In the Land of the Long White Cloud

Helen had described to George in her first letter. It had been expanded and could now be crossed with wagons. George could easily have spared himself the arduous trip on foot, but after the long trip aboard the ship, he was yearning for movement. Besides, it was exciting forhim to retrace Helen’s experiences on her arrival. George had been obsessed with New Zealand during his studies. Even when he received no letters from Helen for long periods, he devoured all the available information on the country in order to feel closer to her.
    Now refreshed, he began the descent. Maybe he would even see Helen the next day. If he could rent a horse and the farm lay as near to the city as Helen’s letters implied, there was nothing to stop him making a little courtesy visit. In any case, he would soon be headed to Kiward Station, which had to be near Helen. After all, she and the farm’s mistress, Gwyneira Warden, were friends. So the two estates could hardly be more than a short coach ride apart.
    After taking the ferry across the Avon River, George walked the last few miles into Christchurch and took a room at the local hotel. It was simple but clean—and unsurprisingly, the manager knew the Wardens.
    “Naturally. Gerald and Lucas Warden always stay here when they have business in Christchurch. Very cultivated gentlemen, especially the younger Warden and his lovely wife. Mrs. Warden has her clothes tailored in Christchurch, so we see her two or three times a year.”
    However, the hotelier had not heard of Howard and Helen O’Keefe. Neither one of them had ever stayed there, nor did he know them to be members of the church community.
    “But they wouldn’t be part of our community, if they’re the Wardens’ neighbors,” the hotelier explained. “They must belong to the Haldon congregation, which recently got its own church. It’s much too far to ride here every Sunday.”
    George absorbed this news with astonishment and inquired about a rental stable. First thing the next day he planned to pay a visit to the Union Bank of Australia, the first bank office in Christchurch.

    The bank director was exceedingly polite and happy about the Greenwoods’ plans in Christchurch.
    “You should talk to Peter Brewster,” he advised. “Up until now he’s been handling the local wool trade. But from what I hear, he’s moving to Queenstown—the gold rush, you know. Brewster surely won’t be doing any digging himself, but likely has the gold trade in mind.”
    George frowned. “Do you think that will be much more lucrative than wool?”
    The banker shrugged. “If you ask me, wool is growing every year. But how much gold is lying in the earth over there in Otago, no one knows. Brewster is young and entrepreneurial though. Besides, he has family reasons. His wife’s family comes from there. They’re Maori, and she’s inherited some land. He shouldn’t be upset if you take over his clients here. That would certainly make founding your business much easier.”
    George could only agree with him and thanked him for the tip. He also used the opportunity to make inquiries about the Wardens and the O’Keefes. The director was naturally full of praise when it came to the Wardens.
    “The elder Warden is an old warhorse, but he knows a thing or two about sheep breeding! The younger is more of an aesthete and isn’t much for farm work. That’s why the old man was hoping for a grandchild who would make more of a go of it, but so far without any luck. Still, his young wife is pretty as a picture. A crying shame that she has trouble having children. So far just one girl in almost six years of marriage. Oh well, they’re young; there’s still hope. As for the O’Keefes…” The bank director was clearly searching for words. “What can I say? It’s a bank secret, you understand.”
    George understood. Howard O’Keefe was evidently not a well-loved client. He probably had debts. The farms lay a two-day ride from Christchurch, so Helen had lied in her letters about life in town—or at least exaggerated it. Haldon, the closest large settlement to Kiward Station, was hardly more than a village. What else might she have kept secret and why? Was she embarrassed about the way she lived? Was it possible she wouldn’t be pleased to see him? But he had to see her. By God, he had traveled eighteen thousand miles to see her!

    Peter Brewster proved to be quite affable and immediately invited George to lunch for the following day.