The Fire Blossom (The Fire Blossom Saga)

by Sarah Lark

  Cat didn’t hear Manfred Schieb’s reply, but the others agreed enthusiastically.

  “What shall we do now?” Ida asked tiredly. “I mean, I don’t think I can clean up all that water in the house right now . . .”

  She looked as though she were about to collapse, not only from exhaustion, but also from worry. Even Ottfried seemed to lack motivation to begin the cleanup. It was already twilight. “We can sleep in the old hut behind the mission,” he said. “Get bedding out of the house and something to eat, and then we’ll make ourselves comfortable there.”

  “We?” Cat said in alarm. “Shouldn’t I find somewhere else to stay, and you can sleep there with Ida?”

  Ida flinched, but Ottfried shook his head. “I have some things to take care of with the men. I’ll sleep somewhere else.”

  “They’re going to drink away their cares,” Cat said as the women fought their way through the mud and water. “But it’s lucky that your old hut is still standing, what with Ottfried and his friends tearing them all down.”

  “That can take a while if you drink a glass of whiskey every time you remove a board,” Ida muttered spitefully. “They can do whatever they want, as long as I have my peace. I’m so tired, Cat, so tired. And tomorrow it’ll start all over again. I wish I’d never seen this damned village!”

  Cat couldn’t know that it was the first wish that Ida Brandmann had ever spoken out loud.

  Chapter 33

  Ida rolled the bedding together while Cat looked for something edible in the kitchen. Neither of the women felt up to cooking, especially since the stove in the old hut would have to be lit. At last, Cat wrapped a loaf of bread and a few leftover pieces of jerky in a dishtowel.

  “I couldn’t find anything else,” she said apologetically to Ida. “But I’m hungry as a wolf. And cold. Hot soup would be best.”

  Cat longed to take off her clothes and dry them somehow. She was even prepared to accept the hospitality of some of the more severe members of the community for the chance. Perhaps the elder Brandmanns would be sympathetic. Their house would surely be heated. Or they could go to Elsbeth. The Langes’ house was quite high on the hillside and must have stayed dry.

  But Ida shook her head when Cat suggested it. “Certainly not!” she said. “If we take refuge at my father’s place, we’ll have to build the fire and cook for the entire family. Or do you really think Elsbeth will manage that alone this evening?”

  Ida and Cat had seen Elsbeth and Franz fighting their way up and down the hill to deliver sacks with the handcart. The children must be exhausted half to death. At the thought, Ida was struck with guilt.

  “Perhaps we really should help her,” she murmured. “She’ll never manage all that, she—”

  “Then your father should help her!” Cat said, her voice hard. “He’s a grown man. And you can’t do everything!” She couldn’t stand the thought of carrying wood for Jakob Lange, but was even less motivated to listen to the man’s prayers or Elsbeth’s crying. She liked the girl, and was sympathetic to her situation. But tonight she was tired.

  “They’re all in the church now, anyway,” Ida said. “They’re offering prayers of thanksgiving, as my father suggested. Can you hear the singing?”

  Cat could hardly believe it, but if she listened carefully and ignored the wind and the still-grumbling river, it was possible to hear the quiet echoes of a hymn sung in multipart harmony from the half-finished church of Sankt Pauli Village.

  “What’s our excuse for not being there?” Cat asked, wrapping her damp shawl around her again to leave the house.

  “Ottfried didn’t hear about it,” Ida said with a conspiratorial smile on her lips, which were blue with cold. “Either that or he wanted to get to his whiskey immediately. His friends must have gotten out of it too. They probably said they have to stack sandbags or something.”

  Cat gave her friend a sidelong glance. For the obedient Ida, such clear words were practically insurrection. She smiled.

  “So we’re playing hooky? Ida Brandmann is playing hooky from church? Is that agreeable to God?”

  She was amazed when Ida blurted out angrily, “I don’t give a damn if it’s agreeable to God! God obviously doesn’t care about us. Why should we care about him? And why should I be thankful for today! This is the third flood in six months. Could it get any worse?”

