In the Land of the Long White Cloud

The men all looked rather hungover. “But I’m pleased that you drank so copiously to my health.”
    James McKenzie eyed her more reprovingly than pruriently. There even seemed to be a look of regret in his gaze—but it was difficult for Gwyneira to read the expression in his deep brown eyes, because it seemed to change constantly. A smile returned to his face as he observed Cleo greeting her mistress.
    “Did you get an earful?” James asked.
    Gwyneira shook her head. “Why would I? Because of the presentation? Not at all. A girl can step out of line on her wedding day.” She winked at him. “Starting tomorrow my husband will lay down the law, and our guests are keeping me on a short leash. Someone is constantly wanting something from me. So I won’t get around to riding today either.”
    James looked surprised that she wanted to ride but said nothing; his penetrating gaze once more flashed a carefree spark.
    “Then you’ll have to find some way of slipping past them! How about I saddle your horse tomorrow around this time? Most of the ladies will be napping then.”
    Gwyneira nodded enthusiastically. “Good idea. But not around this time; I’ll have work to do in the kitchen managing the cleaning up after lunch and the preparations for tea. The cook insists—heaven knows why. But early in the morning would work. If you could have Igraine ready for me at six o’clock, I can have a ride before the first guests are up.”
    James looked vexed. “But what will Mr. Warden say if you…pardon me. That’s naturally none of my business.”
    “Nor Mr. Warden’s,” Gwyneira replied, unconcerned. “As long as I don’t neglect my duties as hostess, I can certainly ride whenever I want.”
    It has less to do with your duties as a hostess
, thought James, but he kept this observation to himself. He did not want to offend Gwyneira in any way, but it did not appear that her wedding night had been particularly passionate.

    That evening Lucas visited Gwyneira again. Now that she knew what awaited her, she even enjoyed his soft caresses. She shivered when he kissed her breasts, and his touch on the tender skin below her pubic hair was even more thrilling than the first time. She even snuck a peek at his member, which was large and hard—but it once again softened quickly just as before. Gwyneira felt strangely unfulfilled in a way that she couldn’t quite account for. But perhaps that was normal. She would find out soon enough.
    The next morning Gwyneira stuck herself lightly in the finger with a sewing needle, squeezed out some blood, and rubbed it on her sheets. Kiri wasn’t to think she and Lucas might be doing something wrong.

6
    H elen began to acclimate somewhat to life with Howard. What took place at night in their marriage bed was still rather mortifying, but she now saw it as separate from the rest of her daily life and behaved in a completely normal manner with Howard during the day.
    But it was not always easy. Howard expected certain things from his wife, and his temper flared quickly when Helen did not meet those expectations. He fell into a rage whenever she voiced wishes and requests, whether for more furniture or better cookware, his pots and pans being old and so caked with leftovers that no amount of scouring could remove them.
    “The next time we go to Haldon,” he said by way of consolation every time. Apparently, the town was too far away to be worth driving to for a few kitchen items, spices, and sugar. At this revelation Helen yearned desperately for some contact with civilization. Their life in the wilds still scared her, no matter how often Howard assured her that there were no dangerous animals in the Canterbury Plains. She simply missed the diversions and intellectual conversation of city life. She couldn’t speak with Howard about anything other than the work on the farm. He wasn’t even willing to share details of his earlier life in Ireland or in the whale hunting stations. The subject was off-limits—Helen knew all she needed to know, and Howard was not interested in discussing it further.
    The only bright spot in her cheerless existence was the Maori children. Reti and Rongo appeared almost every day, and after Reti had shown off his new reading skills in the village—both children learned quickly and could already recite the entire alphabet in addition to reading and writing their names—new children came along.
    “We also study magic,” one youth said seriously, and