In the Land of the Long White Cloud

willing and earnest and loved their new mistress, and they worked hard to anticipate her every wish. However, Gwyneira thought everything should remain as it had been before, even if a few things took some getting used to. For example, the girls refused to wear shoes in the house, as their feet felt cramped in them. Kiri showed Gwyneira the calluses and blisters she had developed on her feet after a long workday in leather shoes she was not accustomed to. They found the uniforms impractical as well, and again Gwyneira could only agree with them. In the summer their clothing was too warm; she herself was perspiring in her voluminous skirts. But she was used to suffering for propriety’s sake. The Maori girls could not accept it, however. It was hardest when Gerald expressed specific wishes, usually having to do with the cooking, which so far had proved unimpressive, as Gwyneira herself agreed. Maori cuisine was not especially varied. Moana either cooked sweet potatoes and other vegetables in the oven or roasted meat or fish with exotic spices. Occasionally it did taste unusual but was thoroughly enjoyable. Gwyneira, who couldn’t cook herself, ate whatever was served without complaint. Gerald, however, wanted an expanded menu.
    “Gwyneira, I’d like you to pay more attention to the cooking in the future,” he said one morning at breakfast. “I’m tired of this Maori food and would love to have some Irish stew again. Could you please tell the cook?”
    Gwyneira nodded, her thoughts already on herding the sheep, which she had planned for that day with James and the young dogs. A few lambs had wandered from the pastures in the highland and were roaming in the pastures closer to the yard, where the young rams were upsetting the flocks. Gerald had ordered the shepherds to collect the animals and herd them back, which had been a laborious business in the past. With the new sheepdogs, however, it should be possibleto accomplish the task in a day, and Gwyneira wanted to watch the first attempts herself. A short talk with Moana about the lunch menu shouldn’t hold her up.
    “Irish stew is with cabbage and mutton, right?” she asked.
    “What else?” grumbled Gerald.
    Gwyneira had the vague impression that you layered them one atop the other and then cooked them.
    “Mutton we have, and cabbage…is there cabbage in the garden, Lucas?” she asked uncertainly.
    “What do you think the big green leaves are in the shape of a head?” Gerald grilled her.
    “I, uh…” Gwyneira had long since discovered that she was no better at gardening edible plants. She simply did not have the patience to wait until the seeds turned into cabbage heads or cucumbers or to spend endless hours in between pulling weeds. She only rarely paid the vegetable garden any attention—Hoturapa would see to it.
    Moana looked confused when Gwyn gave her the task of cooking the cabbage and mutton together.
    “I made never,” she explained. Cabbage was completely new to the girl. “How it should taste?”
    “Like…well, just like Irish stew. Just cook it, and you’ll see,” Gwyneira said and happily fled to the stables, where James had already saddled Madoc for her. Gwyneira now alternated between the two cobs.
    The pups performed superbly, and even Gerald was full of praise when half of the shepherds returned with Gwyneira that afternoon. The sheep had been gathered successfully, and Livingston and Kennon were herding them back into the highland with the dogs’ help. Cleo loped happily alongside her mistress and Daimon trotted next to James. Now and then the riders smiled at each other. They enjoyed their work together, and sometimes Gwyneira felt she could communicate as wordlessly and naturally with the brown-haired farmworker as she otherwise only could with Cleo. James always knew exactly which sheep she had her eye on, whether for separating or bringing back into the fold. He seemed to anticipate her every move and often whistled for Daimon at the very moment she was about to request help.
    Now he took the stallion from her in front of the stables.
    “Get going, miss, or you won’t manage to change before lunch. Which Mr. Warden is so looking forward to…he ordered a dish from the old country, isn’t that right?”
    Gwyneira nodded, though she started to feel a bit sick. Was Gerald really so obsessed with this Irish stew that he was telling the farmhands about it? She hoped he would like it.
    Gwyneira would have liked to check on