by Lark, Sarah
“They shouldn’t complain so much. This is far better than the tents we’ve been in,” Ida remarked.
She and Elsbeth spread new straw pallets on the floor of the Langes’ hut. They’d had to throw away the old ones, which were riddled with fleas—a gift of the neglected mission dog, who was constantly scratching himself. Fortunately, Elsbeth also preferred fleas to rats. She had sacrificed a piece of the perfumed soap Mrs. Partridge had given her as a farewell gift, and dragged Chasseur to the river. Now the creature smelled of roses and was soft to the touch. Since he was being fed regularly, he was also much more energetic.
“There’s only the question of who keeps him when you get married,” Elsbeth said, waving a sausage skin, trying to entice Chasseur. It was in vain, however. The animal was Ida’s shadow. “It would be mean of you to take him away, now that I washed him.”
“We need more dogs,” Ida said distractedly. Chasseur was just about the last thing that worried her when she thought of her imminent marriage. “Cats too. There are cats in Nelson.”
“If we could only go there again,” Elsbeth said longingly. She had been much better suited to helping in the Partridges’ shop than she was to farmwork. When she gazed at the plains below her, she didn’t see a blooming landscape, but hard, hungry times while the village was being built and drudgery in the gardens and fields when it was finished.
“When all our things arrive, it will be much better,” Ida had said, even though she knew it wasn’t true.
Back in Raben Steinfeld, her father had demanded that she pack as little as possible so they wouldn’t have to pay extra aboard the ship. But then Jakob Lange had reacted with a fit of rage when the family’s trunks had finally arrived.
“Where are all our dishes? Where are the pots and pans? Why do we have embroidered sheets instead? I can’t understand it, Elsbeth! Why did I leave it up to you two stupid girls to do the packing?”
It had been Elsbeth who’d had to contend with her father’s rage. Ida had spent the day after the trunks had arrived preparing her own hut. She had immediately taken part of her dowry, and had discovered that Ottfried had also brought a few household goods into the marriage. The Brandmanns had brought four trunks to New Zealand. Frau Brandmann’s fear of the “uncivilized” new country had triumphed over her husband’s frugality. But they would still have to buy many things. Ida gazed unhappily around the hut that she would be sharing with Ottfried, starting the next day. The delayed delivery of the household goods had given her a short reprieve, but now Jakob Lange and Peter Brandmann had set the date of the wedding with the pastors. The fifth of September would be the happy day. Ottfried and Ida’s wedding had been assured, as well as the christening of the Krauses’ baby. But the climax would be the laying of the cornerstone for the new church. The church would be the center of Sankt Pauli Village, and the men had already begun to cut wood for it. Peter Brandmann and Ottfried were particularly happy about it. Their services as carpenters would finally be needed again, and they would also be paid by the community.
“And in the evenings I’ll work on our own house,” Ottfried declared self-importantly. “You’ll see, it will be the first house in the village.”
By now, Ida had seen the building site. It was an idyllic-looking piece of land that even included some of the rare, scraggly trees that grew at the bottom of the valley. What was more, the temperatures had risen somewhat, and the trees on the hills looked healthier. But the fronds of the nikau palm that would stand in front of Ida’s future house still looked frayed, as though it had been ravaged by a storm.
Then there was the wedding. Ida couldn’t help herself; she felt more despondence than anticipation when she thought about it. But the entire village was already busy with the preparations. The women were making the best of the few provisions that remained, and the aroma of fresh bread emanated from the temporary bakery. For meat, they had to content themselves with a few chickens that had been sent with the household goods, but there was more than enough fresh fish. The hills and the whole Schacht Valley were crisscrossed with small and large streams, which were so full of fish that even the little boys like Ida’s brother Franz could catch trout with their bare hands. Or at least, fish that looked like trout. The women had also built a smokehouse, and had already cooked fish soup for the coming day. Of course the women complained that they were missing important ingredients from their homeland, but they improvised with what they had. Soon, carrots, potatoes, cabbage, and dill would be growing in their gardens.
