In the Land of the Long White Cloud (79 page)

“Did you love him?” Fleurette asked with shining eyes. “James, I mean. Did you truly love him? Were you sad when he left? Why did he leave anyway? Because of me? No, that can’t be. I remember him. A tall man with brown hair, right? He let me ride with him on his horse and was always laughing.”

Gwyneira nodded painfully. But she could not support Fleurette’s romanticizing.

“I didn’t love him. It was only a deal, a sort of…transaction between us. It was over when you were born. And his leaving had nothing to do with me.”

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t even a lie. It had to with Gerald, and with Paul. Gwyneira still felt the pain of his departure. But Fleurette must not know that. She couldn’t know that.

“Now let’s stop, Fleur, or the night will slip away. You have to leave here before they have a big engagement celebration tomorrow and make everything worse. Pack a few things. I’ll get you money from my office. You can have everything that’s there, but there isn’t much since most of our earnings go straight to the bank. Andy will still be awake; he can fetch Niniane. And then ride like the devil so that you’re far away when the boys have slept off their hangovers.”

“You’re not opposed to me riding to Ruben?” Fleurette asked, out of breath.

Gwyneira sighed. “I’d feel much better about it if I were sure you’d find him, but it’s our only option, at least while the Greenwoods are still in England. Curses, I should have sent you with them! But now it’s too late. Find Ruben, marry him, and be happy.”

Fleur embraced her. “And you?” she asked quietly.

“I’ll stay here,” Gwyneira said. “Someone has to take care of the farm, and I like that, as you well know. As for Gerald and Paul…well, I’ll just have to accept them as they are.”

An hour later Fleurette was sitting astride Niniane and galloping toward the mountains. She had arranged with her mother not to ride directly to Queenstown. Gerald would be able to figure out that she would go looking for Ruben and send men after her.

“Hide in the highlands for a few days, Fleur,” Gwyneira had advised her. “Then ride along the base of the mountains to Otago. Perhaps you’ll run into Ruben somewhere along the way. For all I know, Queenstown isn’t the only place where they’ve found gold.”

Fleurette was skeptical. “But Sideblossom’s riding into the highlands,” she said fearfully. “If he comes looking for me…”

Gwyneira shook her head. “Fleur, the road to Queenstown is well-worn, but the highlands are a big area. He won’t find you—you’ll be a needle in a haystack. So off you go.”

In the end, Fleur had accepted her mother’s line of reasoning, though she was scared to death when she first pointed her horse’s steps in the direction of Haldon and then toward the lakes where Sideblossom’s farm lay.

And where her father was camped somewhere…the thought made her strangely happy. She would not be alone in the highlands. James McKenzie was being hunted too.

T
he land above Lakes Tekapo, Pukaki, and Ohau was beautiful. Fleurette was overcome by the beauty of the crystal-clear lakes and streams, the strange rock formations and velvety green pastures, with the mountains thrusting upward just beyond them. John Sideblossom had been right: it was entirely possible that hidden lakes and valleys were tucked away here, just waiting to be discovered. In high spirits, Fleurette directed her mare toward the mountains. Now that she had put some distance between herself and Kiward Station, she could slow down and enjoy herself. Perhaps she would find gold! Although she had no idea where to look for it. A close inspection of the ice-cold mountain streams from which she drank and in which she washed her face and hands had not revealed any nuggets. But she had caught some fish and, three days having passed, dared to make a fire to roast them. At first she had been too afraid that Sideblossom’s men would appear out of nowhere, but she had since adopted her mother’s view: the area was much too vast to be searched thoroughly. Her pursuers would not know where to start, and it had rained in the meantime. Even if they used bloodhounds—and there were none on Kiward Station—her trail would have long since washed out.

