In the Land of the Long White Cloud

by Sarah Lark

  “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?”

  James McKenzie was caught that night, though his bad luck had a silver lining. He ran right into the arms of a search party from Kiward Station, led by his old friends Andy McAran and Poker Livingston. If the two of them had been alone, they would no doubt have let him go, but they were out with two new workers and did not want to take the risk. They made no move to shoot at James, but levelheaded Andy was of the same opinion as Helen and Gwyneira. “If someone from Beasley or Barrington Station finds you, they’ll put you down like a dog. Not to mention what Sideblossom would do! Warden—between you and me—is a scoundrel himself. He still has something like sympathy for you. But Barrington is deeply disappointed in you. After all, you gave him your
word of honor that you wouldn’t flee.”

  “But only on the way to Lyttelton,” James said, defending his honor. “That didn’t go for the five years in prison.”

  Andy shrugged. “Regardless, he’s not happy. And Beasley is nervous he’s going to lose more sheep. The two breeding stallions he ordered from England cost a fortune. The farm is up to its neck in debt. You’ll receive no pardon from him. It’d be best for you to serve your sentence.”

  The police officer was not upset when James returned.

  “It was my fault,” he grumbled. “Next time I’ll lock you in, McKenzie. Then it’ll be your fault!”

  James dutifully stayed in prison three more weeks, but when he broke out this time, certain circumstances led the officer to Gwyneira’s door at Kiward Station.

  Gwyneira was examining a group of ewes and their lambs one last time before they would be herded into the highlands when she saw Laurence Hanson, the chief of law enforcement in Canterbury County, riding up to the house. Laurence Hanson was approaching slowly because he was leading something small and black on a leash. The dog offered stiff resistance; it only took a few steps when it was in danger of being strangled. Then it planted all four of its feet on the ground.

  Gwyneira frowned. Had one of her farm dogs run away? That never happened. And even if that were the case, surely the police chief himself was not responsible for bringing it back. She quickly excused herself from the two Maori shepherds and sent them off to the highlands with the sheep.

  “I’ll see you in the fall!” she said to the pair, who would be spending the summer with the animals in a hut in the pastures. “Just be careful my son doesn’t see you here before fall.” It was delusional to think that the Maori would spend the entire summer in the pastures without occasionally visiting their wives. But then again, perhaps their wives would move up there with them. It was difficult to say since the tribes were mobile. Gwyneira only knew that Paul would frown upon either solution.

  Gwyneira went to the house to greet the sweating police officer, who was already headed her way. He knew where the stables were and obviously wanted to stable his horse. So he did not seem to be in a hurry. Gwyneira sighed. She had better things to do than spend the day chatting with the police chief. On the other hand, he might give her news of James McKenzie.

  When Gwyneira arrived at the stables, Laurence Hanson was already untying the dog, whose leash he had tied to his saddle. The dog was without a doubt a collie, but it was in pitiful condition. Its fur was dull and clumpy, and it was so thin that its ribs were visible despite its long hair. When the sheriff bent over to it, the dog bared its teeth and growled. Such an unfriendly face was rare among border collies. Nevertheless, Gwyneira recognized the dog right away.

  “Friday!” she said sweetly. “Allow me, Sheriff, she may remember me. She was my dog until she was five months old.”

  Laurence seemed skeptical that the dog would remember the woman from whom it had received its first lessons in sheepherding, but Friday reacted to Gwyneira’s soft voice. He did not try to stop Gwyneira from petting the dog and undoing its leash from the cinch on the horse’s saddle.

  “Now where did you find her? Isn’t this…”

  The police chief nodded. “Yes, this is McKenzie’s dog. Showed up in Lyttelton two days ago, completely exhausted. You see the shape she’s in. McKenzie saw her out the window and raised a rumpus. But what was I supposed to do? I can’t let her inside the prison. Where would I be then? If one can have a dog, then another will want a pussycat, and when the cat eats a third fellow’s canary, there’ll be a prison riot.”

  “Now, now, it wouldn’t be that bad,” Gwyneira said, smiling. Most of the prisoners in Lyttelton did not spend nearly long enough in prison to need a pet. The majority just went there to sober up and were released the next day.

  “In any event, it would be unacceptable,” the sheriff said sternly. “So I took the animal home with me, but it didn’t want to stay. I would hardly open the door and it would run back to the jail. This time he picked a lock and stole meat from the butcher for the mutt. Luckily it wasn’t an issue. The butcher later maintained it had been a gift, so there won’t be any charges…and we caught McKenzie again the next day. But of course this can’t keep happening. The man’s putting his own neck on the line for the mutt. And so I thought, well…because you bred the dog and your old dog just died…”

  Gwyneira sniffed. Even now she couldn’t think about Cleo without tearing up. She still had not picked out a new dog. The pain was too fresh. But here was Friday. And she was the spitting image of her mother.