  Cat could think of any number of things that could make it worse, but she didn’t say so. She just wrapped a blanket around Ida, who was shivering with cold. The young woman burst into tears, so she put an arm around her and let her cry for a few moments before she carefully guided her friend to the door.

  “Come now, we have to get dry. We can’t stay here.”

  Cat had briefly considered lighting the stove in the flooded house. Outside, a thick fog had descended, and she was so tired she felt like she’d die. The barely half-mile walk to the missionary station seemed like an unsurmountable task. But the sight of the wet firewood and the puddles all over the floor made her change her mind. They would never get warm here. Besides, she was worried about the animals. Chasseur would be able to take care of himself for a little while, but what about the horses and Berta?

  “Maybe we could milk the cow,” Ida considered as the women made their way up the muddy path to the missionary station. The wheels of the handcarts had left deep ruts that they kept sliding into in the dark. “At least then we would have some warm milk.”

  “I hope we won’t have to feed her too,” Cat grumbled.

  But her fears were confirmed when they arrived at the barn behind the station. There was no one in the mission; the pastors were at the church leading the mass. But through the window, they could see a merry fire burning. The pastors would return to a warm home.

  Ida and Cat were greeted by the accusatory bellowing of two cows. Berta had been neither fed nor milked, but at least she’d had some company. Ida recognized Emma, the cow her neighbors were taking care of. Elfriede Busche or her husband must have brought her to safety.

  “The animals still haven’t been fed,” Ida said with a weary sigh as she reached for a pitchfork and tossed a load of hay into the stall. Chasseur leaped around her joyfully. He’d been waiting with the horses for his mistress. “Even though Ottfried and the other men must have come by, and the missionaries were here all day.”

  “Some of them had to drink whiskey, and the others had to pray,” Cat raged as she fed the hungry horses. “Much more important! But where’s the third cow?”

  Ida, who had emptied a bucket of water and was now milking Berta, shrugged. “The Schiebs had it,” she replied, and then looked up at Cat in shock. “Oh Lord, no! The Schiebs’ house and barn collapsed. They must have let the poor creature out, right?”

  Cat sighed. “If they did, then we’ll find her somewhere tomorrow. And if not—”

  “Then she drowned,” Ida said bitterly. “Or was crushed. Thank you, dear Lord!”

  With an angry movement she shoved her wet, stringy hair out of her face. Ida’s eyes were hollow, and she had obviously reached the end of her strength. Cat was sure that she herself didn’t look any better. They desperately needed to get dry.

  “I think we’ve got enough milk now.” Cat pointed to the first full bucket. Ida had just fetched a second. “Come, let’s go!”

  But Ida shook her head unhappily. “If we don’t finish milking the cows, they’ll get mastitis. And the last thing we need right now is sick livestock.”

  It was pitch dark by the time the women finally arrived at the young Brandmanns’ old hut and closed the door behind them with a sigh of relief. The cold but at least dry room seemed like a refuge in paradise to them. Especially when they found matches and a candle, and by its light also discovered a pile of dry wood next to the stove.

  “We’ll be able to light it easily!” Ida rejoiced. “Oh, I can hardly wait to get out of my wet clothes!”

  The crackling fire warmed the small room quite quickly. The hut was drafty, and they had to keep f
eeding the fire, but at the moment, Cat and Ida didn’t care. With sighs of relief, they stripped in front of the fire. Ida tried to suppress her feelings of shame. Cat didn’t have that problem; she had often bathed with the Maori girls. However, she was taken aback by the beautiful, well-shaped body that Ida now revealed. The young woman was a little too thin, but her breasts were firm and full, her shoulders and hips rounded, and her thighs narrow. Those attributes, combined with her long dark hair, her careworn but elegant, heart-shaped face . . . every man must be pining for such a woman. Ida must have had many other suitors than the cloddish, devious Ottfried.

  Ida blushed when she noticed Cat’s gaze, and quickly slipped into the dry dress that she’d brought. It was her Sunday dress, which had also been her wedding gown. She knew she shouldn’t have brought it out on a simple Wednesday, but her regular dress would barely dry even if she hung it in front of the fire overnight. Cat, who owned no second dress to change into, draped a sheet over her shoulders. Ida told her that, in the long, billowing robe, she looked like an angel.

