In the Land of the Long White Cloud (32 page)

“What is it, Kiri? Are you looking for something in the bed? Did Mr. Warden lose something?” Gwyneira though that perhaps she was looking for a piece of jewelry, maybe Lucas’s wedding ring, which had sat rather loosely on his slender finger.

Kiri shook her head. “No, no, miss. Is only…is no blood on sheets.” Bewildered and ashamed, she looked up at Gwyneira.

“Why should there be blood?” Gwyneira asked.

“After first night, always blood. It hurts a little at first, then blood, and then gets lovely.”

It dawned on Gwyneira that she had missed out on something. “Mr. Warden is very…tender,” she said vaguely.

Kiri nodded. “And surely tired too after party. Not be sad, so first thing blood tomorrow!”

Gwyneira decided not to worry about it until it came up again. In the meantime, she went down to breakfast, where Lucas was entertaining the guests in the most genial fashion. He joked with the ladies, took the gentlemen’s jibes in good humor, and proved as attentive as ever when Gwyneira joined him. The next few hours passed with the usual chitchat, and with the exception of the hopelessly sentimental Mrs. Brewster—who told her, “You’re so brave, child. So cheerful! But Mr. Warden is such a considerate man,” no one made any reference to the previous night.

At noon, when most of the guests were resting, Gwyneira finally found time to go to the stables to visit her horse and see her dog.

The shepherds bellowed their greetings to her.

“Oh, Mrs. Warden! Congrats. Did you have a good night?” Poker Livingston inquired.

“Obviously a better one than you, Mr. Livingston,” Gwyneira returned. The men all looked rather hungover. “But I’m pleased that you drank so copiously to my health.”

James McKenzie eyed her more reprovingly than pruriently. There even seemed to be a look of regret in his gaze—but it was difficult for Gwyneira to read the expression in his deep brown eyes, because it seemed to change constantly. A smile returned to his face as he observed Cleo greeting her mistress.

“Did you get an earful?” James asked.

Gwyneira shook her head. “Why would I? Because of the presentation? Not at all. A girl can step out of line on her wedding day.” She winked at him. “Starting tomorrow my husband will lay down the law, and our guests are keeping me on a short leash. Someone is constantly wanting something from me. So I won’t get around to riding today either.”

James looked surprised that she wanted to ride but said nothing; his penetrating gaze once more flashed a carefree spark.

“Then you’ll have to find some way of slipping past them! How about I saddle your horse tomorrow around this time? Most of the ladies will be napping then.”

Gwyneira nodded enthusiastically. “Good idea. But not around this time; I’ll have work to do in the kitchen managing the cleaning up after lunch and the preparations for tea. The cook insists—heaven knows why. But early in the morning would work. If you could have Igraine ready for me at six o’clock, I can have a ride before the first guests are up.”

James looked vexed. “But what will Mr. Warden say if you…pardon me. That’s naturally none of my business.”

“Nor Mr. Warden’s,” Gwyneira replied, unconcerned. “As long as I don’t neglect my duties as hostess, I can certainly ride whenever I want.”

It has less to do with your duties as a hostess
, thought James, but he kept this observation to himself. He did not want to offend Gwyneira in any way, but it did not appear that her wedding night had been particularly passionate.

That evening Lucas visited Gwyneira again. Now that she knew what awaited her, she even enjoyed his soft caresses. She shivered when he kissed her breasts, and his touch on the tender skin below her pubic hair was even more thrilling than the first time. She even snuck a peek at his member, which was large and hard—but it once again softened quickly just as before. Gwyneira felt strangely unfulfilled in a way that she couldn’t quite account for. But perhaps that was normal. She would find out soon enough.

The next morning Gwyneira stuck herself lightly in the finger with a sewing needle, squeezed out some blood, and rubbed it on her sheets. Kiri wasn’t to think she and Lucas might be doing something wrong.

H
elen began to acclimate somewhat to life with Howard. What took place at night in their marriage bed was still rather mortifying, but she now saw it as separate from the rest of her daily life and behaved in a completely normal manner with Howard during the day.

But it was not always easy. Howard expected certain things from his wife, and his temper flared quickly when Helen did not meet those expectations. He fell into a rage whenever she voiced wishes and requests, whether for more furniture or better cookware, his pots and pans being old and so caked with leftovers that no amount of scouring could remove them.

