The Fire Blossom (The Fire Blossom Saga)

by Sarah Lark

  Karl nodded. “It’s beautiful. Could you imagine living on a sheep farm like this? Is it what you’d wish for?”

  A shadow crossed Ida’s face. “How many times do I have to tell you I can’t wish for anything?” she snapped. “If you really want to know the truth, I’d be happy with anything that could help me make a safe home for the girls. I want to get up in the morning without having to be afraid. And at night—” She broke off. “At night, I want to enjoy the peace and quiet of a good Christian home.”

  Her words sounded more miserable than dignified. It broke Karl’s heart.

  In the end, Karl and the women stayed with the Deanses for two weeks before heading up the Waimakariri together. As thanks, Karl had left William a ewe and a lamb, a splendid little ram.

  “One day, he’ll be one of the sires of his breed,” William said happily. “It’s always good to trade breeding animals, cattle too. If your cow has a bull calf, we’d be very interested.”

  Herding the sheep up the river turned out to be easier than Karl had anticipated. Chasseur was a natural at herding; after a short time with the Deanses, he already knew the most important commands. Herding was in Buddy’s blood, and Brandy, Karl’s horse, seemed to find enjoyment in guiding the sheep too. Often, he anticipated where Karl would need help and followed an animal that had stepped out of line by himself. The sheep dutifully followed the cart, although they had to slow their speed to match the cow.

  In the evenings, Karl pitched his tent while the women and children slept on the cart. It was warm, but they made fires to roast fish or rabbits on. Ida didn’t keep her skills secret from Karl. Besides, he’d seen her with the revolver already. Now he praised her marksmanship.

  “You hear things about gunslingers in America. And the squire in Mecklenburg must have been a good shot as well. But hitting a rabbit at full sprint is extraordinary.”

  “Gunslingers?” Ida asked, puzzled.

  Cat laughed. “I can tell you a few stories about gunslingers in the Wild West. But I don’t know if they’re true.”

  She told them about the penny dreadfuls Mary used to bring to the maids’ chambers at the Beits’, and how she’d learned to read in English. That night, they resumed the tradition of storytelling that they’d started during their journey with Gibson, Elsbeth, and Erich. Karl had little to add. He had read a lot the last few years, but only nonfiction books about geology and surveying. From Cat, he heard about Romeo and Juliet for the first time. She had repeated Gibson’s tale after Ida had decided the Wild West stories were too bloody for her.

  “There’s plenty of blood in that story too,” he said when she’d finished. “And it has such a sad ending. Couldn’t you have made it happier?”

  “I lack the imagination,” Cat said dryly. “You try. I think Ida likes stories with happy endings.”

  Ida blushed as Karl’s gaze swept lovingly over her. And then, with unexpected poesy, he told them how Romeo stopped to lament the sight of the supposedly dead Juliet, remembering all the beautiful moments of their love. Then, as Romeo was about to swallow the poison himself, Friar Laurence appeared. While he attempted to clarify the situation, Juliet woke up.

  “And then their parents come, and everybody starts fighting again,” Ida said cynically. “Or Juliet’s father stabs Romeo to death, and then he takes Juliet’s poison, and—”

  “No,” Karl said gently. “Romeo and Juliet run away, and they live a wonderful life in a country by the sea where it’s warm and the sun always shines.”

  He sought Ida’s eyes, and for a short, uncontrolled moment, she returned his gaze. Both felt as though they were at the edge of the jungle in Bahia, feeling the sun’s heat and hearing the sound of drums and the rushing of waves on the beach.

  “There’s no such country,” Cat said. “Or I don’t think so, at least. It must rain now and then, or everything would dry out. And the two of them would have to make money somehow too . . .”

  “It’s just a story,” Karl and Ida said with one voice. Then they laughed together until Ida broke the spell again.

  “In reality—” she murmured, and forced herself to look into the dying flames of the fire instead of Karl’s face, “in reality they wouldn’t be happy, but they wouldn’t die either. Juliet would marry Paris, and Romeo would go to Mantua. And one day, he’d find another girl.”

