by Sarah Lark
“At least the girls make their own money,” she said in the end. “But I would insist that the fellows washed up first!”
When, during the third month of their affair, she didn’t get her period, Gwyneira could hardly believe it. Of course she had already noticed signs—her swollen breasts and intense cravings if there wasn’t a specific cabbage dish on the table. Now that she was completely sure, her first feeling was one of joy. But a bitter feeling of imminent loss followed. She was pregnant, so there was no longer a reason to continue cheating on her spouse. The idea that she would never again touch James, never again lie naked beside him, kiss him, feel him inside her, or scream with lust at the climax cut her like a knife to the heart.
Gwyneira could not bring herself to reveal the news to James right away. For two days she kept it to herself and saved up every one of James’s stolen, tender glances like a treasure. Never again would he wink at her secretively as he muttered, “Good day, miss” or “But of course, miss,” in passing when they met each other in company.
Never again would he steal a quick kiss from her when no one was looking, and never again would she chide him for taking such a risk.
She continued to postpone the moment of truth longer and longer.
But it couldn’t go on like that. Gwyneira had just returned from riding when James waved to her, pulling her into an empty horse stall with a smile. He wanted to kiss her, but Gwyneira extricated herself from his embrace.
“Not here, James…”
“But tomorrow, in the ring of stone warriors. I’m herding the ewes out. If you want, you can come along. I’ve already mentioned to Mr. Warden that I could really use Cleo.” He winked at her meaningfully. “That wasn’t even a lie. We’ll leave the sheep to her and Daimon, and the two of us will play a little game of ‘survival in the wilderness.’”
“Sorry, James.” Gwyneira did not know how to break the news. “But we can’t do it anymore.”
James frowned. “What can’t we do anymore? Are you busy tomorrow? Is there another visitor coming? Mr. Warden didn’t mention anything.”
Gerald Warden seemed to have been increasingly lonely the last few months. He had been inviting more guests to stay at Kiward Station, usually wool merchants or newly well-off settlers to whom he could show off his exemplary farm by day and with whom he could get soused at night.
Gwyneira shook her head. “No, James, it’s just…I’m pregnant.” There. The truth was out.
“You’re pregnant? That’s wonderful!” On impulse James took her in his arms and swung her around. “Oh yes, you’ve already gotten heavier,” he teased her. “Soon I won’t even be able to lift the two of you.”
When he saw that she wasn’t smiling, he promptly became serious. “What is it, Gwyn? Aren’t you happy?”
“Of course I’m happy,” Gwyneira said, blushing. “But I’m also a little sorry. It…it’s been fun with you.”
James laughed. “Well, there’s no reason to stop right away.” He tried to kiss her, but she pushed him away.
“It’s not about desire!” she said sternly. “It’s about morality. We can’t anymore.” She looked at him. In her gaze was sorrow, but also determination.
“Gwyn, am I hearing you right?” James asked, shocked. “You want to call it quits, to throw away everything that we had together? I thought you loved me.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with love,” Gwyneira said quietly. “I’m married, James. I’m not allowed to love another man. And we agreed from the start that you were only helping me to…to bless my marriage with a child.” She hated that she sounded so pathetic, but she didn’t know how else to express it. And she didn’t want to cry under any circumstances.
“Gwyneira, I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you. It just…happened, like rain or sunshine. You can’t change something like that.”
“When it rains, you can seek shelter,” Gwyneira said softly. “And when the sun’s out, find shade. I can’t stop the rain or heat, but I don’t have to get wet or sunburned.”
James pulled her to him. “Gwyneira, I know you love me too. Come with me. We’ll leave here and start from scratch somewhere else.”
“And where will we go, James?” she asked, mocking him in order not to sound desperate. “What sheep farm will you work on when it becomes known that you abducted Lucas Warden’s wife? The whole South Island knows the Wardens. Do you think Gerald will let you get away with that?”
“Are you married to Gerald or Lucas? And regardless which of the two—neither one stands a chance against me!” James balled his fists.