  “A real angel!”

  Cat laughed. She cut the bread with her knife and chopped the hard jerky into bite-sized pieces. Ida, her teeth still chattering, crawled under the blanket to make a cozy refuge on the old bed, which fortunately still stood in the hut.

  “Angels have flaming swords like yours,” Ida explained, pulling the blanket up to her chin. “You could even warm this jerky with it. Then maybe it would taste like something. Can you bring some to me? I don’t think I’ll be able to get up again.”

  Cat laid the food on a plank of firewood and carried it to Ida. They had milk from the one cup that Cat had been able to find, with Ida’s help. It had been hidden behind a loose board in the wall and was sticky with whiskey. The bottle that accompanied it was empty.

  “Or else Ottfried would have taken it too,” Cat said as she rinsed the cup in a bucket. “But why was the bottle hidden? Did he drink secretly before?”

  Ida nodded. “He used to be more scared of the village elders. The way it is now, with all the young men getting together and drinking whiskey until late at night using some flimsy excuse, that never happened in Raben Steinfeld. But here, everything is different, even if my father and the church dignitaries don’t want it to be true. And Ottfried . . . I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He never used to be so mean. I thought he’d turn out to be like his father, strict but virtuous. God-fearing. But now he won’t listen to the church dignitaries anymore. I’m sure the town council knows what the boys are doing. It’s impossible that they’d need weeks to demolish a settlement that only took a week to build. But they are holding their tongues so they don’t lose more young men to the street-building business.”

  “And they need Ottfried,” Cat added. “He’s the only one who speaks any English, isn’t he? So they depend on him for dealing with the local authorities and shopping. They can’t risk upsetting him.”

  Ida bit her lip. “I know,” she whispered. “He likes that. Ottfried will surely never leave this place!”

  She turned away, and Cat could tell by her twitching shoulders that she was crying again. Ida might be doubting her belief in God, but she was hopelessly tied to Sankt Pauli Village. Things were different for Cat. She was thinking about leaving the village soon. She liked Ida, but maybe not enough to battle another flood. She’d think more about it the next day. Now she had to sleep. Nestling close to Ida, Cat closed her eyes.

  Chapter 34

  Ida and Cat woke to Chasseur’s barking. The dog had stretched out happily in front of the fire after lapping up a little milk and eating a piece of jerky. Now he was alarmed by the sound of the door opening.

  Ida stretched with a groan, and Cat was wide awake with the first sound the dog made, as usual. She heard a male voice cursing and the sound of a kick and the dog howling. Horror stricken, she looked up and saw Ottfried’s grinning face illuminated by the lantern he’d been carrying to find his way to his old hut.

  “Look, one in her wedding dress and the other half-naked. That’s how I like it!” Ottfried laughed.

  Cat debated between pulling up the sheet to cover her breasts and reaching for her knife. But a quick glance revealed the terrible truth: the knife lay on the table where she had cut the bread.

  “Don’t even try it,” Ottfried said. “Tonight it’s your turn. The only question is which one of you I should start with, the bride or the savage. I can hardly wait to see what the warriors taught you, little cat. I once had a half-Indian girl in Bahia.”

  “I thought you were going to sleep somewhere else,” Ida whispered in confusion. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

  “For your sake I hope you’re dreaming of me, my dear, and not of Karl Jensch.” Ottfried grinned wickedly. “But tonight, I’ve decided to start with the little Maori. You can watch, Ida. Maybe you can learn something. It’s no fun with you, the way you lie under me like something dead.”

  Cat tried to roll out of the bed, but Ottfried had already grasped her by the upper arms. He was drunk, but his weight alone was enough to pin her to the bed. She gasped with pain but still tried to defend herself as he kneeled on her legs and opened his trousers.

  “I don’t even need to undress you!” He pulled off the sheet with one movement of his hand. “Look at that golden fluff. Looks like you’re going to be my first real blonde!”

