In the Land of the Long White Cloud

right.” She smiled dreamily as she described him, but the postman’s expression sobered her up again.
    “Don’t know him. What about you, Ron? Any idea?” Ethan turned to a short, heavyset man who had just entered and now leaned expectantly on the counter.
    The heavy man shrugged. “What sort of mule did he have?”
    Fleurette remembered that Daphne had called the rental stables’ owner Ron, and found renewed hope.
    “He has a horse. A little mare, very solidly built, like mine over there.” She gestured out the open window to Niniane, who was still standing in front of the hotel. “Only smaller, and a sorrel. Her name is Minette.”
    Ron nodded thoughtfully. “Nice horse!” he declared, though it wasn’t clear whether he meant Niniane or Minette. Fleurette could hardly stand still she was so impatient.
    “Sounds like little Rube Kays. The one who has that funny claim over by the Shotover River. You know Stue. He’s the one—”
    “The fellow who always swears my tools aren’t worth anything! Oh yes, I remember that one. And the other one too, though he didn’t say much. That’s right; they have a horse like that.” He turned to Fleur. “It’s too late to ride there tonight, lady. That’s at least two hours into the mountains.”
    “But will he be happy to see you?” Ron asked pessimistically. “It’s not my place to say, but if a fellow goes to the trouble of changing his name and hiding in the farthest corner of Otago to get away from you…”
    Fleurette began to glow red but was too happy about her discovery to be angry.
    “He’ll definitely be happy to see me,” she assured him. “But it’s true that it’s too late for me to ride out today. Can I leave my horse with you, mister…sir?”

    Fleur spent an astoundingly peaceful night in her room at Daphne’s. True, she could hear someone playing the piano below, and yes, there was dancing in the pub—and there was a lively coming and going in the hall until about midnight—but she herself remained unmolested and eventually fell into a deep sleep. She woke up early, not particularly surprised that no one else seemed to be up yet. She was surprised, however, to find one of the blonde girls waiting for her downstairs.
    “I’m supposed to make breakfast for you, Miss McKenzie,” she said dutifully. “Daphne says you have a long ride up the Shotover ahead of you to meet your fiancé. Laurie and I think that’s very romantic!”
    So this was Mary. Fleur thanked her for the coffee, the toast, and the eggs and did not feel bothered when Mary sat down next to her confidingly—after she had served Gracie a little bowl of leftover meat. “Sweet dog, miss. I knew one like that once. But it was a long time ago.” Mary’s face looked almost wistful. The young woman did not look at all how Fleur pictured a whore.
    “We used to always think we’d find a nice boy too,” Mary chatted on, petting Gracie. “But the stupid fact of the matter is that a man can’t marry two women. And we don’t want to separate. We need to find twins.”
    Fleurette laughed. “I thought in your line of work, people didn’t marry,” she repeated Daphne’s remark from the day before.
    Mary looked at her very seriously with her round blue eyes. “But that isn’t our line of work, miss. We’re good girls; everyone knows that. We dance a bit is all. But we don’t do anything dirty. Well, nothing
really
dirty. Nothing with men.”
    Fleurette was astonished. Could an establishment as small as Daphne’s really afford to keep two girls in the kitchen?
    “We also clean for Mr. Ethan and at the barber’s, Mr. Fox’s, to earn our keep. But always honest work; Daphne sees to that. If someone tries to touch us, she gives them trouble. Real trouble!” Mary’s child’s eyes took on a misty look. She really seemed to be a bit slow. Was that why Daphne took care of the girls? But now she had to be on her way.
    Mary waved dismissively when she wanted to pay for the room. “You can sort that out with Daphne when you come back by. In case things don’t work out with…with your friend.”
    Fleurette nodded gratefully and smiled to herself. Evidently, she was already the talk of Queenstown. The community did not seem very optimistic about her romantic endeavors. But Fleurette was happy as she rode south out of town along the lake and then turned westward up the broad river. She did not pass any gold-mining campsalong the way. Those lay on old sheep