“Is that so? And how do you intend to compete with them? Fisticuffs or pistols? And then are we supposed to flee into the wilderness to live off nuts and berries?” Gwyneira hated fighting with him. She had hoped to bring everything to a peaceful conclusion with a kiss—bittersweet and heavy as fate, like in a Bulwer-Lytton novel.
“But you like life in the wilderness. Or were you lying? Are you really better suited to the luxury here on Kiward Station? Is it important to you to be the wife of a sheep baron, to throw big parties, to be rich?” James was trying to sound angry, but his words spoke of bitterness instead.
Gwyneira suddenly felt tired. “James, let’s not fight. You know none of that is important to me. But I gave my word. I am a sheep baron’s wife. I’d keep it just the same if I were a beggar’s wife.”
“You broke your word when you shared a bed with me!” James flared up. “You’ve already cheated on your husband.”
Gwyneira took a step back. “I never shared a bed with you, James McKenzie,” she said. “You know that very well. I would never have brought you into the house. That…that would’ve…it was different.”
“And what was it? Gwyneira! Please don’t tell me that you were only using me like an animal for breeding.”
Gwyneira just wanted to bring this conversation to an end. She could no longer bear his imploring gaze.
“I asked you, James,” she said softly. “You agreed. To all the conditions. It’s not about what I want. It’s about what’s right. I’m a Silkham, James. I can’t walk away from my obligations. Whether you understand or not. In any event it can’t be changed. From now on…”
“Gwyneira? What’s going on? Weren’t you supposed to meet me fifteen minutes ago?”
Gwyneira and James hurriedly separated as Lucas entered the stables. He rarely came around there of his own free will, but the day before Gwyneira had promised him that she would finally start sitting for an oil painting the next day. She only agreed because she felt sorry for him—Gerald had once again torn him apart, and Gwyneira knew that she could end all this torture with a word. But she had not been able to bring herself to talk about her pregnancy before breaking the news to James. So she had thought of sitting for the painting to comfort Lucas. What’s more, she would have plenty of time and leisure to sit still on a stool in the months ahead.
“I’m coming, Lucas. I had…a small problem, and Mr. McKenzie helped me fix it. Thank you very much, Mr. McKenzie.” Gwyneira managed to speak calmly and smile benignly at James, but hoped that she didn’t look too distraught. If only James had been able to keep his feelings under control. His desperate, wounded expression broke her heart.
Fortunately, Lucas did not notice. He only saw the picture he would be sketching of Gwyneira.
That evening Gwyneira told Lucas and Gerald that she was pregnant.
Gerald was overjoyed. Lucas performed his duty as a gentleman, assuring Gwyneira that he was very happy and kissing her formally on the cheek. A few days later a costly pearl necklace arrived from Christchurch. Lucas presented it to Gwyneira as a token of gratitude and appreciation. Gerald rode to Haldon to celebrate that he would finally be a grandfather and paid for drinks for everyone in the pub for that night—with the exception of Howard O’Keefe, who was fortunately sober enough to clear the area as quickly as possible. When Helen learned from Howard that Gerald had made a public announcement about G
wyneira’s pregnancy, she was mortified.
“You don’t think it’s embarrassing to me?” Gwyneira asked when she visited Helen two days later and learned that her friend had already heard the news. “But that’s just how he is. The exact opposite of Lucas. You wouldn’t think those two were even related.” She bit her lip almost as soon as she said it.
Helen smiled. “As long as they’re both convinced of it.” she said equivocally.
Gwyneira smiled. “Anyway, it’s finally here. You must tell me what I need to do in the next few months, so I don’t do anything wrong. And I’ll need to crochet some baby clothes. Do you think someone can learn to do that in nine months?”
11
Gwyneira’s pregnancy passed without incident. Even the infamous morning sickness of the first three months had been hardly noticeable. And so neither did she take seriously those warnings that her mother had been heaping on her practically since her marriage had been decided for heaven's sake to finally quit riding. Instead, Gwyneira took advantage of almost every pretty day to visit Helen or Mrs. Candler, thereby avoiding James. At first it was painful every time she looked at him, and they did their best not to see each other at all. When they did run into each other, they both looked away, embarrassed, trying not to see the pain and sorrow in the other’s eyes.
