In the Land of the Long White Cloud (95 page)

The twins giggled happily.

“And you can’t knead bread like that, miss! Just wait, we’ll make tea first.”

Mary and Laurie had been cooking for the customers at Daphne’s Hotel for years. Handling the catering for a sheep shearing gang was no problem for them. While they puttered around the kitchen, Helen sat with Leonard McDunn at the kitchen table. He recounted the strange Maori holdup that had led him to her and Helen reported the details of Howard’s death.

“Naturally, I’m in mourning over my husband,” she explained, smoothing the simple, navy-blue dress she had worn almost every day since Howard’s funeral. There had not been enough money for black mourning attire. “But it’s also something of a relief…excuse me, you must think me heartless.”

Leonard shook his head. He thought Helen O’Keefe anything but heartless. On the contrary, he could hardly get enough of her joy earlier, when she had embraced the twins. With her shining brown hair, her narrow face, and her serene gray eyes, he found her rather attractive. She did, however, appear exhausted, worn out and pale beneath her sun-kissed skin. It was clear that her situation was pushing her beyond her limits. She was as ill-suited to kitchen work as to farm work and had been relieved when the Maori children had offered to milk her cow.

“Your son hinted that his father was not the easiest man to live with. What do you intend to do with the farm now? Sell it?”

Helen shrugged. “If someone wants to buy it. The simplest thing would be to incorporate it into Kiward Station. Howard would curse us from beyond the grave, of course, but I couldn’t care less. As a one-person business, though, the farm is not profitable. There is plenty of land, but not enough for the animals to eat. To make it work, someone would need a great deal of know-how and investment capital. The farm has been run into the ground, Mr. McDunn. Unfortunately, that is the only way to put it.”

“And your friend from Kiward Station…she is the mother of Fleurette O’Keefe, is that right?” Leonard asked. “Does she have any interest in taking it over?”

“Interest, yes…oh, thank you, Laurie, you’re both simply wonderful! I don’t know what I would have done without you!” Helen held out her cup to Laurie, who had just come to the table with freshly made tea.

Laurie filled her cup as skillfully as Helen had taught her on the ship.

“How can you tell that that’s Laurie?” Leonard asked, astounded. “I don’t know anyone who can tell them apart.”

Helen laughed. “If you leave the twins to their own devices, Mary likes to set the table, and Laurie likes to serve. Just keep an eye out—Laurie is the more open of the pair, whereas Mary likes to take a backseat.”

Leonard had never noticed that, but he admired Helen’s gift of observation. “Now, what about your friend?”

“Well, Gwyneira has her own problems,” Helen said. “In fact, you rode right into them yourself. This Maori chief is attempting to bring the Wardens to their knees, and she has no way of going over Paul’s head to resolve it. Perhaps when the governor finally decides…”

“And the chances of this Paul fellow returning and resolving his own difficulties?” Leonard asked. It seemed rather unjust to leave these two women behind with all these troubles. Although he had not met Gwyneira Warden yet. If she was anything like her daughter, though, she could handle half a continent full of rebellious savages.

“Resolving difficulties is not exactly a strong suit of the male Wardens.” Helen smiled crookedly. “As for Paul’s return…the atmosphere in Haldon is slowly changing. George Greenwood was right about that. At first they would all have liked to lynch him, but now their sympathy for Gwyneira is winning out. They think she needs a man on the farm, and they’re willing to overlook a few small details like murder to make that happen.”

“How cynical of you, Mrs. O’Keefe!” Leonard admonished.

“I’m being honest. Paul shot an unarmed man in the chest without warning. In front of twenty witnesses. But I don’t want to see him hanged either. What good would that do? In any case, when he returns, things are bound to escalate with the Maori chief. And then perhaps he’ll hang for his next murder.”

“The boy really seems to fancy the noose.” Leonard sighed. “I—”

He was interrupted when someone knocked on the door. Laurie opened it. As soon as she did, a small dog shot between her legs. Panting, Friday reared up in front of Helen.

“Mary, come quick! I think it’s Miss Silk…Warden! And Cleo! How is she still alive, miss?”

But Gwyneira did not notice the twins. She was so beside herself that she did not even recognize them.

“Helen,” she exclaimed, “I’m going to kill Tonga! It was all I could do not to ride into the village with a gun! Andy says his people held up a covered wagon—heaven knows what it wanted with us, or where it is now. In the village, though, they’re having great fun running around with brassieres and knickers…oh, pardon me, sir, I…” Gwyneira blushed when she saw that Helen was entertaining male company.

McDunn laughed. “Nothing to pardon, Mrs. Warden. I’m well schooled in ladies’ undergarments: I’m the one who lost them. The wagon belongs to me. With your permission, Leonard McDunn of the O’Kay Warehouse.”

“Why don’t you just come to Queenstown?” Leonard asked a few hours later, looking at Helen.

Gwyneira had calmed down and helped Helen and the twins feed the hungry sheep shearers. She praised all of them for continuing the shearing, even though they were rather shocked at the quality of the wool. They had heard that O’Keefe produced a good deal of junk wool, but they had no idea the situation was so dire. Now Gwyneira sat with Helen and Leonard in front of the fireplace, opening one of the bottles of Beaujolais that had thankfully been rescued.

“To Ruben and his excellent taste!” she said with delight. “Where did he get that from, Helen? This must be the first bottle of wine to be uncorked in this house in years.”

“In the works of Lord Bulwer-Lytton, Gwyn, which I like to read with my students, alcohol is occasionally consumed in cultivated company,” Helen replied affectedly.

