In the Land of the Long White Cloud

wonderfully. McKenzie cast a glance toward Gwyneira, begging for approval, and she returned his gaze with a smile. Gerald’s foreman had done an exceptional job with Daimon’s training. Gwyneira couldn’t have done it better herself.
    Cleo expertly herded her flock over to the shepherd—there being no issue yet regarding the fact that she was focused on Gwyneira instead of James. She had to pass through a gate on her way to them, and the sheep had to enter first. Cleo kept them moving at an even tempo, andDaimon watched for any stragglers. Everything was going perfectly until the gate was supposed to be passed through and the sheep herded behind the shepherd, because Cleo took Gwyneira for the shepherd in question. Cleo steered the sheep toward Gwyneira and was vexed. Was she really supposed to herd the sheep into this crowd of people that had taken position behind her mistress? Gwyneira recognized Cleo’s confusion and knew that she had to act. She calmly bunched her skirts, left the wedding guests, and moved toward James.
    “Come, Cleo!”
    The dog herded the sheep rapidly through the gate set up to James’s left. Here the dogs were supposed to separate a designated sheep from the flock.
    “You first!” Gwyneira whispered to James.
    He had looked almost as vexed as the dog, but he smiled when Gwyneira walked up to him. He whistled for Daimon and pointed a sheep out to him. A well-behaved Cleo remained lying down while the pup singled the sheep out. Daimon did his job well, but it took him three tries.
    “My turn!” Gwyneira cried in the heat of competition. “Shedding, Cleo!”
    Cleo leaped up and separated her sheep from the rest on the first try.
    The audience applauded.
    “The winner!” Gwyneira cried, laughing.
    James McKenzie looked at her beaming face. Her cheeks were red, her eyes shone triumphantly, and her smile was radiant. Earlier, standing at the wedding altar, she had not looked half as happy.
    Gwyneira noticed the twinkle in McKenzie’s eyes and was confused. What was it? Pride? Amazement? Or perhaps that which had been missing all day from her husband’s gaze?
    But now the dogs had a final task to accomplish. At James’s whistle, they herded the sheep into a pen, at which point McKenzie was supposed to shut the gate behind them to signify that the job was done.
    “I’ll be going, then,” Gwyneira said sadly as he strode toward the gate.
    McKenzie shook his head. “No, it falls to the winner.”
    He stepped aside for Gwyneira, who hadn’t noticed that the hem of her dress was trailing over the dirt. She shut the gate triumphantly. Cleo, who had been dutifully watching the sheep until the job was over, jumped up on her, begging for recognition. Gwyneira praised her, registering with some guilt as she did so that this meant the end of her white dress.
    “That was a bit unconventional,” Lucas remarked sourly when Gwyneira finally returned to his side. The guests had apparently had the time of their lives and showered her with compliments, but her husband appeared less enthused.
    “It would be nice if you would play the lady a little more next time.”
    Meanwhile, the air had cooled in the garden, and it was time to move inside to start the dancing. In the salon a string quartet was playing; Lucas, of course, remarked on the frequent mistakes in their performance. Gwyneira did not notice a thing. Dorothy and Kiri had done their best to clean her dress, and now she let Lucas lead her in a waltz. As expected, the young Warden was a superb dancer. Then she danced with her father-in-law, who moved very smoothly across the floor, then with Lord Barrington, and finally with Mr. Brewster. The Brewsters had brought along their son and his young wife, and the young Maori was just as enchanting as he had described her.
    Gwyneira danced with Lucas between the others—and at some point her feet began to ache from dancing. She finally let Lucas escort her onto the veranda for some fresh air. She sipped a glass of champagne and thought about the night that lay ahead. She could no longer repress the thought. Tonight it would happen—that which would make a woman of her, as her mother had said.
    Music could be heard coming from the stables in the distance. The farmworkers were celebrating, though not with a string quartet—the fiddle, harmonica, and tin whistle were playing cheerful folk dances. Gwyneira wondered whether James was playing one of the instruments. And whether he was being good