In the Land of the Long White Cloud

over her hair. Should she take off her little hat or keep it on? There was a mirror in Mrs. Baldwin’s parlor, and Helen cast an uncertain glance at her reflection before looking at the man on the sofa. He had his back turned to her, since Mrs. Baldwin’s furniture set was turned toward the fireplace. So Helen had a chance to steal a peek at his figure before making her presence known. Howard O’Keefe looked bulky and tense. Clearly self-conscious, he balanced a thin-rimmed cup from Mrs. Baldwin’s tea set in his large, calloused hands.
    Helen was about to clear her throat to make herself known to the pastor’s wife and her visitor. But just then Mrs. Baldwin caught a glimpse of her. The pastor’s wife smiled coolly as always but feigned warmth.
    “Oh there she is now, Mr. O’Keefe! You see, I knew she wouldn’t stay out long. Come in, Miss Davenport. I’d like to introduce you to someone.” Mrs. Baldwin’s tone was almost whimsical.
    Helen stepped nearer. The man stood up from the couch so quickly that he almost knocked the tea service from the table.
    “Miss…ahem, Helen?”
    Helen raised her gaze to look her future husband in the eye. Howard O’Keefe was tall and heavy—not fat but built with a sturdy bone structure. The cast of his face was earthy, but not unattractive. His bronzed, leathery skin spoke of long years of hard work in the open air. It was marked by deep lines that indicated a rich range of expressions; at the moment, however, he could only manage a lookof astonishment—even awe. There was recognition in his steely blue eyes—Helen seemed to please him. His hair caught her attention above all else: it was dark, full, and neatly cut—she assumed he had squeezed in a visit to the barber’s before this first meeting with his fiancée. However, his hair was already graying at the temples. Howard was considerably older than Helen had pictured him.
    “Mr.…Mr. O’Keefe…” she said tonelessly and could have hit herself. After all, he had called her “Helen,” so she could have called him “Howard.”
    “I…eh, well, you’re here now!” Howard remarked, in a sort of non sequitur. “That…eh, was something of a surprise.”
    Helen wondered if that was meant as censure. She blushed.
    “Yes. The…ahem, circumstances. But I…I’m happy to finally meet you.”
    She held her hand out to Howard. He took it and gave it a firm handshake.
    “I’m happy too. I’m only sorry you had to wait.”
    Ah, that’s what he meant. Helen smiled, relieved.
    “Nothing to be sorry for, Howard. I was told it might take some time before you heard of my arrival. But now you’re here.”
    “Now I’m here.”
    Howard smiled too, which softened his features and made him more appealing. On account of his polished writing style, Helen had at least expected a more intellectual conversation. But what did it matter? Maybe he was shy. Helen took over steering the conversation.
    “Where exactly did you come here from, Howard? I had thought Haldon lay closer to Christchurch. But it turns out it’s its own city. And your farm lies somewhere outside of it?”
    “Haldon lies on Lake Benmore,” Howard explained, as though that meant anything to Helen. “Don’t know if you could call it a ‘city.’ But it has a few stores. You can buy the important things there. The things you need, at least.”
    “And how far is it from here?” Helen inquired, feeling dumb. Here she was sitting with the man she was likely to marry and they were gabbing about distances and town shops.
    “Just about two days with the team,” said Howard after brief contemplation. Helen would have preferred a clarification in miles but didn’t want to nitpick. Instead, she said nothing, which created an awkward silence. Howard cleared his throat.
    “And…did you have a safe journey?”
    Helen sighed with relief. Finally a question with a story she could tell. She described her passage with the girls.
    Howard nodded. “Hm. A long journey…”
    Helen hoped he would tell of his own immigration, but he remained quiet.
    Fortunately, Vicar Chester now joined them. As he greeted Howard, Helen finally found the time to catch her breath and take a closer look at her future husband. The farmer’s clothing was simple but clean. He wore leather breeches that had clearly seen many rides, and a waxed jacket over a white shirt. A splendidly decorated brass belt buckle was the only valuable piece of his wardrobe—other than a silver