Call of the Kiwi (53 page)

Gloria had taken Jack on her journey.

“You’re crazy.” Gloria’s voice was echoing shrilly through the salon when Jack came downstairs the next day.

Gwyneira stood across from Gloria in riding clothes. She had some saddlebags draped over one shoulder.

“She intends to ride into the highlands,” Gloria announced when Jack walked in. She was so worked up that she did not even remember the pictures, nor did she take note of his eyes, which were bloodshot from lack of sleep. “Your mother intends to ride into the highlands to bring back the sheep.”

Gwyneira looked at the two of them majestically. “Don’t call me crazy, Gloria,” she said calmly. “I’ve ridden into the highlands more often than the two of you can count. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“You plan to ride alone?” Jack asked, taken aback. “You want to go into the foothills alone and herd five thousand sheep together?”

“The three remaining
pakeha
shepherds are coming too. And I was at Marama’s last night.”

“You rode all the way to the Maori village last night and spoke with Marama?” Jack could hardly comprehend it.

Gwyneira glared at him. “Fine, once more: I spoke with Marama, and she’s sending her three sons. She doesn’t care what Tonga has to say about it. It’s possible others will join. I’ve offered double pay. But I’m going now. I’m taking Ceredwen, Gloria, if that’s all right with you. She’s the best trained horse we’ve got.”

Jack looked as though he was in a trance. “She’s right; you are crazy.” He had never spoken to his mother like that before, but Gwyneira’s plan was appalling. “You’re over eighty years old. You can’t lead a herding expedition.”

“I must do what I can. I made a mistake; now I’m going to fix it. Snowstorms have been reported, and the sheep have to come back. Since no one else wants to or is abl
e . . .
”

“Mother, stop it.
I’ll
ride,” Jack said. A moment before, he had still felt tired and depressed, but Gwyneira was right: you did what you had to do. And he could not let his parents’ life work—and Gloria’s inheritance—go down in a snowstorm.

“I’ll come too,” Gloria said without hesitation. “With the dogs we’ll each do the work of three men. And the sheep will be falling over each other to come home.”

Jack knew that was not the case. The animals would be disoriented by the bad weather and considerably harder to manage than usual. But Gloria would realize that soon enough herself.

“Are the packhorses saddled?” he asked his mother. “And don’t bother arguing. The matter is settled. We’ll ride, and you’ll prepare everything here. Look for someone in Haldon to help you—you should be able to do that by phone. And make sure you order oats and wheat. The sheep will need to regain their strength after coming through the storm. We’ll herd them into the shearing sheds and the old cattle stalls. We’ll discuss what happens after that later. Look through the saddlebags, Gloria. Mother, tell her what she needs. A great deal of whiskey, in any case. It will be cold, so the men will need something to warm their insides. I’ll go to the stables and see to the men.”

Jack had not said so many words in a row since getting wounded, especially not in that tone. Sergeant McKenzie had died at Gallipoli, but Jack McKenzie, foreman of Kiward Station, was suddenly back.

10

M
arama’s three sons were waiting in front of the stables. Tane, the youngest, had just turned fifteen and was looking forward to the adventure. Two Maori shepherds had joined them, both experienced men with a lot of
mana
who dared to defy Tonga. A third caused Jack to furrow his brow: Wiremu.

“Have you ever worked with sheep?” Jack asked reluctantly. He could not think of a reason to turn Tonga’s son away, but he did not know how Gloria would react.

Wiremu shook his head. “Only as a boy. Then I was sent to town. But I can ride. And I think you need all the men you can get.” He lowered his head. “I owe it to Gloria.”

“Then we’ll let Gloria decide. Men, you all know this will be a hard ride, and it’s not without danger. We should set out as soon as possible. If we’re to believe the warnings, the weather will only be getting worse. So get yourselves a horse.”

In the stables Jack met the three remaining
pakeha
, all young, untested boys who barely knew three commands for the dogs. He sighed. He had never ridden out on a herding expedition with such a motley crew before—or on such a dangerous ride. It went against his principles to take young Tane with them. But like Wiremu said, they needed every man they could get.

It was pouring as they rode off, eleven riders and five packhorses. The mountains, normally such an exhilarating backdrop beyond the plains, were barely visible behind the curtain of rain and looked more like ominous shadows.

After moving slowly through a morass of mud all morning, they finally reached more solid ground around midday. Able to make better time, Jack set a brisk pace, while trying not to overtax the horses. That evening they ran into a flock of young rams that were clearly on their way home on their own.

