In the Land of the Long White Cloud (15 page)

Helen nodded. “The sailors say this place is also called the ‘horse latitudes’ because people used to have to slaughter the horses on board to keep from starving.”

Gwyneira snorted. “I’ll eat the sailors before I slaughter Igraine,” she declared. “But like I said, we seem to have been lucky.”

Unfortunately, the
Dublin
’s luck soon ran out. Although the wind continued to blow, a pernicious malady suddenly threatened the lives of the passengers. At first, only one sailor complained of fever, but the ship’s doctor recognized the danger when several children were brought to him with fevers and breakouts. The disease spread like wildfire throughout steerage.

At first Helen hoped her girls would remain unscathed since they had little contact with the other children outside of the daily school lessons. Thanks to Gwyneira’s generosity and Daphne’s regular forays into the cow stalls and chicken coops, they were also in considerably better health than the other immigrant children. Then, however, Elizabeth broke out in a fever. Laurie and Rosemary followed suit shortly thereafter, and Daphne and Dorothy became mildly ill. Surprisingly, Mary did not catch it at all, despite the fact that she shared the berth with her twin the whole time, her arms tight around Laurie, mourning her ahead of time. Laurie’s fever passed without doing much harm, but Elizabeth and Rosemary hung between life and death for several days. The ship’s doctor treated them with the same medicine as he did every other illness—gin—and the parents of the affected children could not make up their minds whether it was to be taken internally or applied externally. Helen decided on baths and compresses, and actually managed to cool her patients somewhat. For most of the families, however, the booze ended up in the patriarch’s belly, and the already tense atmosphere became even more explosive.

In the end, twelve children died of the contagion, and weeping and moaning once more dominated in steerage. The captain held a very moving funeral service on the main deck, which all passengers attended. Gwyneira played the piano, tears streaming down her face, her good intentions clearly greater than her talent. Without sheet music, she was helpless. Finally, Helen took over, and a few of the passengers in steerage fetched their instruments too. The music and wailing of the people sounded far over the ocean, and for the first
time, rich and poor came together as one. They mourned together, and for days after the service, the mood was somber and peaceful. The captain, a quiet man wise in the ways of the world, held the remaining Sunday services for all the passengers on the main deck. The weather no longer presented any obstacle; if anything, it was too hot rather than too cold and rainy. Only when they rounded the Cape of Good Hope did the seas become stormy again; after that the journey continued without incident.

Meanwhile Helen rehearsed church songs with her schoolchildren. When the choir’s singing one Sunday morning had been particularly successful, the Brewsters drew her into their conversation with Gerald and Gwyneira. They praised the young woman at length on her students, and Gwyneira used this opportunity to formally introduce her friend to her future father-in-law.

She only hoped that Gerald wouldn’t blow up again. However, he did not lose his temper this time and instead proved rather charming. He calmly exchanged the usual pleasantries with the young woman, even commending her for the children’s singing.

“So you want to marry, then,” he continued when there was nothing left to say.

Helen nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, sir, God willing. I’m trusting the Lord to show me the way to a happy marriage…perhaps you even know my fiancé? Howard O’Keefe out of Haldon, Canterbury. He’s a gentleman farmer.”

Gwyneira held her breath. Maybe she should have told Helen about Gerald’s outburst, after all. Yet her concern proved unfounded. Gerald remained perfectly composed.

“I hope you retain that faith,” he remarked with a lopsided smirk. “The man plays the strangest jokes on those innocent sheep of his. But as for your question…no. I do not know of any ‘gentleman’ by the name of Howard O’Keefe.”

The
Dublin
was now sailing across the Indian Ocean, the penultimate, longest, and most dangerous leg of the journey. Though the waters were rarely rough, the route led them far across the deep sea. The passengers had not seen land for weeks, and according to Gerald Warden, the next shores were hundreds of miles away.

Life on board had settled down once again, and thanks to the tropical weather, everyone spent more time on deck instead of in their claustrophobic cabins. This led to a further unraveling of the strict division between first class and steerage. In addition to Sunday service, communal concerts and dances now took place as well. The men in steerage improved their fishing skills and became more successful. They harpooned sharks and barracudas and caught albatrosses by dragging a fishhook baited with fish from the aft of the ship. The scent of fish and fowl being grilled wafted over the whole deck, and the mouths of the families not participating watered. Helen received some of the bounty as a gift. As a teacher, she was highly regarded among the passengers, and now that she had taken charge of lessons, almost all the children in steerage could read and write better than their parents. Daphne could almost always sweet-talk her way into a bit of fish or bird meat as well. If Helen did not watch her like a hawk, she would sneak over to the men while they were fishing, marvel at their artistry, and attract their attention by fluttering her eyelashes and pouting. The young men especially courted her favor and let themselves get carried away with sometimes dangerous tests of courage. Daphne applauded, apparently captivated when they would lay their shirts, shoes, and socks aside and let themselves be lowered into the water by the hollering crew. However, neither Helen nor Gwyneira got the impression that Daphne cared much for the boys.

