In the Land of the Long White Cloud (37 page)

Gwyneira was likewise happy for her friend, but at first resisted going with Helen to visit Matahorua.

“Nothing will come of it if Lucas won’t be there. Maybe she’ll cast a love spell or something like that. For now I’ll take the jade stone—maybe I can hang it in a little bag around my neck. It brought you luck, after all.”

Gwyneira gestured meaningfully at Helen’s stomach, looking so hopeful that Helen did not want to break it to her that the Maori did not believe in magic or good-luck charms either. The jade stone was just supposed to be viewed as a token of thanks, as a sign of recognition and friendship.

Nor did the magic work when Gwyneira could not bring herself to place the jade stone anywhere clearly visible or even in her bed. She did not want Lucas to tease her for being superstitious or to become upset with her. In recent days, he had tried doggedly to bring his sexual efforts to a successful conclusion. With little tenderness, he attempted to force his way immediately into Gwyneira. Sometimes it hurt, but Gwyneira still felt that she wasn’t doing it right.

Spring arrived, and the new settlers had to acclimate to the idea that March heralded the onset of winter in the Southern Hemisphere. Lucas rode with James McKenzie and his men into the mountains to herd the sheep together. He did so under protest, but Gerald insisted. For Gwyneira, it represented the unexpected opportunity to take part
in herding the sheep into the low pastures. She took charge of the refreshment cart with Witi and Kiri.

“Get your Irish stew!” she announced to the men, pleased, when they returned to camp the first evening. After that first time, the Maori knew the recipe inside and out, and Gwyneira could now all but cook it by herself. However, she had not spent the day peeling potatoes and cooking cabbage. Instead, she had ridden out with Igraine and Cleo to look for a few sheep who had gone astray in the mountains. James McKenzie had asked her to do so, pledging secrecy.

“I know that Mr. Warden doesn’t look on it fondly, miss, and I’d do it myself or get one of the boys to. But we need every man for herding; we’re hopelessly shorthanded. The last few years we always got some help from the Maori camp. But since the young Mr. Warden is riding with us this time…”

Gwyneira knew what he meant, and likewise understood what went unsaid. Gerald had saved on expenditures for additional hands and was overjoyed about it. She had heard that much at the family dinner table. Lucas, however, could not replace the experienced Maori shepherds. He wasn’t suited to farm work, and he wasn’t tough enough. He had already grumbled to Gwyneira while they were pitching camp that every part of him down to his bones ached—and the herding had just begun. Of course, the men did not complain openly about the their junior boss’s lack of skill, but when Gwyneira heard comments like, “It would have gone much quicker if the sheep hadn’t broken out three times,” she could piece the rest together. If Lucas were lost in the observation of a cloud formation or an insect, he wouldn’t let himself get distracted by a few sheep trotting by.

As a result, James McKenzie had him work only with other shepherds, which left them at least one man short. Of course, Gwyneira enjoyed helping out. As the men returned to camp, Cleo was herding an additional fifteen sheep that Gwyneira had found in the highlands. She was a little concerned what Lucas would say, but he didn’t appear to even notice. He ate his stew in silence, then retired to his tent.

“I’ll help clean up,” Gwyneira announced, as though there were a five-course meal’s worth of dishes to clean. In reality she left the
few dishes for the Maori and joined the men, who were telling stories about their adventures. Naturally, a bottle was making the rounds, and with every round the tales became more dramatic and dangerous.

“By God, if I hadn’t been there, the ram would have run a horn through him!” Young Dave chuckled. “Anyway, he’s running toward him, and I call, ‘Mr. Warden!’ but he still doesn’t see the animal. So I whistle for the dog, and he dashes between man and beast, driving the ram away…but do you think the fellow is thankful? As if! He rails at me! He was looking at a kea, he says, and the dog drove the bird away. The ram nearly had him, I’m telling you! If I hadn’t been there, he’d have even less in his pants than he already does.”

The other men bawled with laughter. Only James McKenzie looked uncomfortable. Gwyneira saw that she had better retire if she did not want to hear any more embarrassing stories about her husband. James followed her when she stood up.

“I’m sorry, miss,” he said as she stepped into the shadows beyond the campfire. The night was not dark: the moon was full, and the stars were shining. Tomorrow would be clear too—a gift for the shepherds, who often had to slog through rain and fog otherwise.

Gwyneira shrugged. “You don’t have to be sorry. Or did you almost let yourself be skewered?”

James stifled a laugh. “I wish the men would be a bit more discreet.”

