In the Land of the Long White Cloud (72 page)

“Ruben…is it bad? Are you…”

“Everything’s OK, Mother,” Ruben whispered, but his appearance indicated otherwise. He bled from cuts above his eye and lip; his nosebleed had worsened, and it was difficult for him to sit up. His left eye was swollen shut. Helen helped him up.

“Come, lie down in bed. I’ll fix you up,” she offered. But Ruben shook his head.

“I won’t lie in his bed,” he said firmly, dragging himself to the narrow pallet next to the fireplace where he liked to sleep in winter. In the summer he had taken to sleeping in the stables so as not to bother his parents.

He was shaking when Helen came to him with a bowl of water and a rag to wash his face. “It’s nothing, Mother…my God, I hope nothing happens to Fleur.”

Helen dabbed the blood carefully from his lip. “Nothing will happen to Fleur. But how did he find out about it? I should have kept an eye on that Paul.”

“They would have figured it out eventually,” Ruben said. “And then…I’m leaving here tomorrow. Prepare yourself for that. I won’t stay in this house another day.” He gestured in Howard’s direction.

“You’ll still be recovering tomorrow,” Helen said. “And we shouldn’t upset things. George…”

“Uncle George can’t help us anymore, Mother. I’m not going to Dunedin. I’m going to Otago. There’s gold there. I…I’ll find some, and then I’ll come back for Fleur. And you too. He…he can’t be allowed to hit you anymore!”

Helen said nothing more. She rubbed her son’s wounds with a cooling salve and sat by him until he fell asleep. As she sat there, she thought of all the nights she had spent by his side, when he was sick or had been frightened by a nightmare and wanted to have her nearby. Ruben had always brought her joy. But now Howard had destroyed even that. Helen did not sleep that night.

She wept.

F
leurette too wept that night in her sleep. She, Gwyneira, and Paul all had heard Gerald return late that evening, but no one had the courage to ask the old man what had happened. In the morning Gwyneira was the only one who came down to breakfast as usual. Gerald was sleeping off his hangover, and Paul did not dare show himself unless there was a chance of getting his grandfather on his side for the purpose of lifting his house arrest. Fleurette cowered, terrified and listless, in a corner of her bed, holding Grace tightly to her as her mother had once held Cleo, plagued by the most horrible thoughts. Gwyneira found her there after Andy McAran had informed her of an unannounced visitor in the stables. Gwyneira made certain that nothing was brewing with Gerald or Paul before she slipped into her daughter’s room.

“Fleurette? Fleurette, it’s nine in the morning! What are you still doing in bed?” Gwyneira shook her head in admonishment, as though it were a normal day and Fleur had merely slept past the time she needed to leave for school. “Get dressed now, and fast. There’s someone waiting for you in the horse stables. And he can’t wait forever.”

She smiled conspiratorially at her daughter.

“Someone’s there.” Fleurette leaped up. “Who? Is it Ruben, Mummy? Oh if it’s Ruben, if he’s alive…”

“Of course he’s alive, Fleurette. Your grandfather is a man quick to make wild threats and use his fists. But he’s not a killer. At least not at first—if he bumps into the boy here in our barn, though, I can’t make any promises.” Gwyneira helped Fleur slip into a riding dress.

“And you’ll make sure he doesn’t come out, right? And Paul.” Fleurette seemed to be almost as afraid of her little brother as her grandfather. “He’s such a brat! You don’t really think that we…”

“I think the boy is far too intelligent to take the risk of getting you pregnant,” Gwyneira said drily. “And you are just as smart as he is, Fleurette. Ruben wants to study in Dunedin, and you must be a few years older before you can even think of a wedding. The opportunities for a young lawyer who is quite possibly going to work for George Greenwood are a lot better than for a farm boy whose father lives hand to mouth. Keep that in mind when you meet with him this morning. Although…from what Andy McAran says, he’s hardly in any condition to get anyone pregnant.”

