Call of the Kiwi, page 27
part #3 of Neuseeland-Saga Series
Lilian’s heart thumped heavily as she slipped into the pub’s stables under cover of darkness. Only one horse was munching hay, and Ben was already there. Lilian almost screamed when he pulled her to him like a character in some film and kissed her.
“You’re crushing me,” she said. “Is the coast clear? Did anyone suspect anything?”
Ben shook his head. “They don’t think I’m capable of such a thing,” he said proudly.
The pair spent the next half hour exchanging caresses, lovers’ oaths, and complaints about the state of their lives.
“I’m simply no good at office work. And I don’t care at all for mining. I even had to go down in the mines.”
“And?” Lilian asked, riveted. “What was it like?”
“Dark,” Ben responded before it dawned on him that this was a rather weak description for a poet. “Dark as the grave,” he added.
Lilian frowned. “But don’t you have those modern mine lamps? Uncle Matt says the mines are lit up like a dance hall.”
“For me it was dark as hell.”
Lilian resisted the urge to remark that hell was probably rather well lit too.
“And I’m no good at all that balance-sheet work either. Recently I was off by almost a thousand dollars. My mother was livid.”
Lilian did not find that totally incomprehensible. Nevertheless she stroked her boyfriend’s cheeks comfortingly. “But surely they’re sending you back to university, aren’t they? After all, mining engineering is something that requires study. Oh, Ben, but then you’ll be even further away.”
As Lilian curled up against him, he dared to pull her down onto a pile of hay. She held still as he kissed her face—and then her neck and her cleavage. Lilian pushed her hands under his shirt and gently caressed his muscular chest and back.
“Next Thursday then?” she asked breathlessly when they finally parted.
Ben nodded. He felt very heroic.
Since their first meeting in the pub’s stables, Lilian’s happiness knew no bounds. She savored their secret love as well as the work for her father. The war demanded constant expansions of the mine’s production capacities, and Tim was always meeting with other mining engineers, railroad men, and businesspeople. Lilian even accompanied him to business meals and events from time to time, and Elaine observed with pleasure that Lilian flirted and danced at these. Though she suspected that her daughter still carried a torch for Ben Biller, she knew nothing about their secret meetings.
Florence Biller had even less of an idea, though she found plenty of other reasons to get upset about her eldest son. Ben’s obvious lack of interest in the mine and his inability to complete even the simplest tasks drove her to distraction. As Ben’s hopes of attending the University of Otago in Dunedin dwindled, his despair grew. Though his father pleaded that he be permitted to study a few semesters of mining engineering or economics, his pleas fell on Florence’s deaf ears.
“Mining engineering? Don’t make me laugh. Our Ben an engineer? He jumps for cover when the coffee machine boils,” she said. “Besides, he can learn far more about business from me than he can in Dunedin.”
Caleb could only hope that Florence’s interest in Ben would wane once Sam was old enough to work with her, and that way Ben would someday be able to pursue an academic career. Unfortunately, Ben lacked his father’s patience. Seeing no way out of his situation, he grew increasingly depressed.
“At least this way we’ll stay together,” Lilian comforted him. But not even that prospect could cheer him.
“What sort of way is this to be together?” he complained. “Perpetual secrecy, constant fear of being discovered. How long can this go on, Lily?”
“Until we turn twenty-one, of course,” she explained. “Then they can’t order us around anymore. We just have to hold out a little longer.”
“A little?” Ben asked despairingly. “That’s years from now.”
“True love is put to difficult tests. It’s always like that in books and songs.”
Ben sighed. “I’m considering running away and joining the army.”
Lilian was alarmed. “Anything but that, Ben. Then they’ll shoot you. Besides, you have to be twenty-one to join the ANZAC.”
“You can fool them, though. And I can prove that I was at Cambridge. Normally you have to be over eighteen for that.”
