by Sarah Lark
“Mara, you know very well what kind of trouble that can get you into!” Chris said. “Not to mention the kind of trouble it will get your beau into. And you’re much too young! Your parents won’t be happy at all. What were you doing, anyway? Do Karl and Ida have to plan for grandchildren already?”
Mara shook her head again, offended. “We only kissed.”
Chris sighed. “Well, that’s not so bad,” he admitted. “Didn’t he want more? There are so many girls in the village, I wouldn’t be surprised. Or does Jane lock him in her broom closet every night?”
Mara had to laugh in spite of herself, and Chris grinned.
“Eru doesn’t do anything with other girls,” Mara declared with conviction. “We promised each other. Someday we’ll get married.”
Chris slapped his forehead. “You’re only fifteen, Mara, and he’s fourteen. A lot of water will flow down the Waimakariri before you’re allowed to marry. And if Jane catches you . . . Mara, the boy has it hard enough already! Don’t make things worse.”
“What’s so bad about me?” Mara asked, annoyed. “Why wouldn’t Jane be happy? Sure, I’m no Maori princess, but I’m still a kind of sheep baroness. And for the dowry, I’d surely be able to take a few sheep with me, wouldn’t I?”
Chris smiled. “You can have just as many sheep as Carol, if you want them,” he said kindly. “You are a very beautiful girl from a good household, as desirable as any princess. Men are already falling all over themselves when they see you. Just wait, in two years, every marriageable young man between Christchurch and Australia will be knocking on your door.”
Mara’s brow furrowed. “But why shouldn’t I marry Eru? I don’t mean now, but in two or three years? What do Jane and Te Haitara want?”
Chris sighed. “That’s exactly the problem; they don’t know what they want. And until they figure it out, Eru won’t be able to do anything. And you won’t be able to either, Mara, so don’t get ahead of yourself!”
Chapter 9
The next day, Jane dressed carefully before she went to Rata Station. In the village, she usually dressed similarly to the native women. In spring, she combined a simple brown skirt with a woven top in the tribal colors. And to Te Haitara’s delight, she joined the Maori women in eschewing any form of brassiere. Jane had even stopped wearing corsets when she went to Christchurch to have suits and dresses fitted in the current English fashions. She ordered clothes occasionally when she visited the city, and Te Haitara gave her money for it just as readily as he did any member of his tribe. Jane sometimes wondered if he somehow still couldn’t do arithmetic after all these years of living with her. Otherwise, he would have realized long ago that her visits to the seamstress cost much more than all the fabric purchased by all the other women combined. Jane kept a few good excuses ready about why the investment was necessary; after all, she had business meetings with wool buyers and breeders. But Te Haitara never asked any questions.
Jane put on her newest dress, a stylish creation in dark green with a flared skirt. However, she didn’t have a crinoline to go with it. She found them too impractical. The skirt and bodice were detailed with a black cord trim, which made the dress even more elegant. The loose tailoring of the bolero jacket made the outfit a little less formal.
She had given up fighting her figure long ago. Jane enjoyed eating, and it was easy to see. That had always decreased her chances with pakeha men, but she embodied the Maori beauty ideal in almost every respect. In daily life, Jane didn’t bother to pin up her thick brown hair, but instead wore it down, only held back by a wide, woven headband. But for her visit today, she’d styled it carefully. Her hair was up in a high bun, which made her look even taller.
Te Haitara gave her a sidelong look when she set out in her elegant ensemble. Jane, who’d already been nervous all morning, was just waiting for him to ask whether she’d dressed up for Chris Fenroy. Te Haitara and Chris were old friends, but the chieftain still couldn’t understand why he’d divorced Jane so willingly. To Te Haitara, the idea that anyone wouldn’t find her loveable was incomprehensible, so he was still a little jealous. On the other hand, the chieftain knew his Jane all too well. In her present mood, it was better not to give her any excuse to fly off the handle.
So Te Haitara kept his mouth shut, just as Eru had. The young man was wearing his traditional warrior garb. He would use his mother’s absence to join the other apprentice warriors and their mentor. They wanted to visit a few places in the area that had been tapu for centuries, places where blood had been drawn. The men would meditate and consult the spirits there, and ask them for strength.