Gwyneira’s last comment came close to Fleur’s darkest fears. Instead of looking for her waxed coat—it was pouring outside—she hastily threw a shawl over her shoulders and then hurried downstairs. She had not brushed her hair, as untangling it probably would have taken hours. Generally she liked to comb it every evening and braid it before bed, but she had not had the energy for it the night before. Now it fluttered wildly around her narrow face, but to Ruben O’Keefe, she was still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Fleurette, on the other hand, was horrified by the sight of her beau. The boy reclined on a bale of hay. Every movement still caused him pain. His face was swollen, one eye was shut, and the cuts still wept.

“Oh God, Ruben! Did my grandfather do that?” Fleurette wanted to embrace him, but Ruben pushed her away.

“Careful,” he groaned. “My ribs…I don’t know if they’re broken or just bruised…either way, it hurts like hell.”

Fleurette embraced him more gently. She lowered herself down beside him and laid his beaten face on her shoulder.

“The devil take him!” she cursed. “I thought he didn’t kill anyone, but he almost succeeded with you.”

Ruben shook his head. “It wasn’t Mr. Warden. It was my father. Although they almost went at it in perfect harmony. The two of them may be archenemies, but with regard to the two of us, they couldn’t agree more. I’m going away, Fleur. I can’t take it anymore.”

Fleurette looked at him, stunned. “You’re going? You’re leaving me?”

“Should I wait here for them to kill us both? We can’t keep meeting in secret forever—especially not with that little snitch you have in your house. It was Paul who sold us out, wasn’t it?”

Fleur nodded. “And he’d do it again too. But you…you can’t leave without me. I’m coming!” She squared herself decisively and already seemed to be packing her bags in her mind. “You, wait here; I don’t need much. We can be off within the hour.”

“Oh, Fleur, that won’t work. But I’m not leaving you either. I’ll think of you every minute, every second. I love you. But there’s no way I can take you with me to Otago.” Ruben stroked her awkwardly while Fleur thought feverishly. If she fled with him, they would have to ride at top speed, as Gerald would no doubt send a search party after them as soon as he noticed her absence. But there was no way Ruben could ride quickly in his current state…and what was he talking about Otago for?

“I think you mean Dunedin?” she inquired, kissing his forehead.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Ruben explained. “We always thought your grandfather would permit us to marry after I was an attorney. But after last night, it’s clear to me that he’ll never give us permission. If something is to come of us, I need to earn money. Not a little, but a fortune. And in Otago they’ve found gold.”

“You want to try panning for gold?” Fleur asked, surprised. “But…who’s to say whether you’ll find any?”

Deep down Ruben knew that was a good question since he didn’t have the slightest idea how to begin his quest. But, what the hell, others had managed it.

“In the area around Queenstown, everyone finds gold,” he persisted. “There are nuggets as big as your fingernails.”

“And they just litter the ground?” Fleurette asked skeptically. “Don’t you need a claim? Equipment? Do you have any money, Ruben?”

Ruben nodded. “A little. I saved some. Uncle George paid me last year for helping out in his office and for interpreting with the Maori when Reti wasn’t available. It’s not a lot, of course.”

“I don’t have anything,” Fleurette said, concerned. “Otherwise, I’d give it to you. But what about a horse? How do you intend to make it to Lake Wakatipu?”

“I have my mother’s mule,” Ruben explained.

Fleurette raised her eyes to heaven. “Nepumuk? You want to take Nepumuk over the mountains? How old is he now? Twenty-five? That’s impossible, Ruben. Take one of our horses!”

“So your grandfather has me hunted down as a horse thief?” Ruben asked bitterly.

Fleurette shook her head. “Take Minette. She’s little but strong. And she belongs to me. No one can stop me from lending her to you. But you have to take care of her, do you hear me? And you have to bring her back to me.”

“You know I’ll come back just as soon as I can.” Ruben struggled to his feet and took Fleurette in his arms. She tasted his blood when he kissed her. “I’ll come for you. As…as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow. I’ll find gold, and then I’ll come for you. You do believe me, don’t you, Fleurette?”

Fleurette nodded and returned his embrace as tenderly and carefully as she could. She did not doubt his love. If only she could be as sure of his future fortune.

“I love you, and I’ll wait for you,” she said quietly.

