In the Land of the Long White Cloud

enough by now to know that he would not go without a warm meal under any circumstances. Still, he was easy to please: he gobbled down flat bread as readily as pancakes, scrambled eggs, and stew. It did not seem to bother him that Helen could hardly make any other dishes, but Helen still planned to ask Mrs. Candler for a few new recipes in Haldon. The meal rotation was becoming a little monotonous even for her.
    “You could slaughter a chicken sometime,” Howard suggested when Helen mentioned it. She was horrified—just as she had been at the idea of having to ride to Haldon alone on the mule.
    “Now you can look at it that way,” Howard said calmly. “Or you can hitch up the mule.”

    Neither Gerald nor Lucas had anything against Gwyneira joining James on the trip to Haldon. Lucas could hardly fathom why she wanted to go.
    “You’ll be disappointed, my love. It’s a dirty little town, just a store and a pub. No culture, not even a church.”
    “What about a doctor?” Gwyneira inquired. “I mean, in case I sometime really…”
    Lucas reddened. Gerald, however, was excited.
    “Is it time already, Gwyneira? Are you showing the first signs? If that really is the case, of course we’ll send for a doctor from Christchurch. We don’t want to take a chance on the midwife from Haldon.”
    “Father, the baby would have long since been born before the doctor arrived from Christchurch,” Lucas chided.
    Gerald looked at him coldly. “I’ll have the doctor come ahead of time. He should stay here until it’s time, regardless of the cost.”
    “And his other patients?” Lucas asked. “Do you think he’ll just leave them in the lurch?”
    Gerald snorted. “That’s simply a question of the sum, my son. And the Wardens’ heir is worth any sum!”
    Gwyneira stayed out of it. She would not even have recognized the signs of pregnancy—how should she know how it felt? Besides, she was just happy to be going to Haldon.
    James McKenzie picked her up right after breakfast. He had hitched two horses to a long, heavy wagon. “If you rode, you’d get there faster,” he offered, but Gwyneira did not mind the idea of sitting at James’s side on the box and enjoying the landscape. Once she knew the way, she could ride to Haldon more often; today, though, she was content to ride on the wagon. Besides, James was a genial conversation partner. He told her the names of the mountains on the horizon, as well as of those of the rivers and creeks they crossed. He often knew the Maori name as well as the English.
    “You speak Maori well, don’t you?” Gwyneira asked, impressed.
    James shook his head. “I don’t think anyone speaks Maori well. The natives make it too easy on us. They’re so happy about every new English word they learn. So who wants to bother with words like
taumatawhatatangihangakoauauotamateaturipukakapikimaungahoroukupokaiwhenu-akitanatahu
?”
    “
What?
” Gwyneira laughed.
    “It’s a mountain on the North Island. The Maori also use it as a tongue twister. But it gets easier with every glass of whiskey, believe me.” James winked at her and smiled his rakish smile.
    “So you learned it by the campfire?” Gwyneira asked.
    James nodded. “I’ve moved around quite a bit, hiring myself out to sheep farms. In between, I’ve often stayed in Maori villages—they’re very hospitable.”
    “Why haven’t you worked in whale fishing?” Gwyneira wanted to know. “There’s supposed to be more money in it. Mr. Warden…”
    James grinned. “Mr. Warden can also play a good hand at cards,” he remarked.
    Gwyneira blushed. Could it be that the story of the card game between Gerald Warden and her father had made the rounds here?
    “Most people don’t earn a fortune whale hunting,” McKenzie continued. “And for me it was a simple choice. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not squeamish, but all that wading through blood and fat…no thanks. But I make a good shepherd; I learned how in Australia.”
    “Don’t only convicts live in Australia?” Gwyneira inquired.
    “Not entirely. There are the convicts’ offspring and other immigrants too. And the convicts aren’t all felons. Plenty of poor fellows have ended up there for stealing a loaf of bread for their kids. And there are all the Irish who wouldn’t swear loyalty to the Crown. A lot of them were very upstanding guys. There are scoundrels everywhere, and for my part, I didn’t meet any more in Australia than in any other part of the