“But not twenty-one,” Lilian insisted, frightened. Roly O’Brien’s letters about Gallipoli made her blood freeze. War was romantic in books and songs, but the reality appeared otherwise. And Ben holding a gun? He would undoubtedly write wonderful verse about the heroism of his comrades, but she did not think him capable of shooting. She would have to think of something.
It was almost a month before Lilian saw Ben again, as she had accompanied her father to Blenheim for a conference. Lambert Mine was expanding to include a coke furnace. Ben received this information without interest, not realizing that his mother probably would have killed to be the first to know about it, and Lilian was much too distracted by Ben’s caresses to worry about the possible consequences of revealing any secrets.
After the long absence, Ben’s kisses tasted even sweeter—and they strengthened her resolve about the decision she had come to in Blenheim. A secret visit to the civil registry office had also contributed considerably.
“I’m seventeen now, you know. So I can marry.”
“Whom did you have in mind?” Ben asked, bravely opening the top buttons on her blouse.
“You, of course. It’s quite simple, really. We’ll take the train to Christchurch and then to Blenheim. From there, we’ll catch the ferry to Wellington. We can marry there. Or Auckland. That’s probably safer. They might look for us in Wellington.”
“But I don’t have any papers,” Ben objected. “They won’t believe I’m eighteen.”
“Seventeen’s old enough, for boys too. We can wait until your birthday. Besides, you only need to swear you’re not married anywhere else or related to me by blood or anything.”
Under twenty years of age, parental consent was also required, but Lilian did not burden Ben with that for now. She intended to forge her father’s signature, and she had even less compunction about doing so for Florence Biller.
“Then you can just study in Auckland. That works too, doesn’t it?”
Ben bit his lower lip.
“Perfectly,” he replied. “They take research of Maori culture very seriously. They’re even building a museum for artifacts. My father is very excited. He’s thinking of going to visit soon. If he catches us, though . . .”
Lilian groaned. Sometimes Ben was a bit too tentative for her taste.
“Once we’re married, Ben, we’re married. It’s not something you can easily undo. Besides, it would be easy to avoid your father in a city as big as Auckland.”
Ben nodded.
It was an intriguing possibility, though he still could not really imagine it. His heart hammered at the mere thought of fleeing to the North Island. He would never dare go through with it.
2
Gwyneira McKenzie had always thought that Kiward Station’s manor house was too big. Even when she had shared it with her family, many rooms had stood empty. Gwyneira had never felt lonely, though—that is, until James and Charlotte died, Jack joined the army, and Gloria disappeared. She fled the empty house to the stables and shearing sheds whenever she could, but now it was June of 1916, and winter had descended. While battles raged across the planet, a ghostly quiet hung over Kiward Station. Outside, the gentle rain so typical of the Canterbury Plains was falling. The animals withdrew into the shelters, and the farmworkers had probably retreated to play poker in the stables.
Gwyneira was worried about Jack—he had not written for an eternity, and yet he must long since have left that beach in Turkey. Gallipoli. Although Gwyneira still did not know how to pronounce it properly, it was no longer necessary to know. After a final, desperate offensive, the British had given up the beachhead and withdrawn the ANZAC troops. Apparently in fine shape and with hardly any reported casualties. Though the newspapers in Christchurch celebrated the news as a victory, it was nothing but a grandiose failure. And Jack probably did not want to admit it. Gwyneira thought that could be the only explanation for his silence.
But she worried about Gloria most of all. It had been more than a year since she had disappeared from the hotel in San Francisco, and no one had heard from her since. The private detectives that her parents had hired had turned up nothing. Gloria could be anywhere. George Greenwood, who knew San Francisco, had even gone so far as to suggest that she might not have made it out of that den of sin alive.
“Sorry, Mrs. McKenzie, but food ready.” Kiri, her old housekeeper, opened the door to Gwyneira’s small study.
