by Sarah Lark
Chris was still peering at her anxiously. “I’ll think of something, Cat, I promise! Perhaps—perhaps you’d like to come with us? I mean, with Jane and me? We’re moving to Canterbury.”
Cat almost laughed. “No, no, certainly not. Please excuse me, but your Jane . . . Before I move to an isolated farm with her, I’d rather go back to Te Rangihaeata and be executed as a traitor! Why do you want to marry her?”
Chris’s brow creased. He was embarrassed by the directness of her question. “For the land,” he confessed. “Her dowry is land for a farm. Land is the most important thing.”
Cat shook her head. “No,” she said, and repeated her foster mother’s favorite saying: “People are the most important thing.”
Chapter 25
“I didn’t tell on you.”
Elsbeth slid closer to Ida on the bench, as though for warmth, and whispered the words to her. The sisters hadn’t been able to talk openly since their father had caught Ida with Karl the day before. Jakob Lange had insisted that they keep the door to their room open so he could listen to their conversations. For that reason, it was already clear to Ida that Elsbeth couldn’t have been the one to betray her. Her sister was obviously under suspicion herself.
“It was Anton,” the girl whispered. “I told him you needed the privy, and he left you enough time for that. But he went to Father as soon as he realized you weren’t coming back immediately.”
“It’s all right.” Ida sighed and pulled her shawl around her shoulders, shivering.
It was cold on the boat on the Moutere River. In the night there had been frost, and the landscape by the river had transformed into a surreal dream of crystalline palm leaves and ferns. Mr. Partridge had advised the settlers not to travel to the missionary station that day. Such weather never lasted long in the area, he’d said, and it would be better to wait until it had thawed again. But the Germans didn’t want to listen. They felt they’d waited far too long for their land and village. Now, they didn’t want to lose another single day. They rented boats to transport people and building materials. Most of the men were leaving their wives and children in Nelson for now, and were going to the Moutere Valley to build provisional accommodations for them first. Jakob Lange, however, refused to leave his younger son and daughters under the “bad influence” of the city even one more day, and Frau Brandmann would not remain in Nelson without her men. Ida didn’t understand her fear; her host family was harmless—just as friendly and accommodating as the Partridges were. So, the Langes and the Brandmanns shared a large boat with three other families, and shivered throughout the entire journey. Ida hadn’t brought any suitable winter clothes from Mecklenburg. She had only a woolen shawl, and no heavy cloak. Mrs. Partridge had kindly given her a throw rug, and additionally the women were bringing a bale of woolen cloth with them. Lange thought buying ready-made clothing was a waste of money. In Sankt Pauli Village, the women would soon be able to sew, weave, and knit.
“We’ll have a few sheep on the farm,” Peter Brandmann had announced.
Ida wondered where he thought he was going to get them. As far as she knew, there wasn’t a single sheep on the South Island, and there were very few cattle. She considerately wrapped her shawl around Elsbeth as well. Wrapped so close together and muffled by the layers of wool, no one could hear the sisters’ conversation.
“I think Karl is better-looking than Ottfried,” Elsbeth whispered to Ida, who blushed. “Wouldn’t you rather marry him? And the way he dresses now, with that expensive coat—”
So Elsbeth had also noticed Karl’s luxurious, weatherproof clothing. Of course, the girl wasn’t dumb, and she’d spent every moment she could helping in the Partridges’ shop. She knew what a coat like that cost.
“He’d surely buy one for you too,” Elsbeth went on dreamily.
Ida had to smile. At the moment, the thought of warm clothing was more romantic than the memory of Karl’s embrace. What was more, it was a wish that wasn’t forbidden. In the boat, surely everyone was longing for a good, rainproof coat, or even better, a place by the fire. At the moment it wasn’t raining or snowing, but fog was rising over the river. It was a penetrating, damp cold, and Ida could barely feel her hands or feet.
“Well, when I marry, I’ll only marry a rich man. And it will have to be one I really like,” Elsbeth went on.
