The Fire Blossom (The Fire Blossom Saga)

by Sarah Lark

  “Erich!” Ottfried cried indignantly. “What are you doing here? You should be with our parents aboard the ship instead of here, dishonoring my sister-in-law!”

  Gibson laughed again. “Come, Ottfried, if he’d really dishonored her under there, it would have been the quietest deflowering of all time. But the two of them were quiet as mice. How did you manage that?”

  Elsbeth blushed. “We didn’t do anything,” she whispered. “We just wanted—”

  “You wanted to disobey your fathers and indulge in your own pleasure!” Ottfried raged. “We should take you back!”

  “We don’t want to go to Adelaide,” Erich explained.

  “Go back?” Cat’s voice was shrill. “The entire way, on these roads? You’re crazy, Ottfried!”

  “I take my responsibility to my family seriously!” Ottfried cried.

  Gibson rolled his eyes. He understood only half of the German, but it was enough.

  “Don’t start playing the great moralizer now,” Gibson advised. “Especially you, with your polygamy.”

  “With his what?” Erich asked Elsbeth.

  Cat hoped that they hadn’t understood the word, and fortunately, the girl just shrugged.

  “No way are we bringing Romeo and Juliet back. Where would they go, anyway? The ship to Adelaide is long gone. Or do you think old Lange let the rest of the settlers go Down Under while he stayed behind to look for his lost daughter? Who knows when the next ship will be sailing. Do you plan to keep them tied up that long, Ottie? And then force them onto the ship?”

  Ida shook her head. “My father would never take Elsbeth back now,” she said. “He almost disowned me—I mean, he was extremely upset when I even talked to a young man.”

  “But we really didn’t do anything,” Elsbeth repeated.

  “It’s true,” Erich insisted.

  “Where did you want to go, anyway?” Cat asked. “You must have had a destination in mind.”

  She marveled at how similar Betty and Erich’s escape was to her own, almost eight years before.

  “Wellington,” Elsbeth answered immediately. “We heard Purau was close to Port Victoria, and there’s a harbor there.”

  “We promise not to be any trouble, sir,” Erich said, appealing to Gibson.

  “You were closer to Wellington in Nelson,” Cat remarked.

  Erich nodded. “Yes, but no ship was sailing, and we couldn’t hide in Nelson—we’d be recognized. It will be easier in Port Victoria; no one knows us there.”

  “What do you plan to do in Wellington?” Cat asked.

  “Look for work!” Erich said. “Mr. McDuff said it’s a proper city. They’ll need errand boys somewhere.”

  “And maids,” Elsbeth added. “We’ll say that we’re a little older.”

  “So you aren’t even planning to marry the girl?” Ottfried said to his brother accusingly.

  Erich lowered his eyes, but then looked up unhappily at Ottfried. “I’m only fourteen, and Betty is too. Maybe later.”

  Elsbeth blushed again and glanced at him shyly.

  “I think we should get going now,” Gibson said. “Otherwise, we won’t get anywhere today. We can decide later what to do with Romeo and Juliet. But now you’re going to ride on the seats, children, and make yourselves useful!”

  “Why are you calling him Romeo, sir?” Elsbeth asked after she and Erich had climbed into the wagon with Cat and Gibson. “His name is Eric. And I’m Betty, not Juliet.”

  Gibson laughed. “Romeo and Juliet were famous lovers, darling, in a story by an English writer named Shakespeare, and they were just as young as you.”

  “Did it have a happy ending?” Betty asked. “The story, I mean.”

  “No, sweetheart. It didn’t. But in Mr. Shakespeare’s days, there was no Wellington.”

  On the road, Betty and Eric told the story of their escape in vivid detail.

  “We climbed onto the wagon the night before you left, and then we always got out when you stopped. I mean, sometimes you have to go—”

  “Even though we hardly drank anything,” Eric clarified. “But in the evenings, when you were eating around the fire, none of you were keeping watch. Then we slipped out.”

  They hadn’t eaten very much either, and now they hungrily devoured the bread, cheese, and jerky from Cat’s supplies. Every now and then they commented on the spectacular scenery opening up in front of them.

  “What a gorgeous beach! It reminds me of Bahia.”

  “But it was warmer there.”

