In the Land of the Long White Cloud

her new home. For a small charge, she was allowed to take her beloved rocking chair on the ship, and Helen spent several hours packing it up with care. In order to contain her excitement, she began her preparations for the trip early and was already more or less finished four weeks before the ship was scheduled to depart. She put off the unpleasant task of informing her family of her departure until just before she was to leave. Finally, she could not delay any longer. Their reactions were as she’d expected: Helen’s sister was shocked, her brothers furious. If Helen could no longer provide for their room and board, they would have to seek refuge with Reverend Thorne again. Helen thought that would only do them good and told them so in as many words.
    As for her sister, Helen didn’t take her emotional tirade seriously for a second. Susan went on for pages about how much she would miss her sister, and some of the letter’s pages even had tearstains, but Helen knew that these could be traced to John’s and Simon’s student expenses being thrust on her shoulders now.
    When Susan and her husband finally came to London “just to talk things over one last time,” Helen didn’t even respond to Susan’s show of grief when they said their farewells. Instead, she pointed out that her move would hardly change anything about their relationship. “We haven’t written to each other much more than twice a year even up to now,” Helen said coldly. “You are busy with your family, and it surely won’t be any different for me.”
    If only there was something concrete to make her believe that.
    She had received no further word from Howard. However, a week before Helen’s departure, after she’d long since given up lying in wait for the letter carrier every morning, George brought her an envelope covered in many bright stamps.
    “Here, Miss Davenport!” he said excitedly. “You can open it immediately. I promise I won’t tattle, and I won’t look over your shoulder. I’ll be playing with William, OK?”
    Helen was in the garden with her charges; she had just ended their lessons for the day. William was alone, busy hitting the ball intermittently through the croquet hoops.
    “George, you mustn’t say ‘OK,’” Helen chided him out of habit, while reaching with unseemly haste for the letter. “Where did you even learn that word? From those smutty novels the help reads? For heaven’s sake do not leave them lying around. If William…”
    “William can’t read,” George interrupted her. “We both know that, Miss Davenport, whatever Mother likes to believe. And I won’t say ‘OK’ again; I promise. Are you going to read your letter now?” The expression on George’s narrow face was unexpectedly serious. Helen had rather expected his usual insinuating smirk.
    But what was that supposed to mean? Even if he did inform his mother that she, Helen, was reading private letters during work, in a week she would be at sea, unless…
    Helen ripped the letter open with trembling hands. If Mr. O’Keefe no longer showed an interest in her now…
    My dearest Miss Davenport
,
    Words cannot express how much your lines touched my soul. I have not put your letter down since I received it a few days ago. It accompanies me everywhere, when working on the farm, during my rare trips to the city—whenever I reach for it, I find comfort and an effervescent joy in knowing that somewhere far away a heart beats for me. And I must admit that in the darkest hours of my loneliness I occasionally bring it to my lips. This paper that you have touched, over which your breath has passed, is as sacred to me as the few reminders of my family, which I guard like treasures
.
    But how shall we continue? Dearest Miss Davenport, I would like nothing more now than to tell you to come! Let us leave our loneliness behind us. Let us brush away the scurf of despair and darkness. Let us start anew, together!
    Here we can hardly wait for the first whiffs of spring to blossom. The grass is beginning to turn green; the trees are beginning to bud. How gladly I would share this sight with you! For that to happen, however, there are more tedious considerations than the flight of burgeoning affection. I would gladly send you the money for the journey, my dear Miss Davenport—oh why not, my dearest Helen! But that will have to wait until my sheep have lambed and the farm’searnings this year can be estimated. After all, I do not want to burden our life