Ida rubbed her brow. “Elsbeth, stop that nonsense,” she said. She was trying to be strict, but she knew she only sounded tired. “You’re practically engaged to Friedrich Hauser already. I heard Father talking to Tobias Hauser about it.”
Friedrich Hauser was the son of the roofer, and was learning his craft. He was only sixteen, and it would be years before he was ready to marry, but they were already planning the match.
“But I won’t marry him,” Elsbeth said. “Fritz is stupid and fat. Do you know who I like, Ida?”
Her tone became conspiratorial, and Ida felt her love for her sister like a stab in the heart. Elsbeth had always been so trustful when she had shared her secrets as a small child. Back then it had been harmless, but now it hurt her to think that those dreams could never be fulfilled.
“Tommy McDuff!”
The baker’s son in Nelson. Ida smiled again. So that was why Elsbeth had always volunteered to go buy the bread. And why she’d always been so eager to accompany her father when he went to visit the Brandmanns, who were staying with the McDuffs. Her excuse had been that she wanted to visit the boring Gudrun Brandmann, with whom she had nothing in common but their age. But Ida shouldn’t just let such nonsense slide by with a smile. They weren’t in Nelson anymore. Ida was about to lecture her about being obedient to her father, but then she stopped. It didn’t matter if she was scolded or not. Elsbeth would soon be brought down to the hard ground of reality, anyway. She would probably never see Tommy McDuff again. None of the women could dare to hope of ever leaving Sankt Pauli Village at all in the next few years. The men would be just as unlikely to take them to Nelson as they had been to take their wives to Schwerin when they had lived in Mecklenburg. And Elsbeth—the girl obviously had no idea what was awaiting her when Ida got married!
Jakob Lange had left no doubt that he expected Elsbeth to take over all of Ida’s duties once she had her own household to run. She would have to grow up just as quickly as Ida had after her mother had died, and would be responsible for taking care of the family. Ida silently berated herself for not preparing the girl better. Her father had always spoiled his younger daughter and allowed her to shirk household responsibilities, but that would change abruptly. If his and Anton’s comfort depended on it, there would be no more excuses for Elsbeth.
“If I were you, I’d much rather marry Karl Jensch,” Elsbeth said again. “You could surely live in Wellington or some other big city, and you wouldn’t have to stay here in the wilderness.”
“Hush now!”
Ida managed to silence her sister just as Ottfried Brandmann’s shadow appeared out of the fog. The young man felt his way over the swaying deck to his betrothed and sat down next to her on the bench.
“Here we are!” he said triumphantly, and pointed to the riverbank.
The forest of frost-covered ferns had given way to open land. They passed through a valley that was completely covered in tussocks of frosty grass. It looked wide and flat, but was more or less hemmed in by wooded hills. In the plain itself, there were few trees, small and scraggly. Ida supposed it was the frost that made them look that way. A couple of buildings clung to the side of one of the hills. The missionary station.
“Welcome to Schacht Valley! Do you like it?” Ottfried asked, excitedly.
“Schacht?” Elsbeth asked doubtfully. “I thought it was called the Moutere Valley.”
Ottfried made a dismissive gesture. “No one can pronounce that,” he said. A few of the men had sat down together the night before and emptied the last of the schnapps bottles they’d brought from the homeland in celebration. Ottfried still smelled of alcohol. “We renamed it. I
t’s Schacht Valley, named after Captain Schacht from the ship. He was always kind to us.”
Ida’s brow creased. “Valleys are usually named for the rivers that flow through them,” she remarked. “Did you also rename the river?”
Ottfried gazed at her uncomprehendingly. Then he pulled Ida up from the bench as the boat touched the pier. The pier of the missionary station was a rickety affair, looking just as battered as the local vegetation.
“Nonsense. Come now, we need to have a look at our land. My father has a map with the parcels labeled on it. And I made sure we got the most beautiful one! Right by the river.” Ottfried could obviously barely wait to show her.