  Karl shook his head. “He could never find another girl.”

  Chapter 55

  Hours before Karl’s arrival, Christopher and Jane Fenroy heard that there was an entourage of sheep and people approaching. The Ngai Tahu’s scouts had spotted the rider, cart, and herd of sheep as soon as they had set foot on tribal land, and Te Haitara had sent a message to Fenroy Station. Christopher had already prepared the chieftain for his new shareholder’s arrival. Additional land for sheep farming shouldn’t be a problem. But Te Haitara conferred with Jane before deciding on a price for the lease, and her suggestion had sparked an argument with Christopher.

  “Tell me, Jane, whose side are you on?” Chris confronted his wife angrily after the chieftain had made his demand. All his pent-up anger poured itself into the breach. “It’s well and good that you’re taking a stand for the Maori, but that’s going too far!”

  Jane had advised the chieftain to make a demand three times higher than what was usually paid. You couldn’t rent half a kingdom from Te Haitara for three blankets and a bale of fabric. Jane had made sure of that.

  “It’s still cheaper than anything the New Zealand Company sold or leased to its settlers,” she replied calmly. “You’d pay the same amount to a white man without objection, but you want to cheat the Maori with a few household goods?”

  “God almighty, Jane, I wouldn’t pay that amount to a white man because I simply don’t have it!” Christopher snapped at her. “You know that. So why are you stabbing me in the back?”

  Jane rolled her eyes and brushed a strand of her brown hair out of her face. She wore it in a loose bun, since hairdressing wasn’t a strength of her Maori maids.

  “You have to start doing the math, Chris,” she said icily, “or you won’t amount to anything. You should determine whether you can make enough with sheep farming to pay the tribe appropriately. If so, maybe the bank would lend you some money. If you can’t, it would be better not to start investing time and money in sheep.”

  She turned on her heel and stormed from the room. The new house made dramatic exits easier than the small place they had inhabited in the beginning. Christopher already regretted building it for Jane.

  Fortunately for him, Te Haitara turned out to be much less tough than his wife. After the fight with Jane, Chris asked him for a formal meeting in the place by the banks of the Waimakariri where, according to the tohunga, the chieftain had recently begun worshipping the gods of money. The men sat down and gazed at the river where rays of sunlight were reflecting like golden arrows, and Chris broached the subject of the lease. He confessed to the chieftain that he simply didn’t have that kind of money.

  “What about your friend who’s bringing the sheep?” Te Haitara asked kindly.

  Chris shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “All I know is that he’s not a rich man. And if we promise you that much money for the pastures now, we’re going to be pressured to earn that much with the sheep in the first or second year alone.”

  The chief nodded knowingly. “Yes. It is so.” He pointed out at the river. “When the spirits of money are satisfied, they send more money, just as the river swells when the snow melts in the mountains. But they also ask for more too. Ca-pin-ta wants medicine faster and faster, and more hei tiki too. Some in my tribe do not like this. They say it tempts the young ones to disrespect tapu. A few girls do not sing karakia anymore when they harvest herbs, and the men carve hei tiki from wood because it’s faster and cheaper than using jade.”

  Chris nodded. “Yes, that’s another part of it. If we pay that much in rent, we must have the right to graze the entire area, which may inclu
de places that are tapu. Your tohunga wouldn’t like that either.”

  Te Haitara sighed. Then he got to his feet. “Chris, I wonder what is happening to us here. We celebrated a powhiri with you when you came; we are one tribe. And now, we speak of money and rights and breaking traditions. These are new times, I know. But where does it end?” Suddenly, he seemed confused and helpless.

  Chris got to his feet as well and faced the chief. “It can end here and now,” he said firmly. “We don’t have to talk about money. We can talk about gifts, as we used to.” As payment for the land the farm was on, Christopher brought the tribe material goods every year from Port Cooper. He might have had a deed of ownership from John Nicholas Beit, but he knew that the Maori hadn’t truly comprehended the meaning of the trade with Jane’s father, and he wasn’t looking for a fight. “We can also talk about friendship. I will bring you blankets and knives and pots and whatever else you need, and in return, my sheep will graze on your land. Not on sacred ground, of course.”

