by Lark, Sarah
Poker Livingston, however, retired. He claimed that his wounded arm kept him from doing any more hard work, and he moved in with his friend in town. William took Poker’s place triumphantly, overseeing the maintenance and repair work that had to be done over the course of the summer. Shortly thereafter, the Maori tribe that resided on Kiward Station departed on a long journey. James merely rolled his eyes and hired white farmhands in Haldon.
“This grandson of yours is expensive,” he said to Gwyneira. “Maybe you should have encouraged a Maori father for Kura’s baby after all. Then the tribe wouldn’t be fleeing now. And if they were, they might have just dragged Kura along, and we wouldn’t need to see that accusing face of hers every day. She acts as though we were the ones to get her pregnant!”
Gwyneira sighed. “Why is it that William can’t get along with the Maori? Back in Ireland, he had trouble because he was too nice to his tenants, but here he disrupts the natives.”
James shrugged. “Our William likes for people to be grateful to him. And that is well known to be an alien sentiment to Tonga. Not that he owes William anything. Look at the facts straight, Gwyn. William can’t deal with people on his own level. He wants to be the boss, and woe to anyone who doubts him.”
Gwyneira nodded despondently, but then managed a smile. “We’ll send the two of them off to the sheep breeders’ conference in Christchurch,” she said. “Then our country gentleman can feel important. Kura will enjoy a change of scene, and you can mend the fences. Or did you want to go the conference yourself?”
James waved that suggestion away. He thought livestock breeders’ conferences totally unnecessary. A few speeches, a few discussions about current problems, and then plenty of drinking, during the course of which the proposed solutions to said problems became increasingly nonsensical. The year before, Major Richland had actually voiced the idea of starting a drag hunting society to fight the rabbit plague. The fact that drag hunting did not actually involve hunting animals—but merely following an artificial trail—had completely escaped him.
James, for one, did not need any of that—not to mention that the Livestock Breeders Society of Christchurch had first convened to deal with a certain livestock thief. A circumstance that Lord Barrington invariably brought up after his third glass—if not sooner—in James McKenzie’s presence.
“Well, I hope they don’t talk William into any dumb ideas,” James murmured. “Otherwise, we might soon find ourselves breeding hunters rather than sheep.”
William enjoyed the trip to Christchurch, and seemed two inches taller upon his return. Kura had spent a fortune at the tailor’s, but was otherwise in even worse spirits than before. William’s friendly and natural acceptance into the circle of sheep barons had finally opened her eyes to the truth: her marriage and her child shackled her to Kiward Station. William had never had any intention of following Kura through the opera houses of Europe as a sort of male muse for her. Perhaps as a vacation sometime in the future, but certainly not for a longer stay, and never for her to study at a conservatory. During the long, lonely daylight hours, Kura raged against her husband and herself—only to sink back into William’s arms again at night. When William kissed her and caressed her body, she forgot all her other wishes and needs. His worship was equal to the applause of the masses, and when he pushed into her, he fulfilled her more than the elation she derived from any singing. If only it weren’t for the endless days, and if only she were not forced to watch with a wary eye as her body changed. William thought that pregnancy had made Kura even more beautiful, but she hated her new roundness. Everyone assumed she must be overjoyed about this baby, but Kura was indifferent about it at best.
When fall came, the men rode into the highlands to herd the sheep down to the plains. William brought eternal shame upon himself by getting lost in the mountains while searching for a runaway sheep. It took a search party until the next day to find him.
“We all thought he’d picked up and left,” Andy reported with a grin to the sneering James. Neither of the McKenzies had ridden along this time. Gwyneira had thought Kura could use some company, and James’s bones had begun to hurt when he spent the entire day in the saddle and his nights on the hard ground. He had started to imagine leaving Kiward Station to William someday and moving into a small, cozy house with Gwyneira. A few sheep, a dog-breeding business, and a warm fireplace in the evening that he lit himself instead of leaving it to a servant. Gwyneira and James had dreamed of such a life when they were both young, and James saw no reason not to make it a reality. Giving up the farm would make him a little sorry, but only for Jack’s sake. Though his son was still young, he would be the perfect stock farmer—and Andy was full of praise for the boy.
