Fires of Change (The Fire Blossom Saga)

by Sarah Lark

  In spite of the darkness, the well-traveled road to the Waimakariri was easy to follow. Mara quickly put the first few miles behind her. The river crossing was more difficult. She didn’t find the ford immediately and got wet when her steed unexpectedly sank up to the edge of the saddle. Then she noticed a rowboat that was tied to a pier, and backtracked. Without a moment’s thought, Mara took the boat and let the horses swim next to her. She tied it up on the other side, intending to be back with the reverend before the ferryman appeared to start his work.

  On the north side of the Waimakariri, the path was considerably narrower. Mara had thought she’d be passing a few farms here, but apparently the missionary school was really quite far from any pakeha settlement. Now the girl was happy that she was on horseback and hadn’t brought a wagon. There must be a track that was obvious during the day because the school had to get supplies from Christchurch somehow. But now in the darkness, it was almost impossible to see anything. The path wound through dark thickets of raupo and southern beech woods. Every now and then, Mara recognized the silhouettes of nikau palms or ironwood trees, which were related to the “fire blossoms” that grew all over Rata Station.

  Mara felt almost sorry for the reverend, who’d had to hike through this dismal area alone the day before. He had almost certainly not been offered a ride as he had been hoping.

  But then, finally, a building came into view. The sign read “Tuahiwi Missionary School.”

  In front stood a large double gate of solid wood, and of course it was closed. A gigantic bell hung next to it, but Mara decided to ride around the high fence instead. There would surely be other, less well-protected entry points. Aside from its height, the woven fence looked like the kind that would surround a marae. If Maori workers had built it, the missionaries seemed to have requested something more appropriate to enclose a pa, a fort, than a village or a school. The fence was solidly made and almost impossible to see through. Pointed, sharpened stalks at the top discouraged climbing. Mara was shocked. Where had Eru been sent? This wasn’t a school; it was a prison!

  Peering through as best she could, she thought she could make out some kind of sleeping house, and pulled the koauau out of her pocket. But no matter how many secret calls she played, nothing stirred inside the compound. Disappointed, Mara continued along the fence. That, too, proved unsuccessful. At least she knew now how huge the school grounds were. It took her quite a while to ride around them, even though she was moving quickly. Outside, the school was surrounded by fields and orchards. These were probably cared for by the students, an idea that made Mara feel a little better. Eru must at least be let out sometimes under supervision, which meant escape was possible.

  Now dawn was beginning to break, and she could hear voices, orders, and whispers. Finally, she heard a kind of church bell ringing, which must be the call to morning prayer. There would probably be breakfast soon after that.

  Mara had reached the main gate again, and felt a twist of hunger alongside a little burst of nerves as she pulled the bell rope.

  She waited with a pounding heart until she thought she heard a bolt being moved from inside. But the heavy gate didn’t open. Instead, a small shutter was folded back, and a man in a priest’s cassock peered out from between bars, looking irritated.

  “What do you want at this hour?”

  Mara put on her friendliest face. “Good morning,” she said politely, and hoped the man didn’t expect to hear something like “God’s greetings.” “I’m sorry to bother you so early. My name is Margaret Jensch, and I’m here to pick up my uncle, Reverend Fritz Lange.”

  A few moments later, Mara was sitting in a surprisingly large room, which had space not only for the missionaries and their staff but approximately fifty students as well. The church was a longhouse, similar to the Maori meetinghouses. And like a wharenui, it was decorated with carvings. Of course, no tikis guarded the entry, and Bible scenes replaced the traditional fernlike designs. A missionary was giving a sermon at a simple altar in front of a wooden cross.

  Mara sat down in one of the first pews, next to her uncle. She couldn’t see Eru but thought she could sense his surprised and confused gaze on her back. He must be far in the back with the oldest students. The younger ones were sitting up front.

  Mara had only gotten a fleeting look at the children, and had quickly determined that they were exclusively mixed children of Maori and pakeha. Their school uniforms looked to her like prison clothes. The boys wore wide linen trousers and shirts, and the girls wore unornamented linen blouses and skirts. The boys’ hair was chopped short as matchsticks, and the girls’ was tightly braided. Aside from two or three students who were being strictly reprimanded by the missionaries, the children were perfectly behaved.

  The silence before the first prayer was eerie in comparison to the usual noisy, happy chaos of normal tribal children. Maori children grew up free. They were loved by the entire tribe, and never beaten or scolded. When Mara tried to imagine what must have been done to the six- and seven-year-olds to make them sit in the pews quietly with their heads lowered and dispassionately sing hymns, she felt sick to her stomach. Mara herself didn’t even know half of the prayers that were said in the next hour, but she did know most of the songs. Miss Foggerty had insisted that, if she was to teach in a Maori village, she wanted to bring the children closer to Jesus. Te Haitara had agreed, and Jane didn’t care as long as the usual lessons didn’t suffer for it. Chris Fenroy had joked that he didn’t care if she taught the children to multiply the twelve apostles by the seven plagues, as long as they were taught math.

