In the Land of the Long White Cloud

Gwyneira told him to have the sheep mate with the rams from Wales right away.
    “Is it usual in England for young ladies to talk about sexual things so…so unabashedly?” he asked cautiously.
    “How else should I say it?” Gwyneira had never made a connection between proper decorum and sheep breeding. She didn’t have any idea how a woman got pregnant, but she had watched sheep mate more than once without anyone finding it problematic.
    Lucas blushed slightly. “Well, this…ahem, this whole realm of conversation is off-limits to ladies, isn’t it?”
    Gwyneira shrugged. “My sister Larissa raises Highland terriers, my other sister roses. They talk about it all day. Where would you draw the line?”
    “Gwyneira!” Lucas turned beet red. “Oh, let’s drop this subject. God knows, it is not proper in our particular situation. Why don’t we just watch the lambs play a bit? Are they not adorable?”
    Gwyneira had been assessing them more from the standpoint of wool yield, but like all newborn lambs, they were indeed cute. She agreed with Lucas and made no objections when he suggested they bring their ride to a close.
    “I think you’ve seen enough to get around Kiward Station on your own,” he said as he helped Gwyneira off her horse in front of the stables—a comment that made up for all of his stodginess. Apparently,he had nothing against his fiancée riding out alone. At least he had not mentioned a chaperone—whether because he’d skipped that chapter in the etiquette book or because he simply couldn’t imagine a girl might wish to ride alone she didn’t know—and didn’t care.
    Gwyneira seized the opportunity straightaway. Lucas had hardly turned away before she said to the older shepherd who took her horse, “Mr. McAran, I’d like to ride out alone early tomorrow. Please make the new stallion available for me at ten o’clock—with Mr. Warden’s saddle.”

    Helen’s marriage to Howard O’Keefe was not as spartan as the young woman had feared it would be. In order to avoid performing the ceremony in an empty church, Reverend Baldwin held it alongside the Sunday service. As a result, there ended up being a long line of well-wishers who paraded past Helen and Howard and congratulated them. Mr. and Mrs. McLaren had done their part to make the service festive, and Mrs. Godewind had contributed flowers to decorate the church, which they had tied into splendid arrangements. Mr. and Mrs. McLaren had outfitted Rosemary in a pink Sunday dress, which she wore as she strewed flower petals, herself looking like a little rosebud. Mr. McLaren gave the bride away, and Belinda Baldwin and Elizabeth acted as Helen’s bridesmaids. Helen had hoped to see the other girls at Sunday service, but none of the families living out of town showed up. Even Laurie’s employers did not let her come. Helen was unsettled but didn’t want that to ruin her big day. She had by now gotten over the precipitous nature of the marriage and had firmly decided to make the best of it. Moreover, she had been able to observe Howard closely over the last few days since he was staying in town and had joined the Baldwins for almost every meal. Though it was true that his violent reaction to the Wardens had alienated Helen at first, scared her even, he otherwise appeared to be quite collected. He used his stay in the city to stock up on a great many things for the farm, so he didn’t seem to be doing all that bad financially. He looked very dapper in the graytweed Sunday suit he had picked out for the wedding, though it didn’t fit the season and he was perspiring as a result.
    Helen wore a spring-green summer dress that she had been measured for in London with her wedding in mind. Naturally, she would have liked to wear a white lace dress, but she had dismissed that as an unnecessary waste of money. After all, she would never have an occasion to wear such a dream in silk again. Helen’s luminous hair fell freely down her back—a hairstyle that Mrs. Baldwin eyed distrustfully but that Mrs. McLaren and Mrs. Godewind had approved. They had simply pulled Helen’s mane of hair out of her face with a bandeau decorated with flowers. Helen thought that she had never looked so lovely, and even taciturn Howard managed a rare compliment: “You look…uh, very pretty, Helen.”
    Helen fondled the letters he’d sent, which she always kept with her. When would her husband finally open up enough to repeat those beautiful words to her