Read Online In the Land of the Long White Cloud by Sarah Lark - Free Book Online
Authors: Sarah Lark
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not find any and in the end told herself it was not worth it. It was late by the time she got back, and she had just enough time to put her hat and coat away before dinner was served. With the precious letter in her pocket, she hurried to the table, attempting to ignore George’s curious glances. The boy could certainly put two and two together. No doubt he suspected where Helen had spent her afternoon.
Lucinda Greenwood, on the other hand, nursed no such suspicions and inquired further when Helen reported her visit to the pastor’s.
“Oh yes, I need to track the reverend down in the coming weeks as well,” Lucinda said in a distracted manner. “Regarding the orphans for Christchurch. Our committee has selected six girls, but the reverend believes half of them are too young to send on such a journey alone. I don’t mean to question the reverend, but sometimes he’s a bit naïve. He doesn’t consider what the children cost here when they could be happy over there.”
Helen let her carry on without interruption, and Robert Greenwood seemed disinclined to fight that evening as well. He was probably enjoying the pleasant atmosphere at the table, which could be tracedto William’s state of exhaustion. Since the school lessons had been called off and the nanny had found other tasks to excuse herself with, the youngest servant girl had been tasked with playing with him in the garden. The quick little thing had worked him up into a proper sweat playing ball, astutely letting him win in the end. Consequently, he was now calm and content.
Helen excused herself right after dinner. Out of politeness, she usually spent an additional half hour with the Greenwoods, working on whatever sewing she had while Lucinda reported on her endless committee meetings. Tonight, though, she left immediately, fumbling in her pocket for the letter on her way to her room. Finally she took a seat triumphantly in her rocking chair, the only piece of furniture she had brought with her to London from her father’s house, and opened the missive.
As soon as she’d read the first words, Helen’s heart warmed.
Dearest Lady
,
I hardly dare send you word, so unimaginable is it to me that I should attract your precious attention. The path I’ve chosen is no doubt unconventional, but I live in a still young land in which we do revere the old customs but must find new and extraordinary solutions to problems that pull at our hearts. In my case it is a profound loneliness and longing that often keeps me up at night. True, I live in a cozy house, but what it’s missing is the warmth that only a woman’s touch can bring. The country around me is endlessly expansive and beautiful, but all this splendor seems to lack that center that would bring light and love into my life. Short and sweet, I dream of a girl who would like to share in all that I am, who would share in my success as my farm grows, and who is prepared to help me endure any setbacks. Indeed, I yearn for a woman who would be prepared to tie her fate to mine. Could you be this woman? I pray to God for a loving woman, whose heart my words can soften. But she would, of course, want more from me than a mere glimpse into my thoughts and longings. Well then, my name is Howard O’Keefe, and as my name suggests, I have Irish roots. But that was long ago. I can hardly count the years now that I’ve toiled in this often unfriendly world. I am no longer an inexperienced youth,my dear. I have lived and suffered much. But now, here on the Canterbury Plains, in the foothills of New Zealand’s Alps, I have found a home. My farm is small, but this country’s breed of sheep has a future, and I am sure that I can support a family. I’d wish for the woman at my side to be practical and sincere, skilled in all household matters, and willing to raise our children according to Christian principles. I would support her in that to the best of my abilities with all the strength of a loving spouse
.
Could it be,
Lucinda Greenwood, on the other hand, nursed no such suspicions and inquired further when Helen reported her visit to the pastor’s.
“Oh yes, I need to track the reverend down in the coming weeks as well,” Lucinda said in a distracted manner. “Regarding the orphans for Christchurch. Our committee has selected six girls, but the reverend believes half of them are too young to send on such a journey alone. I don’t mean to question the reverend, but sometimes he’s a bit naïve. He doesn’t consider what the children cost here when they could be happy over there.”
Helen let her carry on without interruption, and Robert Greenwood seemed disinclined to fight that evening as well. He was probably enjoying the pleasant atmosphere at the table, which could be tracedto William’s state of exhaustion. Since the school lessons had been called off and the nanny had found other tasks to excuse herself with, the youngest servant girl had been tasked with playing with him in the garden. The quick little thing had worked him up into a proper sweat playing ball, astutely letting him win in the end. Consequently, he was now calm and content.
Helen excused herself right after dinner. Out of politeness, she usually spent an additional half hour with the Greenwoods, working on whatever sewing she had while Lucinda reported on her endless committee meetings. Tonight, though, she left immediately, fumbling in her pocket for the letter on her way to her room. Finally she took a seat triumphantly in her rocking chair, the only piece of furniture she had brought with her to London from her father’s house, and opened the missive.
As soon as she’d read the first words, Helen’s heart warmed.
Dearest Lady
,
I hardly dare send you word, so unimaginable is it to me that I should attract your precious attention. The path I’ve chosen is no doubt unconventional, but I live in a still young land in which we do revere the old customs but must find new and extraordinary solutions to problems that pull at our hearts. In my case it is a profound loneliness and longing that often keeps me up at night. True, I live in a cozy house, but what it’s missing is the warmth that only a woman’s touch can bring. The country around me is endlessly expansive and beautiful, but all this splendor seems to lack that center that would bring light and love into my life. Short and sweet, I dream of a girl who would like to share in all that I am, who would share in my success as my farm grows, and who is prepared to help me endure any setbacks. Indeed, I yearn for a woman who would be prepared to tie her fate to mine. Could you be this woman? I pray to God for a loving woman, whose heart my words can soften. But she would, of course, want more from me than a mere glimpse into my thoughts and longings. Well then, my name is Howard O’Keefe, and as my name suggests, I have Irish roots. But that was long ago. I can hardly count the years now that I’ve toiled in this often unfriendly world. I am no longer an inexperienced youth,my dear. I have lived and suffered much. But now, here on the Canterbury Plains, in the foothills of New Zealand’s Alps, I have found a home. My farm is small, but this country’s breed of sheep has a future, and I am sure that I can support a family. I’d wish for the woman at my side to be practical and sincere, skilled in all household matters, and willing to raise our children according to Christian principles. I would support her in that to the best of my abilities with all the strength of a loving spouse
.
Could it be,
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