In the Land of the Long White Cloud

pastor’s house, Helen reached for the Bible for lessons.
    Daphne began to read the story of the wedding at Cana, clearly bored, and closed the book gladly when Mrs. Baldwin appeared a short time later. She was accompanied by a tall, squarely built man.
    “It’s very commendable of you, Miss Davenport, to dedicate yourself to the girls’ edification,” the pastor’s wife declared. “But instead you really could have been working on quieting this child.”
    She looked antagonistically over at the still-weeping Mary. “It doesn’t matter now though. This is Mr. Willard, who will be taking Mary Alliston with him to his farm.”
    “She’s to live alone with a farmer?” Helen was incensed.
    Mrs. Baldwin raised her eyes to heaven. “For goodness’ sake, of course not! That would be against all propriety. No, no, Mr. Willard, naturally, has a wife, and seven children.”
    Mr. Willard nodded proudly. He seemed kind. His face, thoroughly creased by laugh lines, wore the traces of hard work in the open air in all weather. His hands were calloused paws, and his muscular figure was visible beneath his clothes.
    “The older boys are already working hard with me in the fields,” the farmer explained. “But my wife needs help with the little ones. In the house, and in the stables too, of course. And she doesn’t like the Maori women. She says her children should only be raised by good, Christian folk. So which is our girl? She should be strong, if possible; the work is hard!”
    Mr. Willard looked just as appalled as Helen when Mrs. Baldwin introduced Mary to him. “That little thing? This must be a joke, madam! That would just make eight kids in the house.”
    Mrs. Baldwin looked at him sternly. “If you don’t spoil the girl, she is definitely capable of hard work. In London they assured us that every girl had turned at least thirteen and was fit for any kind of work. So, do you want the girl or not?”
    Mr. Willard seemed to waver. “My wife really needs the help,” he said almost by way of excuse in Helen’s direction. “The next child’scoming into the world around Christmas, so someone’s got to help her out. Well, come on then, little one, we’ll make this work. Come on, up, what’re you waiting on? And why are you crying? Lord above, I really don’t need any more problems.” Without giving Mary another look, Mr. Willard left the stables. Mrs. Baldwin shoved the little girl’s bundle into her hand.
    “Go with him. And be an obedient maid,” she told the child. Mary obeyed without protest, crying all the while.
    “Let’s hope the wife shows the girl a little sympathy,” sighed Vicar Chester. He had watched the scene as helplessly as Helen.
    Daphne snorted. “You try showing sympathy with eight tykes hanging on your apron,” she said, “and every year your husband making you another. But there’s no money and he drinks the last bit away. Your sympathy’ll get caught in your throat. Then you just try not hurting anyone.”
    Vicar Chester looked at the girl in shock. He was obviously asking himself how this girl was going to work out as a demure servant to one of Christchurch’s notables. Daphne’s eruptions no longer surprised Helen, however—and she found herself increasingly sympathetic toward them.
    “Now, now, Daphne. Mr. Willard does not give the impression of drinking his money away,” she said, in an effort to placate the girl. She couldn’t fault Daphne; she was undoubtedly right. Mrs. Willard would not spare Mary. She had too many children of her own to be able to worry about her too. The little girl would not be anything more to her than cheap labor. The vicar had to see that too. In any event, he did not say a word regarding Daphne’s insolence, and instead only made a small gesture of blessing toward the girls before leaving the stables. No doubt he had already left his duties unattended long enough to have earned the reverend’s censure.
    Though Helen felt she should open the Bible again, neither she nor her pupils had the heart for edifying texts.
    “I’m anxious to see what happens to us next,” Daphne said, saying aloud what all the remaining girls were thinking. “These people must live far away if they haven’t appeared yet to pick up their slaves.Start practicing milking cows, Dorothy.” She motioned to the pastor’s cow, which they had relieved of a few liters of milk the night before. Which is to say that Mrs. Baldwin had not let the children partake