So Gwyneira spent a great deal of time with Helen and little Ruben, learning to change him and sing lullabies while Helen knit baby clothes for Gwyneira.
“Just no pink,” said Gwyneira, horrified when Helen started a bright onesie to use up leftover wool. “It’ll be a boy!”
“Now how do you know that?” Helen replied. “A girl would be lovely too.”
Gwyneira dreaded the possibility of not being able to provide the desired male offspring. She had never given much thought to children before. Only now that she was helping look after Ruben—and experiencing on a daily basis that the little thing already had rather strict ideas about what he wanted and what he didn’t and what he liked and what he didn’t—was it becoming clear to her that she not only carried the heir to Kiward Station within her; what was growing inside her was a small being with its own individual personality, and it was just as likely to be female as male. Either way, she had already condemned it to live a lie. When Gwyneira thought about it too much, she felt pangs of guilt for the baby, who would never know its real father. It was better not to brood on it, so Gwyneira threw herself into helping Helen with her endless housework. Gwyneira could milk, and the Maori children’s school had continued to grow. Helen now taught two classes, and to her surprise, Gwyneira saw three of the half-naked children who normally splashed around in Kiward Station’s lake.
“The sons of the chieftain and his brother,” explained Helen. “Their fathers wanted them to learn something, so they sent the children to relatives in the village here. It’s quite an extravagance. It’s rather demanding for the children. Whenever they get homesick, they go home on foot. And the little one is constantly homesick!”
She indicated a handsome youth with curly black hair.
Gwyneira recalled James’s remarks about the Maori and that children who were too well educated could be dangerous to whites.
Helen shrugged when Gwyneira told her about it. “If I don’t teach them, someone else will. And if this generation doesn’t learn, then the next one will. Besides, it’s impossible to deny people an education.”
“Now don’t get excited,” Gwyneira said, holding up her hand in a placating gesture. “I’d be the last person to try to stop you. But war wouldn’t be a good thing.”
“Oh, the Maori are peaceful,” Helen said, waving the notion away. “They want to learn from us. I think they’ve recognized that civilization makes life easier. Besides, it’s different here from in the other colonies. The Maori aren’t indigenous. They’re immigrants themselves.”
“Seriously?” Gwyneira was astounded. She hadn’t heard that before.
“Yes. Of course, they’ve still been here much, much longer than we have,” Helen said. “But not since time immemorial. They arrived in the early fourteenth century, in seven double canoes. They still remember it. Every family can trace its lineage back to the crew of one of those canoes.”
Helen had learned to speak Maori quite well and had been listening to Matahorua’s stories with increasing comprehension.
“So the land doesn’t belong to them either?” Gwyneira asked hopefully.
Helen rolled her eyes. “When the time comes, both sides will probably claim the right of discovery. Let’s just hope that they get along peacefully. I plan teach them math—whether that suits my husband and Mr. Warden or not.”
With the exception of the hostility between Gwyneira and James, the mood on Kiward Station was joyful. The prospect of a grandchild had lightened Gerald’s step. He once again paid more attention to his farm and sold several stud rams to other breeders, making good money in the process. James took the opportunity to herd the animals over to their new owners, which enabled him to be away from Kiward Station for a few days. Gerald had ordered for more land to be cleared for pastureland. When it came time to calculate which rivers could be used as a flume and which wood was valuable, Lucas’s mathematical skills proved useful. Though he complained about the loss of the forests, he did not protest with much vehemence—after all, he was just happy that Gerald’s derision had ceased. He never asked where the child could have come from. Perhaps he hoped it was an accident, or it was possible he simply didn’t want to know. In any case, they were not together often enough for such an embarrassing conversation to take place. Lucas abandoned his nightly visits immediately after Gwyneira announced her pregnancy; after all, his “attempts” had not been much fun for him. However, he enjoyed painting his beautiful wife. Gwyneira sat demurely for an oil portrait, and Gerald did not once snicker at this endeavor. As the mother of the next generation, Gwyneira’s portrait deserved a place of honor next to that of his late wife, Barbara. All agreed that the finished oil painting was very successful. Only Lucas was not entirely satisfied. He felt that he had not perfectly captured Gwyneira’s “mysterious expression,” and the play of light did not strike him as optimal. But every visitor praised the picture effusively. Lord Barrington even asked Lucas to paint a portrait of his wife. Gwyneira learned that good money could be earned in England for such work, but Lucas would have taken it as an insult to his honor to ask for so much as a penny from his neighbors and friends.