Ruben kissed her again. “I’ll have to be quick. There aren’t many gold seekers in Queenstown yet. It’s still something of a secret. So there should still be some good claims and plenty of gold and—”

“But you will come back, even if you don’t find gold, right?” Fleurette said, wanting to be sure. “Then we’ll think of something else.”

“I’ll find gold!” Ruben insisted. “Because there’s no other way. But now I have to go. I’ve been here much too long already. If your grandfather sees me…”

“My mother’s on the lookout. Stay here, Ruben, I’ll saddle Minette for you. You can hardly stand up, after all. The best thing would be for you to find a place to hide so that you can recover. We could—”

“No, Fleurette. No more risks, no long good-byes. I’ll make it; it’s not half as bad as it looks. Just see that you get the mule back to
Mother somehow.” Ruben limped over, as though he were going to lend Fleur a hand with the saddling. Just as she was about to bridle the horse, Kiri appeared in the doorway, two stuffed-full saddlebags in her hands. She smiled at Fleurette.

“Here, this is from your mother. For the boy who isn’t really here.” Kiri pretended not to see Ruben as she’d been instructed. “A little food for the road and some warm clothes left by your father. She thinks he’ll need them.”

Ruben was about to refuse them, but the Maori woman did not even acknowledge he was there as she set the bags down and then turned to go. Fleurette secured the bags on the saddle, then led Minette out.

“Take good care of him,” she whispered to the mare. “And bring him back to me!”

Ruben struggled into the saddle but still managed to lean down to Fleurette to kiss her good-bye.

“How long will you love me?” he asked quietly.

She smiled. “Forever. And a few days beyond that. I’ll see you soon!”

“I’ll see you soon!” Ruben reaffirmed.

Fleurette watched him until he disappeared behind the curtain of rain that obscured her view of the mountains that day. It pained her heart to see Ruben hanging on to the horse, doubled over in pain. Fleeing together would never have succeeded—Ruben could only advance unencumbered.

Paul also watched as the boy rode away. He had taken up his post at his window early and was now considering whether he should wake Gerald. But by the time he managed that Ruben would be miles away—besides, his mother definitely had her eye on him. He could still vividly replay her outburst from the evening before in his mind. It had confirmed what he had always suspected: Gwyneira loved his sister much more than she loved him. He could never expect to get anything from her. But with his grandfather, there was hope. His grandfather was predictable, and if Paul could learn to handle him properly, he would take Paul under his wing. Paul decided that from this point on, there would be two opposing factions in the Warden
family: his mother and Fleur, and Gerald and Paul. He just needed to convince Gerald how useful he was.

Gerald flew into a rage when he found out why the mare Minette was gone. Only with great effort did Gwyneira stop him from striking Fleurette.

“Regardless, the boy’s gone now,” he said, trying to assuage his own anger. “Whether to Dunedin or wherever, I couldn’t care less. If he ever shows up here again, I’m going to shoot him like a rabid dog; you must understand that, Fleurette. But you won’t even be here. I’m going to marry you off to the next man who’s even halfway suitable.”

“She’s still much too young to marry,” said Gwyneira. Deep down she too thanked heaven that Ruben had left the Canterbury Plains. Bound for where, Fleurette had not said, but she could imagine. The gold rush had become what whaling and seal hunting had been in Lucas’s day. Anyone who wanted to make a fortune quickly and prove himself as a man made for Otago. However, she appraised Ruben’s aptitude for mining as pessimistically as Fleurette.

“She was old enough to lie down with that bastard in the wilderness. So she’s old enough to share a bed with an honorable man. How old is she? Sixteen? Next year she’ll be seventeen. Then she can be engaged. I can still well remember a girl who came to New Zealand at seventeen.”

Gerald fixed Gwyneira with a look that made her turn pale. A feeling rose in her that bordered on panic. When she had been seventeen, Gerald had fallen in love with her—and brought her across the sea for his son. Could it be that the old man was starting to see Fleur too in a different light? Until that moment, Gwyneira had never thought about how closely the girl resembled her. If one ignored that Fleurette was more delicate than her mother, her hair a little darker and her eyes a different color, one could have gotten Fleurette and the young Gwyneira confused. Had Paul’s idiotic tattling made Gerald aware of that too?