In the Land of the Long White Cloud

would be fine with a comfortable townhouse, a good horse for his trips around the area, and a nice pub where could find relaxation and stimulating conversation in the evening—all of which could no doubt be found in Christchurch. Naturally, a family would be even better. Until that moment, George had never thought about starting a family—at least not since Helen had turned him down so long ago. But now, having seen his first love again and left his romantic ideals behind, he could think of little else. A marriage in New Zealand—a “love story” that could touch his mother’s heart and encourage her to support his plans…above all, though, it was a good excuse to remain here. George decided to look around Christchurch in the coming days and perhaps ask the Brewsters and the bank director for some advice as well. They might even know of a suitable girl. But first he needed a place to live. The White Hart was a passable hotel, but unsuitable as a permanent residence in his new homeland.

    George employed the services of the local real estate office the next day. He had spent a restless night at the White Hart. A band had beenplaying dances in the room below, and the men had fought over the girls—which gave George the impression that looking for a wife in New Zealand did not come without peril. He suddenly found himself thinking of the advertisement that Helen had responded to in a whole new light. Even the search for a home did not prove easy. Those who moved here did not generally buy houses, but built them. Finished houses were rarely up for sale and were correspondingly valuable. Even the Brewsters had long since rented out their home before George arrived. They didn’t want to sell it, as their future in Otago remained uncertain.
    Though George toured the few addresses that people had mentioned to him at the bank, the White Hart, and in the pubs, the majority were shabby. A few families and older ladies living alone were seeking subletters. This was no doubt an appropriate and reasonable alternative to the hotel for colonists who were getting their feet on the ground in their new country, but there was nothing suitable for George, accustomed as he was to more upscale accommodations.
    Frustrated, he ended up strolling through the new parks along the Avon’s banks. In the summer, boat regattas took place here, and there were viewpoints and scenic picnic spots. For the time being, though, it being spring, they were quite empty. The still-fickle spring weather only allowed for a short spell on the riverfront benches, and only the main paths had people on them. Yet a stroll here gave George the impression that he could almost be in Oxford or Cambridge. Nannies led their charges on walks, children played ball on the grass, and a few couples modestly sought the shade of trees. Though it did not pull him entirely out of his reverie, the scene had a calming effect on George. He had just looked at the last building for rent on his list, a shack that it took a good deal of imagination to call a house and which would gobble up at least as much time and money in renovations as building a new house. Moreover it was not well situated. Short of a miracle, George would have to begin looking for land plots the next day and consider building a new house after all. How he was supposed to explain such a thing to his parents was beyond him.
    Tired and in low spirits, he continued to stroll aimlessly, watching the ducks and swans on the river. Suddenly he became aware of a young woman who was watching two children nearby. The little girl might have been seven or eight years old, a little plump, with thick, almost black locks. She was chatting happily with her nanny while tossing old bread to the ducks from a pier. The little boy, a blond cherub, was, in contrast, a real menace. He had left the pier and was playing in the mud on the bank.
    The nanny expressed her concern. “Robert, don’t go so near the river! How often do I have to tell you? Nancy, look out for your brother!”
    The young woman—George placed her at no more than eighteen years old—stood seemingly helpless at the edge of the muddy strip of bank. She wore neat black lace-up shoes polished to a shine and a simple navy-blue shift. She would doubtlessly ruin both if she followed the little boy into the brackish water. The little girl in front of her was no different. She was clean and neatly dressed and had surely received instructions not to get