by Sarah Lark
But at least she had enough time to bake two loaves of bread. Then Ottfried and the Redwoods were back, and to Ida’s relief, they seemed to be in the best of moods.
“Is everything all right?” Ida asked, and breathed a sigh of relief when James and Joseph smiled and nodded.
“False alarm, Miss Ida, as we already thought. None of your sheep have our mark. But congratulations, your husband has beautiful animals! They actually do look like ours, almost pure Romneys. We should talk about breeding together soon. And Jensch and Fenroy’s Merino crosses, and the fantastic Rambouillets—those belong to Miss Cat, don’t they? Sometimes I don’t understand Ottie very well. You’ll have to tell me in greater detail, Miss Ida.”
Ottfried grinned with satisfaction and even seemed relaxed when the Redwoods mostly talked to Ida during the meal. When the three men had emptied the brothers’ bottle, the Redwoods finally decided to go to bed. Ottfried suggested opening another, but James and Joseph declined. They wanted to ride home the next day without having to fight hangovers.
Ottfried uncorked another bottle anyway and poured himself a glass. He seemed unusually peaceable. Ida, who was still cleaning up the kitchen, decided to risk asking a question.
“Did you show them the sheep in the Maori village too?”
Ottfried frowned. “Of course not. Why should I? Why should they care about the savages’ animals?” He grinned. “They wanted to see our sheep, and they got to see them. Now hopefully they’re satisfied.”
Ida rubbed her temples. She didn’t know if it was wise to tell him this now, but if she waited, Ottfried might be angry at her for withholding.
“In the long run, they’ll see the Maori sheep anyway. Soon they’ll be our neighbors. They’re buying land between Fenroy Station, er, Raben Station and the Butlers’ farm.”
“What?” Ottfried exclaimed. “Those Maori bastards are selling land to them? The land that borders ours? But that means that we can never expand! We’ll be stuck here on the few acres that we got by palming the sheep off on them!”
“That’s what they said,” she confirmed quietly, relieved that he didn’t seem to be worried about Te Haitara’s sheep. “I’m sorry, perhaps you should have told Te Haitara that you were interested in the land.” All at once something occurred to her. “But you still can!” she said encouragingly. “So far, no contracts have been signed. Just ask Jane and the ariki. They’ll surely be able to do something for you.”
Ottfried snorted. “They’d better do something for me,” he grunted. “But not like that. I will not go down on my knees to them. This has gone on long enough. I’ll wait until tomorrow, and then you won’t believe your eyes!”
Ida watched Ottfried and the Redwood brothers worriedly as they left the house the next morning after breakfast.
“Still something I you want show!” Ottfried told them as the men were getting ready to depart. “Me think something. With sheep. Must you come with.” Then he switched to German. “Oh, Ida, I might accompany the Redwoods to Port Cooper. I have something to take care of there. You know, we talked about it yesterday.”
Ida’s brow creased, but then she remained silent. She had no idea what a trip to Port Cooper could have to do with Ottfried’s threats, but she certainly didn’t want to set him off. She was still sore from what had happened after his good mood had shifted into a wild rage. His pretext for the beating was that she should have told him sooner about the Redwoods’ plan to move. That he would have done things differently if he’d known. What he meant by that was a complete riddle to Ida, but if he wanted to go to Port Cooper with the brothers, she was glad to be rid of him.
After Ottfried had departed, Cat returned from the Maori village and listened with interest as Ida told her about the Redwoods’ visit.
“He showed them all the sheep except for Te Haitara’s,” she told her worriedly. “I think he’s afraid that the dealer in Nelson sold him stolen sheep, and he’ll have to give them back and be poor again, and—”
Cat rolled her eyes. “If you ask me, Ottfried is the worst kind of racketeer, and I certainly wouldn’t put anything past him. But as for Te Haitara’s sheep . . . If the Redwoods haven’t seen them yet, it’s pure coincidence. They usually graze all around the village and mix with mine and Karl’s. We’re only keeping them in the pen right now because of the lambing. Honestly, it would be enough just to keep the ones that are still pregnant, but Makutu says the herd has to stay together, that it’s not good for their souls if the family is separated.”
