In the Land of the Long White Cloud

mark. Lucas sketched a coat of arms according to Gerald’s specifications, combining Gwyneira’s little crown with a shield, a symbol of the Warden name.
    Francine was witty and always in good spirits. Her companionship was good for Gwyneira, and she did not allow any fear of thecoming birth to set in. Gwyneira felt a pang of jealousy, for Francine had forgotten the young Candler boy and could not stop swooning over James McKenzie.
    “He’s interested in me, no doubt about it,” she said excitedly. “Every time he sees me, he asks me a lot of questions. About my work and after that how you’re doing. He’s so sweet! And it’s so obvious that he’s trying to find things to talk about that interest me. Why else would he inquire when you’re supposed to have the baby?”
    Several reasons occurred to Gwyneira, and she thought it reckless of James to show such a visible interest. Above all, though, she longed for him and his comforting presence. She would have liked to feel his hand on her stomach and to have him share her breathless joy at the baby’s movements in her womb. Whenever the little thing was “boxing” inside her, she thought of how happy he had looked when he first saw newborn Ruben. She also recalled a scene in the horse stables when Igraine was near the end of her gestation.
    “Do you feel the foal, miss?” he had asked, beaming. “It’s moving. You should talk to him now, miss! Then it will already recognize your voice when it’s born.”
    Now she spoke with the baby, whose nest was already so perfectly prepared. His cradle sat next to her bed, a marvel of blue and golden-yellow silk built by Kiri according to Lucas’s instructions. His name had already been decided: Paul Gerald Terence Warden—Paul after Gerald’s father.
    “We can name the next son after your grandfather, Gwyneira,” Gerald declared generously. “But first I’d like to establish a certain tradition.”
    Gwyneira didn’t really care about the name. The baby was becoming heavier every day; it was time for him to be born. She caught herself counting the days and comparing them with her adventures the year before. “If it comes today, it was conceived at the lake…if it waits until next week, then it’s a fog baby…a little warrior come to being in the stone circle…” Gwyneira remembered every nuance of James’s tenderness, and sometimes she cried longingly in her sleep.

    The pains set in on a day in late November when the weather resembled a June day in faraway England. After several weeks of rain, the sun came up shining; the roses in the garden were blooming, and all the colorful flowers that Gwyneira actually preferred unfurled in all their splendor.
    “How lovely that is,” gushed Francine, who was setting the breakfast table by the bay window in Gwyneira’s room. “I’ll have to convince my mother to plant some flowers. Only vegetables grow in our garden. Though there are always rata bushes coming up.”
    Gwyneira was about to reply that she had fallen instantly in love with the rata bushes’ abundance of red flowers upon her arrival, when she felt the pains. Right then her water broke.
    Gwyneira did not have an easy delivery. Because she was so healthy, her lower body muscles were very well developed. While her mother had thought that so much riding would lead to a miscarriage, it instead made the baby’s passage through the pelvis more difficult. Francine assured her frequently that everything was going well and that the baby was perfectly positioned, but that did not stop Gwyneira from screaming—or cursing. Lucas did not hear any of it though. At least she was lucky that no one was crying by her bedside—Gwyneira didn’t know whether she would have been able to handle Dorothy’s weeping. Kiri, who was assisting Francine, remained calm.
    “Baby healthy. Said Matahorua. Always right.”
    Before the birth, however, all hell broke loose. At first Gerald was tense, then concerned, and by the end of the day, he flew into a rage at anyone who approached him as he drank himself into oblivion. He slept through the last few hours of the delivery in his armchair in the salon. Lucas worried and drank in moderation, as was his custom. Even he fell asleep in the end, though it was only a light slumber. Anytime something stirred in Gwyneira’s chamber he raised his head, and he asked Kiri for news several times throughout the night.
    “Mr. Lucas so thoughtful,” she informed Gwyneira.
    James