by Sarah Lark
Karl hoped to be able to buy a new, perhaps more detailed dictionary in Auckland. But he was very glad that his command of the language seemed to be improving steadily. In spite of the stormy crossing, during which most of the travelers spent their time leaning over the rail with green-tinged faces, and his worry about his new friend, Chris Fenroy, and the other men who had been captured by the Maori, he enjoyed the voyage.
Christopher and Cat didn’t enjoy their travels at all. They both knew the woods of the South Island well and made good progress without suffering from hunger or thirst, but they weren’t prepared for a journey of several days. It began to rain a few hours after they had set out, soaking them to the skin. And Cat got badly chilled during the nights. She could find safe shelter in the undergrowth but didn’t dare to light a fire. Of course, that limited their possibilities for nourishment too. Even if Cat could have caught fish without traps or killed birds with her little knife, they didn’t want to eat the meat raw. So they were limited to the few roots that Cat could dig up and the berries that they collected now and then. But at least they were both experienced hikers and knew how to navigate by the sun during the day and the stars at night. They only occasionally stopped to rest, and mostly walked with long strides in silence toward their goal. Te Ronga, too, could spend hours ruminating on her thoughts while walking, and Cat had learned to concentrate on herself and the natural beauty she was moving through. She tried to become one with the land.
Chris was amazed by how naturally, gracefully, and almost silently the young woman in front of him glided through the forest. He would have liked to talk to her, but he didn’t want to intrude. And it was better not to take the risk. It was just as likely now as before that they might cross paths with the Ngati Toa scouts. It would be unwise to draw attention to themselves by talking.
At the end of the third day, they reached Nelson. Cat paused fearfully when the first houses came into view in the twilight. She seemed undecided as to whether she really wanted to come with him to the town. She could surely survive in the wilderness by herself if she preferred.
Chris smiled at her encouragingly. “Welcome to the pakeha, Cat,” he said. “You’ll see, we aren’t all that bad.”
Cat grimaced. “Of course. The people will receive me with open arms, as soon as they see my clothes.” She looked down at herself unhappily.
Chris rubbed his forehead. She was right. The Maori clothing looked completely natural on her, but he was used to the fact that the native girls wore considerably more revealing skirts than the settlers. Even though Cat’s was quite long for a girl of the tribe, her top was sleeveless, and the hei tiki around her neck looked exotic and strange.
“Then our first step should be to find you something more appropriate to wear,” Chris said breezily, and then thought feverishly about how to do it.
He remembered the general store where he’d bought his provisions before the Victoria had departed for the expedition. The shop also carried clothing, and it was on a side street. If they waited until it was dark, Cat’s outfit wouldn’t be so noticeable on the way there.
“Take my jacket for now,” he suggested, and laid the garment over the girl’s shoulders. “And then we’ll buy what you need in town—if the folks in the general store will give us credit. But actually, you make a very respectable impression.”
Cat followed hesitantly as he led her along the river into the settlement. It wasn’t only fear of the pakeha that made her hesitate but simply the sight of the town. This was the first time she had been in a white settlement since her mother and Barker’s escape from Sydney to Piraki Bay. The two-story houses looked like they might fall down on top of her, and the streets between them were very narrow. There were lights shining everywhere behind the closed windows—candles and gas lanterns, she assumed. The Maori had only bonfires to brighten the night.
Cat felt inexperienced and insecure. She never would have dared to come here alone. But Chris made her feel protected, even though she didn’t want to admit it to herself. The young pakeha was a man, after all. He was a white man, in fact, who just as easily could have been a whaler or a seal hunter. He must go into pubs, and if he had been in Piraki Bay back then, he probably would have bid in the auction for the innocence of Suzanne’s kitten. Though she couldn’t really imagine him doing that. Something inside of her wanted to believe that he was different.
Of course the Partridges’ general store was closed after dark, but the owners obviously lived above the shop and they wouldn’t be asleep yet, so soon after sunset. Cat hid herself behind Chris as he knocked determinedly.
