In the Land of the Long White Cloud (52 page)

George employed the services of the local real estate office the next day. He had spent a restless night at the White Hart. A band had been
playing dances in the room below, and the men had fought over the girls—which gave George the impression that looking for a wife in New Zealand did not come without peril. He suddenly found himself thinking of the advertisement that Helen had responded to in a whole new light. Even the search for a home did not prove easy. Those who moved here did not generally buy houses, but built them. Finished houses were rarely up for sale and were correspondingly valuable. Even the Brewsters had long since rented out their home before George arrived. They didn’t want to sell it, as their future in Otago remained uncertain.

Though George toured the few addresses that people had mentioned to him at the bank, the White Hart, and in the pubs, the majority were shabby. A few families and older ladies living alone were seeking subletters. This was no doubt an appropriate and reasonable alternative to the hotel for colonists who were getting their feet on the ground in their new country, but there was nothing suitable for George, accustomed as he was to more upscale accommodations.

Frustrated, he ended up strolling through the new parks along the Avon’s banks. In the summer, boat regattas took place here, and there were viewpoints and scenic picnic spots. For the time being, though, it being spring, they were quite empty. The still-fickle spring weather only allowed for a short spell on the riverfront benches, and only the main paths had people on them. Yet a stroll here gave George the impression that he could almost be in Oxford or Cambridge. Nannies led their charges on walks, children played ball on the grass, and a few couples modestly sought the shade of trees. Though it did not pull him entirely out of his reverie, the scene had a calming effect on George. He had just looked at the last building for rent on his list, a shack that it took a good deal of imagination to call a house and which would gobble up at least as much time and money in renovations as building a new house. Moreover it was not well situated. Short of a miracle, George would have to begin looking for land plots the next day and consider building a new house after all. How he was supposed to explain such a thing to his parents was beyond him.

Tired and in low spirits, he continued to stroll aimlessly, watching the ducks and swans on the river. Suddenly he became aware of a young woman who was watching two children nearby. The little girl might have been seven or eight years old, a little plump, with thick, almost black locks. She was chatting happily with her nanny while tossing old bread to the ducks from a pier. The little boy, a blond cherub, was, in contrast, a real menace. He had left the pier and was playing in the mud on the bank.

The nanny expressed her concern. “Robert, don’t go so near the river! How often do I have to tell you? Nancy, look out for your brother!”

The young woman—George placed her at no more than eighteen years old—stood seemingly helpless at the edge of the muddy strip of bank. She wore neat black lace-up shoes polished to a shine and a simple navy-blue shift. She would doubtlessly ruin both if she followed the little boy into the brackish water. The little girl in front of her was no different. She was clean and neatly dressed and had surely received instructions not to get dirty.

“He won’t listen to me, missy!” the little girl said dutifully.

The boy had already smeared mud on his sailor suit from top to bottom.

“I’ll come back when you make me a little boat!” he now called back naughtily to his nanny. “Then we’ll go to the lake and watch them float.”

The “lake” was no more than a large pool that remained from the high water in winter. It did not look very clean, but at least there was no dangerous current.

The young woman looked undecided. No doubt she knew that it was wrong to negotiate with him, but she clearly did not want to wade through the muck to retrieve the little boy forcibly. She resorted to a counteroffer.

“But first let’s practice your equations. I don’t want you not to know anything when your father asks you questions.”

George shook his head. Helen would never have given in to George in a similar situation. But this governess was considerably younger
and obviously much less experienced than Helen had been when she worked for the Greenwoods. She seemed practically desperate; the child was obviously too much for her. Despite her cross demeanor, she was attractive: she had a delicate heart-shaped face with pale skin, clear blue eyes, and bright pink lips. Her hair was fine and blonde, tied up in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, and was not holding well. Either her hair was too soft to stay pinned up, or the girl was not very good with hair. On her head sat a prim bonnet that suited her dress. Although her attire was simple, it was not a servant’s uniform. George revised his first impression. The girl must be a tutor, not a nanny.

