In the Land of the Long White Cloud

chatting with Dorothy, and sprang up when she noticed Gwyneira. Her face reflected a mixture of disbelief and joy.
    “Gwyn! Or are you a ghost? I’m seeing more people today than in the last twelve weeks. So I’m beginning to think I’m seeing ghosts.”
    “We could each pinch the other,” Gwyn said, laughing.
    The friends fell into each other’s arms.
    “When did you get here?” Gwyneira inquired, after she had pulled away from Helen. “I would have come long before now if I’d known I’d meet you here.”
    “I married just over three months ago,” Helen said stiffly. “But this is my first time in Haldon. We live…rather far away.”
    She didn’t sound especially enthusiastic. But now she needed to say hello to Dorothy. The girl had just returned with a teapot and was setting another place for Gwyneira. As she went about it, Gwyneira had the opportunity to take a closer look at her friend. Indeed, Helen did not give the impression of being happy. She was thinner, and the pallor that she had so carefully preserved after disembarking had given way to the sunbaked brown she so disapproved of. Her hands too were coarser and her fingernails shorter than before. Even her clothing had suffered. True, her dress was scrupulously clean and starched, but the hem was muddy.
    “Our stream,” Helen said by way of apology when she noticed Gwyneira’s gaze. “Howard wanted to take the heavy wagon because he had fencing material to pick up. The horses can make it through the stream only if we push.”
    “Why don’t you build a bridge?” Gwyneira wanted to know. She had already crossed several new bridges on Kiward Station.
    Helen shrugged. “Howard probably doesn’t have the money. Or the people. You can’t build a bridge alone, after all.” She reached for her teacup. Her hand trembled slightly.
    “You don’t have any servants?” Gwyneira asked, uncomprehending. “Not even Maori? How do you keep the farm running? Who takes care of the garden and milks the cows?”
    Helen looked at her. In her beautiful gray eyes was a mixture of pride and desperation.
    “Well, who do you think?”
    “You?” Gwyneira was alarmed. “But you can’t be serious. Wasn’t he supposed to be a gentleman farmer?”
    “Strike the gentleman…by which I don’t mean to say that Howard isn’t a man of honor. He treats me well and works hard. But he’s a farmer, no more and no less. In that regard your Mr. Warden was right. Howard hates him as much as he hates Howard. Something must have once happened between those two.” Helen would have liked to change topics; she did not feel comfortable speaking disparagingly of her husband. And yet…if she did not at least drop a few hints, she would never receive any help.
    But Gwyneira did not press her further on that matter. She did not care about the feud between Howard O’Keefe and Gerald Warden. She cared about Helen.
    “Do you at least have neighbors who can help you out sometimes or whom you can ask for advice? You can’t do everything alone!” Gwyneira said, returning to the subject of the farm work.
    “I’m a quick learner, you know,” Helen murmured. “As for neighbors…well, there are a few Maori, yes. The children come to me every day for lessons; they’re adorable. But…but otherwise, you’re the first white people I’ve seen…since I arrived on the farm.” Helen attempted to maintain her poise but was fighting to hold back her tears.
    Dorothy curled up consolingly to Helen. Gwyneira, however, was already making plans to help her friend.
    “How far is the farm from here anyway? Can’t I come visit sometime?”
    “Five miles,” Helen informed her. “But of course, I don’t know in which direction.”
    “But that’s something you should learn, Mrs. O’Keefe. If you can’t get your bearings out here, you’re lost!” Mrs. Candler said as she came in, bringing pastries from the store with her. A woman in town baked them and sold them there. “From here, your farm is to the east—yours too, of course, Mrs. Warden. Though not in a straight line. You have to veer off the main road. But I can explain that to you. And your husband surely knows it as well.”
    Gwyneira wanted to hint that it was best not to ask a Warden the way to an O’Keefe, but Helen used the opportunity to change the subject.
    “How is he anyway, your Lucas? Is he really the gentleman he was said to be?”
    Gwyneira looked out the window, momentarily distracted. James had