“They can’t hear you,” she whispered when no one answered. “They’re upstairs. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
Her voice sounded discouraged. If she had to wait until the shop opened the next morning, half the town would be talking about her.
“Then we’ll knock upstairs,” Chris said.
He bent down and picked up a pebble from the unpaved street, and tossed it gently at one of the lit windows.
“What are you doing? You’ll break it!” Cat exclaimed, ducking fearfully. She had only ever seen glass windows at the Hemplemans’ house, and they hadn’t looked very sturdy to her.
“I’ll be careful,” Chris told her, and tossed his next pebble.
The window opened and a man appeared. “Wer ist da? Was erdreistet ihr euch? Soll das ein dummer Scherz sein? Lumpengesindel!” an angry voice shouted.
Chris made an apologetic gesture. The stranger was obviously a German immigrant who’d been accommodated by the shop owners.
“Please excuse the inconvenience, but this is an emergency. We need to make some purchases. So if you could ask someone from”—he looked briefly at the façade above the shop window and found the name of the proprietor—“from the Partridge family—”
“Verschwindet! Wenn ihr Bettler seid, wir geben nichts!”
The man started to close the window. He hadn’t understood a word of Christopher’s request.
“Bitte, Wir brauchen Hilfe!”
To Christopher’s utter surprise, Cat had stepped forward. The girl spoke German.
“Bitte, holen Sie doch jemanden aus der Familie Partridge.”
Jakob Lange stared down in surprise at the strangely dressed girl who had answered him in his language. He grumbled something, but now the door downstairs had opened. Jakob could return to his Bible and the thoughts that had been keeping him occupied since Ottfried returned from the failed expedition. It didn’t look as though a quick departure for the Wairau Valley would be possible, and the community was already starting to drift away from him and Brandmann. Several of the young men had already left their families to try their luck at a whaling station, and a few of the girls seemed to be willing to get involved with young Englishmen. Even his Elsbeth insisted on calling herself Betty and spoke without restraint to complete strangers in the Partridges’ shop. If it continued this way, he’d have to marry her off sooner than Ida, who at least had retained her modesty.
But Ida had also retained her unhealthy interest in inappropriate men. She had dared to ask Ottfried about Karl Jensch. At first, there had been worry in her eyes, and then great relief when she had heard that both men from Raben Steinfeld had escaped the natives. Jakob shook his head. It was well past time for her to take her wedding vows! But first, Jakob thought, Ottfried needed a house and land. At least the boy played his part well and knew what was expected of him. He was obedient, even if it was difficult for him. Jakob decided to cut him some slack; after all, he’d done everything they’d asked of him in Wairau.
Lange and Brandmann had agreed that Ottfried wouldn’t have to take part in the next campaign against the Maori—if there was one. The settlers didn’t have any doubts after the survivors’ reports: these insubordinate savages were a formidable enemy. But now the pacifist Tuckett was on his way to Auckland to talk to the governor. The settlers had heard that Tuckett was a Quaker whose religious beliefs eschewed any kind of wa
r, even a fair battle against heathens and hostile natives.
Elsbeth had heard her father cursing and looked out the window to see the young man and woman asking for the Partridges. Contrary to her father, she had understood at least some of their words, and now she threw on her dressing gown and tiptoed down the stairs. The pair’s plight had roused her curiosity. What could they desperately need to buy at this time of evening?
Elsbeth gave herself away, though. Mrs. Partridge caught sight of her on the stairs when she was welcoming the late customers. Fortunately, the shop owner wasn’t offended.
“Oh, Betty, come down please! You can help us choose a dress for the young lady. Just imagine, Mr. Fenroy brought her with him from the Maori village! The savages had kidnapped her or something.”
Elsbeth understood only enough of her hostess’s flood of words to know that she should come. She saw that the girl with the strange skirt wanted to say something, but the young man indicated with a subtle gesture that she should be silent.
