Song of the Spirits (86 page)

Timothy laughed once they were out of sight. “You’re turning into a real little minx, Lainie. I’ll have to watch out when I’m married to you. Where is that pistol anyway?”

K
ura listened with astonishment to the story of William’s career as a sewing-machine salesman and watched his demonstration in the church’s common room. The whole presentation suffered a bit due to the fact that the two of them could still hardly keep their hands off each other. William struggled considerably more than usual to tease his female audience believably. Nevertheless, he sold two machines to housewives and landed a rather large coup by convincing the pastor to found a sewing workshop for the widows of the mining accident.

“Just watch, sir, I’ll instruct the ladies considerably more thoroughly than usual—I shall be staying in the area with my wife for some time—and afterward they should be fit to earn a living for themselves and their families. You must, of course, come to an agreement with your charity committee over the organization of the enterprise,” William said, nodding to Mrs. Carey, who had just purchased a machine herself, “over whether you hire the ladies to a fixed position or hand over the machines on consignment, so to speak… No, it’s not worth trying with any fewer than three machines, and for five I could offer you a proper price reduction.”

“You’re irresistible,” Kura said in amazement as the pair rode back into town together holding hands, both of them on the lookout for a chance to leave the road and make love somewhere in the grass. “People really eat out of the palm of your hand. Do you really think Mrs. Carey will figure out this funny machine?”

William shrugged. “Sometimes there happen signs and wonders. Besides, I don’t really care. After she’s paid for it, she can sew with it or clean her shoes with it. As long as I get my commission. And the ladies didn’t seem unhappy, did they?” He grinned.

Kura burst out laughing. “You’ve always known how to make women happy,” she said, kissing him.

William couldn’t stand it a moment longer. He drove the wagon down a side road and pulled Kura under the canopy. Although it was not exceptionally comfortable, they could stretch out, and it would simply be too cold to venture outside at that hour. He had occasionally slept in his wagon during his travels, and he wasn’t any the worse for wear.

As far as a shared room went, their situation was hopeless. Neither Mrs. Tanner nor Mrs. Miller would allow it, and a suite in the nicer hotels on the quay would be too expensive. William had even thought about renting a room in the Lucky Horse by the hour, but relations between Kura and Madame Clarisse’s establishment were a little tense.

“What happened to your enthusiasm for sheep?” Kura asked, running her fingers over the back of William’s neck.

“An obvious dead end,” he replied. “My family has been in animal husbandry for a long time, so I thought I must have a talent for it. But in truth—”

“In truth it was really your tenants doing the work, and when you came to realize that sheep manure stinks, you lost your ambition.” Kura did not speak much, but when she did, she put things into words very aptly.

“You could look at it that way,” William admitted. “And what happened to your enthusiasm for the opera?”

Kura shrugged. Then she told him about Roderick Barrister and her failed efforts to stand on her own two feet as an opera singer. “It’s the wrong country for opera,” she sighed. “The wrong country, the wrong time, what do I know? New Zealand apparently has no use for
Carmen
. I should have accepted my grandmother’s offer. But I didn’t know that then.”

William grinned. “Back then, you believed more than anything that Roderick Barrister would lay the world at your feet.”

“You could look at it that way,” Kura replied, smiling before shutting his mouth with a kiss.

After stormily making love, Kura told William of her project with Caleb Biller. William roared with laughter at the story of their “engagement.”

“We need to bring the boy up to the level of an ‘artist’ soon, lest people start whispering that you broke his heart. Or he marries this fabulous Florence Weber. I’d be scared to death of her too.” Florence had attended the sewing-machine demonstration and asked several probing questions.

“Oh, Caleb truly is an artist. You heard him on Saturday. He’s the best pianist I know, and he has perfect pitch.” Kura would not let anything ill be said of Caleb.

“But when he has to play before more than three people, he’s scared out of his wits. Grand. Besides, I only heard you on Saturday, which was lovely. But I don’t think I’ll miss Caleb Biller tonight. Shall we pay a little more homage to the spirits?”

Caleb Biller and William Martyn got along astoundingly well. At first, Kura had worried that William might tease or mock her partner. As it was, however, he recognized Caleb’s potential within a very short time. The pub was always very quiet on Mondays. The few drunks who showed up didn’t have any music requests and either drank away their gambling winnings from the weekend in silence or attempted to drown their losses in whiskey. Kura and Caleb therefore had time—and Paddy’s blessing—to perform their entire program for William. Kura sang and played the
putorino
as well as the
koauau
, a hand-sized, heavily decorated flute played with the nose. Caleb accompanied her on the piano, occasionally losing the rhythm because having a knowledgeable listener made him nervous.

