Song of the Spirits Read Online Free PDF Page B

smile. In matters of inheritance, the Maori were decidedly wiser. It had not been a problem when Marama gave birth to a girl, as men and women had the same rights of inheritance. It was only a shame that Kura had inherited nothing from the energetic, if less musical, Gwyneira other than her azure eyes.
    “First things first, I’m taking her along to Queenstown,” Gwyneira said firmly. “Maybe Helen can put her head aright. Sometimes an outsider can find a way. Helen plays the piano, after all. Kura will take her seriously.”
    “And I’ll have to get by without you.” James pouted. “The livestock…”
    Gwyneira laughed and put her arms around his neck. “The livestock should keep you busy enough. Jack’s already excited about it. And you could take Miss Witherspoon along—in the catering wagon. Maybe she’ll even volunteer to come with you.”
    It was March, and the sheep that had been living half-wild in the hills needed to be herded together and brought back to the farm before the coming winter. It was a job that took several days every year and required all the hands on the farm.
    “Be careful what you suggest.” James stroked her hair and kissed her tenderly. Her embrace had aroused him. And what objection could there be to a little love before noon? “I’ve fallen in love with a woman who rode along on the catering wagon before.”
    Gwyneira laughed. Her breath was growing quicker too. She patiently held still as James undid the hooks and eyelets of her light summer dress.
    “But not with a cook,” she asserted. “I still remember how you sent me out right on the first day to herd back the sheep that had broken off from the herd.”
    James kissed her shoulder, then her still-firm breasts.
    “That was to save the men’s lives,” he remarked with a smile. “After we tasted the coffee you made, I had to get you out of the way.”

    While Gwyneira and James enjoyed a few peaceful hours, Heather Witherspoon repaired to Kura’s room. She found the girl at the piano—and now had to tell her of her grandmother’s decision about the trip to Queenstown. Kura took the news with surprising composure.
    “Oh, we won’t be gone long anyway,” she remarked. “What are we supposed to do out in the backwoods? It would be one thing if we were going to Dunedin. But that hick mining town? Besides, I’m hardly related to those people. Fleurette is something like a half aunt, and Stephen, Elaine, and George must be fourth cousins, I think. What do they have to do with me?”
    Kura turned her pretty face back to her music. Fortunately, there was a piano in Queenstown; she had made sure of that. And maybe this Mrs. O’Keefe really did know something about music, perhaps even more than Miss Witherspoon. Either way, she would not miss Tiare. Naturally, it was nice to let him worship, kiss, and caress her, but she had no intention of risking becoming pregnant. Her grandmother might think she was stupid, and Miss Witherspoon reddened whenever the subject turned to anything “sexual.” But Kura’s mother, Marama, was not such a prude, so the girl was well aware of where babies came from. And she was quite sure of one thing: she did not want one of Tiare’s. In truth, she only clung to the relationship to irritate her grandmother.
    If she really thought about it, Kura did not want children at all. She could not have cared less about the inheritance of Kiward Station. She was ready to leave everyone and everything behind if, in so doing, it meant coming closer to her goal. Kura wanted to make music, to sing. And no matter how many times Gwyneira said the word “impossible,” Kura-maro-tini would hold onto her dream.

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    W illiam Martyn had until that moment thought of panning for gold as a quiet, even contemplative act. You held a sieve in a stream, shook it a bit—and gold nuggets would get caught in it. Maybe not right away or every time but often enough that he would become a millionaire in the long run. Now