Jane wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about the plan, and when she finally arrived in Rata Station, she was in a bad mood in spite of her new dress. Even though she knew Chris and Cat lived in the wooden house, she walked toward the stone one out of habit. There, she ran into Ida Jensch, who was hanging skirts, riding clothes, and shirts to dry on long lines.
“Jane! How nice to see you,” Ida said, smiling politely, even though she was surprised by the sight of Chris’s former wife.
“The pleasure is mine,” Jane said stiffly, eyeing Ida’s bedraggled housedress critically. Ida had been wearing that thing for years, and she never seemed to get any older or fatter.
The truth was that neither of the women were very pleased. Even when they’d both lived at Rata Station, they’d had little interest in each other.
Then a rather unpleasant thought occurred to Jane. If Ida was back, then her daughter Mara must be too. That could throw a very different light on Eru’s little excursion the night before.
“When did you arrive?” Jane asked.
Ida took the empty laundry basket under her arm.
“Yesterday evening,” she replied. “Would you like to come in for coffee? Oh, but you prefer tea, don’t you?”
But Jane felt a sudden urge to get home. “I won’t take either, thank you. I just wanted to talk to Cat for a moment. Where is she?”
Ida shrugged. “I assume she’s in the shearing shed. They’re finishing up today. Aren’t the shearers coming to you next? In any case, Cat and the others are getting ready to drive the herds to the highlands. Just go on over! Oh, and if you’re going anyway, perhaps you could bring something for me. I just baked.”
Before Jane could think up an excuse, Ida had disappeared into the house. She returned a few seconds later with a large tin pot of coffee and a huge bowl full of delicious-smelling muffins.
“This is a snack for the shearers,” Ida explained. “Can you carry all of this? Wait, I’ll get you a basket . . .”
Jane seethed at being demoted to the role of errand boy. What was more, the basket wasn’t exactly light. When Ida was out of sight, she put it down on a tree stump and helped herself to a muffin. She had to admit that Ida was an exceptionally good baker. If she happened to pass that skill on to her impertinent little daughter, there would be at least one point in Mara’s favor. Jane frowned grimly, vowing to talk to Eric as soon as she got home.
Jane struggled under the load on her way to the shearing shed, and was greeted there with enthusiasm. Chris, who knew her well enough to read her mind, grinned sarcastically. But no one else seemed to feel she had sacrificed any authority by appearing with coffee and muffins. As usual, Cat greeted her with an open smile. She was wearing a dirty riding habit and a sou’wester to protect her from the sun. Her hair was plaited into a thick braid, and she looked young too. Jane sometimes wondered if she herself was the only one around here who aged—or who had even grown up.
“Wonderful! A picnic,” Cat said happily, and slipped between two fence slats from the paddock where she’d been tending to a group of freshly shorn ewes. She took the basket of muffins from Jane with obvious pleasure. “Sorry about my appearance.” She looked down at herself with an impish grin, feigning a guilty look. Then she reached hungrily for one of the muffins. “Did you make these?”
She couldn’t possibly believe that. After all, there wasn’t e
ven a proper oven in the Maori village. Of course Jane could have gotten one if she’d wanted it, but she didn’t bake. She left Cat’s question unanswered and instead skipped immediately to the reason for her visit.
“I wanted to talk to you about the new ram.”
As expected, it wasn’t difficult to reach an agreement with Cat and Chris. Jane started the negotiations quickly and proceeded in a businesslike manner. If she felt any emotion, the only way to tell was that she ate another muffin after each sentence. Karl finally made a deft grab for the bowl to save at least some of the treats for the shearers in the shed. Otherwise, he didn’t offer any input, which Jane thought was little strange. After all, a third of Rata Station belonged to him.
“First thing tomorrow, we’ll have the twenty ewes sheared, and then we’ll bring them here,” Jane said in conclusion. “Thank you, Cat, Chris . . . Butler’s ram offers a welcome addition of new blood for our herd.”
