White Feathers, page 29
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.
‘They make a lovely couple, don’t they?’ he said.
‘Joseph and Erin? Yes, they do, and I’m happy for them, I really am.’ She watched as he took a last draw on his cigarette then flicked the burning butt at a shrub. ‘I am, you know,’ she repeated. It was obviously important to her that he believed her.
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Good,’ she said, then added, ‘Can I have one of your smokes?’
Leaning against the potting table, Owen rolled two more cigarettes, lit them and handed her one.
‘Da doesn’t like me smoking, either,’ she reflected. ‘Although plenty of women smoke these days. Da’s a bit old-fashioned sometimes.’
‘He’s your father. He’s allowed to be.’
‘D’you think so?’
‘He loves you.’
Keely raised her eyebrows disdainfully at him. ‘It’s only smoking.’
Owen shrugged again, and they fell silent. There was laughter and a burst of applause from the direction of marquee and Owen turned towards it. ‘We’d better get back, I suppose.’
Keely reached out and took hold of his sleeve. ‘No. Come for a walk with me, up to the daffodil paddock. I don’t feel like going back just yet.’
He considered her for a moment, her shining eyes and the gleam of the porch light in her hair, and then, against his better judgment, nodded and proffered his arm.
They followed the path that bisected the kitchen garden, picking their way carefully as the light from the house faded, but as they neared the gate leading into the daffodil paddock, Keely suddenly stopped.
‘Hang on, I need to get something first.’
She reappeared several minutes later, with something clutched in her hand.
‘What have you got there?’ Owen asked.
She held it up and grinned wickedly. ‘Da’s brandy flask. Can’t go on a picnic without brandy.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
From the summit of the hill Keely and Owen could see the warm and welcoming lights of the homestead below. Immediately to the left was the translucent glow of the marquee and the individual torches placed strategically about the lawn so guests could find their way to and from the house, and to the right the stables and the darkened sheds housing the vehicles and farm implements. Between the sheds and the lower slopes of the daffodil paddock sat the black shape of the hay barn that serviced the flatter reaches of the station.
It was cold, and Owen removed his jacket and draped it around Keely’s shoulders. Reluctantly admitting to herself that you couldn’t in fact climb a steep, grassy hill in high heels after more than five glasses of sherry, she had taken her shoes and stockings off halfway up and left them sitting incongruously on a tree stump. Owen couldn’t see Keely’s bare feet in the dark, but he had no doubt they were purple with cold. She didn’t seem to mind though. Perhaps that was because since reaching the summit they’d imbibed at least half of the contents of Andrew’s brandy flask. Owen wondered if anyone had missed them yet.
Something small and hard stung the back of his hand and he looked up. The moon was too obscured by clouds to see anything much at all but a nebulous darkness above them, but he could smell the tang of rain on the wind. Another drop hit him, and then another, and he clambered unsteadily to his feet, pulling Keely up with him.
‘It’s going to pelt down. Come on, we need to get back.’
She laughed and pulled away from him. ‘Why? I like the rain!’
‘You won’t like this,’ Owen warned. ‘I think there’s a storm coming.’
Keely shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it back at him, just as the skies let go, the sudden, violent rain accompanied by a brilliant flash of lightning and an earsplitting crash of thunder. Within seconds they were both drenched. Keely spun around and around, her arms wide open and her face towards the sky, her eyes shut tight against the stinging rain.
Owen made a grab for her and she dodged out of his way, laughing wildly. He finally succeeded in hooking her by the neck of her dress, which was now plastered to her body, and began to half carry, half drag her back down the hill. She almost got away when he stopped to retrieve her shoes and stockings, but when another fork of lightning scattered sharp black shadows across the ground and thunder exploded almost directly above them, she seemed to suddenly appreciate the danger, and snatched at the front of his sopping shirt.
‘Down there!’ she yelled directly into his face, her breath heavy with brandy fumes.
‘What?’ Owen bellowed.
‘Down there!’ She gesticulated wildly towards the bottom of the hill as water cascaded from her flattened hair and down her face. ‘The barn, it’s closer!’
Owen turned to where she was pointing, then grabbed her hand and started to run. They both slipped over repeatedly before they reached the huge barn doors, which they found firmly shut against them. Dodging around the side to a smaller door, Owen shoved it open and they fell into the deep, musty blackness inside. The sound of the rain on the corrugated-iron roof far above was deafening.
He swore as he ferreted through his pockets for matches. After several soggy strikes, one finally caught and he held it up, its weak flare illuminating a small sphere around them.
‘Where’s the light?’ Keely asked.
Owen gestured back towards the door. ‘It’s over here somewhere.’
He groped around then tugged on a cord swinging gently down from the blackness. An insipid light came on. The barn was half empty, as some of the hay had already been fed out, but there were still stacks of it piled up in the back half of the building. In the gloom, halfway up the mountain of hay, Keely saw three pairs of unblinking yellow eyes — the barn cats, staring suspiciously back at her.
‘Oh, do excuse us,’ she said, and giggled.
Owen was smoothing water from his hair. ‘What?’
She pointed. ‘The cats. We’ve interrupted their sleep. Or their mousing, or whatever it is they do out here.’
They both ducked instinctively as another peal of thunder crashed overhead, the rolling boom reverberating around the inside of the barn.
‘Christ, that was close,’ muttered Owen nervously.
He wasn’t going to admit it but the thunder was disconcertingly reminiscent of the terrible and incessant racket of the big guns in France. He wondered how James and Joseph were faring.
He spread his drenched jacket over the closest heap of hay and sat down heavily, uncomfortable now in his wet clothes. Thank God it wasn’t too cold in here; they’d go back to the house when the rain slowed a little.
