In the Land of the Long White Cloud

the box in a gentlemanly manner. “I know Wilbur from Port Cooper. He’s married and settled down now too.”
    A dog began barking inside the house, and Wilbur and his wife came out, curious about their visitors.
    When the short, wiry man recognized Howard, he let out a shout and embraced him roughly. They clapped each other on the shoulder and began reminding each other of their great former exploits—and probably would have liked to uncork their first bottle right there in the rain.
    Helen looked imploringly at Wilbur’s wife. To her relief, the woman smiled openly and warmly.
    “You must be the new Mrs. O’Keefe! We could hardly believe it when we heard that Howard was ready to marry. But come in out of the rain, you’re no doubt chilled to the bone. And the rattling of these wagons—you come from London, isn’t that so? No doubt you’re used to fine carriages!” The woman smiled as though she hadn’t meant her last comment seriously. “I’m Margaret.”
    Helen introduced herself. Apparently, people didn’t stand on ceremony here. Margaret was thin and a little taller than her husband and looked a bit haggard. She wore a simple gray dress that had been patched many times. The house into which she led Helen was rather primitive: the tables and chairs of were made of unfinished wood, and an open fireplace was also used for cooking. But the food simmering in a large caldron smelled good.
    “You’re in luck; I just slaughtered a chicken,” Margaret explained. “Not exactly the youngest of the lot, but she’ll make a proper soup. Sit down by the fire, Helen, and dry off a bit. Here’s some coffee, and I’ll find a swig of whiskey around here too.”
    Helen looked at her, bewildered. She had never drunk whiskey in her life, but Margaret didn’t seem to think twice about it. She filled Helen’s enamel cup with coffee as bitter as gall, which she had been keeping warm near the fire for what must have been an eternity. Helen hadn’t dared ask for sugar or even milk, but Margaret set both out readily in front of her on the table. “Take plenty of sugar; it gets your spirits up. And a slug of whiskey!”
    The liquor really did enhance the taste of the coffee, and the mixture was perfectly drinkable with milk and sugar. Alcohol was supposed to chase away sorrows and relax strained muscles. So Helen justified it as medicine and didn’t refuse when Margaret topped off her cup a second time.
    By the time the chicken soup was ready, Helen was viewing everything as though through a light fog. She was finally warm again, and the firelit room had a welcoming atmosphere. If sheshould experience the “unspeakable” here for the first time—what of it?
    The excellent soup did its part to raise her spirits, but it made her tired. Helen would have liked to go straight to bed, though Margaret obviously enjoyed chatting with her.
    But even Howard seemed to want to bring the evening to a conclusion. He had emptied several glasses with Wilbur and laughed loudly when his friend suggested a card game.
    “Nah, m’friend, no more tonight. Tonight I got something else in mind that has a lot to do with that enchanting woman who fled from the old country to me.”
    He bowed gallantly to Helen, who reddened.
    “So, where can we retire to? This is…so to speak…our wedding night!”
    “Oh, then we still need to throw some rice!” Margaret squealed. “I didn’t know you tied the knot so recently. Unfortunately, I can’t offer you a proper bed. But there’s plenty of fresh hay; it’ll be warm and soft for you. Wait a moment, I’ll give you sheets and blankets; yours’ll be clammy from the drive through the rain. And a lantern, so you can see something…though the first time, people usually prefer doing it in the dark.”
    She giggled.
    Helen was appalled. She was supposed to spend her wedding night in a stall?
    The cow mooed hospitably as Helen and Howard entered the shed—she with an armful of blankets, he with the stall lantern. It was relatively warm. In addition to Howard’s team, the stall sheltered the cow, two horses, and a mule. The animals warmed the room up but also filled it with permeating smells. Helen spread their blankets on the hay. Had it really only been three months since she had been so upset by the presence of a sheep pen? Gwyneira would certainly have found this amusing. Helen, however…if she were honest, she was just afraid.
    “Where…can I undress here?” she asked shyly. She