by Sarah Lark
Once Ida’s funds had arrived and Linda retrieved her necklace, the girls rode north quickly and mostly in silence. Neither Carol nor Linda had eyes for the beauty of the landscape. The green hills of Otago, the plains surrounding the mouth of the Waitaki where Captain Cook had originally landed, the beaches and caves around Timaru . . . for Carol and Linda, everything was covered with a gray veil. All they wanted was to return to Rata Station as quickly as possible.
After a difficult three-week journey, the sisters finally arrived home. But they had no time to give themselves up to grief. Summer on sheep farms was quiet, but after more than two months without proper management, Rata Station had several problems that needed to be solved. Most urgently, Carol had to stand up to the head shepherd, Patrick Colderell, who’d decided to rearrange the business to his own liking after he’d received the news that Cat and Chris were missing. Carol quickly dismissed the man, in spite of his strident objections. Of course, that caused even more trouble. He argued that no one was allowed to fire him but Chris Fenroy, and what was more, he was indispensable to the farm.
“No one here is indispensable, Mr. Colderell,” Carol told him. She had become tougher and less eager to please over the last several weeks. “As you know, we have to get by without Chris and Cat for a while. If you would still like to work at Rata Station, no one is going to stop you. However, no one will take orders from you, and I’m not going to pay you. So, it would be in your best interest to seek other employment.”
In the end, two other shepherds quit in solidarity. The rest, who had all worked there for many years, remained.
It was Linda’s job to deal with Jane. That, too, was unpleasant. When the sisters returned to the farm, they immediately discovered Jane’s sheep grazing on the lawn. Te Haitara apologized profusely. Colderell and his men hadn’t driven the creatures away, so Jane had continued to use the pasture.
“It didn’t occur to you to question Mr. Colderell’s neglect of his duty?” Linda scolded. “I’m disappointed, ariki. Chris would have wished for more loyal friends and neighbors.”
Te Haitara made amends by sending over three of his best shepherds as replacements for the ones who had quit—despite knowing it would prompt a tantrum from his wife. The three Maori shepherds were delighted to escape Jane’s iron discipline for a while, and they were unbothered by taking orders from Carol and Linda. For the Maori, female tribal elders, tohungas, and sometimes even chieftains were not an unusual sight. Only Rata Station’s white neighbors were shocked that Linda and Carol had taken over its management.
“Of course, someone has to make the decisions,” Deborah Butler said mincingly. She had actually lowered herself to visiting Rata Station, and was taking up Carol and Linda’s precious time by drinking large amounts of tea. She justified her presence as a kind of condolence visit, but it was clear her true motive was to find out what her future daughter-in-law was up to. “I completely understand that you and your sister must take over these cumbersome tasks for now. But, my dear Carol, I’ve heard that you aren’t behaving in a very ladylike manner. And sorry as I am, I now see that it’s true! Just the way you’re dressed, child . . .”
She glanced at Carol’s old riding habit disapprovingly. Lady Butler had arrived on Georgie’s boat, unannounced, and the sisters hadn’t had time to prepare for her visit. However, Carol wouldn’t have made any great effort, anyway. She and Linda no longer cared very much about anything that didn’t have an immediate effect on the farm’s business. The work took all their strength and concentration. They had no time to think or allow themselves grief, let alone to curl their hair or choose outfits more “appropriate to the situation,” as Deborah had remarked in annoyance. It was her opinion that the sisters should be dressed for mourning.
But Linda was strictly against it. “Cat and Chris are alive!” she informed Carol’s future mother-in-law. Usually, Linda wanted harmony. She’d always hated disagreements. But now, her gentle voice had turned tart. “We have no proof that they’re dead, and so there will be no mourning. And now I must go, Mrs. Butler. I have a sheep drive to organize. I’m going to check the covered wagon, Carol. I think it needs some repairs. You’ll entertain Mrs. Butler, of course.” She gave Deborah a disapproving look.