It was not Caleb’s piano playing that impressed William anyway. He might normally have performed better, but one could find pianists of Caleb’s caliber in any of the better music schools. However, when
it came to the arrangement of the pieces, Caleb was without a doubt a master. The way he had combined the
haka
’s simple melodies with the complicated passages on the piano, the conversation between the different instruments, the musical bridge between the cultures—all of that sprang from the creative spirit of Caleb Biller. Kura was an exceptionally gifted interpreter; she could perfectly embody the soul of any music. But to create that soul—to work it out note by note and even open the ears of laypeople to it—required more than voice and expression. Caleb was unquestionably an artist, though unfortunately one plagued by stage fright.

“You’ll have to get over that,” William said after he had told them how impressed he was. “Last time, when I listened to it outside, it was much better. And you, of all people, don’t have reason to be nervous. What you do is sensational. You won’t just create a furor with that music; you’ll conquer Europe!”

Kura gave him a disbelieving look.

“It’s not enough to be sensational,” she said. “Even though that’s what I used to think. But organizing concerts isn’t easy. You have to rent spaces, advertise, and negotiate for good terms. You need an impresario like Roderick Barrister.” She sighed.

William rolled his eyes. “Sweetheart, just forget that Roderick Barrister of yours. He didn’t do anything but hire a few third-rate singers and a couple of pretty dancers and distribute a few flyers. That’s not enough though. Someone has to talk to the press. You have to attract patrons, draw the right people to the concerts—in your case, perhaps get local Maori tribes to participate. George Greenwood was the one who organized the entire opera tour, and that’s why it was so successful. You need a businessman at your side, Kura, not a choirboy. And no charity dames or pastors—they always send a hint of ‘would but can’t.’ You need grand rooms, hotels, and convention centers. After all, you want to make some money while you’re at it.”

“You sound as though you know something about all that, Mr. Martyn,” Caleb remarked hesitantly. “Have you done anything like that before?”

William shook his head. “No. But I sell sewing machines. In certain respects, that’s also a show—and we certainly had a few people during training who had proper stage fright. I’ll teach you a few tricks, Mr. Biller. And you can always give your shows a charitable aspect.

“Like you did with the factory for the wives of the mine victims?” Caleb asked, smirking.

William nodded seriously. “First and foremost, you have to remember that you’re selling something. In order to sell sewing machines, I need a cheap room for the demonstrations and reasonable accommodations for my horse and myself. But none of it can look shabby. Over time, you develop a sense for it. I can tell from one glance which pubs I can host a sales show in and which ones no honorable woman would set foot in. I would never allow the two of you to perform at the Wild Rover, for example. No one brings his sweetheart here for cultural entertainment. Nor the Lucky Horse, of course. Here in Greymouth, the grand hotels would be the only places even worth considering. But all in all, it’s not the right town.” William’s last words sounded almost wistful. He seemed already to be planning the tour, reviewing in his mind which of the towns he knew would fit the bill.

Kura and Caleb looked at one another.

“Why don’t you try selling us for a change?” Kura finally asked. “Show us how it’s done. Organize a big concert in a proper hall in a big city.”

“Well, the South Island doesn’t exactly have the biggest cities,” William said, “and I don’t have the contacts that someone like George Greenwood does, of course. But very well, we’ll start in…” He furrowed his brow. Then his face lit up. “We’ll start in Blenheim. I know a lady there… Really, we both know a lady there, Kura, who is in desperate need of something to do.”

So I feel, my dear Heather, that you would find great fulfillment in such a task. In addition, you should keep in mind that the position of your husband
will force you sooner or later into social or cultural engagement of one kind or another. The prestige that comes with being a celebrated patroness of the arts surely eclipses that of being a simple member of the local orphanage’s advisory board. Finally, your exceptional education predisposes you to a calling that goes above and beyond purely charitable endeavors. The presentation of our project, “Ghost Whispers
—Haka
Meets Piano,” would make an excellent debut since you have personally contributed significantly to the musical development and formation of Kura-maro-tini’s artistic character. I am certain that your husband would agree with me in this matter. I remain, with most humble regards,

Your,

William Martyn