a lie: if Simon failed one more class, he would be expelled from the university, and John wasn’t in much better shape. “But I don’t think it likely that they will be able to come up with my dowry afterward. Neither legal nor medical assistants make much money.”
Lady Brennan nodded. “Won’t you miss your family?” she inquired acerbically.
“My family will consist of my husband and—God willing—our children,” Helen explained firmly. “I will stand by my husband in making a home overseas. There won’t be much time left over to mourn my lost homeland.”
“You sound very determined,” the lady remarked.
“I hope God will lead me,” Helen said humbly, bowing her head. Questions about the men would have to wait. The main thing was to get this dragon in black on her side. And if the gentlemenin Christchurch were put through their paces like the women here, nothing could possibly go wrong. Lady Brennan now became more gracious. She even let slip some details about the Christchurch community: “a budding colony, founded by settlers handpicked by the Church of England. The city will be made a bishopric in the foreseeable future. The construction of a cathedral is planned, as is a university. You won’t miss anything, child. The streets were even named after the English diocese.”
“And the river that runs through the city is called the Avon, like the one in Shakespeare’s hometown,” Helen added. She had been busy the last few days tracking down all the literature she could get her hands on. In doing so, she had aroused Lucinda Greenwood’s anger, as William had been bored to death in the London Library while Helen explained to the boy how to navigate the massive stacks. George must have guessed that the reason for their visit to the library was only a pretense, but he hadn’t given Helen away and had even offered to return her books for her.
“Quite right,” Lady Brennan confirmed, satisfied. “You should see the Avon on a summer night sometime, child, when the people are standing on the banks watching the rowing regattas. You feel as though you’re back in good old England.”
These images reassured Helen. Indeed, she was quite determined to undertake the adventure, which is not to say that some true pioneer spirit stirred within her. She simply hoped for a peaceful, urban home and the chance to cultivate a circle of friends. Everything would be a bit smaller and less ostentatious than life at the Greenwoods’, but intimate nevertheless. Perhaps her “highly esteemed” man would even be an official of the Crown or a small-business owner. Helen was ready to give anyone a chance.
However, when she left the office with a letter and address of a certain Howard O’Keefe, a farmer in Haldon, Canterbury, Christchurch, she was a little unsure. She had never lived in the country; her experience outside the city was limited to a vacation stop with the Greenwoods in Cornwall. They had visited friends there, and everything had proceeded very civilly. However, no one at Mr. Mortimer’s countryhome had spoken of a “farmyard,” and Mr. Mortimer had not called himself a “farmer” but instead a…
“Gentleman farmer,” it finally occurred to Helen, at which she immediately felt better. Yes, that was how the Greenwoods’ acquaintance had spoken of himself. And that would surely fit Howard O’Keefe as well. Helen could hardly imagine a simple farmer being a “well-situated” member of society in Christchurch.
Helen would have much preferred to read Howard O’Keefe’s letter on the spot, but she forced herself to be patient. There was no way she could rip open the missive in the reverend’s antechamber, and it had turned wet out on the street. So she bore her unopened treasure back home and merely cheered herself with the sharp, clear penmanship on the envelope. No, surely no uneducated farmer wrote like that. Helen briefly considered taking a cab back to the Greenwoods’, but she did
Lady Brennan nodded. “Won’t you miss your family?” she inquired acerbically.
“My family will consist of my husband and—God willing—our children,” Helen explained firmly. “I will stand by my husband in making a home overseas. There won’t be much time left over to mourn my lost homeland.”
“You sound very determined,” the lady remarked.
“I hope God will lead me,” Helen said humbly, bowing her head. Questions about the men would have to wait. The main thing was to get this dragon in black on her side. And if the gentlemenin Christchurch were put through their paces like the women here, nothing could possibly go wrong. Lady Brennan now became more gracious. She even let slip some details about the Christchurch community: “a budding colony, founded by settlers handpicked by the Church of England. The city will be made a bishopric in the foreseeable future. The construction of a cathedral is planned, as is a university. You won’t miss anything, child. The streets were even named after the English diocese.”
“And the river that runs through the city is called the Avon, like the one in Shakespeare’s hometown,” Helen added. She had been busy the last few days tracking down all the literature she could get her hands on. In doing so, she had aroused Lucinda Greenwood’s anger, as William had been bored to death in the London Library while Helen explained to the boy how to navigate the massive stacks. George must have guessed that the reason for their visit to the library was only a pretense, but he hadn’t given Helen away and had even offered to return her books for her.
“Quite right,” Lady Brennan confirmed, satisfied. “You should see the Avon on a summer night sometime, child, when the people are standing on the banks watching the rowing regattas. You feel as though you’re back in good old England.”
These images reassured Helen. Indeed, she was quite determined to undertake the adventure, which is not to say that some true pioneer spirit stirred within her. She simply hoped for a peaceful, urban home and the chance to cultivate a circle of friends. Everything would be a bit smaller and less ostentatious than life at the Greenwoods’, but intimate nevertheless. Perhaps her “highly esteemed” man would even be an official of the Crown or a small-business owner. Helen was ready to give anyone a chance.
However, when she left the office with a letter and address of a certain Howard O’Keefe, a farmer in Haldon, Canterbury, Christchurch, she was a little unsure. She had never lived in the country; her experience outside the city was limited to a vacation stop with the Greenwoods in Cornwall. They had visited friends there, and everything had proceeded very civilly. However, no one at Mr. Mortimer’s countryhome had spoken of a “farmyard,” and Mr. Mortimer had not called himself a “farmer” but instead a…
“Gentleman farmer,” it finally occurred to Helen, at which she immediately felt better. Yes, that was how the Greenwoods’ acquaintance had spoken of himself. And that would surely fit Howard O’Keefe as well. Helen could hardly imagine a simple farmer being a “well-situated” member of society in Christchurch.
Helen would have much preferred to read Howard O’Keefe’s letter on the spot, but she forced herself to be patient. There was no way she could rip open the missive in the reverend’s antechamber, and it had turned wet out on the street. So she bore her unopened treasure back home and merely cheered herself with the sharp, clear penmanship on the envelope. No, surely no uneducated farmer wrote like that. Helen briefly considered taking a cab back to the Greenwoods’, but she did
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