by Sarah Lark
“So that’s how Te Ronga died,” Karl said softly and rubbed his eyes, “and Wakefield and his men as well. How terrible Ottfried must have felt! Ida and I wondered how he could have changed so much, gotten so angry and cruel. My God, I still can’t forget the image of Te Rangihaeata bent over his wife to sing his lament. Perhaps Ottfried drank the way he did to drive away the guilt. And the more he drank and hurt people, the angrier and crueler he became.”
Cat reached for the bottle again. She had never been drunk before, but she could imagine getting that way this evening. “And every time he saw his wife,” she added, “he saw the daughter of the man who was responsible for all of it. Ida didn’t have a chance. And every time he saw me—”
Chris Fenroy put his arm around her. “Don’t cry,” he said tenderly. “It’s all over. For you a long time ago, and now for Ida too.”
Cat shook her head. “It will never be over for Ida.”
“She’s not doing well,” Makutu said.
Outside, the tension of the confrontation had given way to a relaxed celebration. O’Malley’s men flirted with the Maori girls, who were all practicing the English they’d learned from Cat, and the Redwoods were entertaining Jane and Te Haitara with stories about raising sheep. Apparently, the brothers were no longer demanding the return of the animals Ottfried had sold. They’d decided to make a deal about reimbursement with some of the offspring.
The sheriff, too, gave himself up to the whiskey and the music. The Maori had gotten out traditional instruments, and the young Irishman listened with enjoyment, noticing the differences between the putorino and the tin whistle. He had formally declared the case closed.
“But I’ll still have to talk to Mrs. Brandmann later when her condition allows it,” he’d announced. “The way it looks, I’ll be telling the governor that she acted out of defense, and prevented a far worse outcome than the crime. Mrs. Brandmann will not be prosecuted.”
Now, Karl and Cat had returned to the hut where Makutu and Kunari were keeping watch over Ida. They were startled to find her feverish and fighting her way through nightmares. She rolled restlessly back and forth on the mat, murmuring incomprehensibly.
“She’s pregnant,” Karl said worriedly.
Makutu nodded.
“Will she lose the baby?” Cat asked in Maori.
The old Maori woman shook her head. “I don’t think so. The child’s spirit is strong, it wants to stay. The woman’s body is strong, it will hold the child.”
Karl bent down over Ida, whose body didn’t seem strong to him at all. On the contrary, by the light of the oil lamps Makutu doubtlessly had gotten from Carpenter, the young woman looked as fragile as porcelain. Every bone stood out under the skin of her pale, sunken face. Her dark hair was loose and damp with sweat; it curled gently over her forehead. Karl kissed the heart-shaped hairline he’d admired as a child. She reminded him of a fairy or a butterfly. Karl took her hand. It was unbelievable to him that this hand had extinguished another life.
“She’ll wake up soon, won’t she?” Karl asked.
Makutu frowned, and the moko around her mouth seemed to come to life. “Her body is burning because her spirit is confused. Her spirit doesn’t know which canoe brought her to Aotearoa.”
In bewilderment, Karl looked at Cat, who was translating for him. “But of course Ida knows that! She came on the Sankt Pauli, like the rest of us!”
Makutu took a deep breath, carefully lit a twig, and used it to set fire to a small pile of brushwood in the middle of the floor. Then she burned some herbs over it. The smoke made Karl cough. Ida didn’t react, and the tohunga murmured something.
“Her—spirit never really arrived,” Cat said. “For the Maori, people are made up of tinana, mauri, and wairua: body, soul, and spirit. Wairua can wander—when we dream. Ida’s spirit was imprisoned, and it was forced to come here. And now that it’s free—”
“Now that it’s free, it wants to leave?” Karl asked, his voice rising. “It wants to leave me? That can’t be true. I love her.”
“Mommy?” Linda stirred. She had been nestled against Ida, sleeping.