Carol watched her sister go, her eyes shining with respect. Linda was getting more assertive every day, in anticipation of running Rata Station alone in the not-so-distant future. After all, Carol hadn’t given up her plans for marriage. The first sight of Oliver had been enough to make her forget Bill. Of course, she’d never been in love with the young lieutenant, but his restrained and persistent courtship, his tireless dedication to their cause, and his kindness had made an impression on her. She had thought he might actually have a chance. When they had said their goodbyes, Carol had even allowed him to kiss her on the cheek, and of course he was permitted to write letters.
But when Oliver kissed her again for the first time, the image of Bill faded completely, and Carol’s deep feelings for her fiancé were the only thing that pulled her from an otherwise dismal mood. Oliver kissed and caressed her with all the old passion. But her hope that he could help on the farm was in vain. Deborah forbade him to spend the night at a farm that was managed by two unmarried women without guidance from legal guardians.
“I’m my own guardian,” Carol told Oliver bitterly. “You can tell your mother that my good reputation is just as important to me as it is to her. You could spend the night in the shepherd’s quarters, or in the Maori village. You wouldn’t be alone. There would be plenty of witnesses to say that you don’t sneak into my room at night.”
Oliver made a face that said how much he’d rather spend the night in her room than work for her during the day. Carol ignored it, and tried not to show her disappointment when he argued.
“I can’t help you, Carol; you have to see that. How would it look if I slept in servants’ quarters? Besides, this isn’t my farm. The shepherds would refuse to follow my orders.”
“I’m the one who gives the orders,” Carol said.
Oliver gave her an indignant look. “You think that I, your future husband, should obey you? Impossible, Carol. I’d be the laughingstock of the Canterbury Plains. No one would take me seriously anymore, not even on my own farm.”
“No one takes him seriously anyway,” Linda remarked later.
Before the ship sank, her criticism of Carol’s fiancé and his family had been very circumspect. Now her tone was sharper. As opposed to the Deanses and the Redwoods, who had kindly offered their help and tactful sympathy for the sisters’ loss, all that came from the Butlers was nagging. Captain Butler had even complained that his ram hadn’t been returned yet, though Carol and Linda were under the impression that Cat had paid for the creature, not just borrowed it to serve her sheep.
Infuriated by Oliver’s unpleasant talk with Carol, Linda had given him the animal to take home. It would surely take him hours, and the ram would probably escape before he’d crossed the Redwoods’ land. In the eyes of sheep breeders, that was far more demeaning than a few nights in the shepherds’ quarters would have been.
Chapter 22
Linda and Carol had often helped their parents drive the sheep back from the highlands in autumn. Linda, Cat, and Ida cooked for the shepherds and kept track of the animals that had already been collected, while Carol, Chris, and Karl set about finding the herds that had wandered farther away. Now, the girls had to lead the expedition on their own. Fortunately, Jane and Te Haitara had sent more help from the Maori village. Traditionally, Rata Station and Maori Station organized the drive together and only separated their flocks once they’d reached the valley. The sisters were grateful when several women arrived. Linda and Carol couldn’t figure out if Jane had showed some sensitivity for once, or if Te Haitara had applied his knowledge of pakeha customs. They were just relieved not to be the only women involved in the undertaking.
At night, Carol and Linda shared a covered wagon with two Maori girls, while two m
arried couples set up their tents nearby. Not even Deborah Butler would be able to insinuate that anything improper was going on. Besides, the sisters were far too tired each night to do anything but sleep. The herding of the sheep and the search for strays in less accessible parts of the mountains were difficult and often dangerous tasks.
But the drive was also a special time. They rode through craggy, enchanted-looking landscapes. They discovered hidden valleys, fairy-tale lakes that reflected snow-covered peaks, and streams as clear as glass that were full of fish. Linda, Carol, and Mara had always enjoyed the journey. Cat had shown them sacred Maori sites, often ones that were dedicated exclusively to women. She had told them the stories that her foster mother, Te Ronga, had told her, and had taught them to sing karakia and how to sense the presence of spirits. Linda would never forget how her skin had prickled when Mara’s ethereally beautiful voice echoed off the rocks. In the evenings by the fire, Cat had told them the legends of the mountains. For the Maori, every peak had a personality, and had a friendly or adverse relationship to the other mountains and their gods or spirits. The Scottish and Irish shepherds had often told stories and sung songs from their own homes. On clear nights, the sisters had stayed up late and tried to name all the constellations that shone incomparably bright in the dome of the sky.