Gwyneira sighed. “I’m not hungry, Kiri, and I wouldn’t be able to eat a thing if you serve me in the dining room. I’ll come to you in the kitchen, and we’ll have a bite together, if that’s all right with you?”
Kiri nodded. Both she and Moana, the cook, had been more like friends than servants to Gwyneira for many years. They had not prepared a large meal anyway, just roasted fish and cooked sweet potatoes.
“Rongo Rongo say Gloria not dead,” Moana said soothingly when Gwyneira only put a few morsels on her plate. “She consulted spirits, tikki say her heart sings sad songs but is not far.”
“Thank you, Moana,” Gwyneira said, forcing a smile.
In the salon, the telephone rang, startling Kiri and Moana.
“Spirits call,” Moana said, but made no motion to go answer the phone. Kiri was braver—and more curious. The strange little box from which voices emanated struck both Maori women as eerie. To be honest, Gwyneira felt similarly, though she appreciated its advantages. When Kiri returned, she turned to Gwyneira.
“Call from Dunedin, says operator. We take it?”
“Of course.” Gwyneira stood up. She had been expecting a call back from the veterinarian in Christchurch who had a new worming medicine for sheep. But Dunedin?
She waited patiently while the operator patched her through.
“You can talk now,” an enthusiastic voice finally said. Gwyneira sighed. The operator in Haldon was infamous for listening in on every conversation and discussing the contents with her friends.
“This is Kiward Station, Gwyneira McKenzie speaking.”
It was quiet for a moment. Then came a sort of coughing and a choked voice.
“Grandmum? It’s, it’s Gloria.”
Gwyneira would not hear of anyone else picking up her great-granddaughter from Dunedin.
“Will you manage all right, even with the long train ride?” Miss Bleachum fretted. Since Gloria had not managed more than a few words beyond her greeting, Gwyneira had spoken in considerably more detail with the teacher. Gwyneira could hardly make sense of it, but that might have had to do with her racing heart. All that mattered was that Gloria was alive, and she was in New Zealand.
“Of course I’ll survive a train ride; I don’t have to pull the car myself,” she replied with her usual determination. “I’m not taking any more chances. I’m not leaving the girl alone again under any circumstances. Please have her stay with you, and I’ll be there in no more than three days. Take good care of her!”
Ignoring her age, Gwyneira danced through the salon, then back to the kitchen with a glass of champagne in her hand.
“I’m going to Dunedin, girls, to pick up Gloria. Oh yes, and Rongo Rongo should come get a sack of seeds from you. She did well with her spirits.”
Gwyneira knew something was amiss as soon as she spotted Gloria and Miss Bleachum on the train platform in Dunedin. In her high-necked, navy-blue traveling outfit, Gloria appeared to be nervously clinging to Miss Bleachum’s hand. In fact, they both looked a bit spinsterish. Even Gwyneira’s own outfit was more modern and colorful than Gloria’s. Overjoyed at her great-granddaughter’s return home, Gwyneira had finally laid aside her sad black dress and donned a deep marine-blue traveling dress with white trim on the collar and cuffs. A matching hat sat pertly on her now white hair.
“Gloria!” Gwyneira blinked through her lorgnette, which she found more elegant than the unflattering glasses she owned. Though her eyes were still quite sharp for her age, she wanted to be able to see her long-lost great-granddaughter. “You’ve grown up.”
Gwyneira’s smile and her words concealed the chill that ran through her upon closely examining Gloria. The girl did not merely look grown-up; she looked old. Her eyes were almost expressionless. Her behavior, however, was almost childishly fearful. Miss Bleachum had to gently remove Gloria’s hand from her own and push her toward her great-grandmother. When Gwyneira embraced her, she sensed that Gloria found the contact unpleasant.
“Gloria, dear, I’m so happy you’re back. How did you even manage it? You must tell me everything.”
Gwyneira held Gloria’s hands firmly. They were ice cold.
A shadow flitted across Gloria’s face. Though her face still showed the traces of a suntan, she seemed to turn pale.
