Recalled to Life

by Wendy M Wilson

  Mr. Snelson, the mayor of Palmerston, had found the perfect way to raise money for the Indian Famine Relief. More than three million souls were known to have lost their lives in the famine, and the entire Empire was attempting to stop that number from getting any larger. The British Government alone had amassed almost three hundred thousand pounds for the relief.

  After the Mayor of Feilding had successfully presented a concert, raising seventy-five pounds, Mayor Snelson had determined that he could do better. He would raise a hundred pounds in one fell swoop for the poor survivors who were still in desperate circumstances. Palmerston would have a concert followed by a ball at the Forester’s Hall. And to tempt residents even more, everyone would be in fancy dress. New Zealanders loved nothing better than a fancy-dress ball. The mayor had commandeered the Palmerston Bachelors to sponsor the event.

  Mette and Maren attended the fancy dress ball dressed as Swiss peasant girls - not so very far from their actual way of dressing – wearing embroidered aprons they had brought from Denmark, with the addition of white Swiss linen caps lined with bobbin lace that Maren had stitched. Pieter and his friend Hans Christian Nissen had been more ambitious, and were dressed as Jolly British Tars, swaggering around with arms folded across their chests and large grins on their faces. Maren had added flares to their trousers below the knee, and they wore white shirts with sleeves rolled up to their elbows and flat pieces of cardboard on their heads that were supposed to look like sailors’ caps. They were part of the Scandinavian men’s glee group who were going to sing later in the evening.

  “You look charming,” the Mayor said to Mette. He was dressed as a ferocious-looking bearded Turk. “Is Sergeant Hardy going to join us?”

  “He’s in Wellington on…on business,” said Mette. “I’m hoping he’ll be back tomorrow, or the next day.”

  “I have no idea when he’ll be back,” she said to Maren when the mayor had wandered off with Brudder Bones, a Minstrel with black cork smeared across his face, to find something to quench their thirst. Mrs. Snelson had been insistent that no alcohol should be sold in the Hall, and Mette’s cousin Knud was doing a brisk business out among the traps and drays tethered outside the schoolhouse.

  Maren squeezed her arm. “He will come back, won’t he?”

  Mette said nothing. It had been three days now, and she was terrified that Frank had decided not to return. Pieter’s words had made her realize how much she loved him and wanted him and needed him to come back.

  A ripple ran through the room, and Mette noticed that all the women from the Scandi clearing were staring at the door of Foresters Hall where the bachelors had gathered. Mrs. Hansen, the midwife, had gone pink and was giggling, and Johanna Nissen, dressed as Little Bo Peep complete with bonnet and crook, was looking back and forward between the door and Mette, her face a picture of envy.

  “He’s here, isn’t he?” she said to Maren.

  Maren turned carefully and then looked back at Mette, her eyes wide. “He’s a very handsome man, Mette,” she said, putting her hand on her stomach. She was pregnant again, with the twins barely three months old. “I hope you…”

  Mette frowned at her sister. “Don’t mention the bed again,” she said. “I think you’ve caused me enough worry already.”

  She stood waiting. After a few minutes she felt his presence behind her. Apart from anything else, the Scandi women were now staring just at her, and Maren was smiling broadly at someone over her shoulder.

  She turned to face him. He was wearing a uniform she had never seen before, blue with gold epaulettes on the shoulders and gold buttons down the front. On his arm, in the place where she knew his tattoo was situated, three parallel gold lines indicated that he was a sergeant. Which of course he was.

  “Are you supposed to be a little Dutch girl?” he asked, smiling.

  Mette slapped him lightly on his chest. “Of course not. We’re Swiss,” she said.

  “I think you’d look better as a Daughter of the Regiment,” he said. “But I see Mrs. Snelson has taken that role.”

  “I wanted Mette to dress as a houri,” said Maren. “But…ouch. Mette…!”

  She had expected Frank to be annoyed with Maren’s comments, but he looked at her sister and smiled. “She can dress as a houri for me,” he said. “But not for the whole of Palmerston.”

  That sent Maren off into hysterics, half laughing, half crying.

  Frank held out his elbow to Mette, and she took his arm.

  “May I escort you home, Miss Jensen,” he said.

  She took him to the new house, which she had wanted to do ever since she had first seen it with Hop Li. She had dreamed of them living there together. And now it was about to come true…unless Frank had come to take her back to Wellington, or to Wanganui or Patea. He seemed to have rejoined the army, with his handsome new uniform.

  She unlocked the door and stepped aside as he walked into the house. She could not read his expression. “Our house,” she said. “Hop Li built it for us…”

  She followed him into the kitchen and started to babble, annoyed with herself as she did so. “Look at this…a new, modern stove that is so easy to use, and lots of cupboards…” She opened one of the cupboards… “This one opens to the outside with netting at the back, to keep milk and cheese cold but not let rats and possums in.”

  He said nothing, so she stood by the table and stroked it lovingly. “This beautiful carved table isn’t ours…Hop Li uses it to show people how nice a house can look if…”

  He took a few more paces and she turned to see where he was going. He had walked into the parlour and was staring through the bedroom door. “This is the bed that Maren bought for you, I imagine,” he said.

