In the Land of the Long White Cloud

men said angrily. “He shared village with us so long, was like a son when little, like brother for Marama. But now…always angry. Only because angry with Tonga. He says we not listen to him, listen to Tonga. And Tonga wants us to go. But that nonsense. Tonga not yet wearing
tokipoutangata
, Ax of Chief…and young Mr. Warden not yet master of farm.”
    Gwyneira sighed. For the moment, Ngopini’s last remark gave her a good foothold to appease the men. Just as Tonga was not yet chief, the farm still did not belong to Paul; he was not entitled to reprimand anyone, let alone let them go. After receiving ample crop seeds by way of apology, the Maori declared themselves once again prepared to work for Gwyneira. But if Paul ever took over the business, people would walk off on him. Tonga would probably uproot the whole camp when he eventually bore the chieftain’s honors so as to never have to see Paul again.
    Gwyneira sought out her son and reproached him, but Paul merely shrugged. “Then I’ll just hire New Zealanders. They’re much easier to give orders to anyway. And Tonga won’t have the guts to leave this place. The Maori need the money they earn here and the land they live on. Who else will let them settle on his property? All the land now belongs to the white farmers anyway. And they don’t need any troublemakers.”
    Though annoyed, Gwyneira had to admit that Paul was right. Tonga’s tribe would not be welcome anywhere. However, the thought did little to reassure her, and instead gave her cause to fear how it would all end. Tonga was a hothead. No one could say what would happen when everything Paul had just said became clear to him.
    And here was this little girl coming into the stables where Gwyneira was just saddling her horse. Another obviously shaken Maori, hopefully not with further complaints about Paul.
    But the girl did not belong to the nearby tribe. Instead, Gwyneira recognized one of Helen’s students. She approached Gwyneira shyly and curtsied like a well-mannered English schoolgirl.
    “Miss Warden, Miss O’Keefe sent me. I’m supposed to tell you someone is waiting for you at the O’Keefe farm. And you should come quickly before it gets dark and Mr. O’Keefe comes home—in case he doesn’t go to the pub tonight.” The girl spoke impeccable English.
    “Who could be waiting for me, Mara?” Gwyneira asked, taken aback.
    “It’s a secret!” she declared importantly. “And I’m not allowed to tell anyone, just you.”
    Gwyneira’s heart raced. “Fleurette? Is it my daughter? Has Fleurette come back?” She could hardly believe it. After all, she had hoped her daughter had long since married Ruben and started a life in Otago.
    Mara shook her head. “No, miss, it’s a man…um, a gentleman. And I’m supposed to tell you they want you to please hurry.” With these last words she curtsied again.
    Gwyneira nodded. “Good job, girl. Go, quick, grab yourself something sweet from the kitchen. Moana baked some cookies earlier. I’ll hitch up the chaise in the meantime. Then you can ride home with me.”
    The girl shook her head. “I can walk, miss. Go ahead and take your horse. Miss O’Keefe said it’s very, very urgent!”
    Gwyneira did not understand, but obediently continued saddling her horse. So she would be visiting Helen today instead of inspecting the shearing sheds. Who could this mysterious visitor be? She bridled Raven, one of Morgaine’s energetic daughters. Raven set out at a brisk trot, quickly leaving the buildings of Kiward Station behind. The shortcut between the two farms had been so well traveled by now that Gwyneira hardly needed to hold her horse by the reins, even along the difficult stretches of the path. Raven leaped over the stream with one mighty bound. Gwyneira thought with a triumphant smile of the last hunt that Reginald Beasley had hosted. The farmer had since married again, a widow out of Christchurch closer to his own age. She managed the household splendidly and cared for the rose garden with never-ending diligence. She did not seem very passionate, however—thus Beasley continued to seek his pleasure by breeding racehorses. All the more reason it rankled him that Gwyneira and Raven had so far won every drag hunt. He planned to build a racetrack in the future. Then her cobs would no longer leave his thoroughbreds behind.
    Just before arriving at Helen’s farm, Gwyneira reined in her horse so that it would not run over the children coming