by Sarah Lark
The tohunga was wearing a long, woven skirt, and her upper body was naked. Her drooping breasts hung down over her sharp ribs. The woman looked half-starved. Who knew how long she’d been sitting there, mourning her dead all alone.
“Kia ora, karani,” Linda said in greeting, not quite sure if the title of “grandmother” was appropriate. She had addressed all the older Ngai Tahu women that way. “I hope I’m not disturbing your conversation with the spirits.”
The woman looked up at her. “How could you? You chased our spirits away long ago!”
Linda shook her head. “The soul of this ancient tree was here long before your people’s canoes came to Aotearoa. It will not fear my people.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Until your axes destroy the trunk she lives in. Nothing is sacred to you; you have no gods.”
Linda sat down a little ways from her. “We do,” she said. “We have one God. But our God makes us blind to the gods of others. He is—” She tried to remember the verse. “He is a jealous God.”
The old woman looked at her more closely. “Are you doing this in his name? Do you sing karakia when you burn our villages down?”
“No,” Linda said firmly, suddenly thinking of Franz Lange. “Our priests are peaceful. This is about money, about land . . . But tell me, what happened, karani? Which tribe do you belong to?”
“None,” the woman said curtly. “There was an iwi of the Ngati Tamakopiri here, but it is gone. Our warriors left, and they pray to strange gods now—the gods of the pakeha, mostly, although Te Ua Haumene calls them something else. And their wives and children were taken away by the pakeha. Relocated, they said. They were taken far to the north, to the territory of the Ngati Whatua. They have been our enemies since time immemorial. And who knows how many even arrived there. I tried to stop it, but the pakeha wouldn’t listen. Then I returned. I am the river. The river is me. As is this tree. If you cut it down, I will fall too.”
Linda shook her head. “We won’t cut it down,” she promised.
The old woman laughed. “How can you be so sure?” she asked. “Don’t the men in red coats decide what happens and what does not? In Whanganui, there was a woman with them who had yellow hair like yours. She spoke our language, but they listened to her as little as they listened to us. They will not listen to you either.”
“They will.” Linda was terribly ashamed, but she knew she had to admit to the woman that she was a beneficiary of the tribe’s misfortune. It meant she was the only one who could protect the woman’s sanctuary. “The pakeha gave this land to me and my husband so we could farm it. We will plant kumaras and let sheep graze here. But we do not wish to anger the spirits. If you tell me which parts of the land are tapu, I will respect that.”
The old woman looked at Linda. “You do well not to anger the spirits,” she said slowly, “but you cannot cleanse yourself. Everything here should be tapu. Here, the soul of my people died.”
Linda shook her head again. “The souls of the Ngati Tamakopiri remain. Your tribe is strong, karani. It will survive.”
The woman studied her closely. “Who are you?”
Linda began relating her origins the Maori way. She told her in great detail about Rata Station, the Waimakariri River, the loss of her parents, and Jane’s treachery. She was still angry at the Ngai Tahu. Te Haitara hadn’t defended her.
“I was driven away too,” she said sadly, “and I lost my family. I can understand some of your grief.” She lowered her head. “And now my husband and I were given this land. Your land, karani. I fear I will burden myself with blame if I take it. But if I don’t, others who may not respect it will take it. So I ask you, karani, to share it with me. Let us take care of it together and protect it from harm.”
The old woman looked at Linda for what felt like an eternity. “My name is Omaka Te Pura,” she said at last. “I am part of the Ngati Tamakopiri tribe, and we came to Aotearoa long ago with the canoe called Aotea. Patea is the river. Taranaki is the mountain . . .”
Linda listened as Omaka Te Pura told the story of her people, and felt strangely comforted. The kauri tree’s spirit seemed to be watching over both of them. It was almost as though Linda had a tribe again.
Chapter 54
For all the serenity she’d felt under the kauri tree, Linda was anxious as she rode her horse back to the army camp. In her euphoria about their new land and her sadness over Omaka’s fate, she’d pushed aside the fact that Fitz was currently doing everything he could to trade away the parcel. If he’d somehow managed, she wouldn’t be able to keep her promise to the old tohunga, and Omaka would be betrayed by the pakeha yet again.