  “The music was good. Do you think about the music sometimes too?”

  “Of course!”

  Eric began to clap a rhythm and hum, not without talent. Betty immediately joined in. Cat recognized a fleeting expression of longing on Ida’s face.

  That evening, as the travelers gathered around the fire, the two stowaways made the atmosphere less tense. The last section of the road had been difficult, and Betty and Eric had both helped push the wagon through thick mud without complaint. But they didn’t even think about staring silently into the night sky and retiring as quickly as possible, like the adults always did. Instead, they talked to each other until the tension between the adults dampened their conversation. Betty looked from one to the other in consternation.

  “Why don’t you tell us the story,” Elsbeth said, turning shyly to Joe Gibson. “The one you mentioned before, about the lovers.”

  “I’m not a very good storyteller,” he replied.

  “Oh, I don’t believe that!” Betty gave him a sweet smile. “I’m sure you can do it. Just try!”

  Ida attempted to pull herself together. It would be better if the teenagers didn’t notice the tension between Cat and Ottfried. They might already think it was strange that she was sharing a tent with Cat and not her husband.

  “Now you’ve made us all curious, Mr. Gibson,” she said in a slightly hoarse voice and forced a smile. “So please, tell us!”

  Gibson cleared his throat. “Fine,” he said. “Once there were two families . . .”

  Betty, Eric, Ida, and Cat listened, entranced. The first few sentences came out stiffly, but Joe soon relaxed and began to enjoy himself. At the end, as he described how Juliet followed Romeo into death, Ida and her sister sobbed.

  “That was sooo beautiful!” Betty said through her tears. “Do you know another story like that?”

  Joe laughed. “No. At least not one that I want to tell this evening. Now I need some whiskey to oil my voice. If you want another story, then someone else will have to tell it.”

  He stood up, got a bottle from his wagon, and passed it to Cat after he’d taken a long swallow. She accepted it in surprise and took a sip before she passed it to Eric. The boy took the bottle proudly but drank warily.

  “What about another story?” Betty asked the group after she’d courageously taken a sip and successfully repressed the urge to cough.

  “No more tonight,” Cat replied. “We all have to sleep now. But tomorrow I’ll tell you one. I’ll tell you the story of how Aotearoa was discovered.”

  “Geography?” Eric asked, sounding bored.

  Pastor Riemenschneider had schooled the settler children regularly, but he hadn’t managed to capture their enthusiasm with his dry lectures.

  Cat laughed. “No, it’s a love story. With murder and death and stolen women. The Maori have their own Romeos and Juliets. Which reminds me of Papa and Rangi . . . But as I said, I’ll tell you tomorrow. Now let’s go to sleep. Betty, you can come in the tent with us, and Eric can sleep under the wagon.”

  The only stories Ida and Ottfried had ever heard were biblical ones, with the exceptions of the few that Ida remembered from school. But Cat had learned countless tales from the Maori, and she entertained the group over the next few evenings with the story of Kupe, who had stolen Kuramarotini, and while escaping with her had discovered a mist-covered island, which Kuramarotini had at first thought was a cloud.

  “They called the island Aotearoa, land of the lo
ng white cloud, and it became their new home. Later, Kupe sailed back to Hawaiki and got more settlers. And that’s a real story! Every Maori today knows the name of the canoe that brought their ancestors to Aotearoa.”

  Cat also told them about the adventures of the demigod Maui, who went out to fish and tipped over in his canoe. His canoe became the South Island of New Zealand, and the fish became the North Island. And since her listeners liked hearing about the clever fellow, she told more of his adventures. She told them about the trap he once set for the sun, and how he gave the people fire.

  Ida remembered the Greek sagas that Master Brakel had told his students, and after a few sips of whiskey, she gathered enough courage to tell the story of Prometheus in slow but correct English.

  The evening storytelling soon became a custom that the little group looked forward to the entire day. It was a nice escape after a strenuous day of traveling. Gibson told picturesque stories of the adventures of English knights, and Cat kept remembering Te Ronga’s tales. The Maori believed that everything in nature was alive and that there was a god or spirit for every mountain and tree.

