by Sarah Lark
Cat only had the space of a heartbeat to make her decision. Turning back was impossible. She couldn’t push her way past the wagon either. The men had nearly caught up with her. But someone was sitting in the driver’s seat—and it was a woman! She was wearing a high-necked, dark blue dress and had her dark hair so carefully tucked into a starched bonnet that only her heart-shaped hairline was visible. She sat stick-straight on the narrow bench, and her entire posture betrayed extreme insecurity. Cat wondered if she could offer any kind of protection, but there was no other choice. She slipped past the horses and climbed onto the seat as fast as she could.
“Drive!” she cried to the woman. “Please! I’m being chased!”
“What?” Ida had seen the girl with the hitched-up skirt and trailing blonde braid rush toward her, but she struggled to understand the hasty, unexpected plea in English. “Wie?”
“Fahren Sie!” Cat repeated desperately, in German.
Now Ida saw the men rushing around the corner.
“That’s her!” The young ruffians pointed to Cat on the wagon.
Ida still hesitated for a moment. She wondered what Ottfried would do if she just drove away without him. Perhaps the men had a reason to be chasing the girl. Perhaps she’d stolen something, or—
“Hurry! Beeilen Sie sich!” Cat cried.
Ida followed her instinct. The men didn’t look like police or wronged shopkeepers. They looked threatening, lustful, and cruel. Ida slapped the reins against the horses’ rounded hindquarters. In Mecklenburg, she had occasionally driven her father’s draft horses. These horses were lighter and reacted faster. They had been dozing peacefully, and her sudden order made them leap forward in surprise. The three men had to throw themselves against the walls of the houses to keep from being trampled. Ida passed them at close range and saw their sweating, angry faces and their mean, hard eyes. Fleeing had been the right thing to do.
As the young woman clung to the seat next to her, Ida did her best to keep the reins from tangling. She was afraid the team might go too fast for her, but the horses turned out to be well trained and well behaved. It was easy to rein them in for a slow trot and then a walk once they’d safely left the men far behind.
“That was close,” Cat said in German. “You saved me. Thank you so much. I don’t think I could have escaped from them otherwise.”
“What—what did they want from you?” Ida asked timidly. She was amazed at the girl’s clear German.
“What do you think they wanted?” Cat asked. “What do angry, drunken men want when they catch a woman alone on an empty street?”
Ida bit her lip. Of course she’d had a suspicion; she could see it in the men’s eyes. And there was so much fear in the girl’s eyes, fear she recognized from her own experience. But that couldn’t possibly be true!
“I—I don’t know,” she murmured. “I—I understand, but they couldn’t possibly—here in the street?”
Cat shrugged. “They surely would have found a barn or a hedge to hide behind. And even if anyone had seen, the way the people talk about me here, they probably would have applauded instead of helping me.”
“How do people talk about you?” Ida asked. “I’m not from here, and I can’t speak very much English, just a little. I’m from Sankt Pauli Village. Do you know where that is?”
Cat nodded. In the Beit household, the conversation had often revolved around the German settlers.
“Where are you from?” Ida asked as she guided the horses along the river. She knew she should go back to pick up Ottfried, but she wanted to be sure that the three ruffians had time to leave.
“From Wairau,” Cat said.
She was unsure how much she should reveal about her past. This might be her best opportunity to get a ride south.
“Is that where the massacre was? I thought there weren’t any settlers living there yet. Just savages.”
“Maori,” Cat said, correcting her. “People like you and me.” She looked appraisingly at the woman now, and realized she was much younger than the severe clothing and worried face had made her seem.
Ida blushed. “I don’t know anything about them,” she admitted. “Only that everyone seems to be scared of them. I’ve heard that they kill people.”
Cat decided to reveal her secret. “I lived with them,” she admitted. “Te Ronga, the woman who was shot by the white men, was my foster mother. And she was the kindest and most generous person in the whole world. It wasn’t right of Te Rauparaha to execute the pakeha men, but Te Ronga was his daughter. And Te Rangihaeata demanded revenge for his wife. What would your father say if someone killed you? He’d want to see the murderer hang, and all his accomplices with him!”