  “How did you…?”

  “Pieter,” he said. “Look Mette…” Her heart sank. “It’s a wonderful house, and Hop Li will have no problem renting it to someone. But I can’t take it.”

  “But why…?”

  “I know you love it,” he said. “And we could have a very good life in Palmerston, living here.” He took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “But it isn’t my place. I didn’t build it.”

  A faint hope was growing in her heart. He didn’t want to leave Palmerston, just this house.

  “And you didn’t build it either, or choose the furnishings. We have to build somewhere together.”

  “But where…?”

  “I bought a small piece of land outside Fielding,” he said. “Not far from Bunnythorpe. You’ll be able to walk over to your sister’s place. And you’ll have room for a very large garden. As large as you want. And fruit trees…”

  “You’re going to be a farmer?” she asked. It was the last thing she expected from him. “But you’ll hate being a farmer. Are you sure…?

  “Not a farmer,” he said. “I’m going to start a stud farm, to breed horses. You know how I love working with horses. It was Captain Porter’s suggestion, and he helped me find a section with exactly the right conditions. Good grass, a stream running right through the middle, trees blocking the prevailing winds…and there are horse races taking place all over the district now. Fielding, Marton, up in Hunterville. And on the other side of the Gorge…Woodville, and Pahiatua…”

  “Why are you wearing a uniform then?” she asked. “I thought you must have rejoined…”

  “I’ve been appointed to lead the reserves,” he said. “Under Captain Viggo Monrad. I won’t have much to do, but if I’m called on I’ll have to go. Things are settled now, and Porter has assured me I won’t be sent to the Front. It will mean extra money coming in while we build our farm…”

  She was still not quite ready to throw her arms around him. “Maren says Agnete needs a place to live. Frederic went back to Melbourne and she’s very upset. Perhaps she could have this place.”

  “Of course, if we’re not using it and if Hop Li agrees. She’ll have to buy herself some furniture.”

  “I was thinking…”

  “About the bed?” h
e asked. “We can take it with us, if you like. We may not have such a comfortable place as this…we may even have to live in a soddy for a while, but…”

  “No. I was going to say, I hate to think of Agnete sleeping in…in our bed, especially as she will… but we don’t need it as much as she does. I have a little money saved, you know. From my books, and Mr. Robinson says he wants to print more and sell them in book shops all through the Manawatu and Wairarapa. If I buy us another bedstead, perhaps one with a feather tick, we can leave this one for Agnete. And…”

  “A good solution,” he said. “And…?”

  “John Masterson is coming to Palmerston tomorrow,” said Mette. She could see Frank was wondering why she had changed the subject, so added. “We’re getting married.”

  “I know,” he said hesitantly. “And we have to decide when…”

  “Tomorrow,” she said firmly. “We’re getting married tomorrow. John has said he’ll marry us. He’ll be in Palmerston tomorrow.”

  25

  Epilogue: Old Identities

  She awoke suddenly with a memory drifting around in her mind. She lay there for a few minutes trying to capture it; something that had happened in the past two or three months that needed solving. What was it? It came to her with a full, horrible force. The Turehu. The boys at the Pa, back when she and Frank had been searching for Paul and Jens, had said they had seen a Turehu, and they had pointed across the river.

  The Turehu was a white spirit with red hair that lingered in the woods like a ghost. She had learned that quite recently. What if it was Jens they had seen? Jens with his pale skin and his red hair? What if he had pulled himself from the river and climbed onto the other bank, and died there before they could find him? What if his body lay there at the edge of the river, on the side where few ventured because of the denseness of the bush?

  She rolled towards Frank, put her arm around him, and shook him.

  “Frank, Frank. I just realized something very important.”

  He grunted, kissed her hand and held it against his cheek.

  “The Turehu,” she whispered in his ear. “What if it was Jens?”

  “Wha…?”

  “The boys at the pa said they saw a Turehu across the river. It could have been Jens.”

  He was half-awake now, and had caught up with her thoughts. But not enough to say anything that made sense. “We’ll look for him…in the morn…,” he said. She heard him start to snore softly.

  We’re in Wellington, she thought, we can’t look for him in the morning. He’s a hundred miles away. Well, at least she knew now, and they could look for him as soon as they returned to Palmerston. Nothing would make her forget. Nothing. And she knew that finding him would give everyone so much comfort. They would be able to bury him in the small graveyard of the Lutheran church, beside his friend and cousin Paul. Jens been declared dead, but without a body it was hard to completely let go the possibility that somewhere he existed, alive. Finding his body would end that feeling.

  She lay there, pressed against the warmth of Frank’s naked back, and stared into the darkness, a darkness broken only by the window of the hotel, with its heavy curtains, through which some small slivers of light managed to filter. She remembered now how the boys in the clearing, the Scandi boys, had told her that there was a troll in the woods, and she had laughed at them. Then the Hauhau had tried to steal her piglet and she had realized what—or who—it was who they had been talking about. Not a troll, but Anahera. A real person, not a figment of their imaginations. Later, at the pa, the same kind of boys, but Maori boys, including Wiki’s brother Hemi, still young enough to believe in ghosts and fairies, had told her they had seen a Turehu and she had not made the connection.