Even at a canter, it took Brianna an hour to reach the camp. Partway there, Linda was joined by another rider—Captain Langdon, the recruiter who had brought them to Taranaki. When he recognized Linda, he gave her a polite nod of greeting.
“Mrs. Fitzpatrick and her pretty horse . . . She’s even lovelier in the saddle than she is on a wagon. Have you been out to take a look at your land?”
Linda beamed at him. “I was, and it’s beautiful! I can’t thank you enough! If you hadn’t managed to win over my husband, we would never have been able to have a farm again.”
“Again? You had a farm before? What an interesting life you’ve had.”
Linda noticed Langdon’s sharp tone. “Is there something wrong? Was I not supposed to go out on my own? I’m sorry, I was just so excited! And the forts are all manned. I—”
“You may move about the settlement however you please, Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” Langdon answered stiffly. “It’s safe. It’s just—apparently your husband doesn’t share your feelings about the parcel. I’m sorry, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, we had to take disciplinary action against him. It’s only a fine, though, don’t you worry.” At the sight of Linda’s pallor, the captain quickly tried to reassure her. “He just managed to avoid detention. If he’d kept mouthing off, we would have had to discipline him for insulting an officer as well as gambling.”
Linda shut her eyes. “What did he do?”
The captain frowned. “It would be better if he told you himself. But personally, I’m quite disappointed in him. In our first interview, he showed so much potential.”
Linda gave the captain an unhappy look. “My—my husband hasn’t had to use weapons much before,” she said. “It’s not his strongest skill.”
“It isn’t?” Langdon raised his eyebrows again. “And here I was, expecting that cadet school would train its students to use weapons during their first year. Not to mention military obedience and formal conduct with superiors.”
Linda bit her lip. It seemed she had said too much yet again.
“Or is it possible,” Langdon continued, “that Major McDonnell is right in thinking your husband didn’t attend the Royal Military Academy at all?” He held her gaze.
“I can’t say for sure,” she admitted. “I know very little about Fitz—about what he did before he came to New Zealand. We met in Christchurch, when he was a foreman on my family’s sheep farm.”
Langdon glanced at Amy. “So that’s why you have a sheepdog. We were wondering. Don’t take this the wrong way, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, but the fine horse and the dog—”
“We’re not thieves!” Linda blurted out.
She thought guiltily of the chickens Fitz had occasionally “found” in their travels, and the meager furniture taken from Irene’s shack.
The captain raised his hands in appeasement. “Nobody was saying any such thing, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. We were thinking rather of your husband’s gambling habit. However, now I think I understand. That is, I assume your parents were—not happy with your choice of husband?”
Linda’s cheeks burned. To the captain, she was just an errant sheep baroness, forsaken by her family for marrying a gambler.
“It’s not what you think,” she said.
The captain nodded. “And it’s none of my business either. But you should keep an eye on your husband. He has a tendency to let his temp
er get the best of him, and he disregards the garrison’s orders. He’s already out of favor with the major. McDonnell’s had an eventful life himself. He isn’t easily fooled, if you catch my meaning. Your husband shouldn’t try to lie to him again. And he should take military drills seriously. We aren’t here for fun, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. There are deadly dangers in this forest, peaceful as it may seem. What’s more, you have a border parcel. I, for my part, would have assigned that land to experienced soldiers. So please, remind your husband that defending this place is his responsibility now. In the event of a fight, fancy talk won’t do him any good.”
With that, the captain tipped his hat in farewell and cantered off. They were nearing the camp, and he shouldn’t be seen with a subordinate’s wife.
Linda was relieved. Heaven knew how Fitz might react if he saw her colluding with “the enemy.”
Fitz and Vera were sitting morosely by a fire they’d lit near the wagon. “It’s nothing but harassment,” Fitz was saying. “Why shouldn’t I swap parcels with Simon O’Rourke? Until this morning, the officers didn’t seem to give a damn who got which parcel.”
