Fires of Change (The Fire Blossom Saga)

by Sarah Lark

  “No, nothing happened to him,” Te Haitara reported to his wife. “It’s completely normal for the group to go separate ways. The spirits lead the warriors to the places where they can gather strength. Then they’re allowed to stay away overnight and speak to the stars. Enough worrying, Raupo! He will come back—if not today, then tomorrow. He’s a man!”

  Jane heard the pride in his last words. It sounded almost as though Eru had made the leap from boy to man precisely on this day.

  Jane snorted and turned away—and stormed out of the village. She wasn’t likely to find Eru in the boundless plains, but she had to try. Still furious, she made her way down to the river. One Maori sacred site was as good as another, so why not start with the rock surrounded by raupo reeds that was Te Haitara’s special place? There, he prayed to the river spirits, and was still convinced that it was they who had guided Jane to him. She had to smile at the thought of their first meeting, and it calmed her when she laid a hand on the stone and felt its warmth. But then she stiffened. She heard voices coming from what had once been her favorite bathing spot.

  “It’s much too cold! No, Eru, don’t push me in!”

  Splashing, rustling, giggling . . . Jane made her way through the ferns and raupo reeds as inconspicuously as she could. Here, a stream joined the Waimakariri, forming a little waterfall, and the water flowed into a natural pool. Jane could stand up in the water there, which was important, as she’d never learned to swim. But that wasn’t a problem for the two young people. Mara Jensch glided through the water like a slender fish, followed by Eru’s powerful form. He looked more like a whale, but he moved just as sinuously as she did. Jane stopped bothering to conceal herself. The young people were relaxed, totally unworried about being discovered.

  Jane looked on in disbelief as her son pulled the girl close and kissed her. As they kissed, they kept slipping into the water, diving down and resurfacing, shrieking and giggling all the while. They baited and chased each other—and they were totally naked.

  “Let me out, Eru! I’m freezing!”

  Mara tried to get past her beau to the riverbank, but Eru caught her again and put his mouth on hers. Jane could see the goose bumps on their young bodies. The water must still be ice cold at this time of year. If the two of them were swimming anyway, it must be to wash off the telltale scent of love so it wouldn’t give them away.

  Jane stepped out from the shade of the trees. “Let her out of the water immediately, Eric. And you come out now, too, and get dressed. We have some things to discuss. With your parents too, Mara. This is over!”

  “Calm down, Jane. We can’t just send her away. And certainly not immediately!”

  Cat was trying to be diplomatic, but it seemed no one would be able to appease Jane that evening. She had burst into a cheerful gathering around Ida’s big kitchen table half an hour before. Cat, Chris, Karl, and Ida, as well as Carol and Linda and Joseph Redwood, who had stopped by on his way from Christchurch, were all there. He’d hoped to reach Redwood Station that evening, but he was traveling with a herd of twenty sheep that he’d bought from the Deanses in Lyttelton, and the creatures had slowed him down. Now they were grazing on the hill above the stone house, guarded by the Redwoods’ clever collies and the enthusiastic Fancy, while Joseph exchanged news with his neighbors. One look at Jane’s face was enough to tell them that something was wrong. And she was dragging Mara behind her like a prisoner.

  The girl looked distressed and angry. She had certainly been crying, but now seemed determined to defy Jane. Mara gazed at the others grimly as Eru’s furious mother listed her offenses.

  “I demand that she be sent away! I don’t want her anywhere near Eric. I—”

  “Then send your son away,” Joseph Redwood said.

  He was obviously amused by the situation, while Karl and Ida looked paralyzed with fear.

  “It’s usually boys who start such things,” Joseph continued.

  Jane glared at him, but it was Mara who answered.

  “Neither of us started it!” she declared proudly. “It just happened. Eru thinks the spirits—I mean, we believe it was fate! We are destined for each other, and we will marry.”

  Cat rolled her eyes. “Can we leave the spirits out of it, please?”

  “You’re too young,” Ida said quietly, and cast Karl a helpless glance.

