Call of the Kiwi (47 page)

4

G
wyneira McKenzie had never been a particularly patient person, and her advancing age had done nothing to change that. The summer had made the greatest demands on her forbearance: first Gloria’s return and rejection, then her leave-taking for the migration with the Maori, and now Jack. Though Elaine’s visit had lifted Gwyneira’s spirits a bit, Jack continued to slip like an aggrieved ghost through the house, and Gwyneira had heard nothing from Gloria.

Her feelings finally caught up with her on the day the Maori returned from their migration. Kiri and Moana asked to leave early after preparing a simple dinner for Gwyneira and Jack.

“Tribe back. We celebrate,” Moana declared happily.

Gwyneira waited for Gloria to appear. As morning gave way to afternoon and there was no sign of her, Gwyneira knocked on the door to Jack’s room. When no one answered, she ripped the door open. Her son lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. He seemed not to have heard her knocking. Tuesday, who had been lying near his feet, sprang up and barked a greeting. Gwyneira motioned her away.

“I don’t know what you’re up to that’s so important in here,” she roared at her son, “but you’ll have to interrupt it for a couple of hours to ride down to the Maori village. The tribe is back. And I’d like—no, I insist—that Gloria make an appearance here before the day is over. That’s not asking too much, damn it all. She’s had the whole summer to herself. But I want to know she’s well, and I’d like to hear what she’s done over the last few months. Even if it’s no more than ‘It was fine, Grandmum.
’ ”

Jack got up slowly. “I don’t know, shouldn’t we wait until sh
e . . .
”

He did not know what he was feeling. He had been longing to see Gloria since Maaka had announced that morning that the tribe was returning, but he was afraid of how Gloria might react to the sight of him. Would she be startled like most people? Would she be sympathetic? Contemptuous? Jack condemned himself sometimes for his weakness, and he saw deprecation in the eyes of other men as well. That young shepherd, for example, Frank Wilkenson, still believed in the glory of Gallipoli. He had wanted to hail Jack as a hero, but when he saw what the war had made of him, he thought Jack a worthless coward.

“No, Jack, no, I won’t wait any longer,” Gwyneira said, pacing the room. “And if there’s a wedding taking place over there, be so kind as to drag the bride away and bring her here before she lies down with that Wiremu in the sleeping lodge.”

Jack almost had to laugh. His mother had never been a prude, but he had never heard her speak so explicitly.

“I’d be happy to try, Mother, but I’m afraid Tonga will run me through for it. Besides, he would have invited you. There’s no way he’d pass up that opportunity.”

Gwyneira snorted. “He would have bade me come tomorrow,” she said melodramatically, “to see the blood on the sheets.”

Jack didn’t bother reminding her that most Maori girls had long since ceased to be virgins by the time they selected a husband. If Gloria had decided to marry Wiremu, surely he was not her first lover. Jack felt anger and a flash of sadness at the thought. Jealousy? He shook his head. That was nonsense. Gloria was a child. And he ought to be able to grant her happiness should she find it in Wiremu’s arms.

Jack’s horse, Anwyl, was waiting in its stable. Tuesday danced enthusiastically around him.

“Should I saddle him for you, Mr. McKenzie?” Frank Wilkenson asked with barely concealed contempt. Over the past few months Jack had occasionally taken him up on the offer. Now he was ashamed of that.

“No, I’ll do it myself.” He overcame the wave of weakness that washed over him as he lifted the heavy saddle.

“I’m riding to the Maori village,” he said curtly. “I should be back in two hours.” Then he chided himself for announcing his departure like a girl going out for a ride alone. He would never have done that before. But before he had been invincible.

“Understood, Mr. McKenzie; round up the lost daughter.” Frank Wilkenson grinned insinuatingly.

Jack briefly thought about firing him, but could not summon the energy.

As Jack approached the village, he saw people dressed for a festival gathered in front of the meeting hall
.
Jack alighted to call out the ritual greeting and request an invitation to enter the
marae
. Normally the Maori would have long since noticed his arrival, but today all eyes were focused on the meeting hall. Suddenly a girl broke away from the group and began to walk calmly away. At first Jack supposed her to be a priestess performing some ceremony, as the girl was wearing the traditional hemp skirt and woven torso covering in tribal colors. Once she had rounded the corner, however—and could no longer be seen from the
wharenui
—she began to run toward the sparse woods that Jack had just emerged from—and almost right into Jack and Anwyl.

When the young woman saw the man and horse, she stopped in her tracks, startled. Her eyes flashed as she looked up at him.