Ida allowed the horses to continue to trot around the outskirts of Nelson while Cat told her story.
“What’s your name?” Ida asked when she was finished. “I’m Ida Brandmann.”
“Cat,” she said simply, in English.
Ida laughed. The word reminded her of the children’s song about Old MacDonald’s farm that Mrs. Partridge had taught her and Elsbeth.
“In Maori it’s Poti,” Cat said, almost wistfully. “What are you doing here in Nelson?”
“I was waiting for my husband. In fact, I have to go back. If Ottfried finds out that I drove away without him, he’ll be furious.”
Cat noticed that Ida had stiffened, and her voice sounded terrified when she mentioned her husband. She understood better when they reached the street behind the guesthouse and saw the man waiting there. Ottfried Brandmann’s face was red and blotchy with indignation, or perhaps whiskey; his eyes were glassy. He looked young, about Ida’s age, but his hair was already thinning. He was tall and was becoming stocky, despite his youth. When he got older, he would surely be heavy and ponderous. He was carrying a brown paper package, which obviously contained several bottles.
“Where were you?” the man barked at Ida before the horses had even come to a full halt. “You were supposed to wait here. What makes you think you have the right to just go for a spree? Did you go back to gossip with your friend Stina again? Or with one of the other women who lured their men away from our village? Were you spreading more of your stupid talk about a little high water?”
He glared at his wife with wicked little eyes, and Ida seemed to shrink under his gaze. But then he saw Cat, and at first didn’t seem to believe she was real. His eyes wandered in disbelief over her flowing hair, which had half escaped from its braid during their hasty flight. He eyed her delicate face, which had become pale during her long employment by the Beits, and her large brown eyes. Then his gaze fixed on her curves, small breasts, and narrow waist, which were easily discernable under the simple dress.
“I know you,” he said. “You’re—I saw you before, you were—”
“My husband was in Wairau,” Ida explained, and suddenly felt ashamed of the fact. “He was with Captain Wakefield’s delegation. But he didn’t shoot. He doesn’t even know how to shoot, he—”
“What are you talking about, Ida? Of course I can shoot!” Ottfried’s face turned red. “But I didn’t shoot when I was there,” he hurried to add when he saw the look in Cat’s eyes. “You were in Wairau too!” he said, and there was a threatening undertone in his voice. “You were with the Maori. On the savages’ side! You were talking all the time.”
“I was interpreting,” Cat said with dignity. “But I didn’t see you. You must not have had a very important role.”
Surprisingly, Ottfried didn’t take offense to her disdainful remark, and his voice became more secure. “Well, well. You must be the little cannibal everyone is talking about. And you can even speak German like a proper Christian.”
“Ottfried, the English are Christians too.” It was obviously difficult for Ida, but she gathered her courage to defend Cat. “Don’t always talk as though—as though everyone who isn’t German isn’t human.”
Cat smiled at her. “He tangata,” she said, which neither Ida nor Ottfried understood. Te Ronga�
��s words gave her courage.
“Those savages hack people into pieces and eat them. They’re more like animals, Ida dearest.” Ottfried approached the coach seat, and Cat felt Ida stiffen next to her. “Your little friend here joined the meal too.”
Cat took a deep breath. “None of that is true,” she said tightly. “But it’s hardly worth explaining it to you. I’m going now, Ida. Thanks again for your help. I have to get out of town before I get attacked again.” She stood and climbed down from the wagon.
Ottfried was now very close. Cat hoped he would let her pass without making any trouble.
“Cat is looking for a job,” Ida said. “She worked for the Beits, but they’re letting their staff go. The New Zealand Company isn’t doing very well—”
Ottfried snorted. “Yes, I’ve heard! That’ll knock old Beit off his high horse. It’s a good thing we already have our land. If we’d waited, we probably wouldn’t have gotten a thing.” His gaze wandered over Cat again. “What is our little savage looking for in the way of work? Perhaps she’d have luck at the pub. The native girls are supposed to know a lot about certain things.” He reached out as though he wanted to grope Cat’s breasts, but when her eyes shot daggers at him, he changed his mind.
