In the Land of the Long White Cloud (43 page)

Gerald was overjoyed. Lucas performed his duty as a gentleman, assuring Gwyneira that he was very happy and kissing her formally on the cheek. A few days later a costly pearl necklace arrived from Christchurch. Lucas presented it to Gwyneira as a token of gratitude and appreciation. Gerald rode to Haldon to celebrate that he would finally be a grandfather and paid for drinks for everyone in the pub for that night—with the exception of Howard O’Keefe, who was fortunately sober enough to clear the area as quickly as possible. When Helen learned from Howard that Gerald had made a public announcement about Gwyneira’s pregnancy, she was mortified.

“You don’t think it’s embarrassing to me?” Gwyneira asked when she visited Helen two days later and learned that her friend had already heard the news. “But that’s just how he is. The exact opposite of Lucas. You wouldn’t think those two were even related.” She bit her lip almost as soon as she said it.

Helen smiled. “As long as they’re both convinced of it.” she said equivocally.

Gwyneira smiled. “Anyway, it’s finally here. You must tell me what I need to do in the next few months, so I don’t do anything wrong. And I’ll need to crochet some baby clothes. Do you think someone can learn to do that in nine months?”

G
wyneira’s pregnancy passed without incident. Even the infamous morning sickness of the first three months had been hardly noticeable. And so neither did she take seriously those warnings that her mother had been heaping on her practically since her marriage had been decided for heaven's sake to finally quit riding. Instead, Gwyneira took advantage of almost every pretty day to visit Helen or Mrs. Candler, thereby avoiding James. At first it was painful every time she looked at him, and they did their best not to see each other at all. When they did run into each other, they both looked away, embarrassed, trying not to see the pain and sorrow in the other’s eyes.

So Gwyneira spent a great deal of time with Helen and little Ruben, learning to change him and sing lullabies while Helen knit baby clothes for Gwyneira.

“Just no pink,” said Gwyneira, horrified when Helen started a bright onesie to use up leftover wool. “It’ll be a boy!”

“Now how do you know that?” Helen replied. “A girl would be lovely too.”

Gwyneira dreaded the possibility of not being able to provide the desired male offspring. She had never given much thought to children before. Only now that she was helping look after Ruben—and experiencing on a daily basis that the little thing already had rather strict ideas about what he wanted and what he didn’t and what he liked and what he didn’t—was it becoming clear to her that she not only carried the heir to Kiward Station within her; what was growing inside her was a small being with its own individual personality, and it was just as likely to be female as male. Either way, she had already condemned it to live a lie. When Gwyneira thought about it too much, she felt
pangs of guilt for the baby, who would never know its real father. It was better not to brood on it, so Gwyneira threw herself into helping Helen with her endless housework. Gwyneira could milk, and the Maori children’s school had continued to grow. Helen now taught two classes, and to her surprise, Gwyneira saw three of the half-naked children who normally splashed around in Kiward Station’s lake.

“The sons of the chieftain and his brother,” explained Helen. “Their fathers wanted them to learn something, so they sent the children to relatives in the village here. It’s quite an extravagance. It’s rather demanding for the children. Whenever they get homesick, they go home on foot. And the little one is constantly homesick!”

She indicated a handsome youth with curly black hair.

Gwyneira recalled James’s remarks about the Maori and that children who were too well educated could be dangerous to whites.

Helen shrugged when Gwyneira told her about it. “If I don’t teach them, someone else will. And if this generation doesn’t learn, then the next one will. Besides, it’s impossible to deny people an education.”

“Now don’t get excited,” Gwyneira said, holding up her hand in a placating gesture. “I’d be the last person to try to stop you. But war wouldn’t be a good thing.”

“Oh, the Maori are peaceful,” Helen said, waving the notion away. “They want to learn from us. I think they’ve recognized that civilization makes life easier. Besides, it’s different here from in the other colonies. The Maori aren’t indigenous. They’re immigrants themselves.”

“Seriously?” Gwyneira was astounded. She hadn’t heard that before.

“Yes. Of course, they’ve still been here much, much longer than we have,” Helen said. “But not since time immemorial. They arrived in the early fourteenth century, in seven double canoes. They still remember it. Every family can trace its lineage back to the crew of one of those canoes.”

Helen had learned to speak Maori quite well and had been listening to Matahorua’s stories with increasing comprehension.

“So the land doesn’t belong to them either?” Gwyneira asked hopefully.

Helen rolled her eyes. “When the time comes, both sides will probably claim the right of discovery. Let’s just hope that they get along peacefully. I plan teach them math—whether that suits my husband and Mr. Warden or not.”

With the exception of the hostility between Gwyneira and James, the mood on Kiward Station was joyful. The prospect of a grandchild had lightened Gerald’s step. He once again paid more attention to his farm and sold several stud rams to other breeders, making good money in the process. James took the opportunity to herd the animals over to their new owners, which enabled him to be away from Kiward Station for a few days. Gerald had ordered for more land to be cleared for pastureland. When it came time to calculate which rivers could be used as a flume and which wood was valuable, Lucas’s mathematical skills proved useful. Though he complained about the loss of the forests, he did not protest with much vehemence—after all, he was just happy that Gerald’s derision had ceased. He never asked where the child could have come from. Perhaps he hoped it was an accident, or it was possible he simply didn’t want to know. In any case, they were not together often enough for such an embarrassing conversation to take place. Lucas abandoned his nightly visits immediately after Gwyneira announced her pregnancy; after all, his “attempts” had not been much fun for him. However, he enjoyed painting his beautiful wife. Gwyneira sat demurely for an oil portrait, and Gerald did not once snicker at this endeavor. As the mother of the next generation, Gwyneira’s portrait deserved a place of honor next to that of his late wife, Barbara. All agreed that the finished oil painting was very successful. Only Lucas was not entirely satisfied. He felt that he had not perfectly captured Gwyneira’s “mysterious expression,” and the play of light did not strike him as optimal. But every visitor praised the picture effusively. Lord Barrington even asked Lucas to paint a portrait of his wife. Gwyneira learned that good money could be earned in England for such work, but Lucas
would have taken it as an insult to his honor to ask for so much as a penny from his neighbors and friends.