Leonard took a sip; then he made his suggestion about Queenstown: “Seriously, Mrs. O’Keefe, you do wish to see your son and your grandchildren, don’t you? Now’s your chance. We’ll be there in a few days.”

“Now, in the middle of the shearing?” Helen dismissed the notion.

Gwyneira laughed. “Helen, you don’t seriously believe that my people will shear more sheep if you’re standing there than if you’re not. And you don’t mean to herd the sheep into the highlands yourself, do you?”

“But…but someone has to feed the workers…” Helen was undecided. The offer had come so suddenly; she couldn’t accept it. And yet it was so tempting!

“They fed themselves on my farm. O’Toole still makes better stew than Moana and I ever managed to. And let’s not even get started on you. You’re my dearest friend, Helen, but you’re no chef.”

Helen blushed. Normally she would not have thought twice about such a remark. But suddenly, in front of Leonard McDunn, it was embarrassing.

“Let the men slaughter a couple of sheep, and we’ll leave them one of these barrels since I was the one to defend them with my life. It’s a sin, really, because the brandy is too good for that lot, but after this they’ll love you forever,” McDunn suggested with composure.

Helen smiled. “I don’t know…” she said coyly.

“But I do!” Gwyneira said resolutely. “I would love to go, but I’m indispensable at Kiward Station. So I’m hereby declaring you our mutual emissary. See that all is right in Queenstown. And woe to Fleurette if she didn’t train that dog properly! Also, take a pony with you for our grandchildren. So they don’t grow up to be lousy riders like you.”

H
elen loved Queenstown from the moment she laid eyes on the little town on the shores of the mighty, shimmering Lake Wakatipu. In the smooth surface of the lake she could see the reflections of the dapper new houses, and a little harbor was lined with colorful rowboats and sailboats. The snowcapped mountains framed the picturesque scene. Most importantly, Helen had gone half a day without seeing a single sheep.

“It’s humbling,” she confided to Leonard McDunn, to whom she had already revealed more about herself after eight days together on the coach box than she had to Howard during their whole marriage. “When I came to Christchurch years ago, I cried because the town had so little in common with London. Now I’m thrilled by this little town because I will be surrounded by people and not ruminants.”

Leonard laughed. “Oh, Queenstown has quite a bit in common with London, you’ll see. There’s stuff happening here, Mrs. O’Keefe. You feel progress here, like you’re on the frontier. Christchurch is nice, but there it’s more about keeping up old customs and being more English than the English. Just look at the cathedral and the university. They think they’re becoming an Oxford over there! But here everything is new; everything’s on the up-and-up. The prospectors are a wild bunch, though, and raise a bit of rumpus. It’s unthinkable that the nearest police station is forty miles away. But these boys bring gold and life to the town. You’ll like it here, Mrs. O’Keefe, believe me.”

Helen already liked it as the wagon rumbled down Main Street. It was unpaved just like in Haldon, but the street here was filled with people: a prospector was arguing with the postman because he had apparently opened a letter for him; two girls were giggling and
peeking into the barber shop where a handsome young man was getting a haircut; the smith was shoeing horses; and two miners were talking shop about a mule. And the “hotel” was being repainted. A red-haired woman in an eye-catching green dress was overseeing the painters and cursing like a sailor.

“Daphne!” The twins squealed simultaneously, almost falling from the wagon. “Daphne, we brought Miss Dav…Mrs. O’Keefe!”

Daphne O’Rourke turned around, and Helen found herself staring into that familiar catlike face. Daphne looked older, maybe a little worse for wear, and was heavily made up. When she saw Helen on the coach box, their eyes met. Helen was touched to see that Daphne blushed.

“He…hello, Mrs. O’Keefe!”

Leonard could hardly believe it, but the ever-confident Daphne curtsied before her teacher like a little girl.

“Stop the horses, Mr. McDunn!” Helen called. She hardly waited for him to rein in the horses before she jumped down from the box and wrapped her arms around Daphne.

“No, really, Mrs. O’Keefe, if someone sees…” Daphne said. “You’re a lady. You shouldn’t be seen with someone like me.” She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mrs. O’Keefe, for what I’ve become.”

Helen laughed and embraced her again. “What have you become that’s so horrible, Daphne? A businesswoman. A wonderful foster mother for the twins. No one could ask for a better student.”

Daphne blushed again. “Perhaps no one has enlightened you as to my…line of business,” she said softly.

Helen pulled her close. “Businesses work on supply and demand. I learned that from George Greenwood, another one of my children. And as for you…well, if there had been a demand for Bibles, I’m sure you would have sold those.”

Daphne giggled. “With great pleasure, Mrs. O’Keefe.”

While Daphne was greeting the twins, Leonard took Helen to the O’Kay Warehouse. As much as Helen had enjoyed seeing Daphne and the twins, she wanted more than anything to fling her arms around her own son, Fleurette, and her grandchildren.

Little Stephen hung on to her skirts right away, but Elaine displayed more enthusiasm when she saw the pony.

Helen looked down at her red hair and her lively eyes, already a deeper shade of blue than most babies’.

“Definitely Gwyn’s granddaughter,” Helen said. “She didn’t get anything from me. Watch out, she’ll be asking for a couple of sheep for her third birthday.”

Leonard McDunn scrupulously went over the accounts from his last purchasing trip with Ruben O’Keefe before assuming his new duties. The police station had to be painted and the jail supplied with bars with help from Stuart Peters. Helen and Fleur helped furnish the cells decently with mattresses and sheets from the warehouse.

“Not going to put in any flower vases?” grumbled Leonard. Stuart was likewise impressed.