  It would have been hypocritical to brush off Mara’s devotion as childish nonsense. Ida herself had always known that she loved Karl Jensch, and Karl had gone so far as to follow Ida to the other end of the world. She had no idea whether that had anything to do with God or the spirits. She also wasn’t sure if Mara and Eru felt the same way. But she couldn’t tell them not to care for each other.

  Jane turned to Joseph Redwood, her eyes cold. “I also intend to send the boy away. There’s a missionary school in Christchurch that accepts Maori boys and prepares them for college, provided they’re good students. That wouldn’t be my first choice, but my husband refuses to send him to England, and the private school in Wellington that I wanted to send him to doesn’t start until autumn. The missionaries would take him right away. They don’t send their students home for vacation because they don’t want them to revert to their roots. They work on the fields in the summer. Eric can do that too; it will be good for him.”

  “But he’s a warrior!” Cat cried. Only she, who had grown up with the Maori, could fully understand how Jane’s decision would affect Eru and his father. “What does the chieftain have to say about this?”

  Jane’s gaze became even colder. “Te Haitara has agreed that Eric will have to comply with my wishes. My husband doesn’t want him to be bound to an unsuitable girl either, especially not at his age.”

  Ida’s eyes flashed angrily. “I’d like to know why you think my daughter is unsuitable.”

  Jane snorted. “Because she’s only fifteen, Ida, and she’s already not a virgin. That says everything! Eric is a chieftain’s son—”

  Cat took a deep breath. “Jane, you won’t find a fifteen-year-old in your entire village who is still a virgin. And no one thinks that’s bad, including Te Haitara. Maori girls have experiences just as early as Maori boys.”

  Jane’s voice rose. “That isn’t true for chieftains’ children. I heard that chieftains’ daughters are kept like—goddesses—”

  “Yes,” Cat said in agreement. “But that’s only in certain warlike tribes on the North Island. Of course, a girl like that would never be wed to the son of a chieftain from an insignificant little Ngai Tahu iwi. Honestly, I don’t know if those girls ever get married. They—”

  “You wouldn’t want that for your son, anyway,” Chris interjected. “Te Haitara was only able to marry you because he’s not so strongly bound by tradition. Believe me, you would not appreciate the customs of the North Island tribes.”

  “We’re still too young to marry anyway!” Mara said, her voice ringing clearly through the room. “We’ll wait for a while. But Eru certainly isn’t going to marry anyone else, and neither will I!”

  “The idea of waiting separately isn’t so bad,” Karl remarked. “Perhaps you’re really destined for each other. I’m the last person who can deny that things like that can happen. But until you know for sure, you shouldn’t be together, at least not in the way you were today. You—were together, weren’t you?”

  Mara nodded hesitantly and lowered her eyes. “We didn’t actually mean to,” she murmured.

  “However it happened,” Jane snapped, “it’s not going to happen again. I repeat: send the girl away! Better today than tomorrow.”

  “We’ll take her with us to the North Island,” Ida said. “Don’t try to fight me on this, Mara—you’re coming with us to Russell. But we can’t leave right away; there are too many things we have to sort out here. You’ll have to be patient, Jane. And I can’t promise that I’ll lock Mara in the house either.”

  “Well, you can’t just—” Jane’s voice rose to begin a new tirade, but she went silent when Joseph Redw
ood held up his hand.

  “Peace!” he said with a smile. “And a suggestion for the good of all: What if Mara came to visit us for a few weeks? Laura would be more than grateful for a little help around the house, especially since the sheep are being herded to the highlands soon and she’ll be alone with the children. You could help her take care of the baby. Then you’ll get some practice, since you’re planning to be married.” He winked at Mara. “Maybe you’ll even decide you don’t want to do that anymore. When a baby cries all night, you don’t feel like doing anything.” He grinned. “That should calm troubled waters a little.”

  Ida turned to her daughter. “That sounds like a good idea to me.” Ida would have trusted Laura Redwood with her life. She couldn’t think of a better influence on her daughter. “What do you think, Mara?”

  Mara shrugged. For the space of a few heartbeats, she seemed to be resigned to her fate. But then she straightened her shoulders and looked Jane directly in the eyes.