  Cat’s stories brought New Zealand to life for the teenagers. It wasn’t long before Betty and Eric themselves began to give names to the trees and rocks they passed, and to imagine what had caused the spirits to reside there. Cat and Gibson were amused by it, but Ida was still somewhat fearful. Her father would have rebuked Cat for telling stories, and punished Elsbeth harshly for her heathen words. The God they’d grown up with had no sense of humor.

  Chapter 41

  The last leg of the journey to Purau took them through a wide, flat landscape. According to Gibson, it was the beginning of the Canterbury Plains, the land they wanted to secure for settlers in the future. Endless stretches of land covered with tussock grass seemed to be waiting to be turned into farmland. The travelers crossed the mouth of the Waimakariri River with the help of some fishermen who had settled on its banks, and then turned inland.

  “If you want to go directly to Port Victoria, then this is where we part ways,” Gibson said to Betty and Eric, who suddenly looked unsure of themselves.

  Betty knew she’d feel much more secure with her sister than alone in a strange city. And perhaps Eric would be able to work for Ida and Ottfried until he was a little older and spoke better English.

  “First, we’d like to see where you’re going!” Betty decided. “Or would it be very far from there to Port Victoria?”

  Gibson shook his head. “Just fifteen or twenty miles along the coast, and a quick ride by boat.”

  Eric also sighed with relief. “Then we’ll come with you first.”

  The travelers soon arrived at the Banks Peninsula, which was a hilly, forested area. Cat knew that there’d been Maori settlements in the area for a long time.

  “Maui, the demigod, is supposed to have formed this peninsula,” she told the teens. “He was resting there with his canoe, and suddenly a giant rose up out of the sea and wanted to fight with him. Maui threw some rocks at him”—she pointed at the hills that Gibson was guiding the wagon between—“and when the giant was buried by them, Maui hoped that he’d won. But the giant cracked the huge rocks before Maui could finally kill him. The crack formed two bays that were perfect for fishing. Both of them were settled by the Maori, who named one of the settlements Purau.”

  “But there aren’t any savages there now,” Gibson assured them.

  Cat glared at him.

  “Hey, it wasn’t me who drove them away! A couple of tribes attacked each other. It had nothing to do with the whites in Port Victoria.”

  “It did, a little bit.” Cat said. “Te Ronga says that many people had gotten sick, even before Te Rauparaha attacked them. The pakeha brought illnesses.”

  Gibson shrugged. “I didn’t give them the pox either,” he retorted. “But I can’t say I’m terribly sorry about their mistake. Without them, everything is easier now.”

  Cat didn’t bother to answer. Now the bay of Purau opened in front of her, and it really did look as though someone had chopped the hills in half with an ax. The sea between them was a beautiful turquoise that reflected the green hills. In some places the vegetation reached all the way to the water, and in others, there were bright white beaches. The road was bordered by blooming hibiscus bushes. There were also southern beeches, palm trees, rata bushes, ferns, and all manner of foliage glowing in green, gold, red, and violet.

  “How beautiful!” Ida breathed.

  She was even more enchanted when a farmhouse became visible on a grassy hill. It had been built with wood but wasn’t as ponderous as the houses in Sankt Pauli Village had been. Instead, it had two stories and a veranda, like the homes in Nelson. There was a barn for livestock and an adjacent pasture. The farm looked well cared for and inviting. It offered a breathtaking view over a narrow beach and the sea. A small boat bobbed at the pier.

  “Is that it?” Ida cried in delight, loud enough that Joe could hear from the other wagon. “Are we going to live here? Oh, Mr. Gibson, I never thought it would be so beautiful!”

  Joe Gibson brought his wagon closer to Ottfried’s. “Call me Joe, Ida. How often do I have to tell you? No, you’re not going to live here, but very close by. This is the Redwoods’ farm. Do you see the sheep? They brought them from the North Island. Of course, it’s less work than planting fields.”

  Ida could have told him that sheep were a huge amount of work, but she held her tongue. Gibson, she knew, had never worked on a farm. He’d grown up in London in a merchant’s family, and they’d had enough money to send their son to a good school. But Joe had studied just enough to be able to make a living with his knowledge, and then went overseas. He’d ended up in New Zealand by chance, but when he found work there as a surveyor, he stayed. He traveled with Tuckett to the North Island, and after he lost the job, he’d tried his luck as a whaler and seal hunter.

