by Sarah Lark
Chieftain or father. Linda had to smile.
“You have no fear. No one in marae hurt you, we all one tribe. One people.”
The children whispered to each other.
“Now come. In marae wagon.” Franz smiled at the children. “Wagon is marae’s canoe. Canoe that bring all newly to Aotearoa. Is game.”
The children still didn’t smile, but they came closer.
“What is the canoe called?” a brave boy asked.
Franz held out a hand to a little girl to help her climb in.
“Linda,” he said as he gazed at the children.
Then, as the soldiers rode away, Franz saw the covered wagon—and the young woman sitting on the seat, listening with a smile on her face.
“Linda?”
She slid down from the wagon and walked toward him.
“Franz!” She suppressed the urge to embrace the missionary, and offered him her hand instead.
Franz, who also wanted to take Linda in his arms, accepted her hand and shook it.
“Linda, I can’t believe it! Where did you come from? I thought you had a farm somewhere. Didn’t your husband join the military settlers?” In every letter Franz had written to Ida, he’d asked about Linda and Fitz.
Linda nodded. “That’s a long story,” she said curtly. “He’s gone, and so is the farm. We’re on our way to Wellington, and from there we want to take a ship to Russell. I can hardly wait to see Mamida and Kapa again. I haven’t heard from them since I left Christchurch. What about you, Franz? How did you get here?” She smiled. “In a canoe called Linda?”
Franz blushed. “It’s just a name,” he murmured. “It was my assistant’s idea.”
“I’m honored to share a name with such a worthy vessel,” Linda replied. She looked over at some girls who were standing next to her wagon, talking to the priestess. Omaka was clearly excited. “If you like, we’ll help you bring the children to the orphanage. My friend is looking for her tribe. Perhaps you’ll be able to help.”
Franz nodded enthusiastically. “That would be lovely.” He glanced over at Omaka, who was showing Aroha to the little girls. “The old woman has a child?”
Linda smiled. “I have a child,” she said. “Omaka is a priestess, Franz.” Her face became serious. “She will never pray to the pakeha God. I hope you will welcome her anyway.”
Franz made a placating gesture. “Linda, I run an orphanage. I’m all alone with an old boozer, whose only qualification is being able to speak Maori. He doesn’t believe in anything, and he blasphemes every other sentence. In any case, your priestess is more than welcome, along with her spirits.”
Linda sighed sadly. “She’s lost all of them. But she seems to be getting along well with the children. If the girls want, they are welcome to ride with us.” She smiled again. “After all, they will still be coming to the marae with Linda.”
The two girls turned out to be from a tribe Omaka had visited several times during journeys to her peoples’ sacred sites. The older girl remembered her and was recounting, with tears running down her face, what had happened to their tribe and her parents. Omaka stroked the child’s head.
In the meantime, Franz helped the other children onto his wagon and waved happily at Linda as he gave the horses their heads.
Linda followed behind. To her surprise, she soon heard singing. Franz was teaching the children a Maori version of “Michael, Row the Boat Ashore.”
“Te Ariki Mikaera?” Omaka asked mistrustfully. “Is the man a Hauhau?”
Linda assured her he wasn’t. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt much better than she had a few hours ago. It was as though meeting Franz again had lifted a weight from her shoulders. She couldn’t get over how the missionary spoke Maori and sang songs with the children, instead of praying endlessly or keeping a fearful distance. He hadn’t crossed himself a single time. A year and a half ago, that would have been unthinkable.
“Hallelujah!” the children yowled.
Linda had cared for the old Franz, though he’d gotten on her and her family’s nerves. But now she was genuinely excited to get to know the new one.
The children’s marae turned out to be an old pa, and it was teeming with young Maori. An older half-Maori man welcomed the newcomers and asked them what tribes they were from. That was how he determined which sleeping house they should be assigned to, as Linda quickly figured out.
“Not that it’s so important here,” the man said each time a child told him the name of their iwi. “Don’t forget what Revi Fransi said: We are all one iwi now, and we all came with the Linda to this marae. We just think you’ll find friends here more quickly if your mothers and fathers told the same stories. That’s why some of you are going to Kiwi House and the others to Kea House.”