“The sheep have souls?” Ida asked, her brows drawn together.
Cat laughed. “Oh yes, for the Ngai Tahu, every sheep has a soul, just like every tree and every rata bush. Now, stop looking like a girl from Raben Steinfeld shocked by blasphemy. The tohunga might be right. So far, not one of their sheep has rejected a lamb. And the lamb of one ewe that died during its birth was accepted by another. And they all seem to enjoy the songs that Kunari sings to them. You even said yourself that her cream cheese tastes better than yours.”
Kunari was a young woman of the tribe. She was gentle and kind, but slow to act, and unable to remember things. Kunari didn’t speak very often, but she was constantly singing to herself in incomprehensible words, or as Makutu said, in her own language. But since the tribe had acquired sheep, Kunari was on the way to becoming a tohunga. Ida had taught the young woman how to milk, and now she took remarkable care of the dairy sheep that used to belong to Ottfried. The young woman milked them mornings and evenings to make cream cheese, and in between led them over the meadows so they got the juiciest grass to eat. All the while she sang to them and told them long stories. She didn’t need a sheepdog; the sheep followed her when she called. Makutu said respectfully that Kunari spoke the language of the hipi and that they’d wondered for a long time what gift the gods had given to her, and now they knew.
“Actually, Kunari was out with her sheep all day yesterday,” Cat said, remembering. “And the day before too. Ottfried and the Redwoods could have easily crossed paths with her. So don’t worry, at least not about the Ngai Tahu and their sheep, or Ottfried. It would be smarter to worry about the Redwoods. Hopefully, they won’t turn their backs on Ottfried!”
Ottfried was still gone the next day as well, and Ida’s relief was mixed with increasing anxiety. Of course it was possible that Cat had been right, and Ottfried had just wound up again in one of the pubs where he was gambling and drinking away the small profit he’d gotten from the shearing.
“He said he wanted to spend it on the house for Raben Station, and he was serious about it,” Ida said.
Cat grimaced. “Ida, he’s drinking and gambling. When Ottfried sits down at a poker table, he’s lost. He won’t stop until he’s lost all of his money. It’s the same way with the drinking. As long as whiskey is available, he’ll be sucking on the bottle. I only hope that he’s not piling up debts again. At least the people in Port Cooper know him, and they probably won’t lend him any more money.”
Chapter 68
“I’ll ask you again. Are you sure?”
The young sheriff was letting his men rest in a glade near Fenroy Station and the Ngai Tahu village. He’d felt out of his depth since the Redwood brothers came into his office in Port Cooper to report a crime. He had taken the sheriff position only because no one else wanted the job. Of course he also needed the money, and unlike most residents of Port Cooper, he could write. In Ireland, he’d been a village teacher. But now this delicate situation . . . Sean O’Malley wanted to make sure it was true before he took serious steps.
“You couldn’t have made a mistake?”
“No.” Joseph Redwood’s voice rang with annoyance. “I’ve already told you three times, Sheriff, and I have my brother and Mr. Brandmann as witnesses. These people have our sheep. There is absolutely no doubt; the animals are marked. We can prove that at any time, once they’ve been taken back.”
“But then why weren’t they hidden better?” O’Malley plucked at his uniform
and assured himself, for the tenth time, that he had all of his weapons. “You said yourself the sheep were grazing in the open, and the shepherdess wasn’t acting guilty.”
“Sheriff!” Joseph Redwood was struggling to control himself. “The girl is obviously feebleminded, and probably also lacking in moral judgment. We’re sure. So let us go to the village and talk to the people and recover our sheep. Mr. Brandmann thinks that the chieftain is behind the robbery. He seems to be very cunning, and the tribe is fairly wealthy. There are probably other crooked things going on there. It would be best for you and your men to arrest the fellow.”
“Of course.” O’Malley bit his lower lip.
