In the Land of the Long White Cloud (36 page)

“What did he say?” Gwyneira asked.

Helen bit her lip. “Just something from the Bible,” she murmured.

Gwyneira nodded in amazement. “Well, if you can get these snot-nosed brats to quote the Bible on their own, you shouldn’t have any trouble getting a mule to move. That mule is your only ticket to Haldon. What’s its name anyway?” Gwyneira wagged her crop, but obviously had no intention of assisting her friend in driving the mule forward.

Helen realized that she would have to give the mule a name.

They did finally have their tea after the riding lesson, during which time Helen talked about her little students.

“Reti, the oldest boy, is very sharp but cheeky. And Rongo Rongo is charming. Overall, they’re nice children. In fact, the whole tribe is friendly.”

“You can already speak Maori pretty well, can’t you?” Gwyn asked admiringly. “Sadly, I can still only manage a few words. I just never have time to study the language. There’s too much to do.”

Helen shrugged but was grateful for the praise. “I’ve studied other languages before, which makes it a little easier. Otherwise, I don’t have anyone else to talk to. If I don’t want to be totally alone, I have to learn it.”

“Don’t you talk to Howard?” Gwyneira asked.

Helen nodded. “Yes, but…but we…we don’t have all that much in common.”

Gwyneira suddenly felt guilty. Helen would so enjoy the long discussions with Lucas about art and culture—not to mention his piano playing and painting. She knew she should feel grateful for her cultivated husband. Most of the time, however, she just felt bored.

“The women in the village are very outgoing,” Helen continued. “I’ve been wondering whether one of them is a midwife…”

“Midwife?” cried Gwyneira. “Helen! Don’t tell me that you…I don’t believe it. Helen, you’re pregnant?”

Helen looked up, agonized. “I don’t know for certain. But yesterday Mrs. Candler looked at me strangely and made a few comments. Besides, sometimes I feel…strange.” She blushed.

Gwyneira pressed her for more details. “Does Howard…I mean, with his…does he…”

“I think so,” whispered Helen. “He does it every night. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it.”

Gwyneira chewed on her lip. “Why not? I mean…does it hurt?”

Helen looked at her as though she’d lost her mind. “Of course it does, Gwyn. Didn’t your mother tell you it would? But we women simply have to bear it. Why do you ask? Doesn’t it hurt for you too?”

Gwyneira tried unsuccessfully to formulate a reply until Helen, ashamed, let the subject drop. But her reaction had confirmed Gwyneira’s suspicions. Something was not going right between Lucas and her. For
the first time, she asked herself whether perhaps there was something wrong with her.

Helen named the mule Nepumuk and spoiled it with carrots and sweet potatoes. After just a few days, a deafening greeting call filled the air every time she stepped out the door, and in the paddock the mule pushed to have her put a halter on it—after all, it knew there would be a treat both before and after. By the third riding lesson, Gwyneira was quite satisfied, and soon thereafter Helen found the courage to saddle Nepumuk and head into Haldon. She felt that she’d crossed no less than an ocean by the time she guided the mule onto the town street. It moved purposefully toward the smith since it expected to be rewarded there with some oats and hay. The smith proved friendly and promised to put the mule up while Helen visited Mrs. Candler. Mrs. Candler and Dorothy praised her endlessly, and Helen basked in her new freedom.

That evening she spoiled Nepumuk with an extra portion of hay and corn. He snorted happily, and suddenly Helen did not find it so difficult to think of him as a pleasant animal.

S
ummer was coming to a close, and they could look back on a successful breeding season at Kiward Station. All the ewes were pregnant; the new stallion had covered three mares, and little Daimon had all the farm’s female dogs in heat—as well as several from other farms. Even Cleo’s belly was swelling. Gwyneira was excited for puppies. As for her own attempts to get pregnant, there had been no change—especially since Lucas attempted to sleep with her only once a week. And it was always the same: Lucas was polite and attentive and apologized whenever he believed himself to be going too far in any respect, but nothing hurt and nothing bled. Gerald’s jibes slowly began to get on her nerves. After a few months of marriage, her father-in-law said, you could count on a healthy young woman conceiving. This only reinforced Gwyneira’s fear that something was wrong with her. In the end, she confided in Helen.

