In the Land of the Long White Cloud

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    The wedding itself was very festive. Reverend Baldwin proved to be an excellent speaker who knew how to captivate his parish. As he spoke of love “in good times and bad,” every last woman in the church was in tears and even the men were sniffling. The choice of maid of honor was the only bitter note for Helen. She had wanted to ask Mrs. Godewind, but Mrs. Baldwin had forced herself on Helen, and it would have been impolite to refuse her. Besides, she was very happy with the best man, Vicar Chester.
    Howard surprised her when he spoke his vows freely and with a steady voice, looking at Helen almost lovingly as he did. Helen did not manage it quite so perfectly herself—she cried as she spoke.
    But then the organ sounded, the parish sang, and Helen felt overjoyed as she strode from the church on her husband’s arm. Outside, the well-wishers were already waiting.
    Helen kissed Elizabeth and let herself be embraced by a sobbing Mrs. McLaren. To her surprise, Mrs. Beasley and the whole O’Hara family had appeared, although the latter did not belong to the Anglican Church. Helen shook hands and laughed and cried until in the end only one young woman remained whom Helen had never seen before. Shelooked over at Howard—maybe the woman had come for him—but Howard was talking with the pastor and seemed to have missed this last well-wisher.
    Helen smiled at her. “I don’t mean to be rude, but may I ask where I know you from? There have been so many new things over the last few days that…”
    The woman gave her a friendly nod. She was petite, with a plain, childlike face and thin blonde hair that she had pinned up primly under a hat. She wore the simple clothing typical of a Christchurch housewife going to church. “There’s no need to apologize; you don’t know me,” she said. “I wanted to introduce myself because…we have a few things in common. My name is Christine Lorimer. I was the first.”
    Helen looked at her, confused. “The first what? Come, let’s step into the shade. Mrs. Baldwin has prepared some refreshments in the house.”
    “I don’t want to impose,” Mrs. Lorimer said quickly. “But you could say I’m your predecessor. The first who came from England to be married here.”
    “That is interesting indeed,” Helen said, surprised. “I thought I was the first. They said the other women had yet to receive any replies to their letters, and I came without any explicit agreement.”
    The young woman nodded. “Me too, more or less. I didn’t answer an advertisement though. I was twenty-five and had no prospects for a husband. And how would I, without a dowry? I lived with my brother and his family, which he supported more poorly than properly. I tried to earn enough as a seamstress to help out, but I’m not much use. I have bad eyes; they didn’t want me in the factory. Then my brother and his wife had the idea to emigrate. But what would have become of me? We stumbled on the idea of writing a letter to the pastor here. Was there perchance a proper Christian man in Canterbury looking for a bride? We received an answer from a Mrs. Brennan. It was very stern, and she wanted to know everything about me. She must have enjoyed it. At any rate, I received a letter from Mr. Thomas Lorimer. And what can I say—I fell in love at once!”
    “Seriously?” Helen asked, not wanting to admit that she had felt no differently. “After one letter?”
    Mrs. Lorimer giggled. “Of course. He wrote so beautifully. I can still repeat his words by heart: ‘I yearn for a woman who would be prepared to tie her fate to mine. I pray to God for a loving woman, whose heart my words can soften.’”
    Helen’s eyes widened. “But…but that’s in my letter!” she exclaimed, becoming agitated. “Howard wrote exactly those same words to me. I can’t believe what you’re telling me, Mrs. Lorimer. Is this some kind of joke?”
    The woman looked shocked. “Oh no, Mrs. O’Keefe! I didn’t mean to hurt you. I had no way of knowing they’d done it again.”
    “What do you mean, ‘done it again’?” Helen asked, although she was beginning to put the pieces together.
    “Well, what they did with the letters,” Christine Lorimer explained. “My Thomas is a good-hearted man. Really, I couldn’t wish for a better husband. But he is a joiner; he doesn’t make big speeches, nor does he write romantic letters. He told me, he had tried again and again, but he didn’t like any of the letters he