  Miss Foggerty had quickly realized that the children weren’t particularly interested in Bible stories, but they did like the hymns. Therefore, there had been plenty of singing in her Sunday school classes, and Mara made use of that now. Her unusually beautiful voice rang out effortlessly over the subdued, listless voices of the students. At the end, she was singing “Amazing Grace” as a solo, the others having reverted to awestruck silence. She put all her longing for Eru into the song, winning the hearts of the missionaries and their devout Maori staff. When it was over, the cook wept, and the gardener reverently labeled the girl a tohunga. Mara politely declined the honorific.

  To Mara’s astonishment, the only person not pleased with her singing was Franz Lange. “God gave you a beautiful voice, Margaret,” he said sourly, “but every talent conceals the risk of falling prey to the sins of pride and arrogance.”

  Before Mara could reply, the headmaster invited her to breakfast. Mara and her uncle were to take their morning meal in the missionaries’ private dining room, not with the students. Mara was pleased. They would probably be served better food, and what was more, it would give her the chance to slip out and look for Eru.

  As soon as she’d devoured two slices of buttered toast with cheese and English marmalade, Mara excused herself and left the mission house. She had seen where the children had gone after the morning service—the compound was made up of various buildings with specific purposes, again very much like a Maori village. She could hear the clanking of dishes from the long, low wooden dining hall, and would have expected to hear chitchat and laughter as well. After all, fifty children and teenagers were eating there. But apparently the decree of silence extended to meals. It made Mara feel sorry for the children, but it was also to her advantage. In the shadow of a southern beech, she took out her flute.

  Eru appeared quickly. He must have been waiting for her and had an excuse ready. Now he silently put a finger to his lips and gestured for her to follow. They sought cover behind houses, bushes, and trees, until Eru led the girl to a shed and closed the door behind them with a sigh of relief. The room was full of rakes, spades, and other gardening tools.

  “We can be alone here for a moment,” he whispered, “but not very long, unfortunately. Right after breakfast they send the children to the fields, and before that they have to pass out the tools.”

  “I thought this was a school!” Mara said, sh
ocked.

  Eru snorted. “We get a ‘day off’ for the planting. And it’s not so long until the summer vacation begins. Didn’t you tell me about the wonderful three months before we start school in Wellington?”

  Mara shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea,” she said.

  Eru nodded. “We should have been more careful. But let’s not talk about this place, or our shattered plans. How did you get here? I thought I was dreaming when I saw you next to the old ravens.”

  Mara laughed. It was a good name for the dark-robed, serious-faced leaders of the Church Missionary Society.

  “I wanted to see you,” she said. “And I thought maybe you’d kiss me again.”

  Eru’s tense face became softer. “Of course,” he said softly, and pulled her close.

  Mara tilted her face toward him, and gave herself up to joyful abandonment as she finally felt her beau’s body against hers again. His tongue in her mouth, his rough skin on her cheek, his warmth as she nestled against him . . . Only his smell was different. The mission students washed with curd soap, nothing like Jane’s lavender. He didn’t have the earthy sweat smell of a warrior anymore either.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Eru whispered. “Marama, however did you manage to get here?”

  “Can anyone stop the moon from shining on you? Can anyone stop the stars from lighting the path that leads to you?” she asked in Maori. “You’re beautiful too, Eru. I had to see you again.”

  Eru kissed her again. “You’re a poet,” he whispered. “And it’s good to hear my language again. It’s strictly forbidden to speak it here, you know.”

  Mara’s jaw dropped. “So that’s why the children are so quiet! They probably can’t all speak English yet.”

  Eru nodded. “That’s true for a few of the younger ones,” he said. “But the older ones—we talk, but only when the ravens aren’t listening. We speak English, mostly. The students who have been here a long time have forgotten a lot of their Maori. After all, the missionaries are working hard to turn us all into brown-skinned, black-haired pakeha. As if no one who looked at us would be able to tell the difference!”

  “That’s horrible!” Mara said. “To forget your own language—how are the children supposed to speak to their parents and the rest of their tribe when they go home?”

  Eru snorted. “They don’t. At least, they’re not meant to. That’s why the school is open during holidays. Then the children learn agriculture, gardening, and animal husbandry, as well as kitchen and housework. The way the pakeha do it, of course. Don’t go thinking the kids here dare to sing a karakia when they dig up sweet potatoes. As soon as they’re old enough, they’re given jobs. The settlers in Christchurch are constantly looking for staff. Apparently, they tried importing orphans from England, but it didn’t work out very well. The children arrive here hungry and terrified if they don’t die during the voyage, and they aren’t particularly useful either. This school, on the other hand, produces ten powerful young Maori workers a year, well mannered and God-fearing, and accustomed to hard work. And the mission takes half of their pay as compensation for all the ‘charity’ they’ve shown.” His hands clenched into fists.

  Mara stared at him. “Are these all orphans?” she asked. “They must belong to a tribe.”

  He shook his head. “Only a few are orphans. Most of them come from converted tribes. Their parents have been talked into believing that they should be grateful for being accepted to the school. The tribes have been cheated in land sales and every other kind of deal with the pakeha. They want to avoid that in the future, and they think sending their children to a pakeha-type school is a good way to do it. If they only knew what it’s like, and what’s happening to their children . . .”

