In the Land of the Long White Cloud

they meet that Friday afternoon.
    When she called the young woman into the room, she observed with pleasure that Helen curtsied respectfully upon entering.
    “Leave that, girl, I’m not the queen,” she remarked coolly, causing Helen to blush.
    She was struck by the similarities between the austere Queen Victoria and the equally round and darkly clad Lady Brennan. Both smiled rarely and seemed to view life above all as a God-given burden that one was to suffer through as publicly as possible. Helen made an effort to look just as austere and expressionless. She had checked in the mirror to make sure that not a single hair had fallen from her tightly wound bun in the London streets. The better part of her prim hairstyle was covered by her plain dark blue hat anyway, which Helen had worn as necessary protection from the rain and which was now completely soaked through. She had at least been able to deposit her equally wet coat in the antechamber. She wore a blue skirt and a carefully starched, light-colored quilled shirt. Helen wanted more than anything to make as good and distinguished an impression as possible. Lady Brennan could under no circumstances take her for a flighty thrill-seeker.
    “So you want to emigrate?” Lady Brennan asked straightaway. “A pastor’s daughter, moreover with a good job, I see. What calls you overseas?”
    Helen considered her answer carefully. “It’s not adventure that calls me, my lady,” she stated. “I’m happy with my job, and my employers treat me well. But every day I see their family’s happiness, and my heart burns with longing to someday stand in the center of such a loving body.”
    Hopefully Lady Brennan didn’t think that overstated. Helen herself had almost laughed as she put that sentence together. After all, the Greenwoods weren’t exactly the model of harmony—and the absolute last thing Helen wanted was progeny like William.
    Lady Brennan, however, did not seem put off by Helen’s response. “And you don’t see any possibility of that here at home?” she inquired. “You don’t think you will find a husband here who will meet your expectations?”
    Helen wanted to ask a few questions about the “highly esteemed, well-situated members” of the Christchurch community, but that would clearly have to wait. “I don’t know if my expectations are too high,” she said carefully, “but my dowry isn’t large. I can save very little, my lady. I’ve been supporting my brothers during their studies, so there’s nothing left over. And I’m twenty-seven. There’s just not much time left for me to find a husband.”
    “And your brothers no longer need your support?” Lady Brennan wanted to know. Clearly she was implying that Helen wanted to escape her familial obligations by emigrating. She wasn’t entirely wrong either. Helen had had more than enough of financing her brothers.
    “My brothers have almost finished their studies,” she said. That wasn’t even a lie: if Simon failed one more class, he would be expelled from the university, and John wasn’t in much better shape. “But I don’t think it likely that they will be able to come up with my dowry afterward. Neither legal nor medical assistants make much money.”
    Lady Brennan nodded. “Won’t you miss your family?” she inquired acerbically.
    “My family will consist of my husband and—God willing—our children,” Helen explained firmly. “I will stand by my husband in making a home overseas. There won’t be much time left over to mourn my lost homeland.”
    “You sound very determined,” the lady remarked.
    “I hope God will lead me,” Helen said humbly, bowing her head. Questions about the men would have to wait. The main thing was to get this dragon in black on her side. And if the gentlemenin Christchurch were put through their paces like the women here, nothing could possibly go wrong. Lady Brennan now became more gracious. She even let slip some details about the Christchurch community: “a budding colony, founded by settlers handpicked by the Church of England. The city will be made a bishopric in the foreseeable future. The construction of a cathedral is planned, as is a university. You won’t miss anything, child. The streets were even named after the English diocese.”
    “And the river that runs through the city is called the Avon, like the one in Shakespeare’s hometown,” Helen added. She had been busy the last few days tracking down all the literature she