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Authors: Sarah Lark
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mountains before Gwyneira could finally depart—which actually calmed, rather than annoyed, the concerned sheep breeder.
“At least I have my sheep somewhere dry,” she joked as her husband and son shut the last gate behind the herds. Jack had once again proved himself. The workers praised him as “a man’s man,” and the boy raved about camping in the mountains and the bright nights during which he had slipped out of his sleeping bag to observe birds and other nocturnal creatures. There were many of them on New Zealand’s South Island. Even the kiwi—that strange, plump bird chosen as the symbol of the settlers—was nocturnal.
James McKenzie was likewise cheered to see Gwyneira when he returned from the sheepherding. The two amply celebrated seeing each other again, during which time Gwyneira put her concerns about Kura into words.
“She still prances about brazenly with those Maori boys, even though Miss Witherspoon keeps reprimanding her for it. When itcomes to behaving appropriately, her head is somewhere else entirely! And Tonga wanders around the farm from time to time as though it will soon belong to him. I should not let him see that it drives me mad, but I’m afraid he can tell.”
James sighed. “The way it looks, you’re going to have to marry that girl off soon. It doesn’t matter to whom. She’s always going to cause trouble. She has this… I don’t know. But she’s a sensual one.”
Gwyneira gave him an indignant look. “You find her sensual?” she asked mistrustfully.
James rolled his eyes. “I find her to be spoiled and insufferable. But I don’t have trouble recognizing what other men see in her. And that would be a goddess.”
“James, she’s fifteen!”
“But she’s developed remarkably fast. Even in the few days we were out herding, she’s filled out. She’s always been a beauty, but now she’s turning into a beauty that drives men crazy. And she knows it. Although I wouldn’t spare a thought for this Tiare. One of the Maori shepherds did some eavesdropping on them the day before yesterday, and apparently she was treating him like an untrained puppy. No chance of her sharing a bed with him. The boy is the object of jealousy, but he also never hears the end of it from Kura and the other men. He’ll be happy when he’s rid of the girl.” James drew Gwyneira back into his arms.
“And you think she’ll find another one right away?” Gwyneira asked, unsure.
“One? Don’t joke! If she so much as wiggles her pinky, there’ll be a line all the way to Christchurch!”
Gwyneira sighed and snuggled into his arms.
“Tell me, James, was I really… um… sensual too?”
The freight wagons finally arrived in Christchurch, and Ruben’s drivers reached Kiward Station driving two gorgeous teams of cart horses pulling heavy covered wagons.
“There’s space to sleep in there too,” one of the drivers explained. “If we don’t find any lodging on the way, the men can sleep in one wagon, and we’ll let you have the second, madam. If that’s to your satisfaction.”
Gwyneira was satisfied. She had slept in less comfortable places in her life and was looking forward to the adventure. She was in high spirits when the chaise, pulled by a brown cob stallion, took its place behind the covered wagon.
“Owen can cover a few mares up there,” she said, explaining her decision to harness the stallion. “So that Fleurette’s pure-blood cobs don’t die out.”
Kura, to whom she had directed these words, nodded apathetically. She had probably not even noticed which horse her grandmother had chosen. Kura cast much more interested glances at the young freight-wagon drivers—glances that were returned with no less enthusiasm. The two young men immediately set about courting Kura—or better yet, worshipping her. Yet neither dared flirt openly with the little beauty.
Gwyneira’s enthusiasm for the trip grew still more when they finally left Haldon, the nearest town,
“At least I have my sheep somewhere dry,” she joked as her husband and son shut the last gate behind the herds. Jack had once again proved himself. The workers praised him as “a man’s man,” and the boy raved about camping in the mountains and the bright nights during which he had slipped out of his sleeping bag to observe birds and other nocturnal creatures. There were many of them on New Zealand’s South Island. Even the kiwi—that strange, plump bird chosen as the symbol of the settlers—was nocturnal.
James McKenzie was likewise cheered to see Gwyneira when he returned from the sheepherding. The two amply celebrated seeing each other again, during which time Gwyneira put her concerns about Kura into words.
“She still prances about brazenly with those Maori boys, even though Miss Witherspoon keeps reprimanding her for it. When itcomes to behaving appropriately, her head is somewhere else entirely! And Tonga wanders around the farm from time to time as though it will soon belong to him. I should not let him see that it drives me mad, but I’m afraid he can tell.”
James sighed. “The way it looks, you’re going to have to marry that girl off soon. It doesn’t matter to whom. She’s always going to cause trouble. She has this… I don’t know. But she’s a sensual one.”
Gwyneira gave him an indignant look. “You find her sensual?” she asked mistrustfully.
James rolled his eyes. “I find her to be spoiled and insufferable. But I don’t have trouble recognizing what other men see in her. And that would be a goddess.”
“James, she’s fifteen!”
“But she’s developed remarkably fast. Even in the few days we were out herding, she’s filled out. She’s always been a beauty, but now she’s turning into a beauty that drives men crazy. And she knows it. Although I wouldn’t spare a thought for this Tiare. One of the Maori shepherds did some eavesdropping on them the day before yesterday, and apparently she was treating him like an untrained puppy. No chance of her sharing a bed with him. The boy is the object of jealousy, but he also never hears the end of it from Kura and the other men. He’ll be happy when he’s rid of the girl.” James drew Gwyneira back into his arms.
“And you think she’ll find another one right away?” Gwyneira asked, unsure.
“One? Don’t joke! If she so much as wiggles her pinky, there’ll be a line all the way to Christchurch!”
Gwyneira sighed and snuggled into his arms.
“Tell me, James, was I really… um… sensual too?”
The freight wagons finally arrived in Christchurch, and Ruben’s drivers reached Kiward Station driving two gorgeous teams of cart horses pulling heavy covered wagons.
“There’s space to sleep in there too,” one of the drivers explained. “If we don’t find any lodging on the way, the men can sleep in one wagon, and we’ll let you have the second, madam. If that’s to your satisfaction.”
Gwyneira was satisfied. She had slept in less comfortable places in her life and was looking forward to the adventure. She was in high spirits when the chaise, pulled by a brown cob stallion, took its place behind the covered wagon.
“Owen can cover a few mares up there,” she said, explaining her decision to harness the stallion. “So that Fleurette’s pure-blood cobs don’t die out.”
Kura, to whom she had directed these words, nodded apathetically. She had probably not even noticed which horse her grandmother had chosen. Kura cast much more interested glances at the young freight-wagon drivers—glances that were returned with no less enthusiasm. The two young men immediately set about courting Kura—or better yet, worshipping her. Yet neither dared flirt openly with the little beauty.
Gwyneira’s enthusiasm for the trip grew still more when they finally left Haldon, the nearest town,
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