Ida was ashamed to be moping while the others were in good spirits, and she forced herself to react appropriately to the jokes and friendly greetings of the women as she walked to the Langes’ hut to try on her wedding dress one last time. It wasn’t white, but that hadn’t been the custom in Raben Steinfeld either.
The women had helped Ida make a simple dress with a high neckline out of the dark blue woolen material from Nelson, as well as a white pinafore and a pretty new bonnet, which had been stiffened with great effort because of the dampness, using potato starch. The young woman didn’t have a new nightgown. But she didn’t want to think about her wedding night, anyway. She knew basically what would happen, and was familiar with the sounds of it from the tight quarters aboard the Sankt Pauli. Ida had been afraid of the moaning and grunting sounds, but she was determined to behave as her mother had done, and every generation of women before her. Whatever happened, she would bear it with humility.
She put on a brave smile the next day when Ottfried led her to the improvised altar in the “church,” which so far consisted only of the ceremonially laid cornerstone. It was raining lightly, and the quickly erected canvas awnings intended to protect at least the pastor, the bridal pair, and the baby to be christened weren’t particularly waterproof. Ida’s new bonnet soon hung in her hair like a dead bird.
Young Stina Krause had wrapped her baby in a white christening robe. But the little one wailed without a pause; he was probably chilled. Franz was coughing again as well, and seemed to have a fever. Ida was worried about her brother, but told herself it was Elsbeth’s problem now. She couldn’t take care of two households. Or at least, she wouldn’t be able to as soon as the building had started in earnest. Even now, some of the women were starting their gardens. Ida, too, would soon have to begin with plowing and planting. She had brought seeds with her from Nelson.
Ottfried was wearing his Sunday suit and looked dapper; his hat still wasn’t soaked through. But when he took it off for the ceremony, the rain quickly dampened his thinning hair. The strands hung in his face, making it seem rounder. Ida couldn’t help remembering Elsbeth’s remark. Karl is better-looking than Ottfried.
Karl’s arm around her shoulders had also felt better than Ottfried’s clumsy embrace when he had finally kissed her after they had taken their vows. Ottfried’s voice had been strong and proud, and Ida’s low and resigned. She would have liked to instill her words with more joy, but she couldn’t do it.
She didn’t manage to completely banish the image of Karl from her mind’s eye as Ottfried led her through the crowd and everyone smiled and congratulated them. Peter Brandmann and Jakob Lange toasted each other. In honor of the wedding, they had permitted themselves to have a glass of the very last schnapps from the fatherland, which they had unearthed in one of Frau Brandmann’s trunks.
Celebrating outside as had originally been planned proved to be impossible, so the villagers crowded into several huts to get out of the rain. They divided into groups of friends and neighbors from their original homes; the Sankt Pauli Village community was still not unified.
Ida found herself with Ottfried in the Brandmanns’ hut, which was uncomfortably crowded. Ottfried barely paid any attention to her at all. Her new husband seemed to want to raise his glass to the men of Raben Steinfeld first, before he had anything to do with his wife. Ida ate a little fish, chicken, and rice, but most of her portion of the wedding meal landed secretly under the table with Chasseur. The dog nestled into her
skirts. He didn’t want to be outdoors in the rain either. Then Frau Brandmann found another treasure in her trunks for the women: red-currant schnapps.
At first, Ida didn’t want any. She was already feeling sick, but the women insisted on pouring a large glass of the potent, bittersweet drink.
“It helps!” one of the young women said.
The others nodded knowingly.
“It hurts and it’s unpleasant, but it will be over quickly,” Stina Krause said comfortingly. “And when you finally have a baby of your own . . .” She joyfully rocked little Richard in her arms.
After consuming the unaccustomed alcohol, at least Ida felt warmer, which she enjoyed. But she also felt drunk, which made her feel ashamed. She hoped Ottfried wouldn’t notice.