Gwyneira did not see how the sale of a picture was any different from that of a sheep or horse, but she did not argue and noted with relief that Gerald did not upbraid his son for his lack of business sense either. On the contrary, for the first time, he almost seemed proud of Lucas. Sunshine and harmony reigned in the house.

As the birth approached, Gerald searched in vain for a doctor for Gwyneira since to have one brought from Christchurch would have meant leaving the city without a doctor for several weeks. Gwyneira didn’t think it would be problematic to have to do without a doctor. After having seen Matahorua at work, she was prepared to put herself in the hands of a Maori midwife. Gerald, however, declared this unacceptable, and Lucas took this position decisively as well.

“It would be unacceptable to entrust you to some savage. You’re a lady and are to be treated with corresponding care. It’s simply too much of a risk. You should deliver in Christchurch.”

That brought Gerald back onto the barricades. He declared that the heir of Kiward Station would be born on the farm and nowhere else.

In the end, Gwyneira confided to Mrs. Candler about the problem, though she was afraid that Mrs. Candler would then offer her Dorothy. The merchant’s wife did just that, but then suggested a much better solution.

“The midwife here in Haldon has a daughter who often goes to help her. As far as I know, she’s also taken on deliveries by herself. Go ahead and ask her if she’d be willing to come to Kiward Station for a few days.”

Francine Hayward, the midwife’s daughter, proved to be a bright, optimistic twenty-year-old young woman. She had blonde hair and a round, happy face with a snub nose and attractive light green eyes. She got along beautifully with Gwyneira from the very first. After all, the two of them were almost the same age. After the first two cups of tea, Francine revealed to Gwyneira her secret love for the Candlers’ oldest son, while Gwyneira told her how as a girl she’d dreamed of cowboys and Indians.

“In one novel there’s a woman who has her baby while the redskins have the house surrounded! And she’s all alone with her husband and daughter too.”

“Well, I don’t find that all too romantic,” said Francine. “On the contrary, that would be my worst nightmare. Just imagine your husband running back and forth between shooting and swaddling, alternating between yelling “Push, dear!” and “I’ve got you, you damned redskin!”

Gwyneira giggled. “My husband would never say such a thing in the presence of a lady. He would probably say: ‘Pardon me a moment, my love. I just have to quickly eliminate one of these savages.’”

Francine gave a snort.

Since her mother was likewise in agreement with the arrangement, Francine rode out behind Gwyneira that same evening to Kiward Station. She sat relaxed and fearless on Igraine’s bare back, dismissing Lucas’s admonishment—“What a risk to take, riding two to a horse! We could have picked up the young lady.” Awestruck, she moved into one of the lavish guest rooms. Over the next few days, she enjoyed the luxury of not having anything to do other than keep Gwyneira company until the birth of the “crown prince.” To that end she enthusiastically went to work decorating the knitted and crocheted pieces by sewing golden crowns onto everything.

“You are a member of the nobility,” she explained when Gwyneira declared how embarrassing she found that. “The baby must be somewhere on the list of heirs to the British throne.”

Gwyneira hoped Gerald wasn’t listening. She wouldn’t have put assassination attempts on the queen and her heirs past the proud grandfather if it meant seeing his grandson on the throne. For the time being, however, Gerald limited himself to adding a small crown to Kiward Station’s branding mark. He had bought a few cows recently and now needed to register a mark. Lucas sketched a coat of arms according to Gerald’s specifications, combining Gwyneira’s little crown with a shield, a symbol of the Warden name.

Francine was witty and always in good spirits. Her companionship was good for Gwyneira, and she did not allow any fear of the
coming birth to set in. Gwyneira felt a pang of jealousy, for Francine had forgotten the young Candler boy and could not stop swooning over James McKenzie.

“He’s interested in me, no doubt about it,” she said excitedly. “Every time he sees me, he asks me a lot of questions. About my work and after that how you’re doing. He’s so sweet! And it’s so obvious that he’s trying to find things to talk about that interest me. Why else would he inquire when you’re supposed to have the baby?”

Several reasons occurred to Gwyneira, and she thought it reckless of James to show such a visible interest. Above all, though, she longed for him and his comforting presence. She would have liked to feel his hand on her stomach and to have him share her breathless joy at the baby’s movements in her womb. Whenever the little thing was “boxing” inside her, she thought of how happy he had looked when he first saw newborn Ruben. She also recalled a scene in the horse stables when Igraine was near the end of her gestation.

“Do you feel the foal, miss?” he had asked, beaming. “It’s moving. You should talk to him now, miss! Then it will already recognize your voice when it’s born.”

Now she spoke with the baby, whose nest was already so perfectly prepared. His cradle sat next to her bed, a marvel of blue and golden-yellow silk built by Kiri according to Lucas’s instructions. His name had already been decided: Paul Gerald Terence Warden—Paul after Gerald’s father.

“We can name the next son after your grandfather, Gwyneira,” Gerald declared generously. “But first I’d like to establish a certain tradition.”

Gwyneira didn’t really care about the name. The baby was becoming heavier every day; it was time for him to be born. She caught herself counting the days and comparing them with her adventures the year before. “If it comes today, it was conceived at the lake…if it waits until next week, then it’s a fog baby…a little warrior come to being in the stone circle…” Gwyneira remembered every nuance of James’s tenderness, and sometimes she cried longingly in her sleep.