  He hadn’t enjoyed either job, which Cat supposed were too bloody for the educated man. Ida suspected that the work had just been too strenuous for him. It was clear to her that Gibson wasn’t accustomed to hard work. Especially since the stowaways had appeared, he had always found excuses to delegate the jobs of collecting firewood, fishing, or setting up the tent to Eric. He was much better at drinking and talking, which also may have been the reason that Tuckett had parted ways with him.

  Betty pointed out a few sheep grazing in a pen near the house. “Look!” she cried with excitement, as though she’d never seen such animals before.

  Cat, who was actually seeing sheep for the first time, regarded their short coats with curiosity. “I thought they would be much fluffier,” she said to Ida in the next wagon, “like Chasseur.” Worriedly, she whistled to the dog. At first sight of the sheep, he had immediately run away from the wagon and was now attempting to circle the herd. “These look like they’ve been plucked.”

  “They’re shorn!” Betty said with a giggle. “You can spin the wool.”

  Joe guided his wagon around the house, and Cat saw a young man chopping wood behind the sheep pen. A black-and-white mutt lay on the ground next to him. Chasseur left the sheep and trotted up to it happily, wagging his tail.

  “Hello, Edward!” Joe called.

  “Hello, Gibson,” the man replied without enthusiasm. “So you’re back?” But then he noticed Cat on the wagon and managed a smile. “And you’re not alone, I see. Could this be Mrs. Gibson? Are you going to try again with the farm, Joe? Honest work for a change? Sometimes it just takes the right woman!” He turned to Cat, wiped his hand on his trousers, doffed his hat, and bowed politely. “Sorry, ma’am, I’m Edward Redwood.” He held out his hand.

  “No, she’s not Mrs. Gibson,” Joe said. “You know me, one girl wouldn’t be enough.”

  Redwood’s expression darkened. “I see,” he said as he became aware of Betty too. “But—”

  “They all belong to Ottie,” Gibson said, and pointed to Ottfried’s wagon as it pulled up next to his own. “Ottie Brandmann
. My business partner. And his wife, Ida.”

  Redwood regarded the new arrivals appraisingly. “Mr. and Mrs. Brandmann,” he said politely in acknowledgment. He smiled a little at Ida, but Ottfried’s status as Gibson’s business partner didn’t seem to impress him.

  “Please come in,” he said finally, obviously forcing himself to do the hospitable thing. “James and Joseph are out, but I’m sure Laura would like to offer you some refreshments.”

  Right on cue, the door of the house opened, and a fine-boned brunette appeared.

  “Hello! What a surprise! Dear God, you’re the first women I’ve seen in—my goodness, I believe it’s been at least a year. I’ve been feeling like Eve in paradise. Nice place, but no one to exchange recipes with.” She smiled.

  Cat and Betty smiled back, but Ida was shocked. The woman was comparing herself to Eve? Wasn’t that blasphemous?

  “But you have three men, and Eve only had one,” Edward joked. “This is Laura, my sister-in-law. She’s my brother Joseph’s wife. She keeps house for us all, and she keeps us under control too.”

  “So that’s how you really see me, as an animal trainer!” Laura said. “I’ll remember that, Ed. Tomorrow, you’re only getting breakfast after you’ve jumped through a few hoops. But please, come in!” she called to the newcomers.

  Ottfried tied the horses to the fence, and then shook Edward Redwood’s hand. “Here’s to good neighbors!” he said in German, ignoring Redwood’s look of incomprehension.

  “Nice to meet you,” Ida murmured, worried she might anger Ottfried by displaying her good English to this strange man.

  Joe Gibson tied up his horses, too, and Cat and Ida turned to Laura.

  “I’m so happy to meet you,” Ida said slowly in correct English. “I’m Ida Brandmann, and this is Cat.”

  Laura Redwood offered them both her hand. “Cat, as in Catherine?”

  Cat smiled. “No, Cat like the animal, Mrs. Redwood. Just Cat, please. Or—Poti.” She didn’t really know why she gave her Maori name. But she’d have to share her story anyway when Ottfried and Joe presented her as their translator. Joe was already telling Edward Redwood about his new business idea.