However, he seemed much drunker than she as the day slowly drew to a close. It began to get dark, and the villagers slowly retired to their own huts. Each family owned only one lantern, and Ottfried lit his clumsily. He staggered as he took Ida’s arm.
“Come now, let’s go home. It’s time.”
Chapter 26
Jane Fenroy had managed to postpone the consummation of her marriage with Christopher. There wasn’t any important reason for it aside from her disinclination to perform the unappetizing task divided only by a wall from her parents and siblings. Jane and Chris were spending the night in the Beits’ house before Chris set out for Canterbury the next day to build a provisional dwelling on the new farmland. Above all, Jane saw it as a power game. She had to see how far she could push Christopher, and in the end, it had been ridiculously easy. After several hours of celebration with the wedding party, the young married couple retired to the room Jane’s parents had prepared for them. One of the maids, the uncultivated little one who spoke German and for some unfathomable reason insisted on being called Cat, was already waiting there to help Jane out of the pompous dress.
Jane only glanced at Christopher briefly. “Shall we do it now, or do you want to wait for an evening when you’re sober?” she asked coldly.
It was an unfair question. Chris was in no way drunk. Of course he’d had a glass of champagne to celebrate and a couple of drinks with his friends, but he was neither staggering nor slurring, and there was no reason to doubt that he could perform his duty. Jane’s words hit him like a slap in the face. He flinched, blushed, and lowered his eyes.
“As—as you wish, Jane,” he said.
Jane laughed sardonically and waved to the maid, who was standing there looking embarrassed.
“Then let’s skip it. Come, Cat, help me out of this dress, the corset is suffocating me. Chris, I bid you good night.”
Jane didn’t know where her husband was going to sleep, and she didn’t really care. He’d probably be comfortable enough in an armchair in the parlor of the bedroom suite. The next morning when Jane came down to breakfast, Chris was already gone.
“Well, well, he’s in a hurry to build a nest!” her mother trilled. “But it’s understandable that he’ll want his own home where he can do what he wants. Last night he was very reserved, no one heard anything . . .”
Christopher returned a few weeks later, sooner than expected. He was extremely pleased with his land and their new home. He seemed to have forgotten or at least repressed the problematic wedding night.
“Everything is happening much more quickly than I thought it would, Jane!” he said, glowing with enthusiasm. “There’s a Maori tribe living in the area, the Ngai Tahu. They’re much more approachable than the Ngati Toa. The men are quite happy to help, first with building the house, and they will also help me prepare the fields for planting. We’ve already set up a house in the style of their meetinghouses.”
“A tepee?” Jane asked, scandalized.
She had been surprised by Chris’s return and hadn’t even had time to fix herself up a little. And even if she told herself that she didn’t care if her husband liked her or not, she felt that her appearance lacked dignity.
Chris’s brow creased. “What makes you think it’s a tepee? Have you never seen a Maori village, Jane? They don’t live in tents unless they’re traveling. Well, you’ll see for yourself, because we’re going to be their neighbors. And we’ll be able to plant immediately. I’ll start the fields this spring. How soon can you be ready to leave, Jane? There’s a ship leaving for Port Victoria tomorrow.”
Jane had no desire to live in the countryside, and certainly not with savages as neighbors. But she wasn’t comfortable in her parents’ house either. She had a strange, temporary status as a married woman but was still under the aegis of her mother, and constantly observed by her giggling, talkative sisters. The girls teased her constantly about the experiences they thought she must have had on her wedding night and tried to glean tantalizing details about it. In any case, there was no reason to delay her departure. Jane’s hope chest had been packed for weeks. All that remained to be done was to survive the night before the journey.
But Jane was lucky. Christopher didn’t even try. Coincidentally, Frederick Tuckett was in town to deal with the aftermath of the Wairau massacre and the impending bankruptcy of the New Zealand Company. John Nicholas Beit was keeping the details from his curious daughter, but Jane already knew enough. The only thing that could have saved the company was the settlement of the Wairau Valley. Beit and Wakefield thought that palming off the Moutere Valley on the unsuspecting Germans had been a brilliant move, but it had only put off the company’s problems for a little while, and had created further animosity from Tuckett and Spain.
