In the Land of the Long White Cloud

Paul’s voice cracked.
    George nodded. “Oh yes they can. And I’m afraid that’s exactly what the officer is going to do when he arrives tomorrow.”
    Gwyneira held her glass out to him for more. She could not remember ever having more than a sip of brandy, but tonight she needed it. “So, what now, George? Is there anything we can do?”
    “I’m not staying here!” Paul announced. “I’ll flee; I’ll go into the highlands. I can live like the Maori! No one will ever find me.”
    “Don’t talk such rot, Paul!” Gwyneira yelled at him.
    George Greenwood turned his glass in his hands.
    “Maybe he’s not all that wrong, Gwyneira,” he said. “There’s probably nothing better for him to do than disappear, at least until a little grass has grown over the whole thing. In a year or so, the boys in the pub will have forgotten the incident. And between us, I hardly think that Helen O’Keefe will pursue the business with much vigor. When Paul returns, the whole thing will naturally come to trial. But then he can plead self-defense more credibly. You know how these people are, Gwyneira. Tomorrow, people will still remember that the one only had an old rifle and the other a revolver. In three months’ time, they’ll probably be saying they were both armed with canons.”
    Gwyneira nodded. “At least we’ll save ourselves the commotion of a trial while this delicate business with the Maori is still going on. Tonga will have a field day with all of this…please pour me another brandy, George. I can’t believe any of this. We’re sitting here talking about what makes the most strategic sense, and two men have died!”
    While George was filling her glass, Friday started barking again.
    “The police!” Paul reached for his revolver, but George grabbed his arm.
    “For God’s sake, don’t make things worse, boy! If you shoot someone else—or even threaten Hanson—they will hang you, Paul Warden. And even your name and all your fortune won’t save you then.”
    “It can’t be the police anyway,” Gwyneira said, swaying slightly as she raised herself up. Even if the people in Haldon had sent a messenger to Lyttelton by night, Hanson could not have arrived before the next afternoon.
    Instead, Helen O’Keefe stood in the doorway leading from the kitchen to the salon, shaking and soaked through by the rain. Confusedby the voices in the study, she had not dared enter—and now looked uncertainly from Gwyneira to George Greenwood.
    “George…what are you doing…? Never mind, Gwyn, you have to put me up somewhere tonight. I could even sleep in the stables if you just give me a few dry things. I’m soaked to the bone. Nepumuk is not very fast.”
    “But what are you doing here?” Gwyneira asked, putting her arm around her friend. Helen had never been to Kiward Station before.
    “I…Howard found Ruben’s letters…he threw them all over the house and smashed the dishes…Gwyn, if he comes home drunk tonight, he’ll kill me!”
    As Gwyneira told her friend about Howard’s death, Helen displayed a great deal of calm. The tears she shed were for all the pain and suffering she had experienced and seen. Her love for her husband had faded long ago. She appeared more concerned that Paul could be put on trial for murder.
    Gwyneira gathered all the money she could find in the house and directed Paul to go upstairs and pack his things. She knew that she should help him with that—the boy was confused and tired to the bone, and there was no way he could still think straight. As he stumbled up the steps, however, Marama came from the other direction with a bundle of items.
    “I need your saddlebags, Paul,” she said gently. “And then we need to go to the kitchen; we should take some provisions with us, don’t you think?”
    “We?” Paul asked reluctantly.
    Marama nodded. “Of course. I’m coming with you. I’m here for you.”

13
    O fficer Hanson was more than a little surprised when he discovered Helen O’Keefe instead of Paul Warden at Kiward Station the next day. Naturally, he did not look especially pleased with the situation.
    “Mrs. Warden, there are people in Haldon accusing your son of murder. And now he’s run away from the investigation. I don’t know what I’m supposed to make of all this.”
    “I’m convinced he’ll come back,” Gwyneira explained. “Everything…his grandfather’s death, and then Helen’s sudden appearance here…he was terribly ashamed. It was all too