“Right by the river?” Ida repeated in alarm. She was rigid with cold, and struggled to stand on the swaying deck. “What if Karl is right? What if the river floods?”
Ottfried waved her worry aside. “That’s just idle talk. And we don’t have to build our house directly next to the water.”
Ida gazed at the land to both sides of the Moutere. It was completely flat. If there was a flood, it wouldn’t make the slightest difference whether houses were built a few hundred feet away from the river or right next to it.
“All in good time, Ottfried!” Jakob Lange gave his future son-in-law a contented smile. “The parcels still have to be properly measured. Wakefield will be sending surveyors soon. We shouldn’t plan any buildings yet. There will only be bad blood if a house is standing halfway into a neighbor’s parcel. There’s enough to do now, anyway! First we have to go to the mission and thank God for the safe journey and the fertile land, and the women will surely be glad to warm up a little. Then we can set up the tents for tonight, and after that, the boats with the building materials should be arriving. We will unload it tonight. Tomorrow we can start to build the huts with all the strength that God grants us! The other families are waiting in Nelson, and you know what I said: weddings will only take place after everyone is here and has a roof over their head.”
In order to save time, the men had decided to order a load of precut boards so they could quickly erect the temporary shantytown. But even Ida could see how many knotholes the boards had, and how cheaply they had been finished. They were barely more than scrap wood. Huts built from them might stand up to wind and rain, but trying to heat them would be a nightmare.
The work didn’t progress as quickly as they had hoped. The pastors came immediately to meet the settlers, solemnly carrying a cross, and now were leading songs of thanks. The first prayer of thanksgiving was spoken on the pier, and then they proceeded to the missionary station, where they gathered for a short mass on the land of the future encampment. A bitterly cold wind blew, but the location did offer a spectacular view. In spite of the frost and chill, Ida couldn’t help but admire it. Schacht Valley was incomparably beautiful. Acre after acre of flat, surely fertile grassland, now white with frost, split by a shimmering silver band that wound through it like a snake—the Moutere River. It would soon be green again. And the following year, when the wheat harvest was imminent, it would be a glowing golden color. How beautiful it would look when pretty farmhouses were bordered by tidily laid paths and flowers bloomed and vegetables grew in the gardens! Cows would graze on lush meadows, multihued chickens would scratch in the manure piles, and pigs would roll with pleasure in the mud by the river.
Ida suddenly experienced a pleasant wave of genuine anticipation for her new life. It was true, everything had been more comfortable in Nelson, and she had felt freer there than she ever had in Raben Steinfeld. But here, the summers were warm, and the winters weren’t nearly as hard as they had been in Germany. The fields and gardens would provide a rich harvest—perhaps she also wouldn’t have to work as hard for it as she had at home. Ida repressed memories of her drudgery on the potato fields. Today, she only wanted to remember the good moments of her village life. And when she looked at the other settlers, she could tell by the glow in their eyes that they felt the same. Frau Brandmann was practically radiating from within, and Stina Krause was happily holding her newborn baby, the first of the settlers’ children to be born in New Zealand. They were all enthusiastically singing the old songs in praise of the Lord. Only Elsbeth seemed unimpressed.
“If I can’t get warm soon, I’m going to scream!” she hissed to Ida.
Her little brother, Franz, complained too. He looked so thoroughly chilled and pale that it worried Ida.
Soon afterward, the women and children were finally allowed to crowd around the fireplace inside the missionary house. Of course it was far too small for so many of them.
“We will need our own meetinghouse,” Frau Brandmann declared. “And a proper church.” There was only a provisional, hastily built chapel as part of the missionary station. “But the men made up their minds about that yesterday. The church will be the first building in Sankt Pauli Village!”
Then at least try to talk your father and the others into not building the church first, but digging drainage ditches instead . . .
As Ida recalled Karl’s words, her euphoria and anticipation suddenly dissipated, supplanted by a new wave of worry. Karl had predicted the settlers’ behavior perfectly. But had he also foreseen the behavior of the river?
