In the Land of the Long White Cloud

squatted on the fence beam like a shepherd boy and emphasized her words with her riding crop as though it were a conductor’s baton. In her only concession to propriety, she lifted her feet off the ground and hid them primly under her riding skirt, which made her a bit unsteady. Helen thought the balancing act was probably unnecessary, as the smirking children would probably not have given Gwyneira’s legs a second look even if they hadn’t been fully absorbed in the goings-on in the paddock. After all, didn’t their mothers constantly walk around barefoot, with half-length skirts, and even half-naked?
    But Helen didn’t have time to give the matter any further thought. She had to give her full attention to directing the stubborn mule around the paddock. She was surprised to discover that staying on was notdifficult; Howard’s old saddle offered sufficient support. Unfortunately, though, her mount wanted to stop before every clump of grass.
    “If I don’t kick it, it doesn’t move at all,” she complained, digging her heels into the mule’s ribs again. “Maybe…if you gave me that stick of yours, then I could hit it!”
    Gwyneira rolled her eyes. “Who hired you as an instructor? Hitting, kicking…you don’t treat your children that way!” She cast a glance at the smirking little Maori, who were visibly enjoying the battle between their teacher and the mule. “You have to love the mule, Helen. Make it like working for you. Say something nice to it.”
    Helen sighed, thought about it, and then leaned forward grudgingly. “What beautiful, soft ears you have,” she cooed, attempting to stroke the mule’s strong, bag-like ears. The animal returned her advances with an angry snapping in the direction of her legs. Helen nearly fell off the mule with fear, while Gwyneira nearly toppled off the fence from laughing.
    “Love!” Helen snorted. “It hates me.”
    One of the older Maori children made a comment that was met with giggles from the others and made Helen blush.
    “What did he say?” Gwyneira asked.
    Helen bit her lip. “Just something from the Bible,” she murmured.
    Gwyneira nodded in amazement. “Well, if you can get these snot-nosed brats to quote the Bible on their own, you shouldn’t have any trouble getting a mule to move. That mule is your only ticket to Haldon. What’s its name anyway?” Gwyneira wagged her crop, but obviously had no intention of assisting her friend in driving the mule forward.
    Helen realized that she would have to give the mule a name.

    They did finally have their tea after the riding lesson, during which time Helen talked about her little students.
    “Reti, the oldest boy, is very sharp but cheeky. And Rongo Rongo is charming. Overall, they’re nice children. In fact, the whole tribe is friendly.”
    “You can already speak Maori pretty well, can’t you?” Gwyn asked admiringly. “Sadly, I can still only manage a few words. I just never have time to study the language. There’s too much to do.”
    Helen shrugged but was grateful for the praise. “I’ve studied other languages before, which makes it a little easier. Otherwise, I don’t have anyone else to talk to. If I don’t want to be totally alone, I have to learn it.”
    “Don’t you talk to Howard?” Gwyneira asked.
    Helen nodded. “Yes, but…but we…we don’t have all that much in common.”
    Gwyneira suddenly felt guilty. Helen would so enjoy the long discussions with Lucas about art and culture—not to mention his piano playing and painting. She knew she should feel grateful for her cultivated husband. Most of the time, however, she just felt bored.
    “The women in the village are very outgoing,” Helen continued. “I’ve been wondering whether one of them is a midwife…”
    “Midwife?” cried Gwyneira. “Helen! Don’t tell me that you…I don’t believe it. Helen, you’re pregnant?”
    Helen looked up, agonized. “I don’t know for certain. But yesterday Mrs. Candler looked at me strangely and made a few comments. Besides, sometimes I feel…strange.” She blushed.
    Gwyneira pressed her for more details. “Does Howard…I mean, with his…does he…”
    “I think so,” whispered Helen. “He does it every night. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it.”
    Gwyneira chewed on her lip. “Why not? I mean…does it hurt?”
    Helen looked at her as though she’d lost her mind. “Of course it does, Gwyn. Didn’t your mother tell you it would? But we women