  “You thought right,” she said calmly. “Friday can stay here. Please tell Mr. McKenzie that I’ll look after her. Until he comes for us…ahem, her. Now come inside and have something to drink, Officer. You must be very thirsty after the long ride.”

  Friday lay panting in the shade. She was still on the leash, and Gwyneira knew she was taking a risk when she bent over and undid the lead.

  “Come along, Friday,” she said softly.

  The dog followed her.

  11

  A year after James McKenzie’s sentencing, George and Elizabeth Greenwood returned from England, and Helen and Gwyneira finally got news of their children. Elizabeth took Fleur’s request for discretion very seriously and rode in her little chaise to Haldon herself to bring the letters to her friends. She hadn’t even mentioned the reason for her trip to her husband when she met with Helen and Gwyneira on the O’Keefes’ farm. Both women inundated her with questions about her trip, which had obviously done the young woman good. Elizabeth seemed more relaxed and at peace than before.

  “London was wonderful!” she said with a wistful look. “George’s mother, Mrs. Greenwood, is a little…well, takes some getting used to. But she didn’t recognize me; she thought me very well-bred.” Elizabeth beamed like the little girl she once was and looked to Helen for praise. “And Mr. Greenwood was charming and very nice to the children. I didn’t care for George’s brother. And the woman he married! How terribly common.” Elizabeth rumpled her little nose smugly and folded her napkin. Gwyneira noticed that she still did so with precisely the same gestures Helen had drilled into them so many years before. “But now that I’ve found these letters, I’m sorry we extended the trip so long,” Elizabeth apologized. “You must have been so worried, Mrs. O’Keefe and Mrs. Warden. But it looks like Fleur and Ruben are doing well.”

  Helen and Gwyneira were profoundly relieved, not only by the news Fleur sent, but also by her detailed description of Daphne and the twins.

  “Daphne must have rounded up the girls somewhere in Lyttelton,” Gwyneira read out loud from one of the letters Fleur had sent. “Apparently, they were living on the street and eked out a living by stealing. Daphne took the girls in and looked after them lovingly. Mrs. O’Keefe can be proud of her, even though she is a—the word has to be spelled out—w-h-o-r-e.” Gwyneira laughed. “So you’ve found all your lambs again, Helen. But what should we do with the letters now? Burn them? I would be sorry to do that, but neither Gerald nor Paul and certainly not Howard can get a hold of them under any circumstances.”

  “I have a hiding place,” Helen said conspiratorially and went to one of her kitchen cabinets. There was a loose board in the back where a person could deposit inconspicuous little objects. Helen kept a little money she had saved and a few mementos from Ruben’s childhood there. Embarrassed, she showed the other women one of his drawings and a lock of his hair.

  “How sweet!” Elizabeth declared and admitted to the others that she carried a lock of George’s hair in a locket around her neck.

  Gwyneira would have envied this concrete proof of her love, but then she cast an eye on the little dog lying in front of the fireplace who was looking up at her adoringly. Nothing could bind her more tightly to James than Friday.

  Another year later, Gerald and Paul returned angry from a breeders’ conference in Christchurch.

  “The governor doesn’t know wha
t he’s doing,” Gerald ranted, pouring himself a whiskey. After a moment of consideration, he filled a second glass for the fourteen-year-old Paul. “Banned for life! Who’s going to check on that? If he doesn’t like it there, he’ll be back on the next ship.”

  “Who’ll be back?” Gwyneira inquired, only moderately interested. Dinner would be served in a moment, and she had joined the men with a glass of port—to keep her eye on Gerald. It did not please her one bit that he was offering Paul something to drink. The boy would learn that soon enough. Besides, he could hardly control his temper when he was sober. He would be that much more difficult under the influence of alcohol.

  “McKenzie! The damned sheep thief! The governor commuted his sentence.”

  Gwyneira felt the blood rising to her cheeks. James was free?

  “On the condition that he leave the country as soon as possible. They’re sending him to Australia on the next ship. Sounds good to me—he can’t be far enough away for my liking. But he’ll be a free man over there. Who’s going to keep him from coming back?” Gerald blustered.

  “Isn’t that unwise?” Gwyneira asked flatly. If James really left for Australia forever…she was happy about his commutation, but it also meant she had lost him for herself.

  “For the next three years, yes,” Paul said. He sipped at his whiskey, observing his mother attentively.

  Gwyneira fought to maintain her composure.

  “But after that?” Paul continued. “He would have served his sentence. A few more years and it would fall under the statute of limitations. And then if he had brains enough to come back through Dunedin, for example, instead of Lyttelton…he could also change his name; after all, no one cares what it says on the passenger manifest. What’s wrong, Mother? You don’t look at all well.”

  Gwyneira clung to the thought that Paul was right. James would find some way to get back to her. She had to see him again! She had to hear it from his own mouth before she would really begin to have any hope.