In the Land of the Long White Cloud

In England you wouldn’t have met your fiancé for the first time in riding clothes and with your hair down.”
    He thought that Gwyneira, with her hair only half up and her face slightly pink from riding in the sun, looked ravishing himself, but Lucas might not see it that way.
    “Kiri will show you your room now and help you freshen up and do your hair. In an hour we’ll all meet for tea. My son should be back by five—he doesn’t generally prolong his rides. Then your first encounter will go as properly as anyone could ask for.”
    Gwyneira could indeed have asked for something else, but she gave in to the inevitable.
    “Can someone take my bag?” she asked, looking at the help. “Oh, no, that is too heavy for you Moana. Thank you, Hotaropa…Hoturapa? Pardon, but I’ll remember it now. Now how do you say ‘thank you’ in Maori, Kiri?”

    Helen had settled in at the Baldwins’ against her will. As abhorrent as the family was to her, there was no alternative until Howard arrived. So she did her best to be friendly. She asked Reverend Baldwin to write down the texts for the church newsletters and then took them to the printer. She ran errands for Mrs. Baldwin and tried to make herself useful around the house, taking on small sewing projects and checking Belinda’s homework. This last task soon made her the most hated person in the house. The girl did not like having her work checked and complained to her mother at every opportunity. This was how it became clear to Helen how weak the teachers in the newly opened school in Christchurch must be. She considered applying for a position there if things did not work out with Howard. Vicar Chester persisted in his encouragement: it could still be a while before O’Keefe learned of her arrival.
    “After all, the Candlers were hardly going to send a messenger to his farm. They were probably waiting for him to come shopping in Haldon, and that could take a few days. But when he hears that you’re here, he’ll come. I’m sure of it.”
    For Helen that was further cause for concern. She had gotten over the fact that Howard did not live right next to Christchurch. Haldon was obviously not a suburb but its own independent and growing town. Helen could get used to that too. But now the vicar was telling her that Howard’s farm lay outside of Haldon. Where exactly was she going to be living? She would have loved to talk it over with Gwyneira; perhaps Gwyneira could even have unobtrusively sounded Gerald out on the subject. But Gwyneira had left for Kiward Station the day before, and Helen had no idea when or even if she would see her friend again.
    At least she had something pleasant planned for the afternoon. Mrs. Godewind had formally reissued her invitation, and right at teatime her chaise arrived to pick Helen up, with Jones, her driver, on the coach box. Jones beamed at her and helped her into the coach with perfect form. He even complimented her on her smart appearance in her new lilac-colored afternoon dress. Then he sang Elizabeth’s praises the entire way.
    “Our missus is a whole other person, Miss Davenport; you won’t believe it. She seems to be getting younger every day, laughing and joking with the girl. And Elizabeth is such a charming child, constantly looking to help out my wife and always in a good mood. And can the girl ever read! My word, if I can find any, I always find some work in the house whenever the girl reads to Mrs. Godewind. She does it with such a sweet voice and emphasis—you’d think you were right there in the story.”
    Nor had Elizabeth forgotten Helen’s lessons on serving and behaving at the table. She poured the tea and passed the pastries around skillfully and with care; moreover, she looked adorable in her new blue dress and neat white bonnet.
    She cried, however, when she heard about Laurie and Mary and also seemed to better grasp Helen’s watered-down version of Daphne and Dorothy’s story than Helen had supposed she would. True, Elizabeth was a dreamer, but she had been found as a London street urchin. She shed hot tears for Daphne and demonstrated great faith in her new mistress, to whom she immediately turned for help.
    “Couldn’t we send Mr. Jones and take Daphne away? And the twins? Please, Mrs. Godewind, we’ll surely find work for them here. There has to be something we can do.”
    Mrs. Godewind shook her head. “I’m afraid not, child. These people have signed work contracts with the orphanage, just