In the Land of the Long White Cloud (87 page)

“Mr. Warden has to know we come back!” one of the men said angrily. “He shared village with us so long, was like a son when little, like brother for Marama. But now…always angry. Only because angry with Tonga. He says we not listen to him, listen to Tonga. And Tonga wants us to go. But that nonsense. Tonga not yet wearing
tokipoutangata
, Ax of Chief…and young Mr. Warden not yet master of farm.”

Gwyneira sighed. For the moment, Ngopini’s last remark gave her a good foothold to appease the men. Just as Tonga was not yet chief, the farm still did not belong to Paul; he was not entitled to reprimand anyone, let alone let them go. After receiving ample crop seeds by way of apology, the Maori declared themselves once again prepared to work for Gwyneira. But if Paul ever took over the business, people would walk off on him. Tonga would probably uproot the whole camp when he eventually bore the chieftain’s honors so as to never have to see Paul again.

Gwyneira sought out her son and reproached him, but Paul merely shrugged. “Then I’ll just hire New Zealanders. They’re much easier to give orders to anyway. And Tonga won’t have the guts to leave this place. The Maori need the money they earn here and the land they live on. Who else will let them settle on his property? All the land now belongs to the white farmers anyway. And they don’t need any troublemakers.”

Though annoyed, Gwyneira had to admit that Paul was right. Tonga’s tribe would not be welcome anywhere. However, the thought did little to reassure her, and instead gave her cause to fear how it would all end. Tonga was a hothead. No one could say what would happen when everything Paul had just said became clear to him.

And here was this little girl coming into the stables where Gwyneira was just saddling her horse. Another obviously shaken Maori, hopefully not with further complaints about Paul.

But the girl did not belong to the nearby tribe. Instead, Gwyneira recognized one of Helen’s students. She approached Gwyneira shyly and curtsied like a well-mannered English schoolgirl.

“Miss Warden, Miss O’Keefe sent me. I’m supposed to tell you someone is waiting for you at the O’Keefe farm. And you should come quickly before it gets dark and Mr. O’Keefe comes home—in case he doesn’t go to the pub tonight.” The girl spoke impeccable English.

“Who could be waiting for me, Mara?” Gwyneira asked, taken aback.

“It’s a secret!” she declared importantly. “And I’m not allowed to tell anyone, just you.”

Gwyneira’s heart raced. “Fleurette? Is it my daughter? Has Fleurette come back?” She could hardly believe it. After all, she had hoped her daughter had long since married Ruben and started a life in Otago.

Mara shook her head. “No, miss, it’s a man…um, a gentleman. And I’m supposed to tell you they want you to please hurry.” With these last words she curtsied again.

Gwyneira nodded. “Good job, girl. Go, quick, grab yourself something sweet from the kitchen. Moana baked some cookies earlier. I’ll hitch up the chaise in the meantime. Then you can ride home with me.”

The girl shook her head. “I can walk, miss. Go ahead and take your horse. Miss O’Keefe said it’s very, very urgent!”

Gwyneira did not understand, but obediently continued saddling her horse. So she would be visiting Helen today instead of inspecting the shearing sheds. Who could this mysterious visitor be? She bridled Raven, one of Morgaine’s energetic daughters. Raven set out at a brisk trot, quickly leaving the buildings of Kiward Station behind. The shortcut between the two farms had been so well traveled by now that Gwyneira hardly needed to hold her horse by the reins, even along the difficult stretches of the path. Raven leaped over the stream with one mighty bound. Gwyneira thought with a triumphant smile of the last hunt that Reginald Beasley had hosted. The farmer had since married again, a widow out of Christchurch closer to his own age. She managed the household splendidly and cared for the rose garden with never-ending diligence. She did not seem very passionate, however—thus Beasley continued to seek his pleasure by breeding racehorses. All the more reason it rankled him that Gwyneira and Raven had so far won every drag hunt. He planned to build a racetrack in the future. Then her cobs would no longer leave his thoroughbreds behind.

Just before arriving at Helen’s farm, Gwyneira reined in her horse so that it would not run over the children coming home from school.

Tonga and a couple of other Maori from the lakeside village greeted her grumpily. Only Marama smiled, as friendly as ever.

