In the Land of the Long White Cloud

just finished loading up the wood and was pulling the wagon out of the yard. Helen noticed that Gwyneira’s eyes brightened as she watched the man on the driver’s box.
    “Is that him? The sharp-looking fellow on the wagon?” Helen asked with a smile.
    Gwyneira hardly seemed able to tear her gaze away, but then she collected herself. “What’s that? Sorry, I was checking on our loading. The man on the reins is Mr. McKenzie, our shepherd foreman. Lucas is…Lucas would…well, even the idea of his driving a team over these paths and loading wood without help…”
    Helen looked hurt. Naturally, Howard would be loading his fencing materials alone.
    Gwyneira amended her words when she noticed Helen’s expression. “Oh, Helen, it’s not as though there’s anything wrong with that…I’m sure Gerald Warden would take care of it himself. But Lucas is something of an aesthete; do you know what I mean? He writes, he paints, he plays piano. You hardly ever catch him out on the farm.”
    Helen frowned. “And when he inherits it?”
    Gwyneira was astonished. The Helen she had gotten to know two months before would never have asked such a question.
    “I believe that Gerald is hoping for another heir,” she sighed.
    Mrs. Candler looked searchingly at Gwyneira. “So far nothing’s visible,” she said, laughing. “But of course you’ve only been married a couple of weeks. He has to let you have a little time. Oh the two of them made such a pretty picture at the wedding!”
    With that, Mrs. Candler launched into a long panegyric praising Gwyneira’s wedding celebration. Helen listened in silence, though Gwyneira would have liked to ask her about her own wedding. There was so much that she urgently needed to talk to her friendabout. Tête-à-tête, if possible. Mrs. Candler was very nice, but she was doubtless the town’s gossip hub.
    Nevertheless, she showed herself more than willing to help the two young women with recipes and advice for housekeeping: “Without leavening, you can’t bake bread,” Mrs. Candler told Helen. “Here, I’ll give you some to take home. And I have something that will clean your dress. You have to let the hem steep; otherwise, it will be ruined. And you, Mrs. Warden, need muffin trays; otherwise, there will be no getting Mr. Warden his proper English tea cakes.”
    Helen purchased a Maori Bible as well. Mrs. Candler had a few copies in stock; the missionaries had ordered the Bibles some time before, but the Maori had shown little interest.
    “Most of them can’t read,” Mrs. Candler said. “Besides, they have their own gods.”
    While Howard was loading up, Gwyneira and Helen managed to find a few moments to talk privately.
    “I think Mr. O’Keefe is good looking,” Gwyneira remarked. She had watched him speaking with Helen from inside the store. This man fit her image of the hardworking pioneer more than the genteel Lucas. “Do you like being married?”
    Helen blushed. “I don’t think it’s a matter of liking it. But it’s…tolerable. Oh, Gwyn, we won’t see each other for months. Who knows if you’ll come to Haldon on the same day as I will and…”
    “Can’t you come alone?” Gwyneira asked.
    “Without Howard?”
    “It’s easy for me. On Igraine I could be here in less than two hours.”
    Helen sighed and told Gwyneira about her mule. “If I could ride it…”
    Gwyneira lit up. “Of course you can ride it! I’ll teach you how. I’ll visit you as soon as I can, Helen. I’ll figure out a way.”
    Helen wanted to tell her that Howard did not want any Wardens in the house, but she held back. If Howard and Gwyneira ran into each other, she would have to think of something. But he usually spent the whole day taking care of the sheep and often rode into themountains looking for strays and working on his fence. He usually didn’t come home until it was getting dark.
    “I’ll wait for you,” Helen said, full of hope.
    The friends kissed each other on both cheeks before Helen ran outside.
    “Ah, the small farmers’ wives don’t have it easy,” Mrs. Candler said sadly. “Hard work and lots of children. Mrs. O’Keefe is lucky that her husband is a little older. He won’t be giving her eight or nine little ones. She’s no spring chicken herself. I just hope it all works out well. No midwife goes out to those isolated farms.”

    James McKenzie appeared a short while later to pick up Gwyneira. Appearing pleased, he loaded her purchases into the wagon