In the Land of the Long White Cloud

behind. And it likely had little more to offer in social life and amenities.
    Gwyneira hardly gave the town a second glance. It was tiny, yes, but she was used to that from the villages in Wales. What fascinated her was the hinterland: sheer endless grassland basking in the late afternoon sun, and beyond the plains rose majestic mountains, some of which were capped with snow. They were surely many miles away, but the air was so clear that it looked like you could touch them. A few children even stretched out their hands.
    The vista was reminiscent of Wales or other parts of Great Britain where grasslands bordered on hilly regions; for that reason this landscape felt familiar to Gwyneira and many of the other settlers.But everything was clearer, larger, and more expansive. No pens or walls divided the landscape, and only the occasional house could be seen. Gwyneira experienced a sensation of freedom. She would be able to ride endlessly here, and the sheep could spread themselves out over a gigantic area. Never again would she have to discuss whether there was enough grass or if the herd needed to be thinned. Here there seemed to be an infinite amount of land.
    Gerald’s anger at Gwyneira dissolved when he saw her beaming face. It reflected the joy he felt anew each time he looked out over his homeland. Gwyneira would feel at home here. She might not love Lucas, but she would definitely love the land.
    Helen resolved to have a positive attitude. This was not what she’d pictured, but to be fair, she’d been assured on all sides that Christchurch was a blossoming community. The town would grow. Eventually there would be schools and libraries—perhaps she could even take part in building it up. Howard seemed to be a man interested in culture; no doubt he would support her. And moreover, she didn’t have to love the land but rather her husband. With renewed determination, she swallowed her disappointment and turned to the girls.
    “On your feet, children. You’ve had your refreshment; now we have to get going. But it won’t be as bad going downhill. Come, let’s have the little ones race. Whoever makes it to the next inn first gets an extra lemonade!”
    The next inn was not far. The first houses were already visible in the foothills of the mountains. The path widened, and the riders could pass those who were on foot. Cleo drove the sheep ably past the settlers, and Gwyneira followed on the still-prancing Igraine. Earlier, on the more precarious narrow paths, the cobs had remained remarkably calm. Even little Madoc had scrambled nimbly over the stony paths, and Gerald had soon felt quite safe. He had decided to put the upsetting interlude with Gwyneira behind him. Fine, the girl had prevailed against his will, but he wouldn’t let that happen again. This wild little Welsh princess needed to be reined in. Gerald was optimistic in that regard: Lucas would demand impeccable behavior of his wife, and Gwyneira had been raised to live at a gentleman’sside. She might like hunting and training dogs better, but in the long run, she would acquiesce to fate.

    The travelers reached the Avon River as daylight was fading, and the riders were ferried across the river. There was even enough time to load the sheep onto the ferry before the hikers arrived, so Helen’s companions could only curse about a ferry soiled with sheep dung, but not about delays.
    The London girls stared enchanted into the river’s crystal clear water; until that moment, they had only ever known the dirty, foul-smelling Thames. Helen didn’t care about anything anymore; she longed only for a bed. She hoped the reverend would take her in like a proper host. And he must have prepared something for the girls; he couldn’t possibly be sending them off to their respective homes that day.
    Exhausted, Helen stood in front of the hotel and the stable with stalls for rent and asked for directions to the parsonage. She saw Gwyneira and Mr. Warden as they were emerging from the stables. They had left the animals in good hands and were now looking forward to a banquet. Helen felt a profound pang of envy for her friend. How she would have liked to freshen up in a clean hotel room and sit at a set table. But she still had to march through the streets of Christchurch and make arrangements with the pastor. The girls behind her muttered quietly among themselves, and the little ones wept from exhaustion.
    Fortunately, it was not far to the church; in those days