Call of the Kiwi, page 11
part #3 of Neuseeland-Saga Series
Lilian ignored her.
“Uncle George!” she exclaimed and flew into the arms of George Greenwood. The primary shareholder in the Lambert Mine had been a frequent guest of her parents in Greymouth, and Lilian’s mother had been calling him uncle ever since she was a child. For Lilian and her brothers he was likewise almost family.
“How nice of you to come,” Lilian said warmly. She even had some charm left over for Miss Arrowstone. “Alison told me I had a special visitor, so I changed quickly,” she explained.
Miss Arrowstone snorted, disbelieving.
“In any event, you look enchanting, child,” George declared. “But have a seat first before we get to the reason for my visit, which unfortunately is not a happy one.”
Lilian turned pale. She did not know if she was permitted to sit in Miss Arrowstone’s office. But if so, it was because exceptionally bad news awaited her.
“Is something wrong with Mummy, with Daddy?”
George shook his head. “They’re well. Forgive me, Lily, if I scared you. Your brothers are also well. It’s just that I’m concerned. I think that I’m not making myself very clear just now.”
He smiled apologetically.
“But what is it then?” Lilian asked, still standing, and shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
“You may sit,” Miss Arrowstone said graciously.
Lilian sat down on the edge of a visitor’s chair.
“Maybe you’ll be pleased about what I’m here to tell you,” he remarked. “Though your parents told me that you’re very happy here. That speaks well for your motivation and this school.” Another nod, this time in the direction of Miss Arrowstone. “But nevertheless, I’ve been charged with taking you home on the next ship.”
“What? Home? To Greymouth? Now? But why? I, I mean, I just have one year left.” But she was thinking only of Ben. The room seemed to spin.
“Haven’t you heard of the assassination in Sarajevo, Lilian?” her uncle asked. He looked at Miss Arrowstone, this time punitively, when Lilian shook her head.
“On the twenty-eighth of June. The heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne was murdered.”
Lilian shrugged. “I’m very sorry for Austria-Hungary,” she said politely, but completely disinterested. “And naturally for the family of his imperial highness.”
“His wife was also shot. Well-informed circles in Europe are afraid it will lead to an outbreak of war. The government of Austria-Hungary has already made an ultimatum to Serbia to put the assassin on trial. If that doesn’t happen, they’ll declare war on Serbia.”
“And?” Lilian asked. She only had a vague idea of where Serbia and Austria were on the map, but as far as she knew, both countries were far from Cambridge.
“Several alliances will come into play then, Lilian,” George informed her. “I can’t explain the details here, but war’s been smoldering in several parts of the world. Once the fuse is lit, Europe will go up in flames, perhaps the whole world. It’s unlikely there will be fighting in Australia and New Zealand, but your parents and I don’t think England will be safe, and certainly not the sea. That’s why we want you home before anything happens. Maybe it’s overly cautious, as your teacher here believes”—George indicated Miss Arrowstone with his chin—“but we don’t want to take any chances.”
“But I want to stay here!” Lilian screamed. “My friends are here and . . .” She blushed.
George Greenwood smiled conspiratorially. “And perhaps a boyfriend? Perhaps all the more reason to hurry you home?”
Lilian said nothing.
“Well, it doesn’t really matter how you feel about it,” Miss Arrowstone remarked with drawn lips. “Just as this gentleman and your parents seem rather indifferent to my opinion on your completing your education in New Zealand. If I have understood Mr. Greenwood correctly, a ship is leaving London on July twenty-eighth for Lyttelton. A ticket has been booked for you. You’ll be traveling to London with Mr. Greenwood tonight. You may skip choir. Your friends can help you pack.”
Lilian wanted to throw a fit, but saw that there would be no sense in it. Then something struck her hard.
“What about Gloria?”
“So the war has begun?” Elizabeth Greenwood asked, balancing her teacup delicately between two fingers.
Charlotte did not hold hers quite so properly. Looking pale and nervous, she wrapped her hands around the fine porcelain as if to warm herself. The war in Europe was of no interest to her. She was much too preoccupied by her upcoming appointment with Dr. Alistar Barrington, a young internist with a reputation that extended far beyond Christchurch. Charlotte and Jack had had spent the night at her parents’ house, wrapped in each other’s arms and in a shared fear they did not want to voice aloud. Each had pretended to be more relaxed than the other. But now Jack showed his anxiety by talking more than usual.
“Austria-Hungary has declared war on Serbia,” he explained. “That means the German Empire will get involved. Apparently they’re already mobilizing. And Russia is allied with Serbia, France with Russia.”
“Well, at least England has nothing to do with it,” she said, relieved. “It’s bad enough that the others will be knocking their heads together.”
Jack shook his head. “George sees it differently. Great Britain has alliances with France and Russia. Maybe it will hold off at first. But over time . . .”
“Do you think it will it be a long war?” Charlotte asked.
Jack shrugged, but stroked her hand soothingly. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about war, love. But it will hardly reach us here. Don’t worry.”
Jack glanced at his pocket watch.
“It’s time, dear. Are you ready?”
Charlotte nodded. Jack looked just as anxious and miserable as she felt.