  “Great,” she said defiantly. “I love babies!”

  Chapter 11

  Jakob Lange would have preferred his son to spend the last few weeks before his departure working on the farm in Hahndorf, plowing, planting, shearing sheep, and helping with the calving. Franz felt guilty about leaving, but he wouldn’t have stayed even if Anna hadn’t slipped a piece of paper into his hand with Ida’s address on it.

  “Here. Perhaps you’ll have an opportunity to visit her. I know your father is angry at your older sister for some reason. But she’s still your sister.”

  Franz knew that Rata Station couldn’t possibly be anywhere near Opotiki. His posting was on the North Island, and Ida and her husband lived on the South Island. And anyway, he was still angry at Ida. She had been almost like a mother to him. How could she have left? Rationally, Franz knew Ida hadn’t had a choice. She’d had to obey her husband, and Ottfried Brandmann had refused to emigrate to Australia. Neither Ottfried’s father nor Jakob Lange had approved of his decision, especially since Ottfried hadn’t planned to settle in a God-fearing community. He wanted to take Ida to an undeveloped area to buy and sell land. And Jakob Lange certainly never would have agreed if they had offered to take Franz with them. Perhaps Ida had even suggested it.

  Franz hoped and believed that Ida still loved him. Now, God and the kind archdeacon had led him back to the country where she lived. So why shouldn’t he use the remaining three weeks before his posting began to visit Rata Station? If he could only get there.

  Franz’s sea voyage, which had been paid for by the mission, took him only as far as Wellington, and he didn’t have the money for an additional journey. But then luck seemed to be on his side. There turned out to be a ship going from Wellington to Lyttelton, which he’d heard was the closest harbor to the Canterbury Plains. The captain was willing to take the young missionary with him if he could make himself useful, which Franz diligently attempted to do. He scrubbed the deck, helped hoist the sails, and tried all kinds of other work, but his efforts were constantly stymied by seasickness. It had plagued him on the voyage from Australia to New Zealand, and the waters of the Cook Strait were notoriously rough. Soon the sailors were joking that all he had to offer were prayers. Franz was embarrassed, and felt as though he wasn’t earning his passage. Fortunately, the captain was patient, and the young missionary tried to compensate by helping as much as he could with unloading the ship at Lyttelton. Afterward, he was extremely glad to finally be on his way. He had been warned that the footpath that led from the harbor town and over the mountain to Christchurch was difficult, but there wasn’t an easier alternative. Under no circumstances did Franz want to spend money for a place to sleep in Lyttelton if he could stay for free at the missionary school in Christchurch. He also didn’t want to spend it on a mule ride or a boat trip to Christchurch. So, he decided to take the Bridle Path, so named because it was so difficult and dangerous that one had to lead horses and mules by the bridle to keep them from falling into canyons and over ledges.

  It was still morning when Franz set out. His ship had docked at dawn, and the unloading had been completed in four hours. If the hike took five hours, he’d arrive in Christchurch in time for the evening service, and perhaps even in the afternoon. However, the first few hours of the walk seemed to take forever. Franz wondered dejectedly if God had decided not to bless his decision to visit his sister after all. The steep, narrow path went unrelentingly upward. Franz, already tired from the heavy unloading, had to stop every few steps to catch his breath. The landscape was barren and gray, and the path was lined with craggy rocks. It had been washed out in many places by rain, and was partly blocked by fallen stone that he had to scramble over. He struggled not to stumble on the slippery path, and fought back nausea all over again when it was necessary to creep along the rim of a crater. If he fell there, he wouldn’t survive.

  Now the sun was high in the sky. Franz was sweating in his formal black suit with the high collar. He said a prayer and asked God for help but got no answer. He worried for Ida, living in such an oppressive place. But then he reminded himself that the Canterbury Plains were known as a sheep-breeding area. That meant it couldn’t be a volcanic landscape like this. Franz thought back to his family’s time on the South Island, remembering green fields and meadows. Sankt Pauli Village, founded by the immigrants from Raben Steinfeld, had been beautiful—at least when the river wasn’t overflowing its banks. Franz’s father was still angry about how the settlers had been sold land in a floodplain, how they’d been swindled out of their dream.

