In the Land of the Long White Cloud

the shearing warehouses that had been abandoned since the shearing was done. They held each other in their arms and listened to the raindrops on the roof, snuggling close and telling each other stories. James laughed at the Maori legend of
rangi
and
papa
and suggested that they make love again to comfort the gods.
    When the sun shone, they made love in the silky golden tussocks of grass in the hills, to the accompaniment of the steady chewing of the horses who grazed nearby. They kissed in the shadows of the mighty stones on the plains, and Gwyneira talked about the enchanted soldiers while James maintained that the stone circles in Wales were part of a love spell.
    “Do you know the story of Tristan and Isolde? They loved each other, but her husband couldn’t know about it, and so the elves made a circle of stone around their bed in the fields to remove them from the world’s gaze.”
    They made love on the shores of ice-cold crystal clear mountain lakes, and one time James even convinced Gwyneira to take off all her clothes and get into the water with him. Gwyneira reddened all over. She couldn’t remember having been fully naked since childhood. Yet James told her she was so beautiful that
rangi
would become jealous if she continued standing on
papa
’s solid ground, and pulled her into the water, where she clamped onto him, screeching.
    “Can’t you swim?” he inquired, disbelieving.
    Gwyneira spat out water. “Where was I supposed to learn how? In the bathtub at Silkham Manor?”
    “You traveled halfway around the world on a ship and couldn’t swim?” James shook his head but now held her tightly. “Weren’t you afraid?”
    “I would have been more afraid if I’d had to swim. Now stop talking and teach me how! It can’t be that hard; even Cleo can do it.”
    Gwyneira learned in no time how to keep herself above water, then lay exhausted and frozen on the lakeshore while James caught fish, then grilled them over an open fire. Gwyneira always loved itwhen he found something edible in the wild and served it to her then and there. She called it their “wilderness survival” game, and James knew how to play superbly. The wild seemed to be a cafeteria for him. He shot birds and rabbits, caught fish, and collected roots and strange fruits. In that sense, he mirrored the pioneer of Gwyneira’s dreams. Sometimes she thought about what it would be like to be married to him and run a small farm like Helen and Howard. James wouldn’t leave her alone all day; they would instead share all the work together. She dreamed of plowing with a horse, of working side by side in the garden, and of watching James teaching a young red-haired boy how to fish.
    She had woefully neglected Helen during this time, but Helen did not even mention it when Gwyneira appeared at her place with a happy demeanor but a grass-stained dress, after James had ridden on into the highlands. “I have to ride to Haldon, but help me brush off my dress first, please. It’s somehow gotten dirty.”
    Gwyneira was supposedly riding to Haldon three to four times a week. She claimed to have joined a housewives club. Gerald was ecstatic about it, and Gwyneira did indeed return home every week with new recipes that she had had Mrs. Candler dash off for her. Lucas seemed to find it rather strange, but he didn’t have any objections either; he was happiest when people left him alone.
    Gwyneira gave a sewing circle as an excuse, James missing sheep. They thought up names for their favorite meeting places in the wild, and awaited one another there, making love against the backdrop of the mountains on clear days or under a provisional tent consisting of James’s waxed coat when the fog rolled in. Gwyneira once pretended to quake with shame under the curious gaze of a couple of keas who arrived to pilfer the remains of their picnic, and James took off half-naked after two kiwis that tried to make off with the belt he had dropped in the dirt.
    “Thieving as magpies!” he called out, laughing. “No wonder people named the immigrants after them.”
    Gwyneira looked at him, confused. “Most of the immigrants I know are very respectable people,” she objected.
    James nodded grimly. “Toward other immigrants. But look how they behave toward the Maori. Do you believe the land for Kiward Station was bought at a fair price?”
    “Since the treaty of Waitangi, doesn’t all land belong to the Crown?” Gwyneira inquired. “The queen certainly