  Mara nodded in agreement. The tribal elders would doubtlessly be appalled at how the children were being treated. “When they leave here, they aren’t Maori anymore, but they aren’t pakeha either,” Mara said softly.

  “Exactly,” Eru said bitterly. “They’ll all be turned into compliant slaves if no one does anything about it! But believe me, the Maori won’t put up with this for very long. In Taranaki—”

  “In Taranaki there was a revolt,” she said, furrowing her brow. “But now there’s peace. We were just there. Of course, there’s still some disagreement—”

  “Disagreement?” Eru laughed. “Things are coming to a head, Mara. My people are banding together, even in the missions! There’s a man on the North Island called Te Ua Haumene. At first, he was just a well-behaved sheep like these children, but now he has visions. He foresees the Maori rising up and expelling the invaders from our country! We have to accept our birthright and fight for Aotearoa like the Israelites once fought for their holy land!”

  Mara considered telling her beau about her encounter with the prophet. “Where did you hear all that?” she asked instead. “I mean, the missionaries surely aren’t telling you about revolts on the North Island. And your tribe—”

  “My tribe isn’t interested in politics,” Eru agreed. “My mother only thinks about money, and my father about how to keep his people calm. Bread and games, just like the old Romans.”

  “Bread and games?”

  Mara vaguely remembered her history lessons with Miss Foggerty. She struggled to see the connection between Te Haitara’s attempts to conjure the spirits of money so he could fulfill the wishes of everyone in his tribe and the decadence of the Roman gladiator games.

  “It all comes down to the same thing,” Eru said. “They’re trying to keep the people from thinking too much, and they are starting to forget their traditions. Te Ua Haumene will lead us back to honor.”

  Mara bit her lip. “Eru, you’re scaring me a little. Your people, my people—I always thought Aotearoa belonged to all of us. Who’s telling you all this?”

  “There’s a boy here from the North Island,” Eru explained. “He was at a missionary school there, but then he heard Te Ua Haumene’s words and figured out what was what. He started to preach to the other students, so the old ravens sent him away.”

  “And now he’s preaching here,” Mara said. She marveled at the missionaries’ shortsightedness. How could they have thought that sending the boy to the South Island would silence him? Of course he’d found new followers. After Te Ua Haumene’s speech to the Ngati Hine, Mara hadn’t given the preacher another thought. To her, his words and airs had just seemed crazy. Her father, however, had said the man was quite dangerous.

  Eru himself didn’t seem to want to expound further. Perhaps he was thinking of how Mara would be affected if the pakeha were indeed driven out.

  “You still haven’t told me how you got here,” he said.

  Mara told him briefly about her strange uncle. “That means I have to go soon,” she said unhappily. “They’ll be looking for you as well.”

  Eru sighed. “It was wonderful to see you again,” he said after he’d kissed Mara once more. “I thought I would never—”

  “Never see me again? What do you mean? Eru, are you planning something?”

  Eru nodded uncertainly. “I’m planning to run away. If there’s fighting on the North Island, if we make a stand against the English, then I want to do my part!”

  Mara stared at him, horrified. “Eru, you’re half-pakeha yourself! You—”

  “First and foremost, I am Maori,” Eru said gravely. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be in this awful place! And I will do what I must.”

  “I’ll get you out of here!” Mara said desperately. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’ll manage somehow. You’re getting out of here and you’re coming home. I swear! You just have to promise me that you won’t do anything stupid. Stay here, Eru; don’t go to the North Island! Don’t leave me, Eru!” She reached for his hands.

  Eru took her hand. “I would never leave you,” he said. “But—”

  “No buts, Eru! Promise me that you’ll stay here until your parents bring you home.”

  “They’ll never do that,” he replied.r />
  “Swear it!” Mara wouldn’t be deterred.

  Eru rubbed his brow. Then he conceded. “Ki taurangi,” he murmured. “I swear it. Could we seal that with a kiss?”

  Mara took a deep breath for courage as she finally turned back toward the mission house, while Eru returned to the other students. She hoped the missionaries would believe her flimsy excuse that she’d gone to check on the horses and gotten lost. And above all, she hoped that Eru would keep his promise until she found some way to free him.

  Chapter 15

  “We thank thee, Lord, our Father, for blessing us with food and drink . . .”

  Ida Jensch kept her eyes lowered, mostly just grateful for having survived another dinner with her brother. In a few more days, Franz would finally leave for the North Island. No matter how ashamed it made her, Ida could hardly wait. Of course she’d been overjoyed to see her brother again. She had embraced him, laughing and crying. But when she asked if her father, Anna, and the children were happy in Australia, she was met with a stony silence. Franz first gazed at her uncomprehendingly, and then replied with a sermon. A Christian should be happy anywhere he can hear God’s word and serve him with his hands and prayers, he’d said. Australia’s soil was fertile, and they had filled the earth and subdued it, as the Bible instructed. Decent people shouldn’t expect anything more.

  When Ida despondently told Karl about the conversation, her husband replied sarcastically.