That evening, Christopher met Tuckett over a tankard of beer and didn’t even attempt to visit Jane in her bedroom afterward. This time, he actually was a little drunk. In any case, at breakfast the following morning, he was rather short with her.
The ship was going to leave for Port Victoria that afternoon, and Jane’s luggage was being loaded that morning. Chris gallantly led his wife on board after formally bidding her parents farewell, and not without thanking her father again for the signing over of the land.
“It’s registered in Jane’s name, is it not?” he asked, and Beit made a face.
“It’s in your name, of course,” he replied. “How far would we get if we left such things up to the women?”
Jane held her tongue, but Christopher could tell from the look in her eyes how angry she was. And although he was relieved she wouldn’t have complete control of the farming business, he felt bad for her.
“Maori women often have their own land,” he told her after Beit was out of earshot. “Though they don’t think of owning it the way we do. Their ideas about all that are different than ours. There are even female chieftains.”
“Female chieftains?” Jane said with real interest. It was the first time that she hadn’t reacted scathingly to Christopher’s words. “That wasn’t mentioned in the Treaty of Waitangi.”
Chris shook his head. “No, it wasn’t. But that was because no women went to Waitangi. Actually, they did, but Hobson and Busby sent them away, and the tribes present immediately elected male chieftains to take their place. As a result, there are hardly any female chieftains left, though there are plenty of female tribal elders and tohunga. As a translator, I often worked with them, and they did their jobs every bit as well as the men.”
Christopher thought of Cat, and his heart ached. He hadn’t seen her the previous evening, but it was no wonder that she was staying away from him. Especially after the humiliating wedding night. After helping Jane, Cat had returned with an armload of bedding so Chris could make himself comfortable in a chair. She had seemed to want to leave again without saying a word, but then had changed her mind at the last moment.
“Your wife has much mana,” she’d remarked.
Since then, Chris had been trying to figure out if her voice had sounded sarcastic or not.
From Port Victoria, it was possible to reach the Canterbury Plains by way of a pass, or to take a boat that left the bay to the north and then sailed up the estuary of a nameless river.<
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“Of course the river is only nameless for us,” Christopher explained. “The Maori call it Waimakariri. But not many pakeha know that. It would be so much easier to keep the Maori names. Then people wouldn’t be constantly misunderstanding one another.”
“The Germans renamed the valley they settled in after the captain of their ship,” Jane said.
If they talked about general subjects, she realized, it was completely possible for her to speak to Christopher in a reasonable way. She’d already trained him well. If he didn’t have to reckon with the snares she constantly set for him in her conversation, he glowed like a dog that had been patted on the head.
“Their settlement is called Sankt Pauli Village,” he said. “So they’re doing it just like the Maori, who also immortalized the names of the canoes their ancestors came to Aotearoa in. Did you know that they were settlers too? They originally came from Polynesia.”
Jane laughed. “Someone should tell the Germans that. They probably wouldn’t be able to stop crossing themselves. Their precious Sankt Pauli Village taking after the customs of the savages!”
Then Christopher became serious. “They probably wouldn’t believe it, anyway. They ignored all the warnings about the Moutere Valley, and are now building their homes on a floodplain. That’ll mean trouble for your father and the company. We’re lucky to be leaving before the storm breaks.”
The landscape in Canterbury was very different from the heavily forested area near Nelson, and the climate was different too. Here, there were endless plains covered with tussock grass well irrigated by frequent rainfall. The summers were cooler, and the winters were milder. There were hardly any palm trees here at all. Where the grassy plains were broken by forests, southern beeches dominated. But of course there were still rata plants, which grew as bushes rather than as trees. It was the first thing Jane noticed when Christopher led her around the site of the future Fenroy Station.