Apparently, the houses were purposefully named after birds and animals, instead of after the tribes.
“And who do we have here?” the man asked as Linda and Omaka led over the two girls who had been riding with them.
The girls could hardly bring themselves to leave Omaka’s side.
“Will you be staying with us, karani?” one of them asked.
“Please, please, please stay with us!” the other begged.
Omaka looked uncertainly between the girls and Linda.
“If you don’t mind sharing the sleeping house with the girls, tohunga, you are welcome!” The man bowed dramatically.
Omaka regally offered her face to exchange hongi.
“You stink like the potion that makes the pakeha crazy,” she said sternly as she let go of him.
Kahotu shrugged. “There are a lot of things that make people crazy. Some people drink, and others dance around a pole. If you ask me, talking to spirits doesn’t make a person entirely sane either. You leave me to my whiskey, and I’ll leave you to your spirits.” He turned to Linda. “And who might you be?”
“I’m Linda—Fitzpatrick.” It was suddenly difficult for Linda to use her married name.
A broad grin spread over Kahotu’s face. “You’re Linda?”
He eyed the young woman from head to toe but didn’t make any inappropriate remarks. Instead, he turned to look at Franz, who was blushing again.
Kahotu winked at him. “Well, no one can tell me now that prayers are never answered.”
“I would love to preach to them a little. Not for hours, just to tell them a bedtime story, do you understand? Something they can think about. Something comforting, perhaps. Unfortunately, my Maori isn’t good enough, and Kahotu isn’t much help with such things.”
Franz was telling Linda his problems after she had attended his simple evening sermon with the children. He had only said a few prayers of thanksgiving, the kind that fit with choruses of “hallelujah.” He had dispensed with supplications so Kahotu wouldn’t threaten to chant mai merire. The man often teased Franz, saying his community-building devices were much like Te Ua Haumene’s.
“It could be more personal, and more ceremonial—do you know what I mean?”
They were sitting in front of Franz’s home, an old storehouse in the middle of the pa. Aroha was sleeping in a basket at Linda’s feet, guarded by Amy.
Linda nodded. “I could tell them a story every morning,” she suggested. “About Jonah and the whale, perhaps.”
Franz smiled. “Will you stay for a while, then?” he asked hopefully. “I thought you wanted to go to Russell.”
A shadow crossed Linda’s face. “I think you and the children could use my help for a while,” she said. “Though to be honest, it’s not as selfless as that. I’m ashamed of how I misjudged Fitz. It’s been so long since I’ve heard from anyone in my family, and I’m afraid they’ve all dismissed me for a fool.”
“Of course not!” Franz cried. “And what do you mean you haven’t heard from anyone? I know Ida’s very worried about you. Didn’t the army transport any mail?”
“I wrote every few days from Patea!” Linda exclaimed. “Especially at the beginning. But Mamida never replied
, so I wrote less and less often. Unless—” She looked at Franz in alarm. “What if Fitz intercepted the letters? Or maybe Vera had a hand in the matter. She enjoyed making me suffer.”
“Vera?” Franz asked.
Linda took a deep breath. “Another long story.”
Franz gazed into Linda’s pale face. He wrestled with himself for a moment, and then went into the house. When he returned, he was carrying a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.
“I have time,” he said. “And I’m afraid there’s something I must tell you. It’s about your sisters.”
Chapter 66
“I don’t care what you think!” Jane shouted. “If I say the ewes belong in the west pasture, then put them there!”
It wasn’t advisable to holler at a foreman that way. Jane was in a bad mood, and Mr. Colderell’s high-handedness had been the last straw. Still, the man’s argument was sound. If he brought the creatures closer to the house, he could keep a better eye on their pregnancies. Jane might have simply agreed to the plan if only she weren’t so tired of Colderell making decisions over her head. He knew more about sheep than she did, but he took far too many liberties. The man knew too well how much she needed him.