“I’ll solve a problem, then I get the boat!” Robert called out confidently. He had discovered a rather decrepit jetty that led farther out into the river, and was balancing on it, clearly pleased. George was alarmed. Up to this point, the little boy had only been defiant, but now he was in real danger. The current was very strong.

The tutor saw it too but did not want to give up without a fight.

“You’ll solve three problems,” she announced. Her voice sounded strained.

“Two!” The boy, who might have been six years old, rocked back and forth on a board.

That was enough for George. He was wearing heavy riding boots in which he could easily cross the mud. In three strides he was on the jetty, where he swept up the unhappy boy and carried him back to his tutor.

“Here, I believe this one got away from you.” George laughed.

The young woman hesitated at first—unsure of the appropriate response in this situation. Relief won out, and she smiled. Besides, it was funny to watch Robert, tucked under this stranger’s arm, pedaling in the air like an unruly puppy. His sister giggled with delight.

“Three problems, young man, and I’ll let you loose,” said George.

Robert wailed in acquiescence, at which point George set him down. The tutor took him immediately by the collar and pushed him onto the next available park bench.

“Thank you,” she said, with demurely lowered eyes. “I was worried. He is often so badly behaved.”

George nodded his head and wanted to continue on his way, but something held him back. So he sought a bench not far from the tutor, who was now working to calm her charge. Holding him on the bench, she tried to elicit, if not the answer, then at least some response to a math question.

“Two plus three—how many is that, Robert? We did it with building blocks; do you remember?”

“Don’t know. Can we make the boat now?” Robert fidgeted.

“After arithmetic. Look, Robert, here are three leaves. And here are two more. How many are there?”

The boy only had to count. But he was recalcitrant and uninterested. George saw William once more in front of him.

The young tutor remained patient. “Just count, Robert.”

The boy counted against his will. “One, two, three, four…four, missy.”

The tutor sighed, as did little Nancy.

“Count again, Robert.”

The child was not only unwilling but dumb. George’s sympathy for the tutor grew as she inched arduously closer to each answer. It could not have been easy to remain kind, but the young woman only laughed stoically when Robert yelled, “Make the boat, make the boat!” again and again. She gave in when the boy finally correctly solved the third and easiest problem. However, she showed neither patience nor skill when it came to folding paper boats. The model that Robert finally accepted did not look very seaworthy. In no time, the little boy was back again, interrupting the arithmetic lesson with Nancy that had followed his own. His sister reacted indignantly to the interruption. The little girl was good with numbers, and unlike her tutor, she seemed aware of their audience. Whenever she gave an answer, as though firing it off from a pistol, she cast a triumphant look in George’s direction. George, however, was focusing his attention on the young teacher. She asked her questions in a soft, high-pitched voice, pronouncing her Ss with some affectation—like an aspiring member of the British aristocracy or a girl who had lisped as a child but now consciously controlled her speech. George found it charming;
he could have listened to her all day. But here was Robert interrupting her and his sister’s peace and quiet once again. George knew exactly how the little girl felt. And he saw the same strained patience that Helen had so often expressed in the tutor’s eyes.

“It sank, missy! Make a new one,” Robert ordered, tossing his wet boat into his teacher’s lap.

George decided to step in once more.

“Come here; I know how to do it,” Robert offered. “I’ll show you how to fold one, and then you can do it yourself.”

“But you really don’t need to…” the young woman began, giving him a helpless look. “Robert, you’re bothering the gentleman,” she said sternly.

“Not at all,” George said with a dismissive hand gesture. “On the contrary. I love making paper boats, and I haven’t done it in nearly ten years. It’s about time I tried it again before I forget how to do it.”

While the young woman continued to work on math equations with Nancy—occasionally stealing glances at George—he quickly folded the paper into a little boat. He tried to explain to Robert how to do it himself, but the boy was only interested in the finished product.

“Come along, let’s make it sail,” he invited George. “In the river.”

