modern models on the market now, he did not want to exchange his machine for one of them. His old machine had brought him luck. William was determined to conquer the South Island. Surely, he would hear something from Kura there too. In fact, he could even write Gwyneira again and ask about Gloria. She would certainly know where Kura was these days. And she probably didn’t have a sewing machine yet.

Gwyneira was open to almost anything—just not a sewing machine. She might have warmed up to the idea though, if William’s letter had contained even a hint of her granddaughter’s location. Still, she was quite pleased to hear that Gloria’s father made no further claims on the child. It was clear that William knew as little about Kura’s whereabouts as she did. The only thing they could be fairly certain of was that Kura had not traveled to England with the opera ensemble.

“She doesn’t appear on my receipts,” George Greenwood had explained to her. “And Barrister would have tried to pawn her costs off on me, I guarantee you. That man knew all the tricks. If she did make the journey, she didn’t travel under her own name, at least according to the shipping company. Then again, she might have given a different one. They don’t register these things very exactly.”

“But why should she do that?” Gwyneira had asked nervously. “Perhaps because she was still a minor?”

“They would hardly have checked up on that,” George had mused, but he had promised to send out feelers in England.

A few weeks later, he had brought Gwyneira the results of his inquiries.