Jane stormed out of the bull barn. She had bought the young cattle because the price of meat had shot up. The population of New Zealand was growing, and the prospectors and mine workers in particular were enthusiastic about steak. Unfortunately, no one on the farm knew very much about cattle. Colderell and his men were out of their depths with the aggressive male animals.
Jane sighed. If she were honest, things weren’t going very well at Rata Station. It was difficult to run the farm without the support of her husband and the Maori shepherds. Te Haitara had withdrawn completely since Eru had left, or rather, since Jane had made one scene after another. The chief didn’t think that the departure of young warriors was anything unusual. To the contrary, Te Haitara was proud. Eru and the others wanted to increase their mana on the North Island. But Jane was furious about Eru’s revolt against her authority. She felt he’d ruined his future with his tattoos and his escape to the north, not to mention the danger he was putting himself in. Te Haitara’s calm acceptance made her furious, and they’d fought about it for days.
“He’s a warrior, Raupo,” the chieftain had insisted. “The tribes have always fought against one another. Even the Ngai Tahu have had their battles.”
“How many hundreds of years ago was that?” Jane had demanded angrily. “Against which enemies? Here, everyone is Ngai Tahu. Fine, the Ngati Toa live in the northwest, but since Te Rauparaha’s been gone, they have also been completely peaceful. I get that you may have punched each other in the nose a few times, but in the north there’s a war that this ‘prophet’ can’t win. It’s completely pointless for Eru to risk his life.”
In Jane’s opinion, Te Haitara should have at least sent out a taua to bring back Eru and the others. She herself had set a private detective on their trail, but he had lost the young adventurers in the forests of Taranaki.
Jane and Te Haitara’s relationship had also suffered because of her disputed “inheritance.” After her husband had tried one too many times to convince her to return the land, Jane had angrily packed her things and moved to the farm, taking most of the tribe’s sheep with her. She had been living in the stone house for a year now, and hadn’t exchanged a single word with Te Haitara in all that time.
The Ngai Tahu who’d once worked for Linda and Carol stayed far away, and the tribe had obviously returned to their traditional way of life. The men hunted, the women weaved and cooked, and together they farmed a few fields. They financed luxury goods such as cloth and cooking pots with their savings. Te Haitara had an account at the bank in Christchurch that certainly wouldn’t be empty anytime soon. Over the last few years, the tribe had bought anything that anyone had wanted. Now the tribal elders had triumphed, especially the tohungas, who had wondered well before Jane’s takeover of Rata Station if all the work with the sheep was necessary.
Jane, for her part, had defiantly sought new farmhands in Christchurch. Only with the help of foreman Patrick Colderell had she been able to find any at all. The men were suspicious of a farm run by a woman. Every day, they made Jane feel that they didn’t really take her seriously. Jane soldiered on bravely and achieved most of her goals, even when she had to go over her employees’ heads. But it took a lot of effort. Some evenings, she wept with loneliness in spite of all her strength.
Additionally, she had to deal with the ire of her pakeha neighbors. Jane had never had a very close relationship with them. People like the Butlers refused to have anything else to do with a woman who lived with a Maori chieftain. But at least Jane had always been treated politely at the Sheep Breeders’ Association. Now she had been suspended. The Deanses and the Redwoods had voted against her participation. People seemed to think that her takeover of Rata Station hadn’t been fair. And when news of Carol and Mara’s disappearance had gotten around, she found herself permanently ostracized.
For the last shearing, Jane had to hire a team from Otago. The men who had worked for Chris and Cat now skipped Rata Station on their way down the Waimakariri. Jane also had to organize the transport of fleeces on her own. The wool traders offered her worse prices because her wool arrived later than the other farms’. Financially, Jane could handle it. As a businesswoman, she was superior to most of the other sheep barons. In the meantime, she had also invested in shipping companies and railroads. But the constant pressure was having a bad effect on her nerves.
With Te Haitara and Eru by her side, the sheep business had been fun. To think of the plans she’d had for the boy! Every door would have been open for Eru. And now he was fighting in a pointless war on the North Island, Te Haitara was sulking in the village, and Jane had to force herself to get through her days.
