This post is a little different in that it's a sneak preview of Chapter 2 of the new novel. I wrote it a while ago, and I'm now starting Chapter 30, so it was like reading someone else's book when I chose it. I actually read Finding Miriama for the first time last year on a flight from Brisbane to Delhi, and it was as if I'd never seen it before. (Maybe it's early dementia - I'd better get this one finished!)
"Hamilton 1887
Sarah Gwynne ran the Hamilton Hotel single-handed after the unexpected death of her husband, Richard, in 1883. The patrons regularly commented that she did a first-class job, especially for a woman.
Nine years earlier the Gwynnes had moved to the fledgling Hamilton township from Newmarket in Auckland, where they ran the Junction Hotel. Richard could see the potential for development in the area, which was originally founded near the abandoned Māori village of Kirikiriroa, on the west bank of the mighty Waikato River. Settlers in the area saw it as a refuge from warfare with the local Māori, and the hotel, under the competent management of Richard and Sarah, soon became a refuge in itself, a centre of Hamilton social life.
Before his demise, Richard took immense pride in establishing the grounds, which provided a peaceful haven for travellers and locals alike. Sarah spent many hours there in the finely sculptured gardens, remembering fondly the happy times she had shared with her husband.
This evening was nothing out of the ordinary. Sarah watched on as the patrons in the new commercial room were entertained by the Hamilton Light Infantry Band. It was always a most enjoyable night, with a wide variety of music followed by a splendid supper. The combination of brass, woodwind and percussion instruments enlivened the patrons, to the extent that by the end of the evening they had built up an avaricious appetite for the food and drink on offer. This pleased Sarah, as the only thing she valued more than seeing her customers happy, was their financial contribution to her future security.
“A penny for your thoughts!” A voice interrupted Sarah’s musing.
She jumped a little, then saw who it was. “Good God, you nearly gave me a heart attack, my darling. What are you doing, hiding at the back? You should be up there playing.”
Her companion smiled. “You know as well as I do that as a brass band player, I make a fine violinist!”
“Don’t be putting yourself down like that. I know for a fact that you can do anything you put your mind to, with those artistic hands of yours. It’s just that the violin’s your forte.”
That was true. Joseph had spoken to Sarah on an earlier occasion about how he tried his best to become a productive member of the band – after all, he was a member of the light infantry, and he was musical. However, his heart just wasn’t in it. “My love, apart from my dear wife and children, is indeed the violin. From the time I was old enough to scrape the bow across the strings and make a sound, it’s had me under its spell. It’s been one of the most valuable things my English heritage has given me, so I make good use of it.”
“Will you be serenading us at supper?” asked Sarah, aware that this was the only reason he was there. He finished off these evenings with his romantic instrumentals while people mingled and grazed. A fitting end to a perfect night. It helped also that his looks and his demeanour were pleasant – a fact not lost on the women of the Waikato, who, knowing that he was well and truly taken, nevertheless enjoyed this vision before them. The man himself, however, was modest and failed to comprehend their interest. He wasn’t particularly tall, and with his olive skin and his slightly hooded, almond shaped eyes, he was often mistaken for an Indian or even a South-East Asian. Not that he found this insulting – it just wasn’t him.
“Of course, he will!” shouted a gentleman nearby, overhearing the conversation. “The supper wouldn’t be the same without it. Tell me, how long have you been playing? Longer than you’ve been cutting hair, I’ll bet!”
The man thought for a minute. “Since I was about six, I think. My father left me a violin when he died, and they encouraged me to learn at school.”
“Which school did you go to?” asked Sarah, realising that she knew little about his life before Hamilton, only that, like them, he had come down from Auckland. And he wasn’t one to talk about himself.
“I went to Te Kura O Hato Tipene,” he replied.
Sarah’s forehead arranged itself into a frown.
“Saint Stephens School, in Parnell.”
“Isn’t that a Māori boys’ school?” interjected the gentleman.
Joseph’s face displayed a hint of a smile. 'Yes, yes, it is.' "