“And just think, Mr. Fenroy escaped from them! Ran away, do you understand, Betty?” Mrs. Partridge sounded proud, as though she had personally helped Chris. “However did you manage that, Mr. Fenroy? You’ll have to tell us all about it while we pick out a dress for your friend. You’ll look so pretty when you have something civilized to wear again, child. And how is Captain Wakefield, Mr. Fenroy? And the others? Captured by the savages! But surely they will be released soon . . .”
Again, Elsbeth understood only bits of what Mrs. Partridge had said, but was able to read in the face of the brown-haired stranger that her talkative hostess’s optimism was misplaced. And then she was the first of the settlers to hear about the massacre. Christopher Fenroy described the execution of the prisoners, and when Elsbeth fearfully asked for clarification, Cat reluctantly translated the report into German. She used few words, but it was enough to terrify Elsbeth. So far, everyone had spoken rather kindly about the Maori. But after this, could people really live peaceably side by side with them?
However, Elsbeth was even more afraid of her father’s reaction when she knocked on his door later to tell him and Anton what had happened. Jakob Lange listened with detachment. Only when Elsbeth had finished did he comment.
“Of course this is terrible, and very regrettable for the men involved and their families. But perhaps that’s how it had to be. Now at least the authorities won’t hesitate to send troops. God wants those heathens to be driven off our land once and for all!”
Part 4
SCHACHT VALLEY
NELSON AND SANKT PAULI VILLAGE, NEW ZEALAND (THE SOUTH ISLAND)
1843–1844
Chapter 21
“Mr. Fenroy, what a surprise! Did the savages set you free? And who do we have here?”
Christopher hadn’t really counted on getting into the guesthouse unnoticed. But he was still startled when he heard Mrs. Robins’s loud voice.
“What a charming girl!” she continued. “But you weren’t going to sneak in here with her, were you?”
Mrs. Robins’s remark sounded mildly reprimanding, but her eyes twinkled with mischief. The landlady held up her candle so she could see Cat’s face and carefully appraise her appearance. Everything seemed to be to her satisfaction. After Mrs. Partridge had overcome her first wave of shock and expressed her condolences about the loss of Mr. Cotterell, she had done her best to transform the blonde Maori into a perfect pakeha girl. She had chosen a simple dark brown dress, which fit well around Cat’s slender waist and accented it nicely without the need of a corset. Of course it had long sleeves and a high neckline, higher than Cat had ever seen on any woman other than Linda Hempleman. Mrs. Partridge had brought her water for washing, and had braided her long blonde hair and twisted it into a bun. A few strands had escaped and played fetchingly around Cat’s pretty face. Christopher’s eyes had shone with admiration, and the German girl had nodded vigorously in approval. Cat had felt better immediately. None of the pakeha she had met seemed to be mistaking her for a whore.
“What are you thinking, Mrs. Robins?” Christopher asked playfully. “I would never compromise Miss Cat’s reputation by taking her alone to a room, and certainly not in secret. But I’m afraid we have some very sad and alarming news. We’ll have to bother Mr. Tuckett in spite of the lateness of the hour. I—”
Mrs. Robins shook her head regretfully. “Mr. Tuckett isn’t here. He headed directly to Auckland the day before yesterday with his new assistant, Mr. Jensch. They went to see Governor FitzRoy. To tell him about Captain Wakefield being held captive.”
Christopher felt obligated to talk about the execution for the second time that night, knowing very well that Mrs. Partridge and Mrs. Robins would pass on the information to the rest of the townsfolk at lightning speed.
“Please don’t tell anyone about this until I’ve spoken to Colonel Wakefield,” he asked his hostess. “I’ll go to see him first thing tomorrow morning with the terrible news about his brother. But what can we do to help Miss Cat?” He looked from one woman to the other. “I’d hoped Mr. Tuckett would be able to help the young lady find an appropriate job.”
Christopher was thinking of a position as a translator or adviser. Of course, it was unusual for women to be employed in such roles. But someone who spoke German, English, and Maori would be worth more than gold in this multilingual colony, even to the most conservative members of the settler community.