“That may be true,” Cat said sharply, “but just think, they eat the men afterward. That’s not desirable in brothels; it reduces the clientele.”
Ida shuddered at the thought of cannibalism, not to mention the thought of what Ottfried would do to her if she ever spoke to him so brashly. But now he grinned sardonically.
“Truly a wildcat. But we only need well-behaved mousers in Sankt Pauli Village. What do you think, Ida, can it be tamed?” He licked his lips.
Cat wanted desperately to leave. But when she turned away and saw three men staggering out onto the side street behind the Brandmanns’ wagon, she blanched with terror. The ruffians must have been consoling themselves with whiskey in the nearest pub. Now she was about to walk into their clutches again.
Ida hadn’t noticed them yet, and she looked hopefully back and forth between her husband and Cat. For some unfathomable reason, Ottfried’s words seemed to give her courage. Didn’t she understand what was going on here? Didn’t she realize how shamelessly her husband was making moves on Cat, who he obviously thought was fair game? Then Ida said something that astounded her.
“I was thinking, perhaps we could take Cat with us to Schacht Valley. It would be—our Christian duty. She’s not safe here. And if she goes back to the Maori now, to the heathens, then perhaps she’ll never be saved.”
Ida paused nervously. She’d already been considering inviting Cat to go with her, desperately trying to figure out how she could justify it to the village elders. It was true that she had thought about Cat’s soul, but mostly about how wonderful it would be to have a friend her own age in the village. Especially one who spoke English, and could secretly teach Ida and Elsbeth the language. Somehow Cat reminded her of her sister. It wasn’t just the blonde hair; it was the pride and willfulness. She could sense that Cat would lend both Elsbeth and herself strength.
Ottfried laughed. “Could she be saved? That’s supposed to be predetermined by God and the angels. Who knows if she’s even baptized? But we can try.” He made an inviting gesture toward the wagon. “Perhaps we could use a maid.”
Cat weighed the possibilities desperately. She felt like a cat on hot bricks. Ottfried’s hefty shape was blocking her from view, but the men would see her at any moment. What would Ida’s husband do then? Would he leave her to them? Of course, he didn’t look at her any less lustfully, but in a fight, her odds were better against one than three.
Ida smiled. It was a gentle, radiant smile, but Cat saw no acknowledgment of it in Ottfried’s eyes. He obviously didn’t love his wife.
“A maid would be wonderful!” Ida gushed. “Although, perhaps Father will think it’s self-important of us to hire help. Inappropriate. We still don’t have any livestock, and we haven’t even sown all the fields.” She looked insecurely from Ottfried to Cat. “We wouldn’t be able to pay very much either.”
Actually, that wasn’t true. As a carpenter, Ottfried was paid well, and so was his father. However, back in Mecklenburg, not a single cottager had employed a maid, and they’d employed day laborers only during the harvest. It was a luxury Ida didn’t know how to imagine.
“We have the cow now,” Ottfried said. “And with all the building work, I don’t have time to sow the fields.”
That would have been a reason for hiring a farmhand rather than a maid, but Ida didn’t want to contradict him. It seemed that her husband actually wanted to fulfill her wishes for the first time since they’d been married.
“Besides, you will soon be in a delicate condition,” Ottfried said.
Ida blushed. She knew that there was gossip in the village because she hadn’t gotten pregnant yet. Ottfried was doing his best to change that. Ida had been hopeful twice already, but then had bled profusely a few days later. Perhaps it was because of the hard work. Also, she’d fallen down once during the last flood.
“There she is, boys! It’s the savages’ strumpet! I told you we should come back here!”
Cat heard a cry of triumph from the largest of the three rapists. They began to run. She wouldn’t be able to escape from them by herself a second time. In sheer desperation, she held out her hand to Ottfried Brandmann to seal the bargain.
“I will be a good maid,” she said.