Gwyneira smiled. “Then you would need to explain to them what discretion means. No, no, Mr. McKenzie. I can picture only too well what happened up there, and I understand why the men are disgruntled. The young Mr. Warden was…well, he wasn’t made for these things. He plays the piano marvelously and paints beautifully, but riding and sheep herding…”

“Do you even love him?” The words had hardly slipped out before James wanted to slap himself. He hadn’t wanted to ask that. Never—it wasn’t his business. But he’d been drinking; he too had had a long day, and he had cursed Lucas Warden more than once over the course of it.

Gwyneira knew what her good breeding demanded. “I respect and honor my husband,” she said by way of an answer. “I married of my own free will, and he treats me well.” She should also have added
that it was none of James McKenzie’s business anyway, but she didn’t manage it. Something told her he had a right to ask her.

“Does that answer your question, Mr. McKenzie?” she inquired softly instead.

James McKenzie nodded. “Sorry, miss. Good night.”

He did not know why he held out his hand to her. It was not customary and certainly not proper to take leave of someone so formally after a few hours around the campfire. After all, they’d see each other again in the morning at breakfast. Still, Gwyneira took his hand as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Her small, slender hand, hardened from riding and working with the animals, rested lightly in his. James could hardly overcome the impulse to raise it to his lips.

Gwyneira kept her gaze downcast. It felt good to have his hand wrapped around hers, and it gave her a reassuring sense of security. Warmth spread throughout her body—even there, where it was anything but proper. She slowly raised her gaze and saw an echo of her joy in James McKenzie’s dark, searching eyes. Suddenly, they both smiled.

“Good night, James,” Gwyneira said softly.

They managed to complete the herding in three days, faster than ever before. Kiward Station had lost only a few animals; most of the remaining animals were in excellent condition, and the mutton fetched a good price. A few days after the return to the farm, Cleo had her pups. Gwyneira watched the tiny puppies in their basket with fascination.

Gerald, however, seemed to be in a bad mood.

“Seems that everyone can—except you two,” he grumbled, casting an evil look at his son. Lucas walked out without a word. Things had been tense between father and son for weeks. Gerald could not forgive Lucas his ineptitude at farm work, and Lucas was angry with Gerald for making him ride with the men. Gwyneira often felt that
she was standing between two fronts, and she increasingly sensed that Gerald was angry with her.

In winter there was less work in the pastures and little that Gwyneira could help with. Cleo was indisposed for a few weeks anyway. Gwyneira, therefore, directed her mare more often in the direction of the O’Keefes’ farm. During the herding, she had found a considerably shorter way between the two farms and she now visited Helen several times a week. Helen was grateful. The farm work was becoming more difficult as her pregnancy advanced, as was riding her mule. She hardly ever went to Haldon to drink tea with Mrs. Candler anymore, preferring instead to spend her days studying the Maori Bible and sewing baby clothes.

She continued teaching the Maori children, who took over many of her chores. However, she still spent most of her day alone. Howard had taken to riding to Haldon for a beer in the evening and did not return until late. Gwyneira was concerned.

“How are you going to let Matahorua know when the birthing begins?” she inquired. “You can’t possibly go yourself.”

“Mrs. Candler wants to send Dorothy here. But I don’t like the idea…the house is so small that she would have to sleep in the stables. From what I understand, children are always born at night. That means Howard will be there.”

“Are you sure?” Gwyneira asked, confused. “My sister gave birth to her child around midday.”

“But the pains would have set in at night,” Helen explained with conviction. She had learned the basics of pregnancy and birthing. After Rongo Rongo had told her several wild delivery stories in broken English, Helen had mustered her courage and asked Mrs. Candler for enlightenment. She had a very technical mastery of the subject. After all, she had given birth to three sons and not under the most civilized conditions either. Helen now knew how a birth announced itself and what needed to be done to prepare for it.

“If you say so,” Gwyneira said, unconvinced. “But you should really consider having Dorothy come to stay. She’ll survive a few nights in the stables, but if you have to birth the child all on your own, you could die.”

As the birth approached, Helen became more inclined to take Mrs. Candler up on her offer. Howard was at home less and less. Her condition seemed to embarrass him, and it was clear that he no longer liked sharing the bed with her. When he returned from Haldon at night, he stank of beer and whiskey and often stumbled around so much getting ready for bed that Helen doubted he would even be able to find the Maori village. So Dorothy moved in with them in early August. Mrs. Candler refused, however, to let the girl sleep in the stables.

“Though I wish it would, Mrs. O’Keefe, that won’t do. I see in what condition Mr. O’Keefe rides away from here at night. And you are…I mean, he has…he might miss sharing a bed with a woman, if you understand my meaning. If he arrives in the stables and comes across a half-grown girl…”