Recalled to Life

by Wendy M Wilson

  Frank put his arm around Mette’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “I’m sorry my darling, but Karira is right. Hop Li, could you give us a couple of hours start before you talk to Constable Price?”

  Mette shook Frank’s arm away and faced him. “I’m coming with you.”

  Frank and Karira exchanged glances. “No, I think not…” said Frank hesitantly. He was conflicted. He hated leaving her again, but taking her to Wanganui would be foolish.

  “I don’t care what you think. I’m not waiting at home again. And won’t you want to go to Wanganui next, to see what you can find out what you can about the Mountjoy family? I could help you with that.”

  Frank scratched his chin. He could see Karira behind Mette shaking his head and frowning.

  “If I stay here, Anahera might kill me as well,“ she said. “I’ll be safer with you…”

  It was a weak reason, as clearly Anahera had come to take his revenge on the man who had tried to kill him. But he gave in to his own needs and said, “I suppose you have a point with that. And having you with me will be a disguise. We’ll look like a regular married couple...maybe you could even talk to the Mountjoys...”

  “I can talk to the Mountjoys,” said Karira stiffly. “Do you think they won’t speak with me for some reason?”

  “You represent the law…,” said Frank. “They might see you, but they won’t tell you anything.”

  “I could go to the Mountjoy’s house and ask if they needed a maid,” said Mette. “Or, no, I have a better idea. Wait here for a minute.” She started towards the gate, then turned back towards them. “Promise me you won’t leave before I get back.”

  Frank shook his head. “We can ride up to Feilding together,” he said to Karira, watching Mette pass through the gate and into the crowd beyond. “We’ll take the track up to the Kimbolton Road where there isn’t much traffic. Then we can take the coach up to Wanganui from there. The coach passes through from Ashhurst and no one in Feilding will have heard anything. We’ll have to make sure the troopers aren’t there of course…”

  “Can she ride?” asked Karira. He was clearly not happy with the thought that Mette was coming with them. “Is there even a horse available for her?”

  “She can ride with me, on Copenhagen,” said Frank. He walked away before Karira could protest.

  They still hadn’t spoken when Mette returned thirty minutes later. Frank was examining the body again, while Karira paced back and forth at the steps to the hotel kitchen where Hop Li was frantically pounding bread dough into submission.

  Mette was carrying a small, battered carpet bag. “I asked Mr. Robinson if he minded me going away for a few days,” she said. “I told him I was going to visit a relative in Napier, so if anyone asks he’ll put them off the scent without lying. I don’t think he could tell a lie.”

  “What do you have in your bag?” asked Frank.

  She smiled. “Oh, just some clothes and…other things. Now, am I going to ride with you Frank?”

  “Of course,” he said, smiling down at her. “How else would we go? I’ll change into my normal clothes first though. Then we’ll be on our way.” As he passed Karira he slapped him on the shoulder. Karira stared back at him gloomily.

  * * *

  Karira was still annoyed with Frank as they neared Feilding, galloping on ahead and stopping occasionally to wait impatiently as Copenhagen caught up to him with her heavier load.

  Mette didn’t care. She clutched her carpet bag and leaned back against Frank, wishing the ride would never end. Frank held her with one arm around her waist, squeezing her occasionally. She could feel him smiling with his whole body. He was in danger, they were riding on the most uncomfortable horse she could imagine, and her bottom was numb, but it was bliss.

  The track wound through bush, much of it burned or cut down, with intermittent farm fields planted with oats or corn. Once or twice a man stopped working and raised his hand to them, but no one paid much attention. By late afternoon they were on the outskirts of Feilding. Karira reined in and pointed towards a small stony river that briefly abutted the track before turning east.

  “Let’s water the horse,” he said. “And then I’ll go into town alone to make sure it’s safe.”

  Frank dismounted and held out his arms to Mette. She slid down, her face close to his, while waves of disapproval came from Karira. “Hide yourselves further downstream,” he said. “I’ll take both horses and look for stabling. Make sure you can’t be seen from the track.”