Personally, he would have rather presented the case to his superiors in Auckland, but the Redwoods had insisted that he act immediately. It hadn’t been difficult to find volunteers for a punitive expedition. The Redwoods were well liked and had mobilized colleagues and friends in Port Cooper in no time at all. Aside from that, new settlers had arrived who couldn’t move on to their land yet. They had nothing to do and were very interested in making the area safer. They had never had contact with the Maori, but they all had heard American settlers’ horror stories about the Indians.
“Fine.” The sheriff squared his shoulders. “Then let’s go. Stay calm, men, but be aware. We have to assume that the warriors have firearms. That’s right, isn’t it, Mr. Brandmann?”
Ottfried puffed out his chest. His heart was pounding. This was the biggest risk he’d ever taken. If it worked, he’d get out in one piece with the sheep. Additionally, the cards would also be reshuffled in respect to land ownership.
“The fellows armed to teeth, Sheriff,” he said. “So, careful! But we stronger.”
The new settlers and farmers reached nervously for their muskets and rifles. None of them were trained fighters.
“I will lead the negotiations,” O’Malley declared as he began to march ahead of his troop. “I hope they speak English.”
Of course Te Haitara’s people were aware that a troop of men, including wagons with horses, was approaching. From the descriptions of O’Malley’s uniform, Jane realized that the police were involved. But she couldn’t make sense of it.
“Perhaps they’re looking for Chris,” she said. “But I can’t imagine him doing anything that was against the law. Or they’re looking for a criminal. Then maybe they’ll come here to question us. In any case, we have nothing to worry about.”
“So you think I shouldn’t tell the warriors to prepare for a fight?” Te Haitara asked.
The men had gathered immediately and were carrying their spears and war clubs. Hardly any of them owned muskets or revolvers; Carpenter didn’t sell weapons. The traveling merchant had clear boundaries when it came to guns.
“I swindle people a bit sometimes, and I surely won’t get into heaven. But I have no blood on my hands, and I want it to stay that way. So if you want to shoot each other, get the weapons somewhere else,” he’d told them.
In the village, there were only the two hunting rifles that Chris Fenroy had bought for Te Haitara in Port Cooper. The chieftain and his people hadn’t asked for more. The Ngai Tahu were a peaceful tribe and had no enemies on the South Island since the Ngati Toa had, for the most part, stopped their missions of conquest.
“We will prepare a powhiri,” Makutu calmly decided before Jane could answer. “If the men really come to the village, they should be greeted properly, and of course we will show our warriors in all their strength.”
The announcement set the villagers into a flutter of excited activity. The women and girls exchanged their colorful cotton dresses for traditional skirts of dried flax and woven tops in the tribal colors. The chieftain donned the symbols of his status, and the armed warriors stood behind him, barefoot and bare chested in the traditional manner. Everyone applauded happily when Jane put on traditional Maori clothing.
A few of the women began to sing as the visitors approached, and two young relatives of Te Haitara went to meet the men. They wore jewelry and special capes that marked them as high-ranking representatives of the tribe.
Ottfried felt eerily reminded of the scene in Wairau, but he fought down his rising sense of panic. He had survived then, and he would survive now. This tribe was smaller than Te Rauparaha’s, and less inclined to fight. Ottfried knew very well that most of Te Haitara’s men weren’t armed.
“Kia ora!” The young men in the greeting committee bowed to the pakeha with solemn but friendly expressions on their faces.
O’Malley blanched at the sight of their tattoos, and the new settlers were terrified. Ottfried could still remember exactly how he’d felt in Wairau.
“Haere mai. We welcome you warmly in marae of our iwi. Chieftain Te Haitara expecting you. Very pleased to meet you!”
“Good day to you,” O’Malley said. “But we have come here on unpleasant business. I’m Sean O’Malley, sheriff of Port Cooper. I—”
One of the young men came closer. “Very pleased to meet you,” he repeated. “I, Te Konuta, nephew of ariki. Hongi?”
He approached the sheriff to offer the traditional greeting. O’Malley flinched back, but then pulled himself together and remembered his manners, and offered Te Konuta his hand. The young man grinned, obviously pleased. O’Malley’s small hand disappeared in the young man’s wide grip as he shook it heartily.