“She’s hoping that a shark gets him,” Gwyneira remarked as a young Scot bravely sprang headfirst into the water and let himself be pulled along by the
Dublin
like bait on a hook. “What would you bet that she wouldn’t have any reservations about gobbling up the beast even if?”

“It’s about time for this journey to end,” Helen sighed. “Otherwise, I’m going to go from teacher to prison guard. These sunsets, for example…yes, they’re beautiful and romantic, but the boys and girls find them so as well. Elizabeth is swooning over Jamie O’Hara, whom Daphne turned down long ago when all the sausage had been eaten up. And Dorothy is pressed by three lads a day to come view the phosphorescent sea with them at night.”

Gwyneira laughed and played with her sun hat. “Daphne, on the other hand, isn’t looking for her Prince Charming in steerage. Yesterday she asked me whether she couldn’t watch the sunset from the upper deck, since the view would be so much better. During which she eyed the young Viscount Barrington like a shark does fish.”

Helen rolled her eyes. “We should marry her off soon. Oh, Gwyn, I’m scared to death when I think that in just two or three weeks I have to hand the girls over to total strangers, maybe never to see them again!”

“You just said you wanted to get rid of them!” Gwyneira cried, laughing. “And anyway, they can read and write. You can all exchange letters. And we can too. If I only knew how far apart Haldon and Kiward Station were from each other. Both are in the Canterbury Plains, but where are those? I just don’t want to lose you, Helen. Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could visit one another?”

“We can most certainly do that,” Helen said confidently. “Howard must live close to Christchurch; otherwise, he wouldn’t belong to that parish. And Mr. Warden must have a lot to do in the city. We’ll definitely see each other, Gwyn!”

T
he journey was finally drawing to a close. As the
Dublin
sailed through the Tasmanian Sea between Australia and New Zealand, the passengers tried to outdo one another with rumors about how close they were to their new country. Many were already camping out on deck every morning before the sun rose to be the first to catch sight of their new homeland.

Elizabeth was torn when Jamie O’Hara woke her for that purpose once, but Helen ordered her sternly to remain in bed. She knew from Gwyneira that it would still be two or three days before land came into view, and then the captain would inform them right away.

It finally happened, though, in the bright light of late morning: the captain had the ship’s sirens wail, and within seconds all the passengers had assembled on the main deck. Gwyneira and Gerald stood in the front row, of course, unable to see anything but clouds at first. A long, drawn-out white layer of cotton obscured the land. If the crew had not assured the passengers that the South Island was hiding behind it, they would not have paid any attention to that particular cloud.

Only as they neared the shore did mountains begin to emerge from the fog, jagged contours of rock behind which were more clouds. It looked so strange, as though the mountains were floating on a sea of luminous, cottony white clouds.

“Is it always so foggy?” Gwyneira asked, sounding unenthused. As lovely as the view was, she could well imagine the damp and chilly ride through the pass that separated Christchurch from where the deep-sea ship would be landing. The harbor, Gerald had explained to her, was called Lyttelton. The area was still under construction, and there was a laborious climb to even the first houses. To reach Christchurch
proper, people would have to walk or ride. The path was at times so steep and difficult that horses familiar with the path had to be led by the bridle. Hence the path’s name: the Bridle Path.

Gerald shook his head. “No. It’s rather unusual for travelers to be offered such a view. And it’s surely a lucky sign.” He smiled, obviously happy to see his home again. “That is to say that the land revealed itself to the first travelers, who came by canoe from Polynesia to New Zealand, in the same way. That explains New Zealand’s Maori name—Aotearoa, ‘Land of the Long White Cloud.’”

Helen and her girls gazed, awestruck, at nature’s theater.

Daphne, however, seemed concerned. “There aren’t any houses,” she said, puzzled. “Where are the docks and the harbor buildings? Where are the church steeples? I only see clouds and mountains. It’s nothing like London.”

Helen attempted to laugh encouragingly, although at heart she shared Daphne’s fears. She too was a city girl, and this abundance of nature seemed eerie to her. Still, she had at least seen a variety of English landscapes, whereas the girls knew only the streets of the capital.

“Of course it’s not London, Daphne,” she explained. “The cities here are much smaller. But Christchurch has its steeples too, and it will be getting its own great cathedral, just like Westminster Abbey! You can’t see the houses yet because we’re not landing right in the city. We must…well, we must still walk a bit to—”

“Walk a bit?” Gerald Warden had overheard Helen and laughed thunderously. “I can only hope, Miss Davenport, that your wonderful fiancé sends you a mule. Otherwise, you’ll wear out the soles of your city shoes before the day is out. The Bridle Path is a narrow, mountainous path, slippery and wet from fog. And after the fog lifts, it gets pretty darn warm. But, Gwyneira, look there, that’s Lyttelton Harbor!”