  The chieftain pursed his lips. “In truth, we do not need any more blankets and knives and pots,” he explained proudly but slightly sheepishly. “We can buy all those things ourselves now. But you could give us a sheep. Jane says many things can be done with them. She says they give milk just like cows, and there is something like—like flax growing on their bodies.” He sounded doubtful.

  Chris smiled. “Wool, ariki. It’s called wool. And it’s true, you can shear the sheep and weave and spin the wool—the blankets and clothes that keep us warm are made from sheep’s wool. That’s a deal, ariki! As rent for the land, you’ll receive one sheep every year. It can be a pregnant one, too, and then you’ll soon have your own herd. We’ll show you how to shear the animals; I mean, as soon as we’ve learned to do it ourselves. I am no tohunga, and neither is Karl, probably. As far as spinning and weaving goes . . .” He grinned sardonically. “That’s women’s work. You’d better ask Jane.”

  Jane resented being excluded from the negotiations. Surely Te Haitara hadn’t thrown her advice to the wind without thinking, but he was too softhearted. And maybe his tribal elders, who didn’t care much for money, were a factor in his decision. They kept ignoring her advice, for example, not to spend all the tribe’s income immediately, but to invest it in something worthwhile. Jane had even suggested sheep herself, seeing great promise in this new economic endeavor.

  Te Haitara seemed to see it, too, but his tribe didn’t have experience with animal husbandry. What was more, his people tended to prefer tribal life to business. Recently, some members had proposed stopping their manufacturing activities now that they had enough warm clothing, blankets, and household goods. If the advocates of this plan were to prevail, Jane’s life would become boring once again. Te Haitara, at least, was a gift from God. He generally did what Jane wanted him to, and maybe even his deal with Christopher could be seen in that light. Once the first sheep had arrived, she hoped, perhaps his people would do as they were told. Perhaps sheep farming would suit them better than the manufacturing work, which often had to be completed under time pressure. Sheep grazed slowly; they would have more than enough time to sing karakias and respect tapus while they shepherded the animals. All Jane would have to do, then, was take care of the marketing, although so far, she had no idea how best to undertake it. Neither did Chris, of course. It would have to be seen if their new German partner had any ideas.

  In a way, Jane was eager to meet Karl Jensch, whom she had met only fleetingly at her wedding. The name sounded familiar to her somehow. She must have corresponded with him while creating the passenger list for the Sankt Pauli. He must be capable; he’d come a long way from being a pious Mecklenburg villager and was now a reputable surveyor. Few settlers learned English well enough to make themselves useful anywhere but in road construction.

  Jane didn’t know if she should hope for the farm to thrive with Karl’s partnership or if she’d prefer to gloat over Chris’s renewed failure. She still kept Christopher in holy terror of her sharp tongue and rapidly changing moods. Now, her fun might be ruined. It was quite possible that Karl Jensch was less easy to push around.

  But Jensch was on his way—and not alone, it seemed. The excited little Maori boy whom the chieftain had sent with the message had described two women, a blonde and a brunette, with very small children. Jane was perplexed when Chris became giddy at the news.

  “That must be Ida! Karl’s Ida, do you understand, Jane? The girl he’s been in love with forever, who ended up marrying another man. If that’s Ida—if Karl really managed to steal his Ida from Ottfried—I can’t believe it! This can’t be happening!”

  “I certainly hope not,” Jane remarked stiffly. “It would be quite improper if the man comes here with an abducted woman on his hands and intends to live in adultery. It might sound nice as a Maori legend, but in reality, all you usually get is an angry husband with a loaded gun.”

  Chris waved his hand. “Nonsense! I’m sure it’ll be all right. Maybe Lutherans recognize divorce. Karl wouldn’t do anything illegal. He seems to be lucky with everything he tries. Now, things will surely go uphill with the farm, Jane! You’ll see, the sheep are going to make us rich.”