  Franz wiped the sweat off his forehead and walked on determinedly. He just had to get over the pass, and everything would be fine.

  And then, after two more endless hours, he finally reached a plateau that was marked by a small sign as the highest point of the pass. There was a little hut there, and as Franz swayed toward it, an old man stepped outside.

  “Oh, look! A customer!” He smiled broadly, showing his few remaining teeth. “I was just about to walk down to Christchurch. The regatta is going to start soon. But since you’re here, can I get you a ginger beer and a sandwich?”

  “Just some water, please,” Franz replied.

  The man raised his eyebrows. “Not the best business of the year,” he grumbled, but brought a cup and pitcher and poured some fresh, cold water. Franz thought he’d never tasted anything so good.

  “You run, um, an inn here?” he asked as he put the glass down, and the man refilled it. “Is it worth your while?”

  The man grinned. “Well, the pub definitely isn’t. I can hardly imagine that anyone would come up here just to drink a few beers. But most people who walk over the pass treat themselves to a tankard of ginger beer or a sandwich, and thank the Lord for it. So, God doesn’t have anything against what I’m doing here, Reverend. Even if the beer has a little alcohol in it.” He laughed.

  “But I’m the only one crossing over the pass today,” Franz said. “You surely can’t make enough to live from.”

  “No, I can’t live from serving you two cups of water out of charity,” the innkeeper confirmed. “That’s why I don’t usually even open the place on Sundays, but walk down to Christchurch myself—to a proper pub! There’s more traffic here on weekdays. And once or twice a month, a ship arrives with settlers from England, and then I really do good business. They’re usually all dried out by their long voyages.”

  “So, it’s worth it?” Franz asked again. “I don’t mean your business; I mean the long voyages. Is it worth it for the settlers to come here?”

  The innkeeper nodded. “I think so. It’s a beautiful country. Look around!”

  The old man gestured to the other side of the plateau. From this peak, hundreds of settlers got a look at their new home every year. Tired though he was, Franz walked around the hut to admire the view. He gazed down at a sunlit landscape, enchanted. He saw wide plains, sometimes relieved by copses of trees or large boulders. The grasslands stretched all the way to the mountains, which seemed close even thou
gh they were surely miles away. A river wound its way through the green plains. Franz had vague memories of the Moutere River where Sankt Pauli Village had been. But this river wasn’t bordered by farmland. Instead, it flowed through a growing city. He could see church steeples, town squares, colorfully painted wooden houses, and a huge building made of sandstone that was still under construction. He remembered that he’d heard a cathedral was planned.

  “That’s Christchurch, right?” he asked.

  The innkeeper nodded proudly.

  “Is that where you’re headed, Reverend? To the Maori school? It’s a little ways out of town. The settlers don’t want savages so close to them, even if they’ve been tamed by missionaries.”

  Franz shook his head. “I’m going to serve at a mission on the North Island,” he explained. “I’m just visiting here. I mean, I want to visit my sister.”

  The man nodded kindly. “Where does she live, then? Right in town? Perhaps I know her. I know almost everyone in Christchurch.” He grinned. “After all, they all had to come through this way.”

  Franz silently handed him the paper with the address. The innkeeper studied it for a moment.

  “Oh, you have quite a journey ahead of you,” he informed Franz. “Rata Station is one of the farms on the Waimakariri River. The estuary is north of Christchurch. If you’re walking, it will take you a few days. It would be better to find a boatman who’s going upriver and will take you with him. But today they aren’t paddling for money, just for fun. It’s a regatta, like they have in England.” The man took Franz’s empty cup and began to close up the hut. “I’ll walk down with you, Reverend. Probably half of Lyttelton is already in Christchurch today, whether they’re taking part in the race or just want to watch. The first regatta was two years ago in Lyttelton Harbor, y’know. Now they prefer to paddle on the Avon—the gentlemen think it has more style. Like in England. Are you from England, Reverend?”