Like all the other children in the village, the girls hadn’t been in any immediate danger. Before the arrival of the pakeha, Jane had made sure that the youngest members of the tribe were waiting safely in the meetinghouse, watched by two women. From her point of view, children had no place in adult business. The Maori found it strange, but in this case had bowed to Jane’s insistence. The little ones hadn’t seen the shootings. After the shooting, Cat had brought the two girls to Ida in hopes that they would be able to comfort their mother. Carol had nestled against Chasseur, seeking comfort and security in his soft fur. She had fallen asleep immediately. Linda had cuddled up against Ida and helplessly stroked her tearstained face until Kunari had sung her to sleep.
“Wake up, Mommy! Daddy coming!” Linda’s voice was fearful.
Karl gingerly brushed her blonde hair from her forehead. “No, Linda, your daddy isn’t coming back. You can sleep now.”
“Daddy?” Carol yelped in alarm, wide awake now. Chasseur began barking protectively.
“You have to catch her spirit. You have to attract it,” Makutu told Karl. “You have to stop it from being afraid.”
Karl considered for a moment. “I’m going to get something. I don’t know if it will stop her from being afraid, but I know that it once connected our spirits.”
The little book was worn and tattered from being read and reread. Karl found it immediately in its usual place in his saddlebag. He had reached for it so often, only just to feel close to Ida. The Three Voyages of Captain Cook Round the World. Karl carried his talisman into Makutu’s hut as though it were the greatest of treasures.
“If—if you don’t mind, please leave us alone now,” the young man said to Cat and Makutu.
The two of them eyed the thin book, which didn’t seem particularly suited for summoning spirits.
“What about the children?” Cat asked.
“The children can stay,” Karl said. “They aren’t afraid of me. And Ida will want to see them when she wakes up.”
Kunari didn’t follow the women when they turned to go. She shook her head determinedly.
“I sing away kehua,” she said, “from man who took sheep.”
“She says she’s going to keep Ottfried’s spirit away,” Cat explained. “She won’t leave.”
“We could have used her help with that years ago,” Karl joked grimly. “Fine, thank you, Kunari. I’ll call Ida’s wairua, and you keep the way clear for her.”
Then Karl began to read out loud. He read about Captain Cook’s voyages, the exotic animals he had seen and described, and his encounters with natives. He reawakened the magic that these exotic places had once held for himself and Ida. And he reminded her how excited she’d once been about the Royal Society of London, the association of scholars who had financed Cook’s expeditions. The scientists had been most interested in astronomical measurements, which Ida had never talked about much. She had talked about stars, different stars that were visible in the Southern Hemisphere.
“Do you remember?” Karl said in a gentle voice. “Much later, there was another society that provided ships to get to the countries Captain Cook had discovered. Their founder wasn’t driven by a thirst for knowledge; he just wanted to do business. Beit promised much and delivered little, but he did put us on a ship. Do you still remember the stars, Ida? The stars over Bahia, and the stars on our beach near Port Cooper? You were here, Ida. Here on the South Island of Aotearoa. With body, soul, and spirit. With me. I can’t give you a beach today, Ida, but I can show you stars.”
Karl lifted the young woman and started with shock. She was so light! He carried her outside under the starry sky and continued to talk. He told her about the second part of the journey on the Sankt Pauli, the time after Bahia, when Ida had hidden in her cabin. He talked about the beauty and grandeur of the ocean, the sighting of Van Diemen’s Land near Australi
a, and finally the first glimpse of New Zealand, which Ida had slept through like most of the settlers had.
Karl hadn’t slept through it. He had been standing on deck and had gazed at the new land, which had first appeared as a dark shadow on the horizon.
“It really did look a bit like a canoe. That’s why the Maori name for the South Island is Te waka a Maui, Maui’s canoe. Can you picture it, Ida? Can we take the journey again together? Can you feel how the sea is rocking us, see the stars that show us the way, and the moon that gives us light?”
Ida didn’t wake up, but she nestled against him as he lay down with her by the glimmering coals of a fire in front of Makutu’s house. Karl rocked her in his arms while Kunari prayed inside the house for protection from evil spirits. At another fire, a couple of Maori girls were singing a love song, and from somewhere, the strains of “The Maids of Mourne Shore” being played on a putorino could be heard.