  Jane rolled her eyes. “All right, then, go and welcome your rescuer. Meanwhile, I’ll freshen up to greet the lady as befitting her rank. Or the ladies . . . Didn’t the boy mention two? Karl must be quite the demon if he got both of them with child. How long has he been on the South Island? Do Lutherans accept polygamy too?”

  At the slow pace set by the cow and the newborn lambs, the trip to Fenroy Station had taken almost a week. Karl, Ida, Cat, and the children arrived at the farm around noon. In the warm sunlight, they saw houses and stables and several acres of land, and rolling grassy plains. Here, the Waimakariri River flowed just as placid and clear as the Avon had on the Deans brothers’ farm. Even wary Ida couldn’t see any signs that it had ever caused flooding. Its banks were overgrown with copious amounts of raupo, and there was a small wood nearby dotted with rata bushes. It reminded Cat of the Hemplemans’ estate.

  “You’ve only seen rata as trees so far,” she explained to Ida. “But when the soil’s too stony, they grow as low bushes. Frau Hempleman used to call them fire blossoms.” She told Ida about how she had often picked the flowers for her bedridden friend. “Look at this sea of red blossoms. It’s a weed, of course, but I like that Chris Fenroy leaves it.”

  Ida restrained her enthusiasm. Fenroy Station was so much land, such a big farm—and on the hill over the river was a house that looked practically manor-like. How were they were supposed to “buy into” this place with a few sheep? Why should Chris Fenroy give up his dominion over this small kingdom? Besides, there was also John Nicholas Beit’s daughter to think about. Ida recalled her stately appearance and lack of patience. How would she feel about the newcomers in her life?

  Ida was mulling this over when she saw Chris Fenroy approaching from one of the barns. Karl immediately jumped off his horse, and the two men hugged affectionately.

  “Karl, you’re looking good!” Chris Fenroy held his friend at arm’s length and beamed at him. “Look at you, you reckless adventurer! The North Island seems to have been good to you, and so has traveling.”

  Karl also regarded Chris with a smile, although he couldn’t honestly return the compliment. The marriage and his years on the farm hadn’t been kind to Chris. He looked older, and not quite as optimistic. He wore his hair shorter now, his beard was trimmed, and worry lines had begun to show on his face.

  “And marriage has mellowed you,” Karl remarked. “I never used to see you with such a tidy haircut. Does Jane do it herself?”

  Chris’s smile looked strained. “Her pioneering spirit doesn’t go as far as cutting her husband’s hair, repairing clothes, or cooking meals. But woe is me if I dare to go to Port Cooper without visiting the barber! Jane says one shouldn’t let oneself go, even in the wilderness.”

  Karl tried to look abashed. “I guess I’ll make a
bad first impression, then. Honestly, I couldn’t even find the barber in Port Cooper. Miss Jane will have to accept me as I am.”

  “As your Ida surely does too,” Chris said cheerfully, turning to face the cart.

  The women were sitting on the coach box, but they had pulled a sun shade down to protect the children. It made getting out somewhat more difficult. Chris held out his hand to help the first of them down.

  “You must be Ida! It’s a pleasure to meet—”

  Chris broke off midsentence when he saw the blonde woman climbing down from the seat. Suddenly, he was confronted with a face from his dreams.

  “Poti,” he whispered. “Cat. What are you doing here? You aren’t—” He looked back and forth between Cat and Karl, his heart sinking. But then he pulled himself together. Karl would have written to him if he and Cat had met again and become a couple. This must be a coincidence.

  Cat smiled, but her smile was forced. Actually, the sight of Christopher shook her to the core. She had to restrain herself from falling into his arms.

  “Christopher,” she said formally. “I’m glad to see you’re well.”

  “But where—how—” Chris stammered.

  “Can you take the children, Cat?” Chris heard a soft, melodic voice say.

  Ida passed the basket with the two sleeping girls down to her friend. It was quite heavy now; the children wouldn’t be able to share it for much longer. They were already crawling, and soon they would learn to walk.

  Now that the journey was over, they would be able to sleep in the crib Ottfried had made for them.

  “Your children?” Chris asked Cat tonelessly.

  Cat shook her head. “Ida’s. Carol and Linda; they’re twins.”