“Very pleased to meet you,” the young Maori said again in correct English.
O’Malley frowned. “Look, it’s all well and good that you’re, um, pleased. But as I said, the reason I’m here is rather unpleasant.”
“Stop beating around the bush, Sheriff,” James Redwood demanded. “This isn’t a courtesy call. I’m James Redwood, and this is my brother Joseph. Some time ago, a herd of sheep was stolen from us, and we’ve found at least part of the herd here. We want them back, and we demand that the responsible party be brought to justice.”
Te Konuta’s tattooed brow creased. “Beat bush?”
Joseph Redwood rolled his eyes. “God in heaven! Isn’t there anyone here who speaks proper English?”
The young man nodded. “Yes. Talk to Jane. Forgive me, learning English, not so good. When talk slow, understand better. Now come. Also give hand or hongi. Friend!”
Redwood sighed and shook the young warrior’s hand, although he looked as though he’d rather hit him.
“Fine, we’ll talk to Mrs. Fenroy. But I tell you, she’s got a lot to explain!”
“When are you finally going to tell Ottfried?” Cat asked, and accepted the dead duck from proud Chasseur. It was the third one that Ida had shot out of the sky that day. With exactly three bullets.
“What do you mean?” Ida asked. “The shooting or the pregnancy?”
“The shooting,” Cat said. “You won’t be able to hide the pregnancy much longer, anyway. You could have told him about that a long time ago. He would have left you alone again, like the last time. But you still want to leave the possibility open to escape with Karl.”
Ida sighed. Cat was right. If she was going to give in to Karl’s encouragement, it was better if Ottfried didn’t know about the pregnancy. He might come to terms with the loss of his wife, but certainly not if she were possibly carrying his male heir. And the pregnancy wasn’t difficult to hide. She felt much better than she had the first time, and far less nauseated.
“I think I’ll tell him if we actually move,” Ida said, changing the subject back to her marksmanship. “I’ll have to if I want to keep hunting. Ottfried won’t want to go without meat, and I’d much rather shoot rabbits than slaughter lambs.”
Her gaze swept over the plains. It was a beautiful day for hunting, clear and sunny. Ida and Cat had left the children in the Maori village and had promised the women a duck or a rabbit in exchange for babysitting before they left. The rabbits were particularly careless in the spring. They were mating, and anywhere else, it would have been closed season. But in New Zealand, where the creatures had no natural enemies, the people were hap
py about every animal that didn’t live to multiply.
“But then you’re running the risk of him taking the revolver away from you,” Cat said, giving her pause for thought.
Ida shrugged. “Then he won’t get any more rabbit roast,” she said curtly, and aimed at two long ears poking up behind one of the erratic boulders that seemed to have sprung up out of the ground here, as though some Maori gods had sprinkled them around like seeds. Ida raised her weapon smoothly and quickly. She shot as the rabbit dashed out from behind the stone. It immediately fell to the ground. “I only have one more bullet,” Ida said as Chasseur ran to fetch her prize. “We’ll have to cast more as soon as possible, before Ottfried returns.”
Chasseur fetched the rabbit while Ida kept a lookout for other potential prey. “Wait! Someone’s coming from the village. Isn’t that Kunari?”
Neither Ida nor Cat could ever remember having seen the young woman run. But now she hurried toward the two of them, almost tripping over her own feet. Her broad face was wild with panic.
“Y-y-you—g-g-gun. Shoot bad men. Want take away sheep. I heard, were by r-river. But are my sheep! And n-now in village. I-I-I afraid!” Kunari howled in Maori.
Cat’s eyes widened. The girl was expressing herself more clearly than she ever had before.
“What did she say?” Ida asked.
“If I understand her correctly, she wants us to come to the village to shoot men who are trying to take away her sheep. She heard them discussing it by the river.”
Ida rubbed her temples. “Maori or pakeha, Kunari?”
“Kunari doesn’t understand English,” Cat said, but Kunari shook her head vehemently.