But this year, the memories only made Carol and Linda feel bitter. With Mara still at the Redwoods’ farm, Ida and Karl on the North Island, and Cat and Chris missing, the sisters felt deeply alone. Each night, they retired to their wagon early, while the shepherds were still passing whiskey around the fire. Sometimes they slept nestled tightly together, the way they had as children.
During the day, though, they let none of their insecurities show. Linda, the future head of Rata Station, gave the orders. Carol demonstratively followed her lead, even when she had a different opinion. And so, the men came to accept the young woman as their leader. They saw how hard Linda was working, and how smoothly everything functioned with her guidance.
Linda and Carol were very satisfied when they returned to the farm after ten days in the mountains. The sheep had survived the summer well. The ewes and lambs were well nourished, and their fleeces looked excellent. They’d hardly lost any animals.
But the sisters couldn’t relax. The creatures still had to be sorted, divided into separate herds, and then pastured and fed for the entire winter. If Carol and Linda used their fields cleverly, they could keep hay consumption to a minimum. The flocks needed to be driven between various pastures, and in rainy weather, they were kept near the house to prevent them from turning the pastures into seas of mud. There was plenty of work for the shepherds and sheepdogs. Carol was busy with Fancy most days, and was also training the first of her ten puppies sired by one of the Redwoods’ dogs. The adorable black-and-white balls of fluff had herding in their blood. As soon as they could walk, they ran barking toward the sheep. Linda, who had taken care of them in the first few weeks, constantly had to keep them from getting under the hooves of an irritated ram.
In June, Ida and Karl finally managed to visit Rata Station. They were impressed by how the farm was flourishing. Linda cried in Ida’s arms, but continued to insist that Cat and Chris were alive. Karl told them about worrying developments between the Maori and pakeha on the North Island. The Hauhau movement was gaining momentum, and as much as Te Ua Haumene also preached peace and love, there were occasional riots.
“They’ve developed a special ritual,” Karl said. “We got the first taste of it back then with the Ngati Hine, but now they’ve gotten even wilder. They set up a pole that they call a niu and dance around it for hours, chanting nonsense and conjuring the Holy Ghost. They think the trance will make them invulnerable, so then they fight like berserkers. Of course, bullets can still hit them, if the English can get off a shot. But that’s not always the case. The Hauhau prefer to attack isolated farms, plunder the houses, and kill the residents. They practically butcher them. Your friend was right about that.”
Carol and Linda had told them about Bill Paxton and his work recruiting for the Taranaki Military Settlers. The girls were worried about the young lieutenant. In his last letter, Bill had said he might soon be reassigned to the North Island.
“He was talking about war,” Carol said apprehensively.
Karl shrugged. “Soon you’ll be able to call it that.”
Karl and Ida visited the Butlers and set a new wedding date for Carol and Oliver. Oliver wanted to marry right way, but Carol insisted on waiting until after the shearing and the spring drive to the highlands.
“It’s much nicer in summer,” she said when Oliver began to protest.
It seemed he couldn’t bear waiting another half year or longer. But his parents agreed with Carol.
“Perhaps by then Rata Station will be sorted out,” Captain Butler said.
“What do you mean, sorted out?” Linda asked in annoyance.
Butler shrugged. “Well, once it’s been a full year since Christopher Fenroy and Catherine Rata disappeared, they can be declared dead.”
“They aren’t dead!” Linda cried.
Deborah Butler pursed her lips in disapproval. “Child, even if you don’t want to admit it—”
“It has nothing to do with admitting it,” Linda said. “I know that they’re alive. There’s no reason to declare anything.”
