In the Land of the Long White Cloud

vocabulary, which mainly consisted of Biblical terms and papal dogma. “What do when no conception?” she inquired, hoping she had left out the “immaculate.”
    The old woman laughed and showered her with a torrent of unintelligible words.
    Helen made a gesture of incomprehension.
    “Why not baby?” Matahorua then attempted in English. “You do receive baby! In winter when very cold. I coming help, when you want. Beautiful baby, healthy baby.”
    Helen could not comprehend it. So it was true—she would be having a baby!
    “I coming help, when wanting,” Matahorua reiterated her friendly offer.
    “I…thank, you are…welcome to,” Helen formulated with difficulty.
    The witch doctor laughed.
    But now Helen had to return to her original question. She tried again in Maori.
    “I conception,” she explained and pointed to her stomach, hardly blushing this time. “But friend not conception. What can do?”
    The old woman shrugged and again repeated her comprehensive explanations in her mother tongue. Finally she waved to Rongo Rongo, who was playing nearby with other children.
    The little girl approached and appeared more than happy to offer her services as an interpreter. Helen turned red with shame at the thought of discussing such things in front of a child, but Matahorua seemed untroubled by it.
    “She cannot easily say,” explained Rongo after the
tohunga
had repeated her words again. “Can be many reasons. With the man or woman or both…she must see the woman, or better man and woman. She can only advise then. And advising no good.”
    Matahorua gave Helen another piece of jade for her friend.
    “Friends of Miss O’Keefe always welcome!” Rongo remarked.
    Helen took a few seed potatoes from her bag as thanks. Howard would throw a fit at her giving the precious seeds away, but the old Maori woman was visibly pleased. With a few words she instructed Rongo to grab a few herbs, which she handed to Helen.
    “Here, against sickness in morning. Put in water, drink before getting up.”

    That evening Helen revealed to her husband that he would be a father. Howard gave a contented hum. He was obviously pleased, though Helen would have liked a few more words of recognition. The one good consequence of announcing the news was that from then on Howard left his wife in peace. He did not touch her anymore, insteadsleeping next to her like a brother, which was a huge relief to her. It moved her to tears when, the next morning, Howard came to her in bed with a cup of tea.
    “Here. The witch said you should drink this, right? And the Maori women know something about these things. They litter children like cats.”

    Gwyneira was likewise happy for her friend, but at first resisted going with Helen to visit Matahorua.
    “Nothing will come of it if Lucas won’t be there. Maybe she’ll cast a love spell or something like that. For now I’ll take the jade stone—maybe I can hang it in a little bag around my neck. It brought you luck, after all.”
    Gwyneira gestured meaningfully at Helen’s stomach, looking so hopeful that Helen did not want to break it to her that the Maori did not believe in magic or good-luck charms either. The jade stone was just supposed to be viewed as a token of thanks, as a sign of recognition and friendship.
    Nor did the magic work when Gwyneira could not bring herself to place the jade stone anywhere clearly visible or even in her bed. She did not want Lucas to tease her for being superstitious or to become upset with her. In recent days, he had tried doggedly to bring his sexual efforts to a successful conclusion. With little tenderness, he attempted to force his way immediately into Gwyneira. Sometimes it hurt, but Gwyneira still felt that she wasn’t doing it right.

    Spring arrived, and the new settlers had to acclimate to the idea that March heralded the onset of winter in the Southern Hemisphere. Lucas rode with James McKenzie and his men into the mountains to herd the sheep together. He did so under protest, but Gerald insisted. For Gwyneira, it represented the unexpected opportunity to take partin herding the sheep into the low pastures. She took charge of the refreshment cart with Witi and Kiri.
    “Get your Irish stew!” she announced to the men, pleased, when they returned to camp the first evening. After that first time, the Maori knew the recipe inside and out, and Gwyneira could now all but cook it by herself. However, she had not spent the day peeling potatoes and