  “Is something the matter with Karira?” asked Mette as he left. “He seems angry at us.” She hated seeing Karira disapproving of her. He had become like a brother to her, someone she could talk to about anything. She had been wanting to talk to Frank about Milo Mountjoy, to ask if he could possibly have a son, but it was so much harder with him than it was with Karira, who could read her thoughts.

  “He doesn’t like seeing us being… affectionate to each other,” said Frank. “Perhaps we shouldn’t be so obvious when he’s around. I forget he’s not my brother sometimes.” He took Mette’s hand and drew her towards the river, and found a fallen tree trunk to sit on. “He’s not here now though.”

  She rested her head against his chest. “Thank you for letting me come with you,” she said. “I feel much safer when I’m with…”

  “We’ll have to be careful in Wanganui,” he said. “We’ll know more once we’ve talked to Captain Porter.”

  She decided to ease into the topic. “When we find out what’s going on, we’ll be able to go back to Palmerston and start our lives properly. I can’t wait…”

  She was cut off by the sound of horses. They were far enough away from the track that whoever was coming would not see them unless they were actively searching. But Frank pulled Mette down behind the fallen tree trunk, covering her with his body as the horses approached, and then thundered past.

  “Armed Constables,” said Frank. “Lucky we were off the track. Looks like they’re heading towards Palmerston. It won’t be long before they find out Wilson has been murdered. Price will know by now.”

  They stayed low, waiting to see if any more constables would ride by. After thirty minutes, Karira arrived on foot, scrambling along the side of the stream, looking rattled.

  “It’s a trap,” he said. “We’re walking into a trap.”

  “You mean it wasn’t Captain Porter who telegraphed you?”

  Karira shook his head. “I think it was,” he said. “Captain Porter’s in Feilding with a dozen Armed Constables. They’re guarding all the exits. I was at the Denbigh Hotel to see if they could stable the horses, and they told me the stables were full because of all the constables in town. I left our horses tied to a post outside the railway station and came back along the stream.”

  “Captain Porter set a trap for me?” asked Frank. “That can’t be true. I’ve known him for years…surely…”

  “It’s for you, alright” said Karira. “I saw your…I saw Mountjoy there. Captain Porter was on the verandah of the hotel, but I saw Mountjoy inside.”

  “Damn,” said Frank. “Of all the people, I’d never have thought Porter…some constables just rode by. I thought they were on their way to Palmerston, but they’re probably only going half a mile or so. If they station themselves on the rise they’d see anyone approaching and block them in once they passed.”

  “Then we’re trapped?” asked Mette, her voice quivering. “We can’t get out?”

  Frank squeezed her hand. “They don’t know we’re already inside the perimeter. We’ll find a way out, I promise…”

  “The smart thing to do would be to go into town,” said Karira. “They’ll be looking outward, waiting for you to ride in. Then if you can find a way to get onto the coach going north to Wanganui…or to hide until they give up and leave…”

  “Couldn’t we go in by the river?” asked Mette.

  Karira gave Frank a sideways look. “Perhaps Mette should return to Palmerston. Mountjoy knows her, an
d…”

  “You want to send me home?” asked Mette.

  “That would be the best…” said Karira.

  “No,” said Frank. “I’d like Mette to stay with me. We’ll circle town by the river and see if we can bypass the town…maybe catch the Wanganui coach on the other side somewhere. Karira, you get the horses and head back to Palmerston.”

  Karira looked annoyed. “You trust Mette to discover something in Wanganui that I could not?”

  “She has innocence on her side,” said Frank. “No one would suspect her of anything. She can be part of my disguise.”

  Mette set her carpet bag on the ground and knelt beside it. “I have a plan,” she said, opening the bag and pushing her clothing aside. “I didn’t want to show you before, but I brought some of my booklets with me…my recipe booklets. I could go door to door and ask to talk to the cooks. Perhaps even to the cook at the Mountjoy home…”

  Frank smiled. “You see, Karira? A perfect way to investigate. And if you return to Palmerston you can see what’s happening with the Wilson murder. Make sure no one thinks it was me. And tell Price Anahera is in town. Remind him of the time he tried to kill me with the face-slapping…the same modus operandi.”