“Maybe they do care,” Vera said in her usual monotone. “Like you said, maybe they gave you that strange piece of land because they don’t like you.”
Fitz nodded. “Of course they weren’t expecting me to take it sitting down. That’s why they sent a patrol. Goddammit, I was winning! O’Rourke would have had to give me his land. All twenty acres of it!”
Linda could imagine the rest. Fitz hadn’t found anybody who would trade with him voluntarily. So, he’d talked a comrade into a card game, and almost tricked O’Rourke out of his land. Maybe he would have given him his own instead, or maybe not. No wonder such practices were forbidden. Fitz certainly wasn’t the first military settler who’d tried something similar. The patrol had been a routine check, not a personal vendetta against Joe Fitzpatrick.
“‘Land allocations are decided by lottery, and the rights for this land are nontransferable for the time being,’” Linda said, quoting the explanatory leaflet that they had received when Fitz had signed up, as gently as possible. “You knew that, Fitz. The administrators would have never registered O’Rourke’s land in your name. How much is the fine?”
Fitz jumped up. “What fine? How do you know anything about a fine? Were people gossiping?”
Linda nodded. She’d stepped in it again, but this time she wouldn’t let herself be intimidated. “Yes, there’s been talk. You did something foolish, Fitz, and that’s a fact. You shouldn’t have tried to trade; you should have come with me to look at the land. It’s beautiful! It’s one of the nicest parcels here, mostly flat, not too much woodland, ideal for sheep. It’s—it’s sacred ground!”
She attempted a smile, but it was overshadowed by Vera’s droning laughter. “It’s out in the middle of nowhere,” the girl said. “You should turn it down, Fitz. You don’t have to be a military settler; you can do something else. You can find something like this anywhere.” As Vera spoke, her face began to glow with admiration and trust.
Fitz seemed to grow taller under her approving gaze. “I—” he began.
But Linda had had enough. Her anger and her fear of losing this wonderful land and the chances they were offered here made her jump to her feet. What the hell was the girl after, anyway? Did she want Fitz to take her back to the goldfields? Back on the road? Linda left Brianna’s side and stepped in front of Vera.
“Young lady,” she said, “my husband signed a contract. He’s a soldier, a member of the army. If he leaves now, that’s desertion. And do you know what the sentence for that is, Vera? Do you, Fitz? The sentence for desertion is death by shooting.”
Vera’s face blossomed in a superior smile. “They’d have to catch us first,” she purred. It was a voice of seduction, but this time, she’d miscalculated.
Fitz enjoyed living like there was no tomorrow. But at the reminder that tomorrow could consist of a firing squad, he seemed to snap awake. He’d given up his horse and fled the rogues from Queenstown. But fleeing the army was not an option.
“We’ll have a look at the land tomorrow,” he said diplomatically. “I can still decide after that.”
Linda gave Vera a triumphant glare. She knew the boundaries of her husband’s appetite for risk, and she had won, for now.
The next morning, Linda, Fitz, and Vera loaded the covered wagon with army-issued tools, a tent, and the equipment they’d need to camp on their new land until the farmhouse was built. The settlers were exempt from drills that day so they could get set up. Starting the next day, they would have to be available eight hours a day for earthwork construction around the settlement, and for drills and target practice. The rest of the day was free for them to work on their new homes.
“It would be best to form neighborhood groups and build the families’ houses together first,” Captain Langdon advised them all before they headed out. “The bachelors can live in tents a few weeks longer. Also, clearing communal land first and farming it together during the first year has proven to work well in the past. Then you’ll have your first harvests, and you can continue during the second year until there’s enough arable land on each parcel for every owner. Try to think cooperatively. It’s not going to be possible to run a full-time farm simultaneously with your army duties.”
“We’ll manage alone,” Linda said after catching a glimpse of their only neighbor. The curmudgeonly former prospector constantly kept a chaw of tobacco in his mouth, although he hardly had any teeth left. “There are three of us, and we have Brianna and Amy.”