“Jack has a sixth sense for the work. He finds every sheep, and the dogs listen to him almost before he speaks. Is there really no chance of his taking over the farm?”
James shook his head. “He’s not even a Warden. If Gwyneira had inherited the farm, it would have been somewhat different. Stephen, George, and Elaine would have preceded Jack in order of inheritance, but we could have come to some agreement with them. Stephen and George don’t have any interest in it, after all, and Elaine has her own sheep farm now.”
“But Kura doesn’t have any interest either,” Andy objected. “It’s a shame you couldn’t marry her off to Jack. Yeah, it’d be a bit incestuous, but good blood.”
James laughed heartily. “Jack wouldn’t do such a thing for all the sheep in the world, Andy! Even if Kura was the last girl on earth, he’d become a monk!”
As Kura’s delivery approached, her mood became noticeably worse. William did everything he could think of to lift her spirits, but without much success. Ever since he had stopped reaching for her at night—to keep from harming the child—she had treated him with icy disdain, sometimes becoming so angry that she threw things at him. There no longer was anyone who could cheer Kura up even for a short time. She did not want a baby. And Kiward Station was the last place she wanted to be.
Marama was worried that Kura’s anger could harm the child, and Gwyneira, too, was occasionally reminded of her own pregnancy with Paul. She had likewise rejected her child. But Paul had been fruit borne of a rape while Kura awaited a child borne of love. Gwyneira was almost relieved when Kura’s labor finally began. Marama and Rongo Rongo, the Maori midwife, arrived straightaway to be at Kura’s side; Gwyneira also sent for Francine Candler, so that she would not feel insulted. The baby was already born, however, by the time the midwife arrived from Haldon. Kura had an easy delivery and was in labor for only six hours before bringing a very small but healthy girl into the world.
Marama’s whole face glowed when she presented the baby to Gwyneira.
“You’re not angry, are you, Gwyn?” she asked, sounding concerned.
Gwyneira smiled. Marama had asked the same question when Kura was born.
“Of course not, we’re maintaining the female line,” she said as she took the baby from Marama’s arms. She looked searchingly into the tiny face. She could not yet see whose features the baby had inherited, but the down on her little head looked more golden than black.
“What does Kura want to name her?” Gwyneira asked, rocking the baby. The infant reminded her of Fleurette as a newborn, causing a wave of tenderness to wash over her as the baby awoke and gazed at her with big blue eyes.
Marama shrugged unhappily. “I don’t know. She’s hardly spoken, and she didn’t even really look at the baby. All she said was, ‘Take her to her grandmother,’ and ‘I’m sorry it’s not a boy.’ When William said, ‘Next time, my love!’ Kura almost went mad with fury. Rongo Rongo just gave her a sleeping potion. I don’t know if that was the right thing to do, but with her raving like that…”
William was likewise disappointed. He had been counting on a son. Tonga nevertheless sent a present for the birth, since the Maori recognized female inheritance.
Gwyneira did not care whether it was a boy or girl. “As long as she’s
not musical,” she said to James, laying the baby down in her crib. Since no one had given it any thought of it before, she had turned Kura’s little salon into a nursery. James had retrieved the cradle from storage. It seemed that no one had even thought about a name.
“Name it after Kura’s favorite singer,” James advised. “What are their names, again?”
Gwyneira rolled her eyes. “Mathilde, Jenny, and Adelina. We can’t do that to the child! I’ll ask the baby’s father. Perhaps we can name her after his mother.”
“Then she’ll probably have a name like Mary or Birdie,” James said.
It turned out that William had, in fact, thought of a name for his daughter.
“It has to be a special name,” he declared, already a little addled by whiskey when Gwyneira had found him in the salon downstairs. “Something to express our triumph over this new land. I think I’ll name her Gloria!”
