In the Land of the Long White Cloud (31 page)

The shepherds had fetched a herd of sheep for the demonstration, and James McKenzie prepared to release the dogs. Cleo and Daimon were first supposed to circle around the sheep grazing freely in the field beside the house. As a result, they desired a starting position directly across from the sheep. Cleo executed this task perfectly but then noticed Gwyneira and lay down far too far to the right of McKenzie. Gwyneira measured the distance with a look, catching the eye of her dog in the process: Cleo looked at her imploringly—and made no move to react to McKenzie. She awaited Gwyneira’s command.

That didn’t have to be a problem, however. Gwyneira stood in the front row of spectators not far from McKenzie. He was now giving the dogs the command to assume control of the flock—generally the critical point of such a demonstration. Cleo managed to form up her group quite capably, and Daimon assisted wonderfully. McKenzie cast a glance toward Gwyneira, begging for approval, and she returned his gaze with a smile. Gerald’s foreman had done an exceptional job with Daimon’s training. Gwyneira couldn’t have done it better herself.

Cleo expertly herded her flock over to the shepherd—there being no issue yet regarding the fact that she was focused on Gwyneira instead of James. She had to pass through a gate on her way to them, and the sheep had to enter first. Cleo kept them moving at an even tempo, and
Daimon watched for any stragglers. Everything was going perfectly until the gate was supposed to be passed through and the sheep herded behind the shepherd, because Cleo took Gwyneira for the shepherd in question. Cleo steered the sheep toward Gwyneira and was vexed. Was she really supposed to herd the sheep into this crowd of people that had taken position behind her mistress? Gwyneira recognized Cleo’s confusion and knew that she had to act. She calmly bunched her skirts, left the wedding guests, and moved toward James.

“Come, Cleo!”

The dog herded the sheep rapidly through the gate set up to James’s left. Here the dogs were supposed to separate a designated sheep from the flock.

“You first!” Gwyneira whispered to James.

He had looked almost as vexed as the dog, but he smiled when Gwyneira walked up to him. He whistled for Daimon and pointed a sheep out to him. A well-behaved Cleo remained lying down while the pup singled the sheep out. Daimon did his job well, but it took him three tries.

“My turn!” Gwyneira cried in the heat of competition. “Shedding, Cleo!”

Cleo leaped up and separated her sheep from the rest on the first try.

The audience applauded.

“The winner!” Gwyneira cried, laughing.

James McKenzie looked at her beaming face. Her cheeks were red, her eyes shone triumphantly, and her smile was radiant. Earlier, standing at the wedding altar, she had not looked half as happy.

Gwyneira noticed the twinkle in McKenzie’s eyes and was confused. What was it? Pride? Amazement? Or perhaps that which had been missing all day from her husband’s gaze?

But now the dogs had a final task to accomplish. At James’s whistle, they herded the sheep into a pen, at which point McKenzie was supposed to shut the gate behind them to signify that the job was done.

“I’ll be going, then,” Gwyneira said sadly as he strode toward the gate.

McKenzie shook his head. “No, it falls to the winner.”

He stepped aside for Gwyneira, who hadn’t noticed that the hem of her dress was trailing over the dirt. She shut the gate triumphantly. Cleo, who had been dutifully watching the sheep until the job was over, jumped up on her, begging for recognition. Gwyneira praised her, registering with some guilt as she did so that this meant the end of her white dress.

“That was a bit unconventional,” Lucas remarked sourly when Gwyneira finally returned to his side. The guests had apparently had the time of their lives and showered her with compliments, but her husband appeared less enthused.

“It would be nice if you would play the lady a little more next time.”

Meanwhile, the air had cooled in the garden, and it was time to move inside to start the dancing. In the salon a string quartet was playing; Lucas, of course, remarked on the frequent mistakes in their performance. Gwyneira did not notice a thing. Dorothy and Kiri had done their best to clean her dress, and now she let Lucas lead her in a waltz. As expected, the young Warden was a superb dancer. Then she danced with her father-in-law, who moved very smoothly across the floor, then with Lord Barrington, and finally with Mr. Brewster. The Brewsters had brought along their son and his young wife, and the young Maori was just as enchanting as he had described her.

Gwyneira danced with Lucas between the others—and at some point her feet began to ache from dancing. She finally let Lucas escort her onto the veranda for some fresh air. She sipped a glass of champagne and thought about the night that lay ahead. She could no longer repress the thought. Tonight it would happen—that which would make a woman of her, as her mother had said.

Music could be heard coming from the stables in the distance. The farmworkers were celebrating, though not with a string quartet—the fiddle, harmonica, and tin whistle were playing cheerful folk dances. Gwyneira wondered whether James was playing one of the instruments. And whether he was being good to Cleo, who was not allowed inside tonight. Lucas had not been enthusiastic about the prospect of
the little dog following his fiancée everywhere she went. He might have allowed Gwyneira a lapdog, but he believed that sheepdogs belonged in the stables. Gwyneira was willing to indulge him this evening, but planned to reshuffle the cards the next day. And James would take good care of Cleo…Gwyneira thought about his strong brown hands scratching her dog’s fur. The dog loved him…and she had other things to worry about at the moment.

The wedding festivities were still in full swing when Lucas suggested to his wife that they retire.

“Later the men will be drunk and will probably insist on escorting us to the bridal chamber,” he said. “I’d rather spare us the dirty jokes.”

It was all right with Gwyneira. She’d had enough dancing and wanted to put this night behind her. She vacillated between fear and curiosity. According to her mother’s demure remarks, it would be painful, but in the penny novels, the woman always sank wholly smitten into the cowboy’s arms. Gwyneira would let herself be surprised.