“Clever little fellows,” Jack said. “We’ll take them with us for now. Tonight we’ll stay in the watch station hut at Gabler’s Creek. They can graze there. Tomorrow Tane will ride home with them.”

As they rode on, he steered his horse alongside Gloria’s. He had seen her wince when he had mentioned the hut. “We can set up a tent for you,” he said, “or you can sleep in the stables. Though I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone there.”

“I’d be alone in a tent too,” Gloria remarked.

“But my tent would be between your tent and the hut,” Jack said. He tried to meet her gaze, but she would not look him in the eye.

Though he dreaded the idea of setting up tents in the rain, like Gloria, he balked at the prospect of sleeping communally in the hut.

“In that case”—Gloria kept her head lowered and spoke quietly— “you could sleep in the stables too.”

The hut was a small, solid structure with its own fireplace and alcoves. The men lit a fire in the fireplace as soon as they arrived and offered Gloria one of the beds.

“Miss Martyn would prefer to sleep in the stables,” Jack refused for her, “but for the moment please make room at the fireplace, so she can warm up. Who’s cooking?”

Wiremu suggested that the men sleep in the stables, and the others reluctantly agreed. But Gloria shook her head. “Then we won’t have any room left for the horses. And I don’t want any special treatment. If I don’t want to share the common sleeping area, that’s my business.”

That night, Gloria slipped into her sleeping bag and curled up near Ceredwen in the straw, which kept her sufficiently warm. Nimue and two other young dogs curled up against her and would have contributed more warmth if they had not been soaked to the bone themselves. Self-conscious and anxious, she watched Jack spread out his sleeping bag—on the other end of the stables, directly next to the door to the cabin.

He sighed with relief when he heard Gloria’s even breathing shortly thereafter. He still remembered how he had listened to it when she was a child. Back then she had often crawled into his bed, telling him about her dreams, especially when she had nightmares. That night Jack was glad she did not want to talk—not yet.

The next morning the weather broke briefly. Tane departed for Kiward Station with the rams, while the rest of the group continued the expedition. They made good time, and by midday they came upon another flock of sheep. After herding them together, they pushed on. It began to storm, and their pace slowed. Toward evening they reached the valley where the men of Kiward Station traditionally pitched their camp. Gloria knew it from migrating with the Maori. It was a caldera covered with grass and bordered on two sides by high cliffs, which made it easier to keep the sheep together. From here they would head out the next day to look for and gather the rest of the sheep.

Although the rocks offered some protection, the wind gusted and flurries of snow began to whip around the men as they struggled to put up their tents. The ice-cold air burned Jack’s lungs and made it difficult for him to breathe, and he was damp with sweat under his thick clothes.

“Two ewes are giving birth,” Wiremu said, as if there were not already enough to do. He had done a good job of setting up the tent he was sharing with Marama’s oldest son. Lambing, however, was beyond him.

Jack fought through the storm to the first animal, while one of the experienced Maori saw to the other. Fortunately, both births went smoothly. They only had to help one of the lambs.

“Let me reach in,” Gloria said. “I have smaller hands.”

“But you haven’t done it in years,” Jack yelled over the storm.

“Nor have you,” Gloria said. Then she reached into the sheep and pushed the stuck lamb’s crooked foreleg into position. With a splash of amniotic fluid, the lamb slid into the world.

“I’ll take him in with us, Mr. McKenzie,” said the old Maori as he shoved the weakly protesting animal into his tent and out of the wind.

Jack staggered toward the confusion of tarps and poles of which his own tent still consisted. He should have ordered someone to put it up while he cared for the sheep, but by now everyone had retired to their own shelters. Except Gloria. She joined in without a word, but again and again the wind ripped the tarp and ropes from their hands. Jack held the poles tight, wheezing, while Gloria fixed them in the ground. When the tent was finally standing, he let himself fall down on the seat of his pants. Gloria dragged in the sleeping bags and sat down in a corner, completely exhausted. Only then did Jack realize that her own tent still lay in the snow, a mess of tarps and poles.

“I can’t build another one,” Jack whispered. “We’ll have to ask a few of the men.”

The workers had long since crawled into their tents. No one would willingly go back out into the storm just to set up Gloria’s tent. The girl looked in panic at the narrow space, half of which was taken up by Jack’s camping bed. It was not fair. He had promised.

Then she heard how his breathing rattled.

Jack lay with eyes closed on his blanket trying to breathe more steadily, but when the air finally grew a little warmer, he had to fight the urge to cough.

“I’m sorry, Glory. Maybe, maybe later, bu
t . . .
”

Gloria knelt next to him when he began to cough. “Wait,” she said, rummaging in her saddlebags. Gwyneira had supplied them with some medicine, and she had added to the collection.