Fleur began to move very naturally in the highlands. She had often played with Maori children her age and visited those friends in their villages. Thus she knew how to find edible roots, how to knead and bake flour into
takakau
, how to catch fish and light fires. She left hardly a trace of her presence. She carefully covered burned-out campfires with dirt, and she buried any waste. She was certain that no one was following her. In a few days, she would turn east toward Lake Wakatipu where Queenstown lay.

If only she were not alone. After two weeks of riding, Fleur felt lonely. It was nice to snuggle with Gracie at night, but she yearned for human companionship.

She did not seem to be the only one to miss companionship of her own kind. Though she followed Fleurette’s signals dutifully, Niniane sometimes neighed into space as though lost. In the end, it was Gracie who found company. The little dog had run on ahead while Niniane felt her way along a stony path. Fleurette likewise had to concentrate on the path and so did not look ahead for a few minutes. She therefore stared in sheer amazement when they passed behind a rock, where the rocky landscape again turned into grassy plain, and saw two tricolored dogs playing with one another. At first Fleurette believed she was seeing things. But if she had suddenly started seeing double, the two Gracies would have been moving the same way. Instead, they were jumping at each other, chasing after each other, and obviously enjoying each other’s company. And they looked just like each other.

Fleurette rode up to call Gracie to her. Up close she could finally discern some differences between the dogs. The new dog was a bit larger than Gracie, her nose a bit longer. But she was a purebred border collie, no doubt about it. To whom did she belong? Border collies, Fleur knew, neither roamed nor hunted. It would not have come so far into the highlands without its owner. Besides, this animal seemed to be well looked after.

“Friday!” A man’s voice. “Friday, where are you? It’s time to do some herding!”

Fleur looked around but could not locate the person calling for the dog. Friday turned to the west, where the plain seemed to stretch on for infinity. Fleurette should have been able to see the dog’s master if he were in that direction. It was odd. Friday seemed unhappy about leaving Gracie. Then Gracie suddenly caught the scent, looked at Fleurette and her horse with gleaming eyes, and set off running with Friday, as if pulled by invisible strings.

Fleur followed them, seemingly toward nothing at first, but soon realized that she had been taken in by an optical illusion. The grassland did not reach to the horizon but descended in terraces.
Friday and Gracie raced down them. Then Fleur realized what had pulled the dogs so magically along. On the final, now clearly visible terrace, some fifty sheep were grazing, shepherded by a man leading a mule by the reins. When he saw Friday approaching with Gracie in tow, he looked just as confused as Fleur had—then looked suspiciously in the direction the dogs had come from. Fleurette let Niniane trot down the terraces. She was more curious than afraid. After all, the strange shepherd did not look dangerous, and as long as she sat on her horse, there wasn’t much of anything he could do to her. His heavily laden mule would surely not get far in a chase.

In the meantime, Gracie and Friday had set about herding the sheep together. They worked as skillfully and naturally as a team that it seemed like they had never done otherwise.

The man stood as though turned to stone when he saw Fleurette bounding down on her horse.

Fleur looked into an angular, weather-beaten face with a thick brown beard and brown hair flecked with gray. The man was strong but slim, his clothing tattered, the saddle on his mule worn but in good shape and well taken care of. But the shepherd’s brown eyes were looking at Fleur as though seeing a ghost.

“It can’t be her,” he said quietly as she stopped her horse in front of him. “That’s not possible…and that can’t be the dog either. She…she must be nearly twenty years old. God in heaven…” The man seemed to be struggling to comprehend. He reached for his saddle as though looking for support.

Fleur shrugged. “I don’t really know who I’m not supposed to be, sir, but that’s a nice dog you have.”

The man seemed to regain control of himself. He breathed deeply in and out, but still looked at Fleur, disbelieving.

“I can only return the compliment,” he said, now a little more fluidly. “Has…has she been trained? As a sheepdog, I mean.”

Fleur did not get the feeling that the man was all that interested in Gracie; it seemed more like he wanted to gain some time while his brain worked feverishly. But Fleur nodded and looked for a suitable
task with which to show off the dog’s training. Then she smiled and gave Gracie a command. The little dog dashed away.

