In the Land of the Long White Cloud

father’s house, and opened the missive.
    As soon as she’d read the first words, Helen’s heart warmed.
    Dearest Lady
,
    I hardly dare send you word, so unimaginable is it to me that I should attract your precious attention. The path I’ve chosen is no doubt unconventional, but I live in a still young land in which we do revere the old customs but must find new and extraordinary solutions to problems that pull at our hearts. In my case it is a profound loneliness and longing that often keeps me up at night. True, I live in a cozy house, but what it’s missing is the warmth that only a woman’s touch can bring. The country around me is endlessly expansive and beautiful, but all this splendor seems to lack that center that would bring light and love into my life. Short and sweet, I dream of a girl who would like to share in all that I am, who would share in my success as my farm grows, and who is prepared to help me endure any setbacks. Indeed, I yearn for a woman who would be prepared to tie her fate to mine. Could you be this woman? I pray to God for a loving woman, whose heart my words can soften. But she would, of course, want more from me than a mere glimpse into my thoughts and longings. Well then, my name is Howard O’Keefe, and as my name suggests, I have Irish roots. But that was long ago. I can hardly count the years now that I’ve toiled in this often unfriendly world. I am no longer an inexperienced youth,my dear. I have lived and suffered much. But now, here on the Canterbury Plains, in the foothills of New Zealand’s Alps, I have found a home. My farm is small, but this country’s breed of sheep has a future, and I am sure that I can support a family. I’d wish for the woman at my side to be practical and sincere, skilled in all household matters, and willing to raise our children according to Christian principles. I would support her in that to the best of my abilities with all the strength of a loving spouse
.
    Could it be, my dear reader, that you share but a part of these wishes and desires? Then write me! I will lap up each word of yours like water in the desert, and already, for the courtesy of reading my words, you’ve received a permanent place in my heart
.
    Your most obedient servant
,
    Howard O’Keefe
    After finishing the letter, Helen had tears in her eyes. How wonderfully this man could write! How precisely he expressed those feelings that stirred so often in Helen. She too felt the lack of a center in her life. She too wanted to feel at home somewhere, to have her own family, and a home that she not only governed for someone else but that was part of who she was. True, she hadn’t exactly been picturing a farm, more like a house in town. But life was full of little compromises, especially when undertaking such adventures. And in the Mortimers’ country house, she had felt completely at home. It had been especially pleasant when Mrs. Mortimer had come smiling into the salon in the morning with a basket of fresh eggs in one hand and a bouquet of bright flowers from the garden in the other. Helen, who usually got up early, had helped her set the breakfast table and had relished the fresh butter and creamy milk from the Mortimers’ own cows. Mr. Mortimer had made a good impression too when he returned from his morning ride across the fields, fresh and hungry from the cool air, bronzed by the sun. Helen imagined her Howard to be just as vibrant and attractive. Her Howard. The sound of it! The feel of it! Helen almost danced across her little room. Would shebe able to take the rocking chair with her to her new homeland? It would be exciting to someday tell her children about this moment when their father’s words had first found her and immediately touched the innermost parts of her.
    Dearest Mr. O’Keefe
,
    I read the lines you wrote today with a warm and joyful heart. I too set out only haltingly on this path to our acquaintance, but only God knows why He leads two people who live worlds apart to each other. Upon reading your letter, however, I felt that the miles that separate us seemed to melt away. Can it be that we’ve already met before innumerable times in our dreams? Or is it merely common experience and longing that make us seem so much closer? I am no longer a young girl either. I was forced quite early on, by my mother’s death, to take on responsibility. Hence I know the ins and outs of managing a large household. I raised my siblings myself and now have a