In truth, Linda was relying on the horse for plowing, and later, once they started breeding sheep, she’d be relying on the dog. As for Vera, the sullen girl carried tools to the wagon slowly, as though she were at least seventy years old.
Fitz was grinning cheerfully, as if the previous evening had never happened. “Of course we will, my sweet! No question about it. Vera, hop in. Let’s go see our farm!”
A short while later, the covered wagon rolled northward on the solidly built road along the river. The prospector, to whom they’d offered a ride, thanked them with an unintelligible mumble. Linda hadn’t gotten his name. From the map, she’d figured out that he must be Private Fairbanks.
Fairbanks’s presence prevented Linda from telling her husband about Omaka. Fitz had nothing against the Maori, but Linda didn’t trust the prospector. Or Vera. Linda didn’t want to think about it for now. If she had, she would have had to admit to herself that she was scared.
With Brianna’s pace slowed by the wagon, Linda had more time to look at the landscape and let it all sink in. Once more, the awesome sight of Mount Taranaki filled her with overwhelming joy. On her first trip, the silence had been interrupted only by the rushing river, the wind in the trees, and occasional birdsong. Today, the riverbanks were lined with optimistic, happy people. Many of the settlers had taken the captain’s advice and immediately formed groups. Now, they were inspecting their parcels together, shouting and laughing.
On Linda’s wagon, the silence was oppressive. Before, when she’d been traveling alone with Fitz, they had chatted about this and that, and he’d entertained her. But now, Vera’s presence dampened any attempt at successful communication, and Private Fairbanks wasn’t making things any better. All he did was look around with a glassy stare and mindlessly chew his tobacco. Linda didn’t feel like sharing her joy over this beautiful land and the wonderful day with any of them. She was so glad to share the land with Omaka. While the old priestess would have more suffering and sadness to share than joy, at least Linda wouldn’t be living only with people who had shut her out like oysters in their shells.
Finally, they reached Fairbanks’s parcel and let the prospector down, but not without promising him further help if he needed it. They soon stopped again and climbed off the wagon, and Linda proudly led her husband across the land she had already explored the day before. She reveled in Fitz’s joy as he took in the plain by the river,
the gentle hill for their house, the trees just waiting to be cut down, and the brushland that wouldn’t even have to be cleared before sheep could be kept there, all with an expression of awe.
Meanwhile, Vera listened to Linda’s explanations with a complete lack of interest. After a while, she wandered off on her own. Linda was relieved; Vera’s absence seemed to have a positive effect on Fitz. He opened up more, joked around, and whirled her in a circle while she fantasized about how happy their child would be in such a beautiful place.
“He can play over there,” she said, pointing at where the house’s garden was going to be, already resplendent in her mind’s eye.
Fitz had begun whittling at a piece of wood, and now he cheerfully handed her a roughly worked little horse. “For my son,” he declared, and then continued with a little doll. “And for my daughter.” He grinned and winked at her. “They could be twins! It runs in your family, doesn’t it?”
Linda tried to smile, but she felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Her father, Ottfried, had also traveled with two women: his wife, Ida, and Cat, whom he had passed off as his maid. He had gotten both of them pregnant. She prayed Fitz wasn’t planning anything similar with Vera.
Just then, Vera came rushing toward them in a panic.
“There are Maori down there, Fitz! Savages! You have to shoot them. Get your rifle!”
But Fitz had left his rifle back in the wagon, although the major and the captain had drilled it into the men that they were not to leave the weapon out of their sight. Once the area was secured with earthwork, they could relax, but for the time being, they were to be always on guard. For once, Fitz’s carelessness was a stroke of good luck. With a glance across the plain, Linda could tell that it was only Omaka, standing guard in front of her kauri tree.
“No, that’s Omaka,” Linda explained, chastising herself for not managing to prepare Fitz and Vera earlier. “She’s a tohunga, she pacifies the land’s spirits. And she’s on her own. There’s no reason to make a fuss, Vera.”
