In the Land of the Long White Cloud

not a calm, easily satisfied child like Ruben. She was whiny, made difficult demands, and resorted to anger when things did not go her way. Then she would rant and rave, turning red and even spitting in extreme cases. The almost four-year-old Fleurette Warden was most definitely not a lady.
    Nevertheless, she had a good relationship with her father. Lucas was not put off by her temper and gave in to her moods far too often. He rarely made any effort to correct her behavior and seemed content to classify his daughter in the category of “highly interesting object of research.” As a result, Kiward Station now had two residents who passionately collected, drew, and observed wetas. Fleur, however, was interested in seeing how far the bugs could jump and thought it a good idea to paint them with bright colors. Gwyneira developed an extraordinary talent for getting the giant bugs back into their collection jars.
    Now she wondered how she would be able to explain to the child that the ride she had promised would not take place.
    “Yes, another guest,” growled Gerald. “By my lady’s leave. A merchant from London. He spent the night at the Beasleys’ and will arrive here this evening. Reginald Beasley was kind enough to send a messenger so that we can receive the gentleman properly. Of course, only if it pleases my lady!”
    Gerald raised himself unsteadily. It wasn’t quite midday, but he did not appear to have sobered up since the evening before. The more he drank, the crueler his comments to Gwyneira. In recent months, she had become his favorite object of ridicule—which no doubt had to do with the fact that it was winter. In winter, Gerald made more allowances for his son’s holing up in his study rather than seeing to the farm, and he ran more often into Gwyneira, whom the rainy weather kept in the house. In the summer, when the sheep shearing,lambing, and other farm work lay ahead, Gerald once again focused his attention on Lucas, while Gwyneira took off on officially sanctioned rides—in reality fleeing to see Helen. Gwyneira and Lucas were familiar with this cycle from the last few years, but that didn’t make it any easier. There was only one possibility of breaking the cycle: Gwyneira would have to provide Gerald with his desired heir. But Lucas’s energy in this regard seemed to have faded over time. Gwyneira simply didn’t arouse him; there could be no contemplating the conception of another child. And Lucas’s increasing inability at marital coitus made it impossible for Gwyneira to repeat the pretense of Fleur’s conception. Gwyneira did not have any illusions about this being a possibility anyway. James McKenzie would never agree to such an arrangement a second time. And she knew that she would not be able to break it off afterward a second time. It had taken months after Fleurette’s birth before Gwyneira was no longer seized by the pain of longing and desperation that crippled her whenever she touched or even saw James. The former was not always avoidable—it would have looked strange if James had suddenly stopped holding out his hand to her to help her from the wagon, or if he had no longer taken the saddle from her after she had led Igraine into the stables. If their fingers touched in the process, it was like an explosion of love and recognition, dissipated by a constant refrain of “never again, never again” that almost made Gwyneira’s head burst. At some point it had gotten more bearable, thank God. Gwyneira learned greater self-control, and the memories faded. But to go through it all again was unthinkable. And with another man? No, she wouldn’t put herself through that. Before James, it hadn’t mattered to her; one man seemed to her more or less like the next. But now? It was hopeless. Short of a miracle, Gerald would have to get over the fact that Fleur would be his only grandchild.
    Gwyneira had no problem with that. She loved Fleurette and recognized herself in her as well as everything she had loved about James McKenzie. Fleur was adventurous and smart, bullheaded and clever. Thanks to her Maori playmates, she had a fluent command of the Maori language. More than anyone else though, she loved Helen’sson, Ruben. Older by a solid year, he was her hero and idol. When she was with him, she even managed to sit in Helen’s lessons and not utter a word the entire time.
    Well, that wouldn’t be the case today. Sighing, Gwyneira called for Kiri to have her clean the