The wedding guests saw the couple off with much ado, but without any embarrassing ribaldry, and Kiri was right at her side to help her out of her wedding dress. Lucas kissed her discreetly in front of the bridal chamber.

“Take your time preparing, my love. I’ll come to you.”

Kiri and Dorothy helped Gwyneira out of her dress and undid her hair. Kiri giggled and made jokes the whole time, while Dorothy whimpered. The Maori girl seemed to be honestly happy for Gwyneira and Lucas and was only surprised that the married couple had retired from the party so soon. Among the Maori it was considered a symbol of the marriage’s consummation to lie together before the whole family. When Dorothy heard that, she began to cry harder.

“What exactly is so sad, Dot?” Gwyneira asked, piqued. “You’re acting like this is a funeral.”

“I don’t know, miss, but my mum always cried at weddings. Maybe it brings good luck.”

“Doesn’t bring good luck crying, brings good luck laughing!” Kiri said. “There, you done, miss. Miss very beautiful! Very beautiful. We going now to knock on door of young master. Handsome man, young master. Very nice. Just a little thin.” She giggled as she pulled Dorothy out the door.

Gwyneira looked down at herself. Her nightgown was of the finest lace; she knew she looked good in it. But what was she supposed to do now? She couldn’t receive Lucas here at her dressing table. And if she had understood her mother correctly, the whole thing played out in the bed.

Gwyneira lay down and pulled the silk sheets over her. It was unfortunate that her nightgown was no longer visible. But maybe Lucas would uncover her?

She held her breath when she heard the doorknob. Lucas entered, a lamp in his hand. He seemed confused that Gwyneira had not yet turned out the light.

“Dearest, I think we…it would be more proper to extinguish the light.”

Gwyneira nodded. In any case, Lucas was not a particularly impressive sight in his long nightshirt. She had always pictured masculine nightclothes to be…well, more masculine.

Lucas slid next to her under the sheets. “I’ll try not to hurt you,” he whispered and kissed her softly. Gwyneira held still as he caressed and covered her shoulders, her neck, and her breasts with kisses. Then he pushed up her nightgown. His breath quickened and Gwyneira noticed how she was seized by a growing excitement as Lucas’s fingers felt for her body’s most intimate regions, regions she had never explored herself. Her mother had always instructed her to wear a shirt even when bathing, and she had hardly dared examine her nether regions—the curly red hair, even curlier than the hair on her head. Lucas touched her softly, and Gwyneira felt a pleasant, arousing tingling. Finally he removed his hand and lay on top of her. Gwyneira felt something between her legs that bulged, became harder, and thrust deeply into those unknown regions of her body. Suddenly Lucas seemed to encounter some resistance and softened.

“I’m sorry, dearest, it’s been a long day,” he excused himself.

“It was really very lovely,” Gwyneira said carefully and kissed his cheek.

“Maybe we could try it again tomorrow.”

“If you like,” Gwyn said, confused and a little relieved. As far as marriage duties went, her mother had exaggerated greatly. This was really no reason to feel sorry for anyone.

“Then I’ll say good-bye,” said Lucas stiffly. “I think you’ll sleep better alone.”

“If you like,” said Gwyneira. “But don’t husband and wife usually spend their wedding night together?”

Lucas nodded. “You’re right. I’ll stay here. The bed is spacious enough.”

“Yes.” Gwyneira happily made room, rolling over to the left side of the bed. Lucas lay fixed and rigid on the right.

“Then I wish you good night, dearest.”

“Good night, Lucas.”

The next morning Lucas was already up when Gwyneira awoke. Witi had laid out a light-colored morning suit for him in Gwyneira’s dressing room, and he was already dressed to go down to breakfast.

“I’d be happy to wait for you, my love,” he said, straining to look past Gwyneira, who had sat up in bed in her lace nightshirt. “But perhaps it’s preferable that I be the recipient of our guests’ ribald remarks.”

Gwyneira wasn’t afraid of seeing even the most ardent reveler from last night so early in the morning, but nodded in agreement.

“Please send Kiri and Dorothy, if possible, to help me dress and do my hair. We’ll no doubt have to dress up, so someone will have to help me with my corset,” she said in a friendly tone.

Lucas seemed to be once more embarrassed by the subject of corsets. However, Kiri was already waiting by the door. Only Dorothy had to be fetched.

“And, mistress? Was it lovely?”

“Please, continue calling me
miss
, you and the others,” Gwyneira said. “I like it much better.”

“Gladly, miss. But now tell. How it was? First time not always so lovely. But gets better, miss,” Kiri said as she straightened Gwyneira’s dress.

“Well…lovely…” Gwyneira muttered. In this regard too people overrated the thing. What Lucas had done to her the night before she considered neither lovely nor terrible. It seemed practical as long as the man did not weigh too much. She giggled at the thought of Kiri, who preferred plumper men.

Kiri had already helped Gwyneira into a white summer dress decorated with bright little flowers when Dorothy appeared. The girl took over doing her hair while Kiri changed the sheets. Gwyneira thought it unnecessary; after all, she hadn’t done much more than sleep between the sheets. But she said nothing. Maybe it was a Maori custom. Dorothy was no longer crying but she was quiet and couldn’t look Gwyneira in the eye.

“Are you all right, miss?” she asked, concerned.

Gwyneira nodded. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be? That looks really nice with the barrette, Dorothy. You should take note, Kiri.”

Kiri was otherwise occupied at the moment. She was contemplating the bedding with a concerned air. It first occurred to Gwyneira after she had sent Dorothy from the room with a breakfast order.