  She drifted off to sleep, happy. At last they were going to find Jens.

  An hour later she awoke, thinking now of Frank. The memory of Jens had brought back their first meeting. It was a memory she treasured, and she enjoyed reliving the experience. That sent her mind to the memory of their wedding, just a few days ago. John Masterson had married them in the Lutheran church. Captain Potter had offered up his men as a guard, to hold swords over their heads as they left the church. But Frank had a different plan, and she had agreed. A guard of Scandi men with squared axes had lined the path from the church, holding their axes crossed. It had been a strange experience, but they had loved it, and laughed about it for days.

  She woke early next morning, with the vague memory she had dreamed something important. Something to do with trolls. No. Just a nightmare. She’d dreamed of trolls when she was a little girl. She snuggled up to Frank and fell back to sleep. Their lives together so far had been exciting. What would the next years bring? Frank had said they were going to move to a farm. She was dying to work with him to build a farm and a life together. She lay beside him thinking of their lives, and the children she hoped would soon arrive. It was all going to be wonderful.

  The End

  If you would like to read more of Frank and Mette’s adventures, please sign up for my newsletter on my website: www.wendymwilson.com. You can read the first three chapters of the previous book on my website as well.

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  26

  An Excerpt from Not the Faintest Trace

  The Forager

  Palmerston North, September 1877

  At last, after four days of unrelenting rain, the skies had cleared and a thin spring sun had started to dry the mud. Mette Jensen took the opportunity to do some washing in the iron tub in front of the cottage, enjoying the warmth of the sun as she did. Days since Paul Nissen and her cousin, Jens, the boy she had grown up with and loved like a brother, had gone missing, and no one had any idea where they might be. She was awash in sorrow.

  What could have become of them? She missed them terribly. They were the only two other young people she could talk to in Palmerston, and now she had no one except her younger sister Maren, who was preoccupied with her husband and young son Hamlet. Everyone had thought Mette would marry Paul Nissen, although he was three years younger than she was. He was tall and strong, and nice to look at, but a boy. She preferred to wait for the right man, and she knew Paul was not that man, as much as she liked him.

  Maren came out of the cottage and called to her.

  “Mette, what are you doing?”

  “I’m finishing the washing,” she said. “Then I’m going into the bush to find some fresh greens.”

  Maren waddled towards her, one hand on her growing belly, looking anxious.

  “I wish you wouldn’t go into the forest,” she said. “I’m scared for you.”

  Mette smiled. “Maren, there’s nothing to worry about. The bush is beautiful and I love to go there.”

  “I’m afraid a pack of wild Hauhau will catch you and kill you and eat you for dinner,” said Maren.

  “I’m sure I’ll be delicious,” said Mette. “I’ll make sure they save a piece for…” She stopped as Maren’s eyes filled with tears. “Please, don’t worry about me, Maren dear. I’ll be quite safe and will stay on the path where I can run home quickly. If I scream loud enough the men will hear me from the mill and come running.”

  Maren sighed and returned to the cottage. Mette wrung out her apron and hung it to dry over a knot of scrub that sprang to life in place of the trees the men had felled. The apron was getting thin as she had brought it with her from Haderslev two years ago, but she loved the red and gold embroidery that her mother had stitched so carefully on the two aprons, giving one to her and the other to Maren. Holding it made her feel like she was home again, sitting in her mother’s kitchen eating aebleskiver, her lips
coated with sugar. Sugar! If she could have some real sugar just once, that would be wonderful. Powdered sugar would be even better. She might kill someone for a taste of powdered sugar on her fingers.

  In Schleswig, there were no men. The Prussians had taken many of them for the army, or else they had fled from the Prussians to different parts of the world. A representative of the New Zealand government had travelled all over Denmark recruiting farm labourers for their skills with the axe. “You will clear the land first, then become farmers,” he’d promised them. “And the women can work as servants, although they will most likely marry as there are many more men than women.” The men left, and eventually the women realized if they wanted to find a husband they would have to follow them to the places to which they had gone: America, or Australia, or New Zealand.

  When the war had taken the lives of her father and brother, she and Maren had accepted an offer of free passage for young single women. Maren had wasted no time, meeting and marrying Pieter Sorensen on the boat between Hamburg and Napier, already pregnant with Hamlet by the time they disembarked in Napier.

  Mette had moved in with her sister Maren and Maren’s husband, but a second baby was on the way, and she probably would not be able to stay. Pieter had built her a little lean-to against the back wall of his and Maren’s cottage, beside the lean-to where they kept the milch cow, but she knew with babies coming at great speed they would soon want her to leave, even if they didn’t say so. They were kind, but it was time for her to find her own life.

  Perhaps she could go to Wellington and find work. But she didn’t want to work as a maid and she had no useful skills other than finding food in the bush, food that none of the other newcomers considered food. She didn’t imagine anyone in Wellington eating huhu grubs or wetas when they ran out of meat.