“For tonight, I’ll show Miss Catherine to a room,” Mrs. Robins said. “And as for a job, well, there aren’t many families here who employ servants. Pity, I could have used a girl to clean the rooms a little while ago, but now I have one of the German settlers’ daughters. Doesn’t speak a word of English, but she’s hardworking and does a good job . . . Perhaps you could ask the Beit family. They’re always looking for personnel.”
Chris noted the disapproval in her voice, but he thanked the landlady sincerely for her suggestion. As an agent of the New Zealand Company, Beit would surely know enough to appreciate Cat’s skills, and his judgment wouldn’t be clouded by grief, like the colonel’s would be.
“We’ll go see Mr. Beit tomorrow,” he declared. “And Mr. Tuckett will surely return as soon as he’s informed Governor FitzRoy about the tragic turn of events.”
Cat would never have believed that anything could be as soft, sweet-smelling, and comfortable as the bed with the down quilt and pillow in the room Mrs. Robins had shown her to. Cat had made the beds at the Hemplemans’ but had never lain in one, and she was intoxicated by the warmth, the scent of lavender, and the fluffiness of the pillow. It all helped comfort her and distract her from the fact that she missed the nighttime sounds in the communal Maori sleeping hall. This night in Nelson was the first in her life where she was sleeping alone. No moaning, panting customers like in her mother’s room, and no snoring, giggling, or loud breathing like in the Ngati Toa’s longhouse. At first, the silence made her nervous, but she soon began to enjoy it. The next morning, she awoke feeling as though she’d never slept so well, and then Mrs. Robins surprised her with a cup of tea and fresh buttered rolls in bed.
“I’ve been up for hours already,” the landlady explained cheerfully. “Try the bread, my dear. I went to the bakery first thing this morning. Mr. Fenroy asked me to tell you to sleep as long as you like and enjoy breakfast at your leisure. I’d be happy to make you eggs and bacon, fresh from the farm and butcher. I’ve already been there too. And then, please wait for the young man. He will pick you up as soon as he’s finished at the magistrate. Oh, I just hope this doesn’t mean war. One is always a little fearful, living so close to the savages. What did they do to you, anyway, Miss Catherine? Did they—” Mrs. Robins’s eyes traveled briefly down Cat’s narrow body with an expression of horror. “They didn’t get too close to you, did they, Miss Catherine? I couldn’t bear to think of it! Those huge fellows . . .”
Cat shook her head. “Not Catherine. Just Cat. And no, no one got too close to me. I lived with the Maori. Ever since
I turned thirteen.”
She couldn’t possibly have known what an avalanche she was setting in motion.
Christopher spent more time at the magistrate building than he’d intended to. He’d just barely managed to break the news to Colonel Wakefield. He’d almost been preceded by a missionary just returned from the Wairau Valley. Reverend Vincent Tate was an old, deeply religious man who had been proselytizing in the area for years and had a good relationship with the local tribes, even though he had never converted a Maori—perhaps that had worked in his favor. By pure chance, he had just visited the Ngati Toa and had learned about Te Ronga’s death and the events that followed. The chieftain hadn’t allowed him to transport the bodies of the dead to Nelson, but he had been given permission to bury them. He’d done it with the help of Te Puaha and a few other members of the tribe, and then had set off for Nelson in his canoe. Now he added to Christopher’s report to Colonel William Wakefield, and soon both of them were also being questioned by a government official.
In Auckland, Governor FitzRoy was still debriefing Tuckett, but he had immediately sent land claims commissioner William Spain to Nelson to keep the settlers from reacting rashly. It was Spain’s job to supervise every sale of land in New Zealand. The short, friendly man with a full beard and kind oval face somehow always managed to negotiate excellent land prices for the immigrants without making enemies of the tribes. But he hadn’t been so friendly to Captain Wakefield. Spain had discovered discrepancies in the New Zealand Company’s land sales, and Wakefield had done everything he could to stop further investigation into the matter, even sabotaging attempts at renegotiation with the Maori.