“Not in the river!” The tutor leaped up. Although it would undoubtedly mean upsetting Nancy, she was ready to accompany Robert to the “lake” as long as he did not put himself in harm’s way again. George walked beside her, marveling at her easy, gracious movements. This girl was no country girl like those who had been dancing at the White Hart the night before. She was obviously a young lady.

“The boy is difficult, isn’t he?” George said sympathetically.

She nodded. “But Nancy is sweet. And perhaps Robert will grow out of it,” she said hopefully.

“Do you think?” George asked. “Do you have experience with that?”

The girl shrugged. “No. This is my first job.”

“After your teaching seminar?” George was curious. She seemed incredibly young for an educated teacher.

The girl shook her head, embarrassed. “No, I never took a seminar. There aren’t any to take in New Zealand—at least not here on the South Island. But I know how to read and write, and I know a little French and quite a bit of Maori. I’ve read the classics, though not in Latin. Besides, the children won’t be going to college for a long time.”

“And?” George asked. “Do you enjoy it?”

The young woman looked at him and frowned. George motioned toward a space on a bench near the “lake” and was pleased when she sat down.

“Enjoy it? Teaching? Well, not always. But what sort of job earns you money and is always enjoyable?”

George sat down beside her and decided to act boldly.

“Since we’re already chatting, allow me to introduce myself: George Greenwood of Greenwood Enterprises—London, Sydney, and recently Christchurch.”

If she was impressed, she didn’t let him see it. Instead, she just calmly and proudly told him her name: “Elizabeth Godewind.”

“Godewind? That sounds Danish. But you don’t have a Scandinavian accent.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, I’m from London. But my foster mother was Swedish. She adopted me.”

“Just a mother? No father?” George berated himself for his curiosity.

“Mrs. Godewind was already quite old when I came to her. To provide her with some company, so to speak. Later she wanted to leave me the house, and the simplest way for her to do that was to adopt me. Mrs. Godewind was the best thing to ever happen to me.” The young woman fought back tears. George looked away so as not to embarrass her, and kept an eye on the children. Nancy was picking flowers, and Robert was doing his best to sink the second ship.

Elizabeth found her handkerchief and regained her composure.

“Please pardon me. But it’s only been nine months since her death, and it still upsets me.”

“But if you’re well off, then why did you take a position as a tutor?” George asked. It was improper to press so much, but the girl fascinated him.

Elizabeth shrugged. “Mrs. Godewind received a pension and we lived off that. After her death, we still had the house. At first we tried renting it out, but that didn’t work out. I lack the necessary sense of authority, as does Jones, the butler. The people who took the place didn’t pay rent, were rude, made a mess of the rooms, and bossed around Jones and his wife. It was unbearable. It no longer felt like our home. So I sought out this teaching position. I like looking after the children a great deal more. Also, I only spend the day with them; I can go home at night.”

So her evenings were free. George wondered if he could dare to ask her to meet again. Dinner in the White Hart, perhaps, or a walk. But no—she would turn that down. She was clearly a well-bred girl; already this conversation in the park was pushing the boundaries of propriety. An invitation without a go-between from a friendly family or a chaperone, without the proper framework, was completely out of the question. But, damn it, this wasn’t London. They were on the other end of the world, and he didn’t want to lose sight of her. He had to take a chance. She would have to dare…what the hell, even Helen had risked it.

George turned to the girl and gazed at her with all the charm and poise he could muster.

“Miss Godewind,” he said deliberately. “The question I would like to put to you oversteps all convention. Naturally, I could stay true to form, follow you unobserved, find out the name of your employers, have myself brought to their home by some well-known member of the Christchurch community—and then wait for us to be officially introduced to one another. But by then, it’s possible someone else will have married you. So, if you do not want to spend the rest of your life wrestling with children like Robert, then please listen to what I have to say: you are exactly what I’m looking for: You’re a beautiful woman, charming and educated, with a house in Christchurch…”