“Well, we are of different opinions about that,” Butler said. “There are inheritance matters to settle.”
“Carol will get her dowry, as planned,” Karl assured him, his voice hard. “You don’t have to worry about that. As for everything else—” He broke off in anger. Everything else about Rata Station was none of the Butlers’ business.
“I can’t stand that woman!” Ida exclaimed on the way back. “And the captain is circling the farm like a vulture. He’s probably planning to sue Linda in your name, Carol. Do you really want to marry his son?”
Carol nodded. “I love Oliver, Mamida! And like I said, I’m marrying him, not his parents. Oliver would never sue Linda. And certainly not in my name!”
“We’ll have to work out an appropriate marriage contract,” Karl said. “Don’t be mad at me, Linda; I also don’t want to believe that Chris and Cat are dead. But Butler isn’t wrong. The legal situation is unclear, and that could cause trouble.”
Karl and Ida said their reluctant goodbyes, and the winter passed without any incident. Linda and Carol worked hard. Above all, Linda did everything she could to consolidate herself as manager of the farm. She preferred working in the house and barn to herding sheep or training horses and sheepdogs. Now she was trying to be everywhere at once. She was training one of Fancy’s puppies so she would have the perfect sheepdog by her side. She was out in all weather with the pup, whom she’d named Amy. When spring finally arrived, the young woman had reached the end of her strength, but an excited Maori boy came by to announce the approach of the shearers.
Linda groaned. “I can hardly even think about cooking and baking for the shearers for days on end to keep them in a good mood, let alone having to be in the shearing shed as much as possible too.” She shook her head. “It’s sure to be a record year. The fleeces look fantastic. I only wish we already had the shearing over with.”
“Things will be calmer again in summer,” Carol said comfortingly.
What she didn’t say was that they also would have to survive the anniversary of Chris and Cat’s disappearance. Not to mention her wedding in March. The date had been set. Then Linda would be alone with the farm.
But there was no time for lamenting. They heard hoofbeats and cheerful shouts. Men swung down from their horses, and covered wagons rolled up. The shearer brigade—twelve strong young men, self-assured and proud to be able to free hundreds of sheep of their wool in one day—had arrived.
Carol and Linda stepped outside to welcome them. The men complimented both their beauty and their skill with Fancy and her promising puppies. Linda was pouring whiskey and attempting to smile when she su
ddenly saw a familiar face. At first, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. The confident grin, the smile lines around the wide mouth, the snow-white teeth, and the dark curls . . . they could all belong to someone else. But the unsettlingly bright blue eyes were unmistakably Joe Fitzpatrick’s.
“Fitz?” Linda asked, startled into informality.
Fitz grinned at her. “Miss Linda! I hope the surprise is a pleasant one. Or are you angry that I disappeared so suddenly?”
He immediately sought eye contact, but Linda didn’t think it right to sink into his gaze. “No. Of course not, Mr. Fitzpatrick. It wasn’t your fault.”
Fitz shrugged, and then grinned again. “Some people have different opinions about that. The snobs at the rowing club thought I shouldn’t have used a club boat to take the most beautiful girl in the world on a little excursion.”
Linda blushed. “Oh no! Then it was my fault—”
“Nonsense!” Fitz waved off her concern. “I wasn’t happy there anyway. Those arrogant people had no appreciation for my efforts. I wanted to train their oarsmen, not paint their boats. I didn’t care about that job. I only stayed a little longer because of you, Miss Linda, hoping you’d come by again. The following week perhaps, with the excuse of bringing your Bible-thumping uncle to his ship.”
Linda blushed more deeply. Back then, she’d had the feeling he could read her mind, and now she was sure of it.
“What makes you say that?” she murmured, but his triumphant expression made her blush. “It’s true, I was with my mother in Christchurch. But I—”
Fitz’s grin gave way to a warm smile. “Let’s not talk about that, Miss Linda. It’s all in the past. Yesterday’s news, one could say. Let’s talk about now.”