Karl felt the soft grass under him, and the ground that had stored the warmth of the sunny day. He tried to become one with the land, the way the Maori had become part of Aotearoa. He saw the silhouette of the Southern Alps on the horizon and let images of the Canterbury Plains flash through his mind: the Waimakariri River, energetically seeking its course; the nikau palms that still seemed so exotic; the groves of southern beeches; the rata bushes that Cat loved so much.
“I would like to live here, very much,” he said softly. “Here among the rata bushes, at Fenroy Station. This place has grown dear to my heart. But if you want to go somewhere else, Ida, then I will be there, wherever your spirit and soul are. I’m searching for them. I’m calling them.”
As the very first rays of dawn broke through the shadows of the night, Karl fell asleep with Ida in his arms. Cat had slept in the meetinghouse with the tribe. As soon as they woke, she and Makutu went outside to check on her friend and the children.
“What did he do?” Cat exclaimed. “She’s got a fever, and he takes her outside and just falls asleep? Who’s watching the children? And Ida—”
Makutu laid a hand on Ida’s forehead and smiled. “Ida’s fever is gone.” She went into her house and returned with a blanket.
“The children are asleep, and Kunari too. She seems to have conquered all the evil spirits.”
Carefully, so as not to awaken the sleeping couple, the tohunga spread the blanket over them. “Don’t you know, Poti?” she whispered. “When we sleep and dream, our spirit wanders. And these two . . . their bodies and souls were already joined. And now his spirit has brought hers home, to Aotearoa.”
Chapter 70
When Ida awoke in Karl’s arms a few hours later, she did feel better. Above all, she was more self-assured than she had ever been since boarding the Sankt Pauli. A weight seemed to have fallen from her shoulders. Then Cat told her about her suspicions about the Wairau affair, and Ida shed fresh tears for Te Ronga and the men who had lost their lives there. She also wept for Cat, who’d lost her mother and her tribe, and even for Ottfried and her father.
She knew that her father had always possessed a remarkable ability to convince himself that his actions were righteous and just. But to annihilate an entire village, destroy dozens of peoples’ lives, just so he could re-create Raben Steinfeld . . .
“I’m sure he prayed for God’s help,” Ida whispered, with the horror of it written on her face. “He must have been completely blind not to see what he was doing. And now he’s—oh Lord, if you’re right, then they’re all damned for eternity!”
“God probably wasn’t even listening to him,” Cat said, comforting her. “He never does.” She smiled. “Except to Karl, whose prayers were obviously heard.”
Karl had been glowing with joy since Ida had woken up. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He stirred the fire so she wouldn’t get cold, even though it was already growing warm early in the day. He brought her tea and flatbread, and successfully deflected the sheriff, who still wanted to talk to her.
“I never would have dared to pray about such a thing,” Ida whispered. “I also never begged God to bring me together with Karl. I always wanted that, but—”
Cat smiled mischievously. “Makutu would probably say that the gods read your mind, and they hear the prayers behind your prayers. For Te Ronga, the gods themselves weren’t very important, anyway. Of course they are part of everything, just like the land that we live on, the animals we hunt, and the plants we gather. But the most important thing in the world is the people. He tangata. So forget your God and the mean old men who try to shape him in their own image. Just be happy about Karl and the children and yourself!”
Now Cat frowned as she became aware of the sound of women singing and praying, and smelled the scent of burning herbs.
“That’s Makutu and her women,” she said. “Listen, Ida, do you mind if they bury Ottfried right away? The Maori prefer to do that so the soul, the mauri, can begin its journey to Hawaiki. In Ottfried’s case, Makutu is afraid that his ghost will haunt the village. Kunari sang the entire night to keep him away. She says he was lying in wait for you. Makutu has been doing protection spells all morning too. So, if you have nothing against it—”
Ida shook her head. “I only want him to rest in peace.”