  Karira agreed sullenly, mounting his horse. “Take care of her then,” he said as Frank walked with him to the track. “If you get blamed for murder, she mustn’t be implicated. They haven’t ever hanged a woman for murder in New Zealand, but that doesn’t mean they won’t.”

  It occurred to Frank for the first time that Karira might have feelings for Mette. He wondered if Mette knew. Probably not. “Of course, I’ll take care of her,” he said, feeling a surge of annoyance. “I’ll always take care of her. Why would you say that…?”

  “You don’t exactly have the best record,” said Karira. “I saw evidence of that no more than an hour ago. A man who is obviously your son…”

  “That was twenty years ago,” said Frank. “I was hardly a man myself. And I’m not sure he is my son. I know he resembles me, but…”

  “More than a resemblance,” said Karira. “He looks exactly like you, only younger.”

  “And is trying to make me disappear, for some reason,” said Frank. “Look, Karira, I intend to do the best I can for Mette. Please don’t concern yourself.”

  “Someone went to a lot of trouble to make you disappear,” said Karira. “And it can’t just be Mountjoy. He’s not much more than a boy. It must be something – or someone with something to lose. A lot to lose. And with some influence.” He kicked his horse and set off back to Palmerston.

  Frank watched him until only the dust thrown up by the hooves remained. “Someone with something to lose,” he said. “And we’ll find out who that person is in Wanganui. Mette and I together.”

  16

  Taking the Train

  Mette felt like she was being torn apart by Cossacks on horses. On the one hand, she was relieved and happy to be with Frank again. But on the other, the thought that he’d fathered a son, and such an awful one, saddened her. She’d once heard someone described as being a chip off the old block, and had asked what that meant – she was always trying to improve her English, and they had such strange expressions – and had learned it meant a child was like its father. How could Milo Mountjoy be such an awful person and Frank be a good person if Milo was his son?

  She watched Frank talking to Karira, her mind in turmoil. He came back smiling, and her doubts dissipated once more, at least for the moment.

  He held out his hand. “Give me your bag. We’re going to get around the town using the river. Karira says it comes out near the train station, and from there we can walk along the tracks until we’re outside town.”

  “What about Captain Porter? Aren’t you…”

  “I don’t know what he’s up to,” said Frank. “I can’t believe he wants me sent back to gaol. But I can’t take any chances. We’re going to Wanganui…to survey the Mountjoys in their natural habitat.”

  She knew he meant to make her laugh, but barely managed a smile. “Walking?”

  “Not the whole way,” said Frank. “We’ll head towards Sanson and catch the coach there, if we can’t pick it up earlier. Or we could hire another horse in Sanson at the stables.”

  Feilding was a large but thinly-populated town, with hundreds of small huts, each on its own acre of land, giving the place the feel of a military camp. The first part of the walk beside the river was through heavy bush, and at times they were stepping from rock to rock. But once they neared the centre of town they were on what was clearly a popular walkway. Mette took Frank’s arm, and they strolled along like a couple of town stalwarts out enjoying the late afternoon sun.

  The town was quiet, but in the distance, they could see a man sitting on the balcony of what must be the Denbigh Hotel.

  “There’s Porter,” said Frank. “Karira was right.”

  Mette could see a man of around fifty, with greying hair that had receded from his forehead, and grey whiskers around his jaw. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but rather an expensive charcoal serge suit with a maroon-coloured vest. He was smoking a pipe and staring into the street. “I don’t see Mountjoy,” she said. “But Karira said he was inside…oh no. He came out.”

  Frank put his head down. “Keep moving,” he said. “We’re about a hundred yards away from the station.”