“I wouldn’t care myself, but Mr. Warden is horrible. He talks about it in front of the help, even in front of the shepherds. I should spend less time in the stables and more time caring for my husband, he says. Then there would be a baby. But I won’t get pregnant just watching Lucas paint!”

“But he…doesn’t he visit you regularly?” Helen asked carefully. Though no one had confirmed that she was pregnant, she was now rather sure that something was different about her.

Gwyneira nodded and tugged at her earlobe. “Yes, Lucas puts in the effort. It’s up to me. If I only knew whom I could ask…”

An idea came to Helen. She had to go to the Maori settlement soon, and there…she did not know why, but she was less ashamed to talk to the native women about her possible pregnancy than with
Mrs. Candler or another woman in town. Why shouldn’t she take the opportunity to talk about Gwyneira’s problem at the same time?

“You know what? I’ll ask the Maori witch doctor, or whatever she is,” she asserted. “Little Rongo’s grandmother. She’s very friendly. The last time I visited, she gave me a piece of jade as a token of thanks for teaching the children. The Maori look at her as a
tohunga
, or wise woman. Maybe she knows something about female troubles. She can’t do more than turn me away.”

Gwyneira was skeptical. “I don’t really believe in magic,” she said, “but it’s worth a try.”

Matahorua, the Maori
tohunga
, received Helen in front of the
wharenui
, the meeting hall that was so richly decorated with carvings. Rongo had explained to Helen that the airy building’s form was modeled after a living creature. The ridge of the roof formed the backbone, the roof battens the ribs. In front of the hall was a covered grill, the
kauta
, where food was cooked for everyone, as the Maori were a close community. They slept together in huge sleeping houses that were not divided into individual rooms and had almost no furniture.

Matahorua motioned for Helen to sit on one of the stones that jutted from the grass next to the house.

“How can help?” she said without introduction.

Helen ran through her Maori vocabulary, which mainly consisted of Biblical terms and papal dogma. “What do when no conception?” she inquired, hoping she had left out the “immaculate.”

The old woman laughed and showered her with a torrent of unintelligible words.

Helen made a gesture of incomprehension.

“Why not baby?” Matahorua then attempted in English. “You do receive baby! In winter when very cold. I coming help, when you want. Beautiful baby, healthy baby.”

Helen could not comprehend it. So it was true—she would be having a baby!

“I coming help, when wanting,” Matahorua reiterated her friendly offer.

“I…thank, you are…welcome to,” Helen formulated with difficulty.

The witch doctor laughed.

But now Helen had to return to her original question. She tried again in Maori.

“I conception,” she explained and pointed to her stomach, hardly blushing this time. “But friend not conception. What can do?”

The old woman shrugged and again repeated her comprehensive explanations in her mother tongue. Finally she waved to Rongo Rongo, who was playing nearby with other children.

The little girl approached and appeared more than happy to offer her services as an interpreter. Helen turned red with shame at the thought of discussing such things in front of a child, but Matahorua seemed untroubled by it.

“She cannot easily say,” explained Rongo after the
tohunga
had repeated her words again. “Can be many reasons. With the man or woman or both…she must see the woman, or better man and woman. She can only advise then. And advising no good.”

Matahorua gave Helen another piece of jade for her friend.

“Friends of Miss O’Keefe always welcome!” Rongo remarked.

Helen took a few seed potatoes from her bag as thanks. Howard would throw a fit at her giving the precious seeds away, but the old Maori woman was visibly pleased. With a few words she instructed Rongo to grab a few herbs, which she handed to Helen.

“Here, against sickness in morning. Put in water, drink before getting up.”

That evening Helen revealed to her husband that he would be a father. Howard gave a contented hum. He was obviously pleased, though Helen would have liked a few more words of recognition. The one good consequence of announcing the news was that from then on Howard left his wife in peace. He did not touch her anymore, instead
sleeping next to her like a brother, which was a huge relief to her. It moved her to tears when, the next morning, Howard came to her in bed with a cup of tea.

“Here. The witch said you should drink this, right? And the Maori women know something about these things. They litter children like cats.”