Now she wandered up to the house, closed the door behind her, and took a bottle of whiskey out of the cupboard. Some time ago, she had discovered that whiskey could comfort her better, was easier to come by, and made her gain less weight than chocolate. She never drank too much, but a glass or two in the evening made life easier to bear.
“Sorry to bother you . . .”
Jane turned around in annoyance. Colderell had opened the door and poked his head inside.
“What is it now, Mr. Colderell?” she snapped at him.
The foreman frowned. “There’s someone here who wants to speak to you.”
“I told you it wasn’t necessary to announce me,” a voice behind Colderell said. It sounded familiar . . . too familiar. Jane cast a wary glance at the whiskey bottle. Was she drinking too much, after all?
Colderell withdrew, and the door flew open. In disbelief, Jane found herself looking into the furious eyes of Christopher Fenroy. Her ex-husband seemed thinner than before. His skin was reddened by cold and wind, and his face looked a little patchy, as though he’d had a beard for a long time and had recently shaved it off. His hair was longer than was appropriate for a gentleman, but he’d always worn it that way. Behind him, unusually reserved, was Cat.
Jane swallowed. “Chris—”
“Now, don’t tell me you’re happy to see me!” Chris almost shouted. “I thought I’d find you in this house. Did you manage to talk Te Haitara into moving here, or did he throw you out?” He approached Jane, his hands balled into fists.
“Mr. Fenroy—” Colderell began.
“You stay out of this,” Chris snapped. “You’re fired, anyway. I don’t want to keep on anyone who worked for her—”
“Chris . . . ,” Cat said calmingly and then turned to the foreman. “Please, Patrick, leave us alone now. We’ll decide later which of the workers can stay.”
Colderell frowned. Cat had used his first name, as if he were a simple shepherd.
“I—you—” he started to complain.
Cat pointed to the door. “Get out of here, Patrick. And don’t worry. I will keep Chris from punching her, and he will keep me from sc
ratching her eyes out. We have ourselves under control.”
As Colderell slunk out, Jane stared in disbelief. “I thought you were dead.”
Chris snorted. “Clearly. And under the circumstances, that was completely forgivable. But the farm! Jane, how could you do that to the girls?”
“From a purely legal point of view—”
“You’ve known Carol and Linda since they were little,” Cat said, interrupting her. “You watched them grow up, together with your son. How could you throw them out of their home?”
Jane raised her hands in a gesture of powerlessness. “I’m a businesswoman!”
“Not to mention Te Haitara,” Cat continued. “He was your husband for twenty years, Jane. And suddenly you say that your marriage doesn’t count, or never happened?”
“You pretended your son was mine!” Chris howled. “That’s the worst kind of treachery. What was more, you’d always planned it. That birth certificate!”
“I wanted to keep all the possibilities open for him,” Jane said.
“Well, you ruined his possibilities,” Chris said coldly. “I certainly won’t acknowledge him now. He will not be my heir. And if your marriage with Te Haitara was never official, then he’s nothing but a poor bastard.”
“He’s gone, anyway,” Jane said quietly.
“And you’re going to leave too,” Chris said, pushing her firmly on the shoulder. “Immediately. I’ll give you five minutes to pack your things. And don’t start asking for papers. I was in Christchurch with the authorities, and I have it in black and white that Cat and I aren’t dead. Your claim to the farm is hereby forfeit.”
Jane glared at him. “I worked this farm for a year! I made a profit, I—”
“You don’t really want to try that tack in court, do you, Jane?” Chris’s voice swung between disbelief and threat.
Jane pursed her lips. “I deserve it!” she hissed. “I need money to live. I left Te Haitara. I—”
“Poor you,” Cat shot back. “You stole everything from the children. You drove Linda into an unhappy marriage. It’s your fault that Carol and Mara are in the hands of crazy rebel warriors. And you want us to, what, pay you for that?” Cat had kept herself in check so far, but now her voice was angrier than Chris’s. “How can you even bear to look at yourself in the mirror?”
