Call of the Kiwi (14 page)

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 tim
e . . .
”

“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 cycl
e . . .
” 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

A
lthough 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.”

Gloria smiled. “Will you paint me sometime too,
taua
?”

Tamatea looked at her searchingly. “On you it would look real. You have the blood of the Ngai Tahu.”

Gloria did not know why those words filled her with such pride. But after her conversation with Tamatea, she began to feel better than she had in a long time. It gave her the courage to approach her mother with her head held high.

William Martyn was overseeing the unloading of some crates of props as Tamatea and Gloria pulled up in front of the Ritz. A final good-bye concert was planned here before Kura and her troupe departed for the States.

“There you are, Tamatea. And Gloria! Wonderful to see you, my girl.” William kissed her fleetingly on the cheek. “Take her straight up to her mother, Tamatea. Kura will be happy to see you, Glory. You can give her a hand.” With that, he returned to his task.

Gloria’s heart beat heavily. What could she possibly help her mother with?

The suite was located on the top floor. Gloria entered the elevator with a slight shiver as always. So did Tamatea. “If the gods had wanted man to betake himself to Rangi’s arms, they would have given him wings,” she whispered to Gloria as the elevator boy told her about the wonderful view from that floor.

“Come in.” Kura seemed to sing even those simple words in her melodious voice.

“Gloria! Come in. I’ve been waiting for hours.” Kura Martyn had been sitting at the grand piano looking through some notes. Now she got up eagerly and went to Gloria. She still looked young and lithe; no one would have believed she had a nineteen-year-old daughter. Kura herself was only in her midthirties.

Gloria greeted her shyly and waited for the usual remarks: how big she’d grown and how adult she looked—her mother always seemed surprised that Gloria was growing up. Kura Martyn had only grown more beautiful in recent years. Her hip-length hair was still a deep black—though now artfully put up. Her clear skin was the color of creamy coffee, and her eyes shone an azure blue. Her heavy eyelids gave her a dreamy expression and her full lips were a delicate red. She had her clothing custom made without regard for current fashion, and the designs unfailingly emphasized her figure, flirting with and flattering her curves.

“You must help me a bit, dear. Marisa, my pianist, has gotten sick—and right before the farewell concert in England. A rather nasty flu. She can hardly stay on her feet.”

Gloria had a bad feeling.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to accompany us onstage. We know that you have stage fright.” Gloria could almost hear what Kura didn’t say:
Aside from the fact that you’re not very easy on the eyes
. Kura continued, “But I’ve just received a new arrangement. And it’s gorgeous, a sort of ballad. The
haka
takes place in the background, a simple dance. Tamatea taught it to the dancers in five minutes. And in the foreground the spirits tell the story at the heart of the ballad. First a piece of music for the piano and
putorino—
just the spirit voice, very ethereal—and then piano and singing. I would just love to take it onstage tomorrow. It would be a worthy finale but also make people hungry for new material. But Marisa can’t do it. If you play the piano part a few times, I’ll be able to practice the flute. Here’s the music. Sit down. It’s quite simple.”

Kura adjusted the piano stool for Gloria and took up the little flute she had laid on the piano. Gloria thumbed through the handwritten sheet music helplessly.

She had taken piano lessons for the last five years, and she did not lack dexterity. If she practiced long enough, she could even manage difficult pieces, but it was always an effort. Gloria had never sight-read music before. Her music teacher had always liked to first play the pieces they would be working on, pointing out trouble spots, and then going over them bar by bar.

Yet Gloria did not dare refuse now. With a will born of desperation, she struggled through the piece to please her mother. Kura listened, rather stunned, but did not interrupt her until she messed up for the third time on the same bar.

“An F-sharp, Gloria. Don’t you see the sign in front of the F? Surely you’ve played it before. My God, are you just playing dumb, or are you really so untalented? Try it again.”

Gloria, her nerves now completely shattered, tried but soon got stuck again.

“Maybe if you play it for me first?” she asked.

“Why should I play it for you? Can’t you read?” Kura pointed to the sheet music with frustration. “Heavens, girl, what are we to do with you? I thought I could use you, but it is clear I cannot. Go to your room. I’ll call the concierge. This is London, after all. We should be able to find a pianist who can assist me temporarily. And you’ll listen to her play, Gloria. Your teachers at school have clearly let your education slide.”

While her mother was on the phone, Gloria slunk around the suite until she finally found a room with a single bed. She threw herself on it and cried. She was ugly, useless, and dumb. She had no idea how she was supposed to survive the next six months.

Charlotte McKenzie needed two days to recover from the passage from Blenheim to Wellington. Jack was doing his best to make the trip pleasant, and Charlotte made every effort to enjoy it. She ate lobster in Kaikoura and pretended to care about the whales and dolphins they saw from a little boat. But the passage to the North Island had been too much for her. The sea was rough, and Charlotte never did have sea legs. She succumbed to vomiting again and again and was so dizzy by the end she could hardly walk. Jack practically carried her from the pier to the carriage and finally to the hotel room.

“We should leave for Auckland as soon as you feel better,” he said when she once again covered the windows and got out the wool wrap. However, warmth and darkness had long ceased to offer much relief. Only the opium tincture that Dr. Barrington had prescribed helped anymore, but that muted not only her headaches but also her feelings and perception.

“But there was so much you wanted to see,” Charlotte objected. “The rain forest. And Rotorua, the hot springs, the geysers.”

Jack shook his head furiously. “To hell with all the geysers and trees on the whole North Island. We came here to see Dr. Friedman. I only said it becaus
e . . .
”

“Because this is supposed to be a vacation,” she said gently. “And because you didn’t want me to worry.”

“But you wanted to go to Waitangi. We can drive past there,” Jack said, trying to calm himself.

Charlotte shook her head. “I only said that for the same reason.”

Jack looked at her helplessly. But then something came to him. “We can do it on the return trip. We’ll visit the doctor first. And once he’s said that everything’s all right, we’ll travel the island. Sound good?”

”Yes, we’ll do that,” she said quietly.

“By the way, it’s called Te Ika-a-Maui—Maui’s fish. The North Island, I mean.” Jack knew he was talking too much, but he could not bear to be silent. “The demigod Maui pulled it as a fish out of the sea.”

“And his brothers hacked at it to partition it out, creating the mountains, cliffs, and valleys,” Charlotte completed the story.

Jack admonished himself for his foolishness. Charlotte probably knew the Maori legend better than he did.

“He was a clever fellow anyway, that Maui,” she continued, lost in thought. “He could slow down the sun. When the days passed too quickly for him, he caught it and forced it to move more slowly. I’d like to do that too.”

Jack took her in his arms. “We’ll leave for Auckland tomorrow.”

Although a railroad connection had been in place for several years, the journey to Auckland could not be done in one day. The North Island Main Trunk Railway led up and down mountains, often through breathtakingly beautiful landscapes, but for Charlotte the journey was no less arduous than the sea passage.