Sheriff O’Malley presided over the funeral. The former village schoolmaster, pious and well versed in the Bible, performed a serious and solemn ceremony in which he beseeched God to forgive all of Ottfried’s sins. Ida listened to his intercession, his plainsong, and his prayers without any visible emotion. Karl wondered if she even realized that her Lutheran husband was being laid to rest with the rituals of the Irish Roman Catholic Church. He had to smile. First the afterworld magic of the Maori, and then the prayers of the pope. Even if heaven was somehow open to Ottfried, he’d hardly find his way into the right part.
But probably none of that mattered, anyway. Cat was right: It was the people who were important. The ones who were alive.
“What will you do now?” Chris asked after the funeral was over.
Sean O’Malley, the Redwoods, and their men had set off for Port Cooper again after Ida recovered enough to answer a few questions. She had said in her statement that she didn’t know anything more about the Wairau affair, and she had no idea exactly where her father and Peter Brandmann were in Australia. The two of them would deny their part in the events, anyway, and certainly nothing could be proven. Ottfried, the only other person who knew, was dead. Ida added that she hadn’t heard Cat’s warning and hadn’t thought about Ottfried’s possible intentions when she shot.
“I only saw the weapon and that he was aiming at the Maori. Then everything seemed to happen by itself. I wasn’t thinking. You can’t shoot and think, Sheriff, they don’t go together.”
O’Malley had finally given her his condolences once more, and had then officially closed the investigation.
“I will definitely be marrying Ida,” Karl declared joyfully. “After an appropriate period of mourning, of course. But as soon as possible, before the child is born. I don’t care whether it’s mine or Ottfried’s. In either case, the child won’t be called Brandmann. And if you don’t mind, Chris, we would like to stay at Fenroy Station and build our own house near yours. Of course we could just keep the old house, but I think Ida won’t want to live there anymore.”
Chris nodded sympathetically. “Cat and I already talked about that,” he replied. “You can have our house for now.”
“Jane’s house, you mean,” Cat said.
Christopher smiled. “Maybe you and Ida should just keep that one, Karl, and we’ll build a new one. In any case, you can have it until we find a permanent solution.”
Karl shook his head. “That’s very kind, thank you. But in the next few weeks, as long as it works with Ida’s pregnancy, she and I want to travel a little. Makutu says it’s good for the spirit. I want to show Ida New Zealand. Aotearoa. The beaches on the North Island, the palms, the ferns, the mountains . . . I want her to see how beautiful it is here. No more looki
ng back. I hope she can leave Raben Steinfeld behind her.”
Chris smiled. “I think she’s already done that. She’s with you, at last.”
“What about us?” Chris asked Cat later.
Cat had just cleared away the leftovers of a quick dinner, and to her delight had found a half-full bottle of whiskey. The day was over, hopefully Ottfried’s soul had found its peace, and Karl and Ida had withdrawn to the guest room. Soon, the four of them would need to talk about Carol and Linda. The girls would stay with Cat while Ida was traveling, but if they would be raised as twins or each live separately with their biological mothers hadn’t been decided yet.
“Us? We’re going to drink this whiskey,” Cat declared. “Or do you still have some of Jane’s wine left? I really liked that.”
“I’m serious, Cat!” Chris said. “Karl and Ida are going to be married. What about us?”
“We can’t get married,” Cat said. “Or do you think the authorities in Auckland will accept your karakia toko divorce? Or the priests? I’d like to be there when you try to explain it to a well-mannered Anglican reverend.”
Chris groaned theatrically. “Maybe Ida shot too soon. She could have at least let Ottfried aim better.”
Cat shook her head. “How could you even joke like that? You’re just mad because Jane made some competition for you in the sheep business. What was she talking about with the Redwoods yesterday, anyway? We’re going to have to watch out that she doesn’t snap up the closest breeding ewes from under our noses.”
“Cat, we’re not talking about sheep now!” Chris said seriously. “We’re talking about you and me. What do you want to do, if you don’t want to marry me? Will you at least continue to live with me? You aren’t planning to leave, are you?” His voice broke on his last words.