“Of course,” she said with a forced smile. “I only hope the doctor won’t keep us long. You don’t mind if we visit the lady’s tailor afterward, do you?” Her voice sounded pinched.
Jack shook his head, likewise striving for a casual smile. “I promised my father I’d pick up some scotch too. He claims nothing helps more with joint pain than rubbing them with good scotch. Not to mention the internal application.”
Everyone laughed, but only Elizabeth actually seemed untroubled. Charlotte had experienced migraines her whole life. And she remained firmly convinced that these headaches, too, would prove to be nothing.
“Gloria!” George Greenwood was surprised. He had naturally expected Lilian when the proprietress of the pub where he’d just finished his supper announced that he had a visitor.
A perspiring, somewhat big-boned brunette now stood in front of him in an ill-fitting, pale-blue school uniform. George had known her as a happy child who had had been proud of “being one of the boys,” as Gwyneira had laughingly described her. She was a bold rider, and he had watched, fascinated, as she had worked side by side with Jack during the shearing. She was so lively and skilled in the execution of her duties on the farm that George had easily overlooked her shyness toward strangers and her occasional awkwardness at social events.
The girl now standing before him had nothing in common with that self-assured little rider and dog trainer. Although she was close to tears, Gloria tried hard to maintain the anger that had moved her to this spontaneous action. Lily’s report of Greenwood’s appearance, her outrage at her parents’ decision, and the trouble over this “stupid war” that was ruining her rendezvous with Ben had caused Gloria to boil over. For the first time since her days with Miss Bleachum, Gloria had left school without permission and run through the park, leaping up into the escape tree. On the other side she came upon the blond boy Lilian was so crazy about. He must have been frantic with worry, as five o’clock had long since passed.
“Do you have any news about Lily?” he asked as Gloria slid down to the ground in front of him. “Why hasn’t she come?”
Gloria had no desire to bother with him.
“Lilian is going home,” she explained curtly. “There’s a war.”
Ben began bombarding her with questions, but she rushed off to the village. She had not asked Lilian where she would find George Greenwood, but there were not many possibilities. Gloria found him straightaway in the first pub.
“It’s not right!” she blurted out. “You have to take me, Uncle George. Maybe Jack doesn’t care about me anymore now that he’s married, but I have a right to be at Kiward Station. You can’t take Lilian and leave me. That just won’t do.”
Gloria’s eyes filled with tears.
George was taken off guard. He knew how to conduct tough negotiations with merchant houses all over the world. But nothing had prepared him for crying girls.
“Now, now, have a seat, Gloria. I’ll have them bring you some tea. Or would you prefer lemonade? You look thirsty.”
Gloria shook her head, causing her wild locks to free themselves from the careless knot she had tied at the nape of her neck.
“I don’t want tea or lemonade. I want Kiward Station.”
“You’ll have that, too, eventually, Gloria,” he said, trying to calm her. “But first things first. What’s this nonsense about Jack, Gloria? Of course he still cares about you. Gwyn told me expressly to intervene with your parents when she heard that the Lamberts were bringing Lilian home. I can show you the telegrams.”
Gloria’s already tense features tightened further. She bit her lip.
“My parents don’t want me to go? They don’t care what will happen to me if there’s a war?”
Until that moment Gloria had not wasted a thought on the actual outbreak of war. But now it dawned on her that perhaps Lilian’s parents were not acting on a whim but out of serious concern.
“Certainly not, Gloria. On the contrary, your father may see the political situation more clearly than I. He’s been living in Europe a long time, after all. As far as I know, you’re likewise to leave school. At least for a while. William hopes the war will end soon and that you can properly finish your education. But this summer you’ll be accompanying your parents to America. The tour has been planned for a long time, and for the moment there’s no expectation that the United States will enter the war. The trip is supposed to last six months since the distance between venues is so vast. There won’t be a performance every day. Kura will have more time to herself than usual, and she’s looking forward to getting to know you better.”
George smiled at Gloria as if he had just given her good news. But Gloria still seemed to be fighting back tears.
“To America? Even further away?” What could her mother possibly want from her? Gloria had hardly exchanged more than a few words with her during the last three summers they had spent together. And those words had rarely been edifying. “Don’t stand in the way, Gloria”; “Pay a little more attention to what you wear, Gloria”; “Why don’t you play the piano more often?” Gloria could not imagine that spending more time with her mother would bring them closer together.
“And after that, I’m to return to school?” Gloria was already almost nineteen, older than most of the other pupils at Oaks Garden. She had had enough of boarding school.
“I suppose we’ll see when the time comes. Just let things take their course, Gloria. I can only tell you that it has nothing to do with your relatives in New Zealand. As Gwyn sees it, you could come back tomorrow.”
George wanted to offer to have Gloria driven back to the school in his carriage, but when she walked out, exhausted and defeated, he did not dare follow. She might break down crying—a scene he would not have known how to handle.
He determined to speak once more with Gwyneira, James, and Jack when he arrived home. There had to be some way of changing William’s and Kura’s minds. This girl was as unhappy as could be. And traveling across America clearly wasn’t going to raise her spirits.
