In the Land of the Long White Cloud

held out his hand to her. It was not customary and certainly not proper to take leave of someone so formally after a few hours around the campfire. After all, they’d see each other again in the morning at breakfast. Still, Gwyneira took his hand as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Her small, slender hand, hardened from riding and working with the animals, rested lightly in his. James could hardly overcome the impulse to raise it to his lips.
    Gwyneira kept her gaze downcast. It felt good to have his hand wrapped around hers, and it gave her a reassuring sense of security. Warmth spread throughout her body—even there, where it was anything but proper. She slowly raised her gaze and saw an echo of her joy in James McKenzie’s dark, searching eyes. Suddenly, they both smiled.
    “Good night, James,” Gwyneira said softly.

    They managed to complete the herding in three days, faster than ever before. Kiward Station had lost only a few animals; most of the remaining animals were in excellent condition, and the mutton fetched a good price. A few days after the return to the farm, Cleo had her pups. Gwyneira watched the tiny puppies in their basket with fascination.
    Gerald, however, seemed to be in a bad mood.
    “Seems that everyone can—except you two,” he grumbled, casting an evil look at his son. Lucas walked out without a word. Things had been tense between father and son for weeks. Gerald could not forgive Lucas his ineptitude at farm work, and Lucas was angry with Gerald for making him ride with the men. Gwyneira often felt thatshe was standing between two fronts, and she increasingly sensed that Gerald was angry with her.

    In winter there was less work in the pastures and little that Gwyneira could help with. Cleo was indisposed for a few weeks anyway. Gwyneira, therefore, directed her mare more often in the direction of the O’Keefes’ farm. During the herding, she had found a considerably shorter way between the two farms and she now visited Helen several times a week. Helen was grateful. The farm work was becoming more difficult as her pregnancy advanced, as was riding her mule. She hardly ever went to Haldon to drink tea with Mrs. Candler anymore, preferring instead to spend her days studying the Maori Bible and sewing baby clothes.
    She continued teaching the Maori children, who took over many of her chores. However, she still spent most of her day alone. Howard had taken to riding to Haldon for a beer in the evening and did not return until late. Gwyneira was concerned.
    “How are you going to let Matahorua know when the birthing begins?” she inquired. “You can’t possibly go yourself.”
    “Mrs. Candler wants to send Dorothy here. But I don’t like the idea…the house is so small that she would have to sleep in the stables. From what I understand, children are always born at night. That means Howard will be there.”
    “Are you sure?” Gwyneira asked, confused. “My sister gave birth to her child around midday.”
    “But the pains would have set in at night,” Helen explained with conviction. She had learned the basics of pregnancy and birthing. After Rongo Rongo had told her several wild delivery stories in broken English, Helen had mustered her courage and asked Mrs. Candler for enlightenment. She had a very technical mastery of the subject. After all, she had given birth to three sons and not under the most civilized conditions either. Helen now knew how a birth announced itself and what needed to be done to prepare for it.
    “If you say so,” Gwyneira said, unconvinced. “But you should really consider having Dorothy come to stay. She’ll survive a few nights in the stables, but if you have to birth the child all on your own, you could die.”

    As the birth approached, Helen became more inclined to take Mrs. Candler up on her offer. Howard was at home less and less. Her condition seemed to embarrass him, and it was clear that he no longer liked sharing the bed with her. When he returned from Haldon at night, he stank of beer and whiskey and often stumbled around so much getting ready for bed that Helen doubted he would even be able to find the Maori village. So Dorothy moved in with them in early August. Mrs. Candler refused, however, to let the girl sleep in the stables.
    “Though I wish it would, Mrs. O’Keefe, that won’t do. I see in what condition Mr. O’Keefe rides away from here at night. And you are…I mean, he has…he might miss sharing a