In the Land of the Long White Cloud

relieved, not only by the news Fleur sent, but also by her detailed description of Daphne and the twins.
    “Daphne must have rounded up the girls somewhere in Lyttelton,” Gwyneira read out loud from one of the letters Fleur had sent.“Apparently, they were living on the street and eked out a living by stealing. Daphne took the girls in and looked after them lovingly. Mrs. O’Keefe can be proud of her, even though she is a—the word has to be spelled out—w-h-o-r-e.” Gwyneira laughed. “So you’ve found all your lambs again, Helen. But what should we do with the letters now? Burn them? I would be sorry to do that, but neither Gerald nor Paul and certainly not Howard can get a hold of them under any circumstances.”
    “I have a hiding place,” Helen said conspiratorially and went to one of her kitchen cabinets. There was a loose board in the back where a person could deposit inconspicuous little objects. Helen kept a little money she had saved and a few mementos from Ruben’s childhood there. Embarrassed, she showed the other women one of his drawings and a lock of his hair.
    “How sweet!” Elizabeth declared and admitted to the others that she carried a lock of George’s hair in a locket around her neck.
    Gwyneira would have envied this concrete proof of her love, but then she cast an eye on the little dog lying in front of the fireplace who was looking up at her adoringly. Nothing could bind her more tightly to James than Friday.

    Another year later, Gerald and Paul returned angry from a breeders’ conference in Christchurch.
    “The governor doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Gerald ranted, pouring himself a whiskey. After a moment of consideration, he filled a second glass for the fourteen-year-old Paul. “Banned for life! Who’s going to check on that? If he doesn’t like it there, he’ll be back on the next ship.”
    “Who’ll be back?” Gwyneira inquired, only moderately interested. Dinner would be served in a moment, and she had joined the men with a glass of port—to keep her eye on Gerald. It did not please her one bit that he was offering Paul something to drink. The boy would learn that soon enough. Besides, he could hardly control his temperwhen he was sober. He would be that much more difficult under the influence of alcohol.
    “McKenzie! The damned sheep thief! The governor commuted his sentence.”
    Gwyneira felt the blood rising to her cheeks. James was free?
    “On the condition that he leave the country as soon as possible. They’re sending him to Australia on the next ship. Sounds good to me—he can’t be far enough away for my liking. But he’ll be a free man over there. Who’s going to keep him from coming back?” Gerald blustered.
    “Isn’t that unwise?” Gwyneira asked flatly. If James really left for Australia forever…she was happy about his commutation, but it also meant she had lost him for herself.
    “For the next three years, yes,” Paul said. He sipped at his whiskey, observing his mother attentively.
    Gwyneira fought to maintain her composure.
    “But after that?” Paul continued. “He would have served his sentence. A few more years and it would fall under the statute of limitations. And then if he had brains enough to come back through Dunedin, for example, instead of Lyttelton…he could also change his name; after all, no one cares what it says on the passenger manifest. What’s wrong, Mother? You don’t look at all well.”
    Gwyneira clung to the thought that Paul was right. James would find some way to get back to her. She had to see him again! She had to hear it from his own mouth before she would really begin to have any hope.
    Friday snuggled up to Gwyneira, who scratched her absentmindedly. Suddenly she had an idea.
    The dog, of course! Gwyneira would go to Lyttelton tomorrow to take the dog back to the sheriff so that he could return her to James when he was released. She would then be able to ask the man if she could see James in order to talk to him about Friday. After all, she had taken care of the dog for almost two years now. Surely the police chief would not deny her that. He was a good-natured fellow and could not possibly suspect a relationship between herself and McKenzie.
    If only that didn’t also mean a separation from Friday. Gwyneira’s heart bled at the thought. But there was nothing for it. Friday belonged to James.
    Naturally, Gerald got upset when Gwyneira declared that she planned to take the dog back the next