Gloria produced a small jar of
kohekohe
syrup. “Take a sip.” She put the jar to his lips when he did not respond.

“You have a fever,” she said.

“It’s just the wind,” Jack whispered, but Gloria saw that he was shaking. She opened his sleeping bag, and Jack barely managed to crawl inside. Gloria helped him close the sleeping bag, but even then he did not stop shivering.

“Should I see if the others could somehow make some tea?” she asked.

Jack shook his head. “No fire will burn in this storm. Glory, I, I won’t do anything to you; you know that. Just make your bed and try to sleep.”

Gloria was indecisive. “What about you?”

“I’ll sleep too.”

“You need to get those wet clothes off.”

He looked at Gloria skeptically.

“It won’t bother me,” she said. “I know you’re not going to do anything to me.”

She fished a dry flannel shirt and denim pants out of his saddlebags and kept her back turned while Jack peeled off his wet clothing. He was shivering so violently that he had difficulty pulling on the dry clothes, and the effort caused him to begin coughing again. Gloria crouched in her corner, concerned, and looked over at him.

“You’re sick.”

Jack shook his head. “Go to sleep, Gloria.”

Gloria extinguished the lantern. Jack lay in the dark, trying to warm himself and listening to her breathing. Gloria lay there, tense, listening to his. Jack wheezed and shivered for what seemed like hours. Finally Gloria sat up and scooted over to him.

“You have a fever,” she said, “an ague.”

He did not respond, but his shivering body spoke for itself. Gloria wrestled with herself. Without a source of warmth, he would not be able to sleep and would be worse off the next day. She knew there was something wrong with his lung. He could die.

“You won’t touch me, right?” she asked quietly. “Just don’t touch me.” Then she opened his sleeping bag with trembling fingers and slipped inside. She nestled up to his slender body to give him warmth. Jack’s head sank onto her shoulder, and he finally fell asleep.

Gloria wanted to stay awake, under no circumstances to lose control, but then the labors of the day demanded their tribute from her as well. When she awoke, she was curled up the way she always slept, and Jack had laid his arm around her.

Panicked, Gloria wanted to extricate herself, but then she realized that he was still asleep. And he hadn’t grabbed her. His hands were open; his arm seemed merely to form a sort of protective nest. Nimue lay on her other side, Tuesday on his. Gloria almost had to smile. Jack awoke as she carefully removed herself from his embrace.

“Gloria.”

Gloria froze. No one had ever spoken her name so gently, so tenderly. She swallowed and cleared her throat.

“Good morning. How, how are you?”

Jack wanted to assure her that he was doing well, but his head hurt and he was fighting back a cough.

Carefully Gloria put her hand on his forehead. It was burning. “You have to rest.”

Jack shook his head. “A few thousand sheep are waiting out there,” he said, with an effort at cheer, “and it doesn’t seem to be snowing anymore.”

Some of the men had already started fires outside their tents.

“We should see that we get some hot tea. And then set out as quickly as possible.” Jack attempted to stand, but he grew dizzy as he sat up. Breathing heavily, he fell back into bed.

Gloria laid another blanket on him. “You’re going to stay right here. I’ll handle the sheep.”

“And the men?” Jack asked quietly.

Gloria nodded with determination. “And the men.”

Without waiting for him to contradict her, she pulled on another sweater and her raincoat and left the tent.

“Everything all right, boys? Restful night?”

Gloria’s voice sounded cheerful and confident. If she was afraid, she hid it well. But looking out over the camp gave her strength. The men squatted, frozen, in front of their tents—no one there had any intention of taking advantage of her. Gloria waited for somebody to make an allusion to her and Jack, but the Frank Wilkensons and Syd Taylors of the shepherds were not there, thank God. That gave Gloria the courage to tell the men what she said next.

“We’re going to drink our tea and then ride out to herd as many sheep as we can. The weather we had yesterday could return anytime. Mr. McKenzie is sick, so he has to remain in the tent. Wiremu, I’ll need you to look after him.”

Wiremu gave Gloria a pained look. “I’m not a doctor.”

“You studied medicine for a few semesters and used to help Rongo Rongo. Every summer—she told me. And we can do the herding without you.” Gloria cut off any further discussion by immediately turning to the other men. “Paora and Hori, you’ll make a team with Willings and Carter and ride through the areas where the sheep usually gather. Anaru, you’ll go with Beales. Have you ever been herding before, Anaru? No? But you went on the migration, of course, so you know the area. Let Paora tell you where you’re most likely to find big flocks. Rihari, you’ll ride with me.”