Ottfried shook her hand, and turned to face the young men. He glared at them as Cat dived onto the wagon and slid onto the bench. Ida protectively put an arm around her.
“What do you want with the little harlot?” Jamie shouted. “We found her first. She’s ours!”
Ottfried didn’t understand the slurred English, but he stepped defensively in front of his wagon as the three ruffians moved to climb onto it.
“Get out of here!” he roared. “Keep your hands away from my wife, and my maid!”
Ida cried out with surprise as he reached under the seat of the wagon and pulled out a musket. She hadn’t known it was there. With a flash, she recalled how nervously he’d said he didn’t shoot on the expedition to Wairau.
The three men retreated hastily when Ottfried pointed the musket at them. They certainly wouldn’t have shied from a hand-to-hand brawl, but they didn’t want to fight an armed man.
“Fine, you can keep her,” Jamie said hastily. “But watch out, she’s a witch! You should have seen the way she escaped from us before! She must be in league with the devil.”
Cat almost laughed. She’d obviously hurt their pride. Now she would be accused throughout the town of having supernatural powers. Black magic, of course. It was a good thing she was on her way out of Nelson, even if Ottfried was anything but an attractive alternative.
Part 5
THE WAYS OF THE LORD
SANKT PAULI VILLAGE AND NELSON, NEW ZEALAND (THE SOUTH ISLAND)
1844
Chapter 31
“Mysterious are the ways of the Lord,” Pastor Wohlers said. His gaze slid over Cat’s face and body in a way that could be interpreted as fatherly only by a fool. “So let us thank him that he has led this child to us after she escaped from the clutches of the heathens.”
Cat lowered her eyes in frustration. Actually, she hadn’t escaped from the clutches of the heathens so much as the clutches of the mob in Nelson. It triggered bad memories to stand there among the members of the Sankt Pauli community while others decided about her fate.
This meeting was strange, anyway. The way it looked now, she’d have to withstand another kind of test in Sankt Pauli Village. What was more, Cat had a bad feeling about the Moutere Valley, which these people had renamed Schacht. At least the Lutheran community was more reminiscent of a Maori tribe than the people of Nelson had been. It was almost uncanny.
They had arrived in the settlement after a strenuous two-day journey. The wagon had gotten stuck in the mud several times, and then t
he road was blocked by fallen trees that they had cleared with great difficulty. Once, they’d even had to unhitch the horses and use them to drag the blockade away. Finally, they approached the settlement by crossing one of the rounded hills that bordered the valley. There they were treated to a beautiful view of a tranquil river landscape dotted with numerous, almost defiant-looking wooden houses. Gardens and fields had been plowed and sown, and a recognizable church was already well underway. The people here must have worked very hard over the last few months. But how could they simply ignore the fact that the land was a floodplain? She remembered Te Ronga scolding her father when he had sold the valley to the pakeha.
“You have no right to sell it. It belongs to the spirits of the river,” she had said.
Te Rauparaha had laughed. “And the spirits of the river will soon take their dues.”
There was no doubt about that. Ida had told Cat about the floods, though Ottfried had tried to downplay the danger. Now, when Cat looked out over the valley, she was shocked to see how close to the river the Germans had built their village. If only they had used the missionary station as an example and built their houses on the hillside!
But these people were stubborn and self-righteous. Even their appearances were daunting. All of the women were wearing austere, dark, high-necked dresses like Ida’s, and the men looked the way Cat had imagined the patriarchs from Frau Hempleman’s Bible: bearded, serious, and severe.
“Not so fast, Pastor,” one of the men said. “The last word hasn’t been spoken about whether the young lady can stay here.”
The speaker was a tall, heavyset man with hard gray eyes. He must be Jakob Lange, Ida’s father. She’d talked about his strong influence in the community, with a little pride in her voice and considerable fear.
“Such a young thing, alone without a man; that could awaken temptation. As my son-in-law pointed out, she didn’t have the best reputation in Nelson. It’s no wonder, since she grew up with the savages. How could she have learned honorable behavior there?”