Cat nodded. “For ours too,” she said kindly, which Jane once again interpreted as being patronizing.
After all, Rata Station had enough valuable rams of its own. For Cat, it was really just about new blood, not urgent improvements in her herd. And then Cat was even rude enough to ask if Jane needed more help.
“Shall we send Carol over with Fancy? She could pick up the ewes for breeding, and also help you corral the other sheep that need to be sheared. The dog needs constant practice, and there’s nothing else for her to do here before we drive the herd to the highlands.”
Jane clenched her jaw. “We have our own dogs,” she said defensively.
Her people worked with collie mixes that had good herding instincts. Unfortunately, no one had made an effort at training them properly. If they helped, it was good. If they didn’t, the Maori children herded the sheep themselves.
Cat shrugged. “I should get back to work. The shearers are starting up again.” A few sheep that had just been freed from their wool sprang out of the shed with obvious relief.
Jane turned to go, and she normally would have felt a sense of relief, too, when she headed for home. But today she had more serious things on her mind than just a few ewes and a ram. She still had to confront Eric about sneaking out the night before. And now he was out walking around on his own again! Jane would have liked to know the whereabouts of Ida’s daughter Mara.
Mara had been restless all morning. She didn’t want to help her mother with the baking, or the others with the shearing. She would have preferred to work with the horses, breaking in the three yearlings currently grazing in the pasture. That was usually Carol’s job, but aside from her work with the dog, she also had wedding preparations to deal with.
That morning, Mara listened with vague interest as Carol bid her fiancé farewell. Oliver was heading to Christchurch, but not without cornering Mara for a chat. He was obviously trying to keep up a gentlemanly, noncommittal tone, but the look in his eyes gave him away. Mara replied to his questions politely, but listened to his enthusiastic musings about rowing technique without the slightest indication of interest.
“He’s really serious about all that paddling around,” Mara said to Linda as Carol quickly kissed her fiancé before he departed. Cat, Chris, Ida, and Karl had already said goodbye at breakfast and were now going about their business on the farm. “I mean, the regatta is a lot of fun, but does it really matter who wins?”
Linda shrugged. “Oliver thinks it will officially make him into a gentleman,” she said flippantly. “Don’t ask me what Carol sees in him either. I think the marriage is just practical because he’s a neighbor.”
Mara grinned. “Then it would be even more practical if she married a Redwood! Too bad Edward and James are too old for her, and Timmy is too young.”
Timmy was Joseph and Laura Redwood’s older son, and he was just twelve. Aside from him, Joseph and Laura had two more boys—and a little girl who’d just been born. It had taken some time for Laura to get pregnant at first, but then the children had come quickly. Joseph’s brothers, Edward and James, were still unmarried.
Linda laughed. “Timmy wants to marry me. He gave me flowers last time I was over there with Mamaca. He’s a sweet boy. Maybe he’d be right for you.” She winked at Mara. “In a few years, the age difference won’t matter. And isn’t Eru a little younger than you too?”
Linda gazed inquiringly at Mara, who attempted to look innocent. She had been waiting all morning for her parents to bring up the subject of Eru and her tryst with him, but it looked like Chris Fenroy had decided to keep her secret. She certainly wasn’t about to give it away to Linda.
“A man from the Maori village would also be a possibility for Carol,” she deflected. “Actually, I’d much rather imagine Carol with a warrior than with this, um, gentleman.”
Linda giggled. “Ollie is really kind of a dud, isn’t he? Carol will soon be bored to death of him and his aristocratic mother. Good thing she has Fancy. Actually, the people at the farm Fancy came from also put on airs. Gwyneria Warden’s husband is like Oliver. But she’s a great talent with dogs and sheep. That’s how I imagine it working with Carol and Ollie. Do you have plans for today? Otherwise, maybe you can ride my horse. I’ve been busy in the shearing shed the last few days, and Brianna hasn’t even gotten out of the stall.”
Kiward Brianna, a strong Welsh cob, had come from the Warden farm like Fancy. Linda had fallen in love with the mare during a visit, and had assailed Cat and Chris so long with her pleas that they’d finally bought it for her. Cat had thought it only fair to give one of the sisters the dog, and the other the horse.