“I suppose there’s no need to explain it to Tonga that way,” James said, grinning, when Gwyneira told him the news. Jack had joined him, and father and son were busy affixing a mobile over the baby’s crib. James explained to his son that the baby couldn’t really see much just then, but that in time the little dangling bear would distract and calm her.
“What is she anyway? My aunt?” Jack asked, as he peered, fascinated, at Gloria in the crib.
“You can touch her if you’re gentle,” Gwyneira encouraged him. “But good question. What is she? You and Kura’s father would have been half brothers. So Kura would have been your half niece. And the baby is your great–half niece. It’s is a little complicated.”
Jack smiled at the baby. His face mirrored the expression that his father showed when looking at newborn animals: incredible astonishment, almost something like devotion. Finally, he stuck his hand in the crib and felt carefully with his finger for Gloria’s small hand.
The baby opened her eyes for a brief moment before closing them again. She blinked at Jack, apparently fascinated. With a tight grip, she closed her tiny hand around Jack’s finger.
“I think I like her,” said the boy.
Over the next few days, the care of little Gloria became a major point of contention among the women of Kiward Station. Marama and Kiri, the cook, were dead set against taking responsibility for the child away from Kura. Years earlier, after Gwyneira’s unfortunate pregnancy, Kiri had cared for little Paul and now, looking back, thought that a mistake. Gwyneira had never worked on building a relationship with her son and had never really loved him as a child—or as an adult. Had she simply let Paul cry, Kiri argued, Gwyneira would sooner or later have been forced to nurture the baby—and then she would have developed natural maternal instincts toward him. It would be the same with Kura and Gloria, Kiri maintained.
Gwyneira, however, felt that she had to take responsibility for her infant great-granddaughter. If for no other reason than that no one else was doing it. Kura, for one, did not seem to feel obligated to pick up her baby just because it was crying. She simply retreated into another room to avoid hearing her cries. Putting little Gloria in her salon, the most remote room in her suite, had proved to be a mistake. The nursery was connected to a corridor, so Gloria’s crying did not remain concealed from the other residents of the house. But when Kura withdrew into her bedroom or dressing room, she heard next to nothing. As for Heather Witherspoon, the screaming clearly rattled her nerves, but she was afraid of dropping Gloria if she picked her up—and after Gwyneira observed her holding the baby, she shared that concern.
“My God, Miss Witherspoon, that’s a baby, not a doll! Her head isn’t screwed on; you have to support it. Gloria can’t hold it up herself yet. And she’s not going to bite you if you lay her on your shoulder. Nor will she explode—you don’t have to hold her like a stick of dynamite.”
Heather Witherspoon had kept her distance ever since. As did William, who had nevertheless engaged a nanny, a certain Mrs. Whealer. He refused to have a Maori girl looking after his daughter. Though Mrs. Whealer was quite competent, she could only start work at nine o’ clock in the morning since she came from Haldon, and she liked to be home before dark. James grumbled that they could just train the man who drove Mrs. Whealer to change diapers and it would cost the same.
Regardless, there was no one to comfort and feed Gloria at night, and as often as not, it was Jack who went to his parents’ room to tell them that the baby needed them. The boy slept in the room next to the newly furnished nursery and was therefore always the first to hear the baby. The first few times, he simply took the baby out of her crib and laid her next to him like he did the puppy he had gotten for Christmas. However, he tended to feed the puppy before he went to bed, which meant the dog slept soundly, whereas Gloria could not sleep because she was hungry.
This left Jack no other choice but to wake his mother. Out of a sense of duty, he always tried to wake Kura first, but she never stirred. From her bedroom, she never responded to his knocking, just as she never responded to Gloria’s crying, and the boy did not dare to barge into her private rooms.
“What is that boy William doing anyway?” grumbled James as Gwyneira got up for the third night in a row. “Can’t anybody explain to him that it’s not enough just to make a baby?”
Gwyneira threw on a dressing gown. “He doesn’t even hear it. Nor does Kura. Heaven only knows what they’re thinking. In any case, I can’t imagine William with a milk bottle in his hand, Can you?”