“The next time we go to Haldon,” he said by way of consolation every time. Apparently, the town was too far away to be worth driving to for a few kitchen items, spices, and sugar. At this revelation Helen yearned desperately for some contact with civilization. Their life in the wilds still scared her, no matter how often Howard assured her that there were no dangerous animals in the Canterbury Plains. She simply missed the diversions and intellectual conversation of city life. She couldn’t speak with Howard about anything other than the work on the farm. He wasn’t even willing to share details of his earlier life in Ireland or in the whale hunting stations. The subject was off-limits—Helen knew all she needed to know, and Howard was not interested in discussing it further.

The only bright spot in her cheerless existence was the Maori children. Reti and Rongo appeared almost every day, and after Reti had shown off his new reading skills in the village—both children learned quickly and could already recite the entire alphabet in addition to reading and writing their names—new children came along.

“We also study magic,” one youth said seriously, and Helen wrote out further sheets with strange first names like Ngapini and Wiramu. Sometimes she was sorry to use her expensive letter paper, but she rarely had any other need of it. Though she wrote letters avidly to her relatives as well as to the Thornes in England and the girls right there in New Zealand, it wouldn’t be possible to post them until they went to Haldon. In Haldon she also wanted to order a Maori-language edition of the Bible. Howard had told her that the Scriptures had already been translated and she wanted to study it. If she learned a little Maori, maybe she could get to know the children’s mothers. Rongo had already taken her to the village once and everyone there had been very friendly. But only the men who worked with Howard or who hired themselves out to other farms to herd the sheep up and down to pasture spoke any English. The children had learned it from their fathers and from a missionary couple who had made a brief appearance.

“They not nice though,” Reti explained. “All the time wagging finger and saying ‘hey, hey, sins, sins!’ What’s a sin, miss?”

After that Helen expanded the curriculum and began to read the Bible aloud in English. This raised a few problems for her. The creation story, for example, profoundly confused the children.

“No, no, that different!” declared Rongo, whose grandmother was a well-esteemed storyteller. “First there was
papatuanuku
, the earth, and
ranginui
, the sky. And they loved each other so much they not want to separate. Understand?” Rongo then made a gesture whose obscenity made Helen’s blood run cold. The child, however, was completely innocent. “But children of theirs wanted world with birds and fish and clouds and moon and everything. That’s why they pull apart. And
papa
cries and cries and from there come river and sea and lake. But stopped sometime.
Rangi
still cries, almost every day.”

Rangi
’s tears, Rongo had mentioned that before, fell from the sky as rain.

“That’s a very beautiful story,” murmured Helen. “But you know, of course, that
pakeha
come from big foreign countries where people
study and know everything. And the God of Israel told the prophets this story in the Bible, and that’s the truth.”

“Really, miss? God told it? No God ever talks to us!” Reti was fascinated.

“There you have it,” declared Helen, with a pang of conscience. After all, her prayers too were rarely answered.

The trip to Haldon, by way of example, had yet to materialize.

The wedding guests finally departed, and life at Kiward Station returned to normal. Gwyneira hoped to return to the relative freedom she had enjoyed when she had first arrived at the farm. And to a certain extent she did: Lucas did not forbid her anything. He did not find fault with Cleo once again sleeping in Gwyneira’s chambers, even when he visited his wife. The little dog had been an annoyance the first few nights, though, protesting his presence with loud barking. She’d had to be scolded and sent back to her bed. Lucas had accepted it all without a peep. Gwyneira wondered why, unable to shake the feeling that Lucas felt guilty toward her for some reason. She still had never felt pain or shed blood during their time together. On the contrary—as time went on she came to enjoy the caresses and occasionally caught herself caressing herself after Lucas left, enjoying the feeling of rubbing and tickling herself and becoming appreciably wet. Only no blood appeared. Over time she became braver and probed further with her fingers, which made the feeling even more intense. Surely it would be just as nice when Lucas inserted his member—which he was obviously trying to do, but it never stayed hard long enough. Gwyneira wondered why he didn’t use his hand to help as well.

At first Lucas visited her every evening after they went to bed, but he gradually appeared less and less. He always prefaced his visits with the polite question: “And do we want to try it again tonight, my love?” and never protested when Gwyneira occasionally declined. So far Gwyneira had no problems with married life.

That said, Gerald made her life difficult. He insisted seriously that she take over the duties of a housewife—Kiward Station should be run like the households of Europe’s highest nobility. Witi was to be transformed into a discreet butler, Moana into a perfect cook, and Kiri into the very model of a housemaid. The Maori employees were entirely 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 possible
to 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.