Mara shrugged. “I can do that.”
As she said it, another plan flashed through her head. Eru would be out with the other young warriors today. With a little luck, she’d be able to find them.
A little while later, she was sitting on the elegant brown mare, riding astraddle like all the women from Rata Station. Every time Ida sewed a riding habit, she made it with a divided skirt. It would have been terribly uncomfortable to ride Brianna sidesaddle, because she moved so powerfully. Mara happily urged her into a trot. She could understand Linda’s passion for the horse when the animal broke into a smooth canter and then fluidly began to gallop. Fast as the wind, Brianna sped toward the mountains. Mara stood in the stirrups and sensed the concentrated energy of the horse moving underneath her, feeling at one with the green land and the blue sky. Sometimes she understood what the tohungas meant when they encouraged their students to melt into trees or bushes and connect their spirits to those of other living beings. That was easiest for her with Eru.
Once Mara had left Rata Station and the Maori village so far behind that she could see the first of the tribe’s sacred sites, she slowed Brianna and attempted to concentrate on the presence of the chieftain’s son. She wasn’t always able to do it, but sometimes she thought she could hear Eru’s thoughts, even at a great distance.
Eru was sitting with the other young warriors on a rock that stuck out of the wide plains like the tip of an arrow. The rangatira, the experienced warrior who was leading the group, had told the story of this place. Two gods had been fighting over a goddess, and some mortal had died . . . But Eru hadn’t been listening very carefully. In any case, he thought he could feel the vibrations in the rock. Or was he sensing something else?
While the others closed their eyes and concentrated on the karakia, the prayer they used to gather their strength, Eru looked up and thought he saw a horse in the distance, the image flickering in the sunlight like a mirage. The horse carried a rider. It wasn’t Mara’s white steed, but he couldn’t help thinking it was her—which wasn’t really surprising, given that he thought of Mara constantly. The melody she’d played on the koauau the night before still rang in his head.
The horse’s hooves seemed to be gliding above the ground. Eru saw long dark hair blowing in the wind. He closed his eyes and opened them again. It was definitely Mara! Eru made up his mind.
“May I stay here?” he asked the old warrior who’d
indicated to the younger ones that they should follow him and move on.
The old tohunga didn’t talk very much; actually, he spoke with the spirits more often than he spoke to his students. Now he looked at Eru questioningly, and his gaze seemed to hypnotize the younger man.
“I—that is—I think this is a special place for me, full of power. I—” Eru stopped.
A slightly sarcastic smile spread over the old warrior’s face. “The place where a boy becomes a man is always a special one, Te Eriatara,” he remarked. “Just don’t offend the spirits with a lie.”
With that, he turned and led the other warriors toward the mountain. Eru expected to hear his friends laughing, but the boys didn’t dare. He touched the rock and felt nothing more than the sun-warmed stone. But then he saw Mara riding toward him. Her silhouette gradually gained dimension and clarity in the piercing sunlight.
“I was looking for you,” she said as the brown mare stopped in front of him.
Eru nodded. “You found me.”
She slid down from the horse and nestled in his arms.
This morning they would do more than kiss, and Eru knew that whatever happened would have the blessings of the spirits.
Chapter 10
Though Jane could barely contain her anger and worry, there was nothing to do but wait. As expected, Eru was still away when she returned from Rata Station. Jane wanted to send someone to look for him, but Te Haitara stopped her.
“Jane, the boy is out with his taua.” The taua was a group of warriors, technically the crew of a war canoe. “He would lose face with his friends and the rangatira if his mother checked up on him. Just wait until he returns. Nothing will happen to him. There’s no war going on, Raupo. They’re just visiting a few sacred sites to talk to the spirits.”
But Jane grew even more agitated when Te Ropata, the rangatira, finally returned with the other warriors and Eru was not among them.
When she furiously confronted Te Ropata, he ignored her. But at least he spoke to the chieftain after Jane badgered him into approaching the old man.