“The big ram to the right. She’s going to herd him through the rocks over there.” Fleurette approached the rocks. Gracie had already separated the ram and awaited further instructions. Friday lay behind her watching intently, ready at any moment to leap up beside the other dog.

But she didn’t need any help. The ram trotted calmly through the rocks.

The man nodded and smiled. He seemed considerably more relaxed. Apparently, he had reached a conclusion.

“The ewe there in the back,” he said, indicating a rotund animal in the back and whistling for Friday. The little dog shot out like an arrow, rounded up the flock, separated the indicated sheep, and steered it toward the rocks. But this ewe proved less submissive than Gracie’s ram. Friday needed three attempts before she successfully herded it through the rocks.

Fleurette smiled, pleased.

“The winner!” she declared.

The man’s eyes lit up, and Fleur thought she detected something almost like tenderness in them.

“By the way, you have lovely sheep,” she added. “And I should know. I come from…a sheep farm.”

The man nodded again. “You’re Fleurette Warden of Kiward Station,” he said. “Dear God, at first I thought I was seeing ghosts! Gwyneira, Cleo, Igraine…you’re the spitting image of your mother! And you ride your horse just as elegantly. But I should have known that. I still remember how you would whine as a child until I let you ride.” He smiled. “But you won’t remember me. If you’ll allow me to introduce myself…James McKenzie.”

Fleurette was the one staring now. She finally lowered her gaze awkwardly. What did the man want from her? Should she pretend she had never heard of his fame as a rustler and thief? Not to mention the still inconceivable fact that this man was her father?

“I…listen, sir, I don’t want you to think that I…that I came to arrest you or anything like that,” she finally began. “I…”

James McKenzie boomed with laughter but then collected himself and answered the grown-up Fleur just as seriously as he had once upon a time answered the four-year-old girl. “I would never have expected that of you, Miss Warden. You did always have a weakness for bandits. Weren’t you in the company of a certain Ruben Hood for a while?” She saw the roguish gleam in his eye and suddenly recognized him for who he was. She remembered calling him Mr. McKenzie as a child, and how he had always been her special friend.

Fleurette’s reluctance fell away.

“I still am!” she replied, taking up the game. “Ruben Hood and I are promised to each other…that’s one of the reasons I’m here.”

“Aha,” said James. “Sherwood Forest will soon be too small for the growing number in your band. Well, I can help with that, Lady Warden…however, we should move the sheep to somewhere safe first. I’ve got a bad feeling about this place. Would you care to accompany me, Miss Warden, and fill me in on how you and your mother are doing?”

Fleurette nodded enthusiastically. “Gladly. But…it would be best if you got out of here to somewhere really safe, sir. And perhaps just gave the sheep back. Mr. Sideblossom is on his way with a search party…half an army, my mother says. My grandfather is taking part too. They want to capture you, and me.”

Fleurette looked around her warily. Until that moment, she had felt safe, but if John Sideblossom was right about his conjectures, then she was on Lionel Station, John Sideblossom’s land. And perhaps he already had an idea of where McKenzie might be hiding out.

James McKenzie laughed again. “You, Miss Warden? Now what did you do to make someone send a search party after you?”

Fleur sighed. “Oh, that’s a long story.”

McKenzie nodded. “Well, let’s put it off then, until we’re safe. Just follow me, and your dog can lend Friday a hand. Then we’ll be gone from here that much sooner.” He whistled for Friday, who seemed to
know exactly what was expected of her. She herded the sheep sideways up the terraces to the west toward the mountains.

McKenzie mounted his mule. “You needn’t worry, Miss Warden. The area we’ll be riding through is completely safe.”

Fleurette rode beside him. “Just call me Fleur,” she said. “This is all so…very strange, but it sounds even stranger when my…well, when someone like you calls me ‘Miss.’”