In the Land of the Long White Cloud

fireplace where he liked to sleep in winter. In the summer he had taken to sleeping in the stables so as not to bother his parents.
    He was shaking when Helen came to him with a bowl of water and a rag to wash his face. “It’s nothing, Mother…my God, I hope nothing happens to Fleur.”
    Helen dabbed the blood carefully from his lip. “Nothing will happen to Fleur. But how did he find out about it? I should have kept an eye on that Paul.”
    “They would have figured it out eventually,” Ruben said. “And then…I’m leaving here tomorrow. Prepare yourself for that. I won’t stay in this house another day.” He gestured in Howard’s direction.
    “You’ll still be recovering tomorrow,” Helen said. “And we shouldn’t upset things. George…”
    “Uncle George can’t help us anymore, Mother. I’m not going to Dunedin. I’m going to Otago. There’s gold there. I…I’ll find some, and then I’ll come back for Fleur. And you too. He…he can’t be allowed to hit you anymore!”
    Helen said nothing more. She rubbed her son’s wounds with a cooling salve and sat by him until he fell asleep. As she sat there, she thought of all the nights she had spent by his side, when he was sick or had been frightened by a nightmare and wanted to have her nearby. Ruben had always brought her joy. But now Howard had destroyed even that. Helen did not sleep that night.
    She wept.

3
    F leurette too wept that night in her sleep. She, Gwyneira, and Paul all had heard Gerald return late that evening, but no one had the courage to ask the old man what had happened. In the morning Gwyneira was the only one who came down to breakfast as usual. Gerald was sleeping off his hangover, and Paul did not dare show himself unless there was a chance of getting his grandfather on his side for the purpose of lifting his house arrest. Fleurette cowered, terrified and listless, in a corner of her bed, holding Grace tightly to her as her mother had once held Cleo, plagued by the most horrible thoughts. Gwyneira found her there after Andy McAran had informed her of an unannounced visitor in the stables. Gwyneira made certain that nothing was brewing with Gerald or Paul before she slipped into her daughter’s room.
    “Fleurette? Fleurette, it’s nine in the morning! What are you still doing in bed?” Gwyneira shook her head in admonishment, as though it were a normal day and Fleur had merely slept past the time she needed to leave for school. “Get dressed now, and fast. There’s someone waiting for you in the horse stables. And he can’t wait forever.”
    She smiled conspiratorially at her daughter.
    “Someone’s there.” Fleurette leaped up. “Who? Is it Ruben, Mummy? Oh if it’s Ruben, if he’s alive…”
    “Of course he’s alive, Fleurette. Your grandfather is a man quick to make wild threats and use his fists. But he’s not a killer. At least not at first—if he bumps into the boy here in our barn, though, I can’t make any promises.” Gwyneira helped Fleur slip into a riding dress.
    “And you’ll make sure he doesn’t come out, right? And Paul.” Fleurette seemed to be almost as afraid of her little brother as her grandfather. “He’s such a brat! You don’t really think that we…”
    “I think the boy is far too intelligent to take the risk of getting you pregnant,” Gwyneira said drily. “And you are just as smart as he is, Fleurette. Ruben wants to study in Dunedin, and you must be a few years older before you can even think of a wedding. The opportunities for a young lawyer who is quite possibly going to work for George Greenwood are a lot better than for a farm boy whose father lives hand to mouth. Keep that in mind when you meet with him this morning. Although…from what Andy McAran says, he’s hardly in any condition to get anyone pregnant.”
    Gwyneira’s last comment came close to Fleur’s darkest fears. Instead of looking for her waxed coat—it was pouring outside—she hastily threw a shawl over her shoulders and then hurried downstairs. She had not brushed her hair, as untangling it probably would have taken hours. Generally she liked to comb it every evening and braid it before bed, but she had not had the energy for it the night before. Now it fluttered wildly around her narrow face, but to Ruben O’Keefe, she was still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Fleurette, on the other hand, was horrified by the sight of her beau. The boy reclined on a bale of hay. Every movement