Gwyneira did not see how the sale of a picture was any different from that of a sheep or horse, but she did not argue and noted with relief that Gerald did not upbraid his son for his lack of business sense either. On the contrary, for the first time, he almost seemed proud of Lucas. Sunshine and harmony reigned in the house.
As the birth approached, Gerald searched in vain for a doctor for Gwyneira since to have one brought from Christchurch would have meant leaving the city without a doctor for several weeks. Gwyneira didn’t think it would be problematic to have to do without a doctor. After having seen Matahorua at work, she was prepared to put herself in the hands of a Maori midwife. Gerald, however, declared this unacceptable, and Lucas took this position decisively as well.
“It would be unacceptable to entrust you to some savage. You’re a lady and are to be treated with corresponding care. It’s simply too much of a risk. You should deliver in Christchurch.”
That brought Gerald back onto the barricades. He declared that the heir of Kiward Station would be born on the farm and nowhere else.
In the end, Gwyneira confided to Mrs. Candler about the problem, though she was afraid that Mrs. Candler would then offer her Dorothy. The merchant’s wife did just that, but then suggested a much better solution.
“The midwife here in Haldon has a daughter who often goes to help her. As far as I know, she’s also taken on deliveries by herself. Go ahead and ask her if she’d be willing to come to Kiward Station for a few days.”
Francine Hayward, the midwife’s daughter, proved
to be a bright, optimistic twenty-year-old young woman. She had blonde hair and a round, happy face with a snub nose and attractive light green eyes. She got along beautifully with Gwyneira from the very first. After all, the two of them were almost the same age. After the first two cups of tea, Francine revealed to Gwyneira her secret love for the Candlers’ oldest son, while Gwyneira told her how as a girl she’d dreamed of cowboys and Indians.
“In one novel there’s a woman who has her baby while the redskins have the house surrounded! And she’s all alone with her husband and daughter too.”
“Well, I don’t find that all too romantic,” said Francine. “On the contrary, that would be my worst nightmare. Just imagine your husband running back and forth between shooting and swaddling, alternating between yelling “Push, dear!” and “I’ve got you, you damned redskin!”
Gwyneira giggled. “My husband would never say such a thing in the presence of a lady. He would probably say: ‘Pardon me a moment, my love. I just have to quickly eliminate one of these savages.’”
Francine gave a snort.
Since her mother was likewise in agreement with the arrangement, Francine rode out behind Gwyneira that same evening to Kiward Station. She sat relaxed and fearless on Igraine’s bare back, dismissing Lucas’s admonishment—“What a risk to take, riding two to a horse! We could have picked up the young lady.” Awestruck, she moved into one of the lavish guest rooms. Over the next few days, she enjoyed the luxury of not having anything to do other than keep Gwyneira company until the birth of the “crown prince.” To that end she enthusiastically went to work decorating the knitted and crocheted pieces by sewing golden crowns onto everything.
“You are a member of the nobility,” she explained when Gwyneira declared how embarrassing she found that. “The baby must be somewhere on the list of heirs to the British throne.”
Gwyneira hoped Gerald wasn’t listening. She wouldn’t have put assassination attempts on the queen and her heirs past the proud grandfather if it meant seeing his grandson on the throne. For the time being, however, Gerald limited himself to adding a small crown to Kiward Station’s branding mark. He had bought a few cows recently and now needed to register a mark. Lucas sketched a coat of arms according to Gerald’s specifications, combining Gwyneira’s little crown with a shield, a symbol of the Warden name.