“I can’t really make a diagnosis, Mrs. McKenzie,” Dr. Barrington said after thoroughly examining Charlotte. “But I am deeply concerned. It’s still possible you merely suffer from migraines. It often happens that they become more frequent. But combined with the vertigo, the weight loss, your, hmm, irregular cycle . . .” Charlotte had blushingly admitted that, despite their best efforts, her desire for a child remained unfulfilled.
“Is it something serious?” Jack asked. The young doctor had just called him in; he had spent the last hour quaking and praying on a hard chair in the waiting room.
“Unfortunately, it might be,” he said.
Jack’s nerves were strained to the breaking point. “Maybe you shouldn’t keep us on tenterhooks and just tell us what it might be.”
Charlotte gave the impression she did not want to know. But Jack was a man who liked to look danger in the eye.
“Like I said, I can’t make a diagnosis. But a few of your symptoms—though I can’t be at all sure—could indicate a brain tumor.”
“And what would that mean?” Jack pressed.
“I can’t say for certain, Mr. McKenzie. It would depend on where the tumor is located, if it’s even possible to locate it, and how quickly it’s growing. All of that has to be examined. But I can’t do it.”
At least the man was honest. Charlotte put her hand into her husband’s.
“Does that mean I’m going to die?” she asked hoarsely.
“For the moment none of it necessarily means anything. I think you should see Dr. Friedman in Auckland as quickly as possible. He’s a brain specialist who studied with Professor von Bergmann in Berlin. If there’s a brain expert and surgeon in this part of the world, then it’s him.”
“You mean, he’ll cut the tumor out of me?” Charlotte asked.
“If it’s possible,” Barrington said. “But you shouldn’t brood on it for the time being. Make the journey to Auckland and consult Dr. Friedman. But approach it calmly. Make a vacation of it. Take in the sights on the North Island. And try to forget what I’ve said. You may come back in a month, and your wife will be pregnant. With migraines, as with problems conceiving, I recommend a change of air.”
Charlotte held Jack’s hand in a vise grip when they stepped back onto the street.
“Do you still want to go to the lady’s tailor?” he asked quietly.
Charlotte wanted to nod bravely, but then she saw his face and shook her head. “And you? Do you want to buy the whiskey?”
Jack pulled her closer to him. “I’ll buy tickets to Blenheim. And then for the ferry to the North Island. For our vacation.” His voice sounded gravelly.
Charlotte leaned in to him. “I’ve always wanted to see Waitangi,” she said quietly.
“And the rain forests,” Jack added.
“Tane Mahuta.” Charlotte smiled. The Maori considered the massive kauri tree in the Waipoua Forest to be the god of the forest.
“Maybe not that,” Jack whispered. “I don’t want anything to do with gods who separate lovers.”
4
Although Great Britain had been mobilized since the beginning of August, no one at Oaks Garden initially paid any notice to the war. Everyone assumed it would be a short war and volunteers flocked to the banners.
Gloria was fixated on her departure, which was set for August 20. The Martyns would be traveling with a small troupe and would recruit more dancers in America; Maori ancestry was no longer considered so important. Most of the singers and dancers coming along had been with the troupe for years and knew how to train new performers. One of them, Tamatea, appeared on August 19 to fetch Gloria.
Miss Arrowstone was decidedly ungracious when she called the girl into her office. Tamatea spread her arms out when Gloria entered.
“Gloria! Haere mai! I’m happy to see you.”
Tamatea’s whole face shone, and Gloria willingly fell into her arms.
“I’m happy too, taua,” Gloria said. Her Maori was rusty, but she still remembered the greetings. Tamatea was clearly delighted at having been greeted as her grandmother. She belonged to the same generation as Kura’s mother, Marama, and came from the same tribe. Thus, even though they were not related, she was considered to be among Gloria’s “grandparents.” And Tamatea had been the next best thing to a relative for Gloria when she was touring with her parents.
“It seems your parents could not find the time to pick you up,” Miss Arrowstone said pointedly.
Tamatea nodded. “Yes. There’s a great deal to do to prepare. That’s why they sent me. Are you ready, Gloria? Then let’s go!”
Gloria delighted in the appalled expression on Miss Arrowstone’s face. A short while later, they were on their way. The journey with Tamatea was much more pleasant than it would have been with William or Kura. The last few times, when her father had picked her up, conversation had been limited to an examination of the subject matter of the previous school year and a thorough description of Kura’s successes, interspersed with complaints about the cost of dancers and transportation.
“Are you excited about America, taua?” Gloria inquired once she was sitting with Tamatea in the carriage to Cambridge. As Oaks Garden disappeared into the horizon, Gloria did not look back.
Tamatea shrugged. “For me, one country is like another,” she said. “None is like that of the Ngai Tahu.”
Gloria nodded sadly. “Will you go back someday?”
The older woman nodded. “Certainly. Maybe even soon. I grow too old for the stage. At least that’s what your parents think. At home it is not unusual for grandmothers to dance and sing. But here only young people do that. I hardly perform anymore. Mostly I apply makeup to the girls—and I train them. The makeup is important. I paint the old tattoos on the faces. Then people can’t see that the dancers aren’t real Maori.”