Jack found himself looking into a wide face that was nonetheless narrower than that of most Maori women. The artfully painted
moko
made the girl’s eyes appear larger, and he immediately noticed her blue eyes. Jack stared at the woman. She was young, but no longer a child; she had to be around twenty.

“Let me past!” The girl displayed no fear or recognition—simply naked, seething rage.

Jack was shocked when he saw a knife blade glint in her hand.

He raised the palms of his hands defensively, then uttered a single word.

“Gloria?”

The girl trembled. Then she appeared to calm down and took a moment to look at him.

Jack waited, searching her eyes for any signs that she recognized him. For sympathy, for shock, for rejection. But Gloria’s face merely showed exhaustion and weariness.

“Jack.”

Jack looked at her more closely. Ten years had passed since that little girl, face streaming with tears, had exacted that impossible promise from him: “If it gets really bad, will you come get me?”

“I’m supposed to take you home,” he said quietly.

“You’re late.” She remembered.

“You managed without me. And you, you’r
e . . .
”

He did not know how to put his impression of her into words. Gloria’s Maori and
pakeha
features came together not in an ethereal whole as with Kura but in a seeming tension between cultures. And a strange expression filled Gloria’s eyes. As old as the world—and yet rebellious, combative, young.

“Do you want to come along?” he asked.

Gloria nodded. “I was on my way.”

“In that outfit . . . Don’t get me wrong, you look beautiful, bu
t . . .
”

“I’ll change at home.”

Determined, Gloria started off.

“Don’t you want to ride with me?” Jack asked—and was suddenly aware of the awkwardness of his words. Gloria was no longer a child whom he could let sit behind him on the horse’s croup. Let alone with bare legs in that short skirt. Then again, nothing had prepared him for the wild, almost panicked look in Gloria’s eyes.

“That, that wouldn’t be proper,” she finally said, regaining her composure.

Jack suppressed a bitter laugh. The old Gloria would never have considered what a lady ought to do.

“Then ride alone,” he replied. “Sitting like a lady. You still know how, don’t you?”

Gloria gave him a mocking look. “When you can’t ride anymore, you’re dead.”

Jack smiled and gave her Anwyl’s reins as he dismounted. Once she’d mounted the horse, he began walking alongside her. It was a long way, but Jack did not feel tired. On the contrary, he felt more energized than he had in a long time.

“You have a horse on Kiward Station,” he said after a while. “Do you want to ride again?”

“Of course,” Gloria said.

It did not sound like she intended to continue living with the Ngai Tahu. Jack considered whether to ask her about Wiremu, but he decided against it. Behind them there was rustling in the bushes. Jack started, wheeling around ready to defend himself—and noticed that Gloria did the same. Both of them laughed apprehensively when Nimue burst out of the shadows. She greeted Jack enthusiastically, Tuesday somewhat less so. They walked along in silence for a bit.

“I’m happy you’re here, Gloria.”

“It’s my land,” she said calmly.

Her confidence disappeared, however, when they reached Kiward Station’s stables and Frank Wilkenson took the horse. He had been drinking whiskey with a few other shepherds in the next room, and they all ogled Gloria’s short skirt. She blushed. Jack took off his jacket and gave it to her.

“We should have done that earlier,” he said. Now they could only slip in through the kitchen and hope to evade Gwyneira.

However, she was waiting in the passage to the supply rooms. She was still wearing her housedress from that afternoon and looked beleaguered. Jack had never seen her looking so old. He thought he could detect traces of tears on her cheeks.

“What have you brought me here, Jack?” she asked with a hard voice. “A Maori bride? I didn’t mean it seriously. You didn’t have to steal her away. She’ll just run back to her tribe at the next opportunity.” Gwyneira turned to her great-granddaughter. “Couldn’t you have at least invited me, Gloria? Couldn’t we have celebrated it here? Do you hate me so much that I had to learn from the cook that my great-granddaughter was getting married?”

Jack frowned. “Who said anything about getting married, Mother? Gloria wanted to take part in a dance. But then she changed her mind. She was on her way home when I found her.”

“You’ve always lied for her, Jack. So, Gloria, how it is this supposed to work? Do you want to live with Wiremu here? Or in the camp? Are you going to raze this house when the tribe takes it over? Naturally Kura would have to agree since the land still belongs to her.”

Gloria stood tall before her grandmother, and her eyes flooded with rage again.

“It belongs to me! Me alone. My mother shouldn’t dare try to take it from me. And it will belong to no one else. I’m no one’s bride. And I will be no man’s wife. I a
m . . .
” She seemed to want to say more, but then changed her mind, turned around and ran off, just as she had already done once that day.

Jack suddenly felt tired.

“I, I’d like to retire,” he said stiffly.