In the Land of the Long White Cloud

the finished oil painting was very successful. Only Lucas was not entirely satisfied. He felt that he had not perfectly captured Gwyneira’s “mysterious expression,” and the play of light did not strike him as optimal. But every visitor praised the picture effusively. Lord Barrington even asked Lucas to paint a portrait of his wife. Gwyneira learned that good money could be earned in England for such work, but Lucaswould have taken it as an insult to his honor to ask for so much as a penny from his neighbors and friends.
    Gwyneira did not see how the sale of a picture was any different from that of a sheep or horse, but she did not argue and noted with relief that Gerald did not upbraid his son for his lack of business sense either. On the contrary, for the first time, he almost seemed proud of Lucas. Sunshine and harmony reigned in the house.
    As the birth approached, Gerald searched in vain for a doctor for Gwyneira since to have one brought from Christchurch would have meant leaving the city without a doctor for several weeks. Gwyneira didn’t think it would be problematic to have to do without a doctor. After having seen Matahorua at work, she was prepared to put herself in the hands of a Maori midwife. Gerald, however, declared this unacceptable, and Lucas took this position decisively as well.
    “It would be unacceptable to entrust you to some savage. You’re a lady and are to be treated with corresponding care. It’s simply too much of a risk. You should deliver in Christchurch.”
    That brought Gerald back onto the barricades. He declared that the heir of Kiward Station would be born on the farm and nowhere else.
    In the end, Gwyneira confided to Mrs. Candler about the problem, though she was afraid that Mrs. Candler would then offer her Dorothy. The merchant’s wife did just that, but then suggested a much better solution.
    “The midwife here in Haldon has a daughter who often goes to help her. As far as I know, she’s also taken on deliveries by herself. Go ahead and ask her if she’d be willing to come to Kiward Station for a few days.”
    Francine Hayward, the midwife’s daughter, proved to be a bright, optimistic twenty-year-old young woman. She had blonde hair and a round, happy face with a snub nose and attractive light green eyes. She got along beautifully with Gwyneira from the very first. After all, the two of them were almost the same age. After the first two cups of tea, Francine revealed to Gwyneira her secret love for the Candlers’ oldest son, while Gwyneira told her how as a girl she’d dreamed of cowboys and Indians.
    “In one novel there’s a woman who has her baby while the redskins have the house surrounded! And she’s all alone with her husband and daughter too.”
    “Well, I don’t find that all too romantic,” said Francine. “On the contrary, that would be my worst nightmare. Just imagine your husband running back and forth between shooting and swaddling, alternating between yelling “Push, dear!” and “I’ve got you, you damned redskin!”
    Gwyneira giggled. “My husband would never say such a thing in the presence of a lady. He would probably say: ‘Pardon me a moment, my love. I just have to quickly eliminate one of these savages.’”
    Francine gave a snort.
    Since her mother was likewise in agreement with the arrangement, Francine rode out behind Gwyneira that same evening to Kiward Station. She sat relaxed and fearless on Igraine’s bare back, dismissing Lucas’s admonishment—“What a risk to take, riding two to a horse! We could have picked up the young lady.” Awestruck, she moved into one of the lavish guest rooms. Over the next few days, she enjoyed the luxury of not having anything to do other than keep Gwyneira company until the birth of the “crown prince.” To that end she enthusiastically went to work decorating the knitted and crocheted pieces by sewing golden crowns onto everything.
    “You are a member of the nobility,” she explained when Gwyneira declared how embarrassing she found that. “The baby must be somewhere on the list of heirs to the British throne.”
    Gwyneira hoped Gerald wasn’t listening. She wouldn’t have put assassination attempts on the queen and her heirs past the proud grandfather if it meant seeing his grandson on the throne. For the time being, however, Gerald limited himself to adding a small crown to Kiward Station’s branding mark. He had bought a few cows recently and now needed to register a