In the Land of the Long White Cloud

lady’s elegant clothing.
    “Of course not,” Helen said. “I’m only taking care of them during the passage. They’re orphans. Are those all
your
animals?”
    The girl laughed. “No, just the horses…one of the horses, to be precise. The stallion belongs to Mr. Warden. The sheep too. I don’t know whom the other animals belong to, but maybe we could even milk the cow! Then we’d have fresh milk for the children. They look like they could use it.”
    Helen nodded sadly. “Yes, they’re severely undernourished. Hopefully they’ll survive the long journey; one hears so much about disease and child mortality. But at least we have a doctor on board. I can only hope he knows his business. Oh, by the way, my name is Helen Davenport.”
    “Gwyneira Silkham,” answered the girl. “And those two are Madoc and Igraine,” she said, introducing the horses as matter-of-factly as if they were guests at the same tea party. “And Cleo…where’s she hiding now? Ah, there she is. She’s making friends again.”
    Helen followed Gwyneira’s gaze and saw a furry little creature that seemed to be giving her a friendly smile. However, in doing so, it also revealed its imposingly large teeth, which sent a shiver through Helen. She startled when she saw Rosie next to the animal. The little girl snuggled as trustfully into the dog’s fur as she did into the folds of Helen’s skirt.
    “Rosemary!” Helen called in alarm. The girl shrank back and let go of the dog, which turned back to her and raised an imploring paw.
    Gwyneira laughed and made her own placating hand motion. “Don’t worry about letting the little one play with her,” she told Helen calmly. “Cleo loves children. She won’t harm her. I’m afraid I must be going. Mr. Warden will be waiting. And I really shouldn’t even be here, as I should be spending some time with my family. After all, that’s why my parents and siblings came all the way to London. It’s just more nonsense though. I’ve seen my family every day for seventeen years now. Everything’s been said. But my mother has been crying the whole time and my sister bawls alongside her in accompaniment. My father’s wallowing in self-pity for sending me to New Zealand, and my brother is so jealous he’d like nothing better than to strangle me. I can’t wait for us to push off. What about you? Did no one come for you?” Gwyneira looked around. Everywhere else in steerage, people were weeping and wailing. Parting gifts were exchanged, final well wishes relayed. Many of these families would be forever separated by this departure.
    Helen shook her head. She had set out from the Greenwoods’ home in a cab alone. The rocking chair, her only cumbersome piece of luggage, had been picked up the day before.
    “I’m traveling to meet my husband in Christchurch,” she explained, as if that would explain the absence of her loved ones. But she didn’t want under any circumstances to be pitied by this rich and obviously privileged young woman.
    “Oh? Then is your family already in New Zealand?” Gwyneira asked excitedly. “You must tell me about it sometime; that is, I’ve never been…but now I really must be going. I’ll see you tomorrow, children. Don’t get seasick! Come, Cleo.” Gwyneira turned to go, but little Dorothy stopped her, tugging bashfully on her skirt.
    “Miss, pardon me, miss, but your dress is dirty. Your mother is going to yell.”
    Gwyneira laughed, but then looked down at herself, concerned. “You’re right. She’ll have a fit! I’m impossible. I can’t even behave during good-byes.”
    “I can brush it off for you, miss. I know velvet.” Dorothy looked solicitously up at Gwyneira, then motioned her to the chair in the cabin.
    Gwyneira sat down. “Where did you learn that, little one?” she asked, surprised, as Dorothy went to work skillfully with Helen’s clothes brush; apparently, the girl had observed earlier when Helen had laid her things in the tiny wardrobe that was part of each berth.
    Helen sighed. When she’d bought that expensive brush, she had not planned for it to be used for the removal of muck.
    “We get clothing donations all the time at the orphanage. But we don’t keep them; the clothes are sold. Before that, though, we have to clean them of course, and I always help with that. Look, miss, it’s all pretty again.” Dorothy smiled shyly.
    Gwyneira hunted in her pockets for a gold piece with which to reward the girl, but didn’t find