James was just about to reply that William would first have to let go of the whiskey bottle, but he did not want to worry Gwyneira. She was so busy with the baby and the farm that she hadn’t noticed, but James had seen a marked reduction in the alcohol stores. William and Kura’s marriage no longer seemed to be as happy as it had been early on—or even as in the early months of her pregnancy. The two no longer turned in early for the night, exchanging loving glances as they once had, but now seemed rather to be living alone together. William often remained in the salon long after Kura had retired. Sometimes he stayed there chatting with Heather Witherspoon—James would have loved to know what they had to talk about. Yet he often brooded there alone, always with a full glass of whiskey at his side.
Indeed, William’s relationship with Kura had not improved as he had hoped it would after Gloria’s birth. Ever the gentleman, he had allowed his wife the traditional four weeks of recovery after the birth before attempting to join her in bed again. He had expected to be warmly welcomed there. After all, Kura had accused him for weeks of no longer wanting her on account of her big belly. She certainly appeared to enjoy his kisses and caresses and aroused him almost to the point of climax. But when he wanted to enter into her, she pushed him away.
“You don’t really think I’ll let that happen a second time,” she said coolly as soon as he had regained enough control over himself to complain. “I don’t want any more children. We’re done with that. We can, of course, do anything else that won’t make me pregnant.”
At first, William had not taken her seriously, but when he tried again, Kura remained firm. Once again, she applied her ample skill to arouse him to the height of ecstasy, but then retreated at the last moment. She did not seem to think anything of his frustration. In fact, it rather seemed to please her that William lusted after her almost to the point of madness.
One night, however, he lost control and took her against her will, overpowering her resistance and laughing as she struck and scratched at him. Though her resistance soon abated, it was an unforgivable act. William apologized immediately that night and then three times over the course of the following day and appeared to be genuinely contrite. Although Kura said she accepted his apology, that night, he found her door locked.
“I’m sorry,” Kura said, “but it’s too risky. We would end up going through this over and over, and I don’t want another child.”
Instead, she resumed her singing and piano playing, practicing for hours, as she had at the beginning of her marriage.
“You should be careful
what you wish for,” sighed Gwyneira, rocking little Gloria. Apparently, her prayer that the child be wholly unmusical had been heard: Gloria erupted in violent screaming as soon as the piano sounded.
“I’ll take her with me to the stables,” Jack said cheerfully, likewise taking flight from Beethoven and Schubert. “It’s perfectly quiet there with the dogs; she even laughs when Monday licks her. What do you think—when can we teach her to ride?”
It drove William mad to see Kura every day, to observe her figure once again assuming its old captivating form, her movements once again becoming graceful like a dancer’s. Everything about her aroused him, from her voice to the dance of her long fingers on the piano keys. Sometimes just the thought of her was enough to arouse him. As he sat alone drinking his whiskey, he replayed their nights together in his mind’s eye. He recalled every position, thought yearningly of every kiss. Sometimes he thought he would explode with desire. He imagined it was the same for Kura—he had noticed her prurient looks—but she kept an iron grip on herself.
Kura did not yet know what turn her life would take, but the idea of remaining on Kiward Station—having one baby after another, becoming fat and unattractive, and waddling around like a duck each time she got pregnant—was too unspeakable to fathom. The few months of passion in between did not make up for the disadvantages. And Rongo Rongo had given her no illusions on the subject: “You could have three children before you’re twenty—and who knows how many in all.”
Chills ran down Kura’s spine at the mere thought of three screaming brats. She did think Gloria was adorable, but she had no idea what to do with her, any more than with all the puppies, kittens, and lambs that Gwyneira and Elaine found so enthralling. She certainly did not want any more of them.
Nevertheless, denying William’s love made her more and more irritable. She needed something, whether it was music and applause or satisfaction and love. Music was the less dangerous option, so she began to practice the piano again, she sang, and she waited. Something had to happen.