“Naturally you don’t have to, Gloria,” Miss Bleachum said softly, giving Gwyneira a meaningful look. “Gloria prefers not to speak about her experiences. We only know that she traveled through China and Australia.”
Gwyneira nodded in amazement. “To undertake such a journey alone! I’m proud of you, my dear.”
At that, Gloria burst into tears.
Gwyneira accompanied Miss Bleachum and Gloria back to the school and endured a tense teatime with them. Mrs. Lancaster joined them, and the teachers did everything they could to bring about a conversation between Gloria and her great-grandmother, but to no avail. Unable to lift her gaze from her plate, Gloria answered Gwyneira’s questions monosyllabically while picking apart her tea cake.
“Do you plan to take the night train, Mrs. McKenzie, or can I offer you lodging for the night?” Mrs. Lancaster asked solicitously.
Gwyneira shook her head. “Taking that trip twice in the same day would be a bit much for my old bones. I’ve booked a hotel room in Dunedin. But if you’d be so good as to call us a taxi.”
At the words “us” and “hotel,” Gloria turned white as chalk. Gwyneira saw that she was giving Miss Bleachum beseeching looks, but the teacher shook her head. Gwyneira could no longer follow along. Did Gloria not want to go? It looked as if she were scared to death of leaving the school. Gwyneira considered accepting Mrs. Lancaster’s offer to stay the night, but then she changed her mind. That would only push the problem off another day. Besides, then she would have to give up the plan to go shopping in Dunedin the next morning. And if she had correctly understood Miss Bleachum, Gloria desperately needed a few new things.
“Would you go fetch your things then, dear?” she asked, pretending not to notice Gloria’s reluctance. “Or haven’t you packed yet? Nothing wrong with that. Surely Miss Bleachum will help, and I can chat a bit with Mrs. Lancaster in the meantime.”
Sarah Bleachum took the hint and withdrew with Gloria. Mrs. Lancaster confirmed Gwyneira’s impressions. “It’s undoubtedly right to take the girl today, and she does need new clothing. She only owns two outfits. I’ve suggested to Miss Bleachum more than once that they go shopping for her; we would have loaned her the money. But Gloria did not want to.”
Gwyneira arched her brows. “Then she didn’t select that, hmm, ensemble with the help of you ladies?”
Mrs. Lancaster laughed. “Mrs. McKenzie, this is a girls’ school, not a convent. Our students wear normal school uniforms, but outside school hours we don’t force them to dress like medieval schoolmarms. Personally I find that even Miss Bleachum . . . but let’s forget that. She no doubt has reasons for, well, suppressing her femininity. And I fear Gloria does too. You’ll have to have a great deal of patience with her.”
Gwyneira smiled. “I have all the patience in the world. At least with dogs and horses. It sometimes fails me with people, but I’ll do my best.”
“You’re a widow?”
A shadow fell across Gwyneira’s face. “Yes, for almost two years now. I’ll never really get used to it.”
“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to stir up old sorrows. It’s only that . . . do any men live in your household, Mrs. McKenzie?” Mrs. Lancaster bit her lip.
“Mrs. Lancaster, I run a sheep farm”—she smiled—“not a convent. We employ shepherds and managers, and a Maori tribe lives on our land. What do you mean by the question?”
Mrs. Lancaster was clearly struggling to answer. “Gloria has trouble around men, Mrs. McKenzie. What is, what is with this Jack? Gloria told us about him, and I think Jack is the main reason she’s afraid of returning home.”
Gwyneira glared at the headmistress, vacillating between astonishment and rage. “She’s afraid of Jack? But my son would never make her uncomfortable. They always had a wonderful relationship. Besides, Jack doesn’t live on Kiward Station at the moment. He’s in the army.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. McKenzie—unless you’re one of those women who can hardly wait to send their boys to war. But that should make Gloria’s reacclimatization easier.”
