In the Land of the Long White Cloud

could get her hands on. In doing so, she had aroused Lucinda Greenwood’s anger, as William had been bored to death in the London Library while Helen explained to the boy how to navigate the massive stacks. George must have guessed that the reason for their visit to the library was only a pretense, but he hadn’t given Helen away and had even offered to return her books for her.
    “Quite right,” Lady Brennan confirmed, satisfied. “You should see the Avon on a summer night sometime, child, when the people are standing on the banks watching the rowing regattas. You feel as though you’re back in good old England.”
    These images reassured Helen. Indeed, she was quite determined to undertake the adventure, which is not to say that some true pioneer spirit stirred within her. She simply hoped for a peaceful, urban home and the chance to cultivate a circle of friends. Everything would be a bit smaller and less ostentatious than life at the Greenwoods’, but intimate nevertheless. Perhaps her “highly esteemed” man would even be an official of the Crown or a small-business owner. Helen was ready to give anyone a chance.
    However, when she left the office with a letter and address of a certain Howard O’Keefe, a farmer in Haldon, Canterbury, Christchurch, she was a little unsure. She had never lived in the country; her experience outside the city was limited to a vacation stop with the Greenwoods in Cornwall. They had visited friends there, and everything had proceeded very civilly. However, no one at Mr. Mortimer’s countryhome had spoken of a “farmyard,” and Mr. Mortimer had not called himself a “farmer” but instead a…
    “Gentleman farmer,” it finally occurred to Helen, at which she immediately felt better. Yes, that was how the Greenwoods’ acquaintance had spoken of himself. And that would surely fit Howard O’Keefe as well. Helen could hardly imagine a simple farmer being a “well-situated” member of society in Christchurch.

    Helen would have much preferred to read Howard O’Keefe’s letter on the spot, but she forced herself to be patient. There was no way she could rip open the missive in the reverend’s antechamber, and it had turned wet out on the street. So she bore her unopened treasure back home and merely cheered herself with the sharp, clear penmanship on the envelope. No, surely no uneducated farmer wrote like that. Helen briefly considered taking a cab back to the Greenwoods’, but she did not find any and in the end told herself it was not worth it. It was late by the time she got back, and she had just enough time to put her hat and coat away before dinner was served. With the precious letter in her pocket, she hurried to the table, attempting to ignore George’s curious glances. The boy could certainly put two and two together. No doubt he suspected where Helen had spent her afternoon.
    Lucinda Greenwood, on the other hand, nursed no such suspicions and inquired further when Helen reported her visit to the pastor’s.
    “Oh yes, I need to track the reverend down in the coming weeks as well,” Lucinda said in a distracted manner. “Regarding the orphans for Christchurch. Our committee has selected six girls, but the reverend believes half of them are too young to send on such a journey alone. I don’t mean to question the reverend, but sometimes he’s a bit naïve. He doesn’t consider what the children cost here when they could be happy over there.”
    Helen let her carry on without interruption, and Robert Greenwood seemed disinclined to fight that evening as well. He was probably enjoying the pleasant atmosphere at the table, which could be tracedto William’s state of exhaustion. Since the school lessons had been called off and the nanny had found other tasks to excuse herself with, the youngest servant girl had been tasked with playing with him in the garden. The quick little thing had worked him up into a proper sweat playing ball, astutely letting him win in the end. Consequently, he was now calm and content.
    Helen excused herself right after dinner. Out of politeness, she usually spent an additional half hour with the Greenwoods, working on whatever sewing she had while Lucinda reported on her endless committee meetings. Tonight, though, she left immediately, fumbling in her pocket for the letter on her way to her room. Finally she took a seat triumphantly in her rocking chair, the only piece of furniture she had brought with her to London from her