  Mette continued to look as she walked. “He’s getting on his horse…”

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t suddenly feel like a ride along the river…” said Frank.

  “He’s angry about something,” said Mette. “I can tell by the way he’s throwing himself on his…what’s that?”

  “What’s what?” asked Frank risking a quick glance at the town.

  All along the street in front of the hotel, dark-clad townspeople, the men in broad-brimmed hats and the women in shovel-shaped bonnets, were pouring from their homes.

  “I know who they are,” said Mette. “I’ve seen them before in Haderslev, and in Palmerston. They’re Brethren. They’re on their way to church. They go there every night to await the end of the world…we have a few Brethren in Palmerston, but they don’t have their own church so they come to the Lutheran Church with the Scandies.”

  “Good timing on their part,” said Frank. “They’ll help to prevent the end of our world.”

  Milo Mountjoy rode into the middle of the throng, yelling at them to get out of his way. When they ignored him, he whipped his horse, spurring it through the crowd to create an opening; blocked by the crowd, the horse reared up and threw him to the ground.

  “Here’s trouble,” said Frank. “He won’t like being shown up in front of that lot…what the hell?”

  Mountjoy was on his feet and had picked up his riding crop. He began applying it to the rump of the startled horse, which reared up, shrieking in pain.

  “The bastard,” said Frank. He pulled away from Mette towards Mountjoy, but she held him back. The crowd had surrounded the scene and an elderly man stepped forward to remonstrate with Mountjoy. She saw Captain Porter lean out from his balcony and say something, which Mountjoy ignored.

  “No, Frank. Leave him,” she said. “You won’t stop him. All you’ll do is let them see you…”

  He stopped, but was breathing heavily. “A horse,” he said. “My God, a horse, for something that was his own stupid fault…I…”

  “Come, Frank,” she said. “We’re almost at the station. Let’s hurry past while everyone is upset.” She put his arm through his. “Please Frank.”

  He put his hand over hers. “I can’t bear to see a horse beaten,” he said. “I grew up with horses. My father was head groom when I was a boy…he’d kill anyone who did something like that to a horse. And so would I.”

  Not a chip off the old block then.

  In the street, the townspeople were moving on towards the church. It was almost sunset, and they needed to be at the church before the sun went down, to be ready to meet their maker. What must it be like t
o think every single day that you were going to die that night? The Brethren began to sing, and she felt an instant calmness that carried her the rest of the way to the station.

  “Abide with me, fast falls the evening sun…”

  They reached the station, a small wooden building with a tin roof, and entered the rear door; the platform was immediately in front of them, with a steam locomotive beside it and an engineer working at something inside, his back to them; steam belched quietly out the side of the engine.

  “Perhaps we could take the train,” said Frank. “I didn’t realize one was running from Feilding…”

  The engineer popped his head out from the cab. He was a man of about forty, so bald his head shone, a ginger coloured handlebar moustache providing his only hair. “Sorry sir. The train isn’t running yet,” he said. “Another month or two…the tracks aren’t complete…”

  “That’s a Fairlie’s Patent, isn’t it?” said Frank. “My God, what a beauty. If we’d had machines like that at Sebastopol…”

  “You were at Sebastopol?” asked the engineer. He wiped his hands on an oily rag, grabbed hold of a pole and swung down from the cab, ignoring the wooden steps someone had placed there.

  Frank nodded. “I began my career in Crimea,” he said. “We didn’t know much about trains for war back then – at least I didn’t, although the Turks did. But the Americans used of them later…”

  “During the Civil War,” said the engineer. “Exactly. That’s where I learned my trade as a fireman…became a driver later. I drove an iron-plated flatcar with a forward-facing Brooke banded 32-pounder gun… and two hundred rounds of ammunition. An amazing thing it was…could have changed the whole war if we’d had… I wasn’t on the Union side, however, and they had the right of it. You can’t enslave people, I know that now. Robert E. Lee commissioned the flatcar, you know. They say he had a train full of gold bullion…”

  “You’re an American?”