The settlers worked by the sweat of their brows, at breathtaking speed. The huts were ready a week later. A week in which the men worked with euphoria and enthusiasm, and the women, quickly brought down to earth, spent fighting the cold and damp. The frost hadn’t lasted long, but it had been enough to freeze them half to death during the first night. Franz was coughing the next day, and Ida was desperate, because of course no one had thought to pack any medicine, not even honey or sage tea. Fortunately, she found a bottle of cough syrup among the missionaries’ supplies. They swore that it helped, even though the recipe had come from the natives.
Frau Brandmann warned insistently against giving the medicine to the child. “They want to kill us all! It’s probably poison.”
Of course that proved to be nonsense. Actually, the cough syrup worked quite well, but the bottle didn’t last very long once other children and adults caught colds. As the dusting of snow melted, the encampment quickly transformed into an endless mudflat. In the cold and damp, the women struggled to get cooking fires started.
The men, however, were cheered by the sight of the river, which hadn’t swollen appreciably.
“Now you can see what Jensch said was all lies. Even when it thaws, the river stays in its bed,” Brandmann announced before the morning prayer.
The others raised their voices and thanked God for his mercy. Ida, however, cast a surreptitious glance at the missionaries, who remained suspiciously silent.
“In any case, let us—let us pray to the Lord that it stays that way,” Pastor Wohlers finally said.
“Well, the river can get higher sometimes,” Pastor Riemenschneider murmured, but no one paid any attention.
The men reached for their tools enthusiastically and were returning to work when a piercing cry came from one of the tents.
“Rats! My baby, oh Lord, my baby!”
A few heartbeats later, almost all the settlers had gathered around the tent. Fortunately, little Richard Krause wasn’t hurt. But the rats that had been sneaking around the bassinet had also been ravaging Stina’s provisions. The other women, too, found their supplies had been gnawed on and contaminated by rat droppings.
“Where are they coming from all of a sudden?” Ida said fearfully. She was terrified of rats. “And what can we do?”
“Maybe Chasseur can help,” Pastor Wohlers replied, looking uncomfortable. He pointed to a small, long-haired, brown-and-white dog that the women had driven out of their tents several times.
“He’s not a very good hunter. Most of the time he sleeps. But we don’t feed him, so he should be willing to drive away some of the vermin.”
The dog actually looked quite lethargic, and was thin as a bone. Ida remembered that her mother had always stopped her from feeding the cats properly. But it was
Ida’s opinion that only healthy, alert cats could hunt well.
She surreptitiously searched through the remaining supplies for something that the dog might like to eat.
Farmer Friesmann rolled his eyes. “That creature won’t ever hunt, Pastor. He’s a herding dog. At the most, he’ll corral the rats into a corner!”
Ida’s father sounded outraged. “Where are the beasts coming from? I thought there were no vermin in New Zealand. We were told that God had blessed this land without them.”
Pastor Heine shrugged. “They must have gotten here somehow. Probably on a ship from Europe.”
“Who cares how they got here,” Stina Krause replied sharply. “We desperately need rat poison! I will have to watch the baby constantly until we have it.”
In the following days and weeks, the rats proved to be a difficult problem. The settlers couldn’t get rid of them, even when the women were extremely careful to store food safely. The rodents gnawed through oilcloth and sacks and even wooden trunks that the men made, contaminating grain and dried beans. Only Ida was spared, even though her siblings complained that their tent stank terribly of wet dog. In the face of the infestation and her terror of the vermin, Ida even dared to disobey her father. Chasseur, well fed on semolina pudding and the occasional sausage end, slept between Ida’s and Elsbeth’s straw pallets. He never caught a rat, but his presence seemed to deter them. The rodents stayed away from Ida’s supplies.
At the end of August, they were finally ready: the men welcomed their families to the new village with a worship service on the pier. The weather was agreeable, and it had been sunny and dry for