  He didn’t waste any more time admiring his prey. Cat shrieked with pain as he plunged into her brutally. Ida, at first rigid with shock, forgot all about the knife and instead grabbed a small stick of firewood. Even though Ottfried was busy with Cat, he repelled her timid attack with a slight shove of his shoulders. Then she tried to scratch and punch, but with one casual blow he sent her flying across the room. Ida shrieked as she hit the wall and then the floor. Cat couldn’t see anything, but through the entire horrible ordeal, she heard the dog whining and her friend sobbing.

  Cat refused to give in to tears as Ottfried forced himself into her again and again. His disgusting boasts about being able to climax more times than other men turned out to be true. He raped Cat four times in a row and didn’t fall asleep afterward, in spite of smelling so strongly of whiskey. He wasn’t following up on his threat to continue with Ida. Cat was worried that her friend was injured, but there was nothing she could do. Her attempts to kick and bite him only seemed to inflame his lust. Finally, she gave up as he forced himself into her one last time by the gray light of dawn.

  Then he stood up and staggered precariously across the room. Cat wondered if it was an aftereffect of the whiskey, his violent exertions, or the hard work from the day before. She hurt everywhere, but she still tensed herself to leap on Ottfried with her knife. She felt enough anger and hatred to drive the blade into his back.

  Ottfried paused as he walked past the table, picked up the knife, and turned toward her with a grin. “Oh yes, don’t forget your knife, kitten.” Cat gasped at his coincidental use of her childhood name. She didn’t think he could possibly know about it, but it felt like a final slap in the face.

  Abruptly, he hurled the blade at her. She ducked in horror, but the clumsy toss missed wildly. Cat could have done much better herself. But before she could pick up the weapon, the door had closed behind him. She heard his footsteps fading.

  Cat’s revenge would have to wait—if she decided to go through with it. It was pure insanity, and the men of the community would never believe that she had done it in self-defense. It would be much better to flee. She would check on Ida, and then . . .

  “Cat?” A suffocated voice came from the corner of the room. “Are you all right, Cat?”

  Cat sat up. “No,” she murmured. “But I’ll survive. What about you?”

  Cat wrapped the sheet around herself, and Ida cried out with shock when she saw that it was smeared with blood. “You’re bleeding!”

  “That’s just—” Cat said. “I was just—I was a virgin. I’m not seriously injured. But what about you?”

  “My h
and hurts terribly,” Ida replied. “I think something is broken.”

  She tried to stand up but swayed dizzily. Cat pulled her to the bed to get a closer look at her hand. It stood out at an unnatural angle, and the wrist was badly swollen. One eye was almost swollen shut, and she was a terrible mess.

  Cat sighed. “Yes, we’ll have to set and splint it, and it will hurt. What’s more, it’s your right hand. You won’t be able to do much for a while.” She tried to smile. “At least you’ll be spared from the fourth attempt at starting a garden.” She carefully lowered Ida’s hand to the blanket and stroked her friend’s head gently. “Pay attention, Ida. I’m going to get dressed now. Then I’m going to milk the cow and ask the missionaries for some food and bandages. We’ll splint your wrist properly later. First, I have to look for some herbs for the pain and make a salve against swelling. Your father and Herr Brandmann will only blame us for this, so you should think up a story to explain what happened. It would make the most sense to say that you fell on the way up here.”

  Ida nodded unhappily.

  Cat picked up her dress and sighed when she noticed it was still damp. After pulling it over her head, she took one of the blankets and folded it to pad the log she’d used the evening before as a milking stool. She was hurting terribly and didn’t know how long it would be until she could sit comfortably.

  Ida misunderstood. Her big blue eyes filled with pure horror. “You aren’t leaving, are you?” she asked softly. “You’re not going to leave me here alone?”

  Cat shook her head. As much as she would have liked to leave all of this behind her, there was no way she would leave Ida like this.

  “Don’t be afraid,” she said softly. “When we leave, Ida, we’ll be leaving together.”

  Chapter 35

  Over the next few weeks, Cat couldn’t even think about leaving Sankt Pauli Village. Ida didn’t have just a broken wrist, but was soon shivering with fever. Te Ronga would have said that Ida had become sick from horror. She surely would have arranged some kind of ceremony to appease the spirits that were plaguing the young woman, but it wouldn’t have done much good against Ottfried.