“We’re reading a new book, Miss Warden!” she declared, pleased. “One for grown-ups! By Mr. Bulwer-Lytton. He’s very famous in
England. The book is about a Roman camp. The Romans are a very old tribe in England. Their camp is near a volcano, and it erupts. It’s sooo sad, Miss Warden…I hope the girls survive, at least. For Glaucos to fall in love with Jone there! But the people really should have been smarter. You don’t set up camp on the burning mountains. And certainly not a big one with sleeping houses and everything. What do you think: would Paul like to read it? He hasn’t been reading much lately. Miss O’Keefe says that’s not good for a gentleman. I’ll find him later and take the book to him.” Marama skipped away, and Gwyneira smiled to herself. She was still grinning when she stopped in Helen’s yard.

“Your children show a lot of common sense,” she teased Helen, who rushed out of the house when she heard hoofbeats. She looked relieved when she saw that it was Gwyneira. “I never knew what I didn’t like about Bulwer-Lytton, but Marama put it succinctly: everything the Romans did was a mistake. If they had not built on Vesuvius, Pompeii never would have been destroyed, and Mr. Bulwer-Lytton could have saved himself five hundred pages. You should just make sure the children understand that the whole thing doesn’t take place in England.”

Helen’s smile seemed forced. “Marama is a clever girl,” she said. “But come now, Gwyn. We can’t waste any time. If Howard catches him here, he’ll kill him. He’s still angry that Warden and Sideblossom passed him over when they were putting together the search party.”

Gwyneira frowned. “What search party? And who’s killing whom?”

“Well, McKenzie. James McKenzie! Oh, that’s right, I didn’t tell Mara his name—to be safe. But he’s here, Gwyn. And he wants to speak with you urgently!”

Gwyneira’s legs seemed to buckle. “But…James is in prison in Lyttelton. He can’t…”

“He broke out, Gwyn! Now go; give me the horse. Mr. McKenzie is in the barn.”

Gwyneira practically flew to the barn. Her thoughts tripped over each other. What should she say to him? What did he want to tell her? But James was there…he was there; he would…

James pulled Gwyneira into his arms as soon as she entered the barn. She could not pull away and did not want to either. Letting out a sigh, she burrowed into James’s shoulder. It had been thirteen years, but it felt just as wonderful as it had back then. She was safe here. No matter what happened around her—when James put his arms around her, she felt protected from the world.

“Gwyn, it’s been so long…I should never have left you.” James whispered the words into her hair. “I should have known about Paul. Instead…”

“I should have told you,” Gwyneira said. “But I would never have been able to speak the words aloud…we should stop with the apologies now. We always knew what we wanted.” She smiled at him mischievously. James could not get enough of the joy in her face, still warm from her ride. He took his chance and kissed the mouth she so willingly offered.

“All right, let’s get down to business,” he said sternly, the old roguishness dancing in his eyes. “Before anything else, let’s clear up one thing—and I want to hear the truth and nothing but the truth. Since there’s no more husband for you to claim loyalty to and no baby that needs to be lied about: was it really just business back then, Gwyn? Was it really just about the baby? Or did you love me? At least a little?”

Gwyneira smiled, but then wrinkled her brow as though she was thinking hard about it. “A little? Well, yes, when I think about it, I did love you a little.”

“Good.” James remained serious. “And now? Now that you’ve thought about it and raised such a beautiful daughter? Now that you’re free, Gwyneira, and no one can tell you what to do anymore? Do you still love me a little?”

Gwyneira shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she explained slowly. “Now I love you a great deal!”

James took her in his arms again, and she savored his kiss.

“Do you love me enough to come with me?” he asked. “Enough to run away with me? Prison is horrible, Gwyn. I had to get out.”

Gwyneira shook her head. “What do you have in mind? Where do you want to go? Do you want to steal sheep again? They’ll hang you if they catch you this time! And they’ll put me in prison.”

“It took them more than ten years to catch me,” he said in his defense.

Gwyneira sighed. “Because you found that land and that pass. The ideal hiding place. They call it the McKenzie Highlands, by the way. It will probably still be called that when no one remembers who John Sideblossom or Gerald Warden ever were.”

James grinned.

“But you can’t seriously believe that we’ll find something like that again. You have to do your five years in prison, James. When you really are free, then we can figure something out. Besides, I couldn’t just up and leave here. The people here, the animals, the farm…James, it all depends on me. The whole farm. Gerald drinks more than he works, and when he does work, he just sees to the cattle a bit. But even that he’s entrusting more and more to Paul.”

“And the boy isn’t particularly well liked,” James grumbled. “Fleurette told me a bit, as did the police officer in Lyttelton. I know just about all there is to know about the Canterbury Plains. My prison guard gets bored, and I’m the only one he gets to talk to all day.”

Gwyneira smiled. She knew the officer in passing from social events and knew how much he liked to chat.

“Paul is difficult, it’s true,” she admitted. “All the more reason people need me. At least right now. In five years everything will look different. By then Paul will almost be a legal adult and won’t listen to a word I have to say anymore. I don’t know that I want to live on a farm run by Paul. But maybe we could break off our own piece of land. After everything I’ve done for Kiward Station, I’m entitled to it.”

“Not enough land to raise sheep,” James said morosely.

Gwyneira shrugged. “But maybe enough to raise dogs or horses. Your Friday is famous, and my Cleo…well she’s still alive, though not for much longer. The farmers would fall over themselves for a dog you trained.”

“But five years, Gwyn…”

“Only four and a half!” Gwyneira curled up to him again. Five years seemed endless to her as well, but she could not picture any other solution. Under no circumstances would she flee into the highlands or live in a gold-mining camp.

McKenzie sighed. “All right, fine, Gwyn. But you’ll have to leave it up to chance, then. Now that I’m free, I wouldn’t even think about going back to that cell of my own free will. If they don’t catch me, I’ll make my way to the goldfields. And believe me, Gwyn, I’ll find gold.”

Gwyneira smiled. “Well, you found Fleurette. But don’t pull any tricks like you did with that Maori girl story in court ever again! I thought my heart was going to stop when you started talking about your great love.”

James grinned at her. “What should I have done instead? Let them know I have a daughter? They won’t look for a Maori girl; they know very well they don’t stand a chance. Although Sideblossom suspects she has all the money.”

Gwyneira frowned. “What money, James?”

McKenzie grinned even wider. “Well, since the Wardens failed to come through in that respect, I permitted myself to give my daughter an ample dowry. All the money I made over the years with the sheep. Believe me, Gwyn, I was a rich man. I just hope Fleur will spend it wisely.”

Gwyneira smiled. “That makes me feel better. I was afraid for her and Ruben. Ruben is a good fellow, but he has two left hands. Ruben as a gold prospector…that would be like you becoming a justice of the peace.”

James gave her a punitive look. “Oh, I have a well-developed sense of justice, little miss! Why do you think they compared me to Robin Hood? I only stole from the moneybags, not the people who earned their living with their hands. Sure, my style is a little unconventional…”

Gwyneira laughed. “Let’s just say you’re not a gentleman, nor am I a lady anymore, after everything I’ve done with you. But do you know what? I don’t care!”

They kissed once more, and James pulled Gwyneira gently down into the hay, but then Helen interrupted them.

“I hate to bother you two, but there were just people here from the police. I was terrified, but they were just asking around and didn’t seem interested in searching the farm. It’s just—the way it looks, it’s turning into a big commotion. The farmer barons have already heard about your breakout, Mr. McKenzie, and have sent people to seize you at once. My God, couldn’t you have waited a few more weeks? In the middle of sheep shearing, no one would have come after you, but right now there are plenty of workers who haven’t had anything to do for months. They’re eager for an adventure, but you know that already. And you, Gwyn, ride back home as fast as you can, so that your family doesn’t become suspicious. This isn’t a game, Mr. McKenzie. The men who were here have orders to shoot you!”

Gwyneira shook with fear when she kissed James good-bye. She would have to fear for him once more—and now, when they had finally found each other.

Naturally, Helen too advised him to return to Lyttelton, but James waved the suggestion away. He wanted to go to Otago. First to get Friday—“The height of foolishness!” Helen commented—and then to the goldfields.

“Will you at least give him some food to take along?” Gwyneira asked pitifully as Helen accompanied her out. “And thank you so much, Helen. I know what a risk you took.”

Helen waved it away. “If everything went according to plan for the children, he’s Ruben’s father-in-law now…or do you still want to deny that Fleurette is his?”

Gwyneira smiled. “You’ve known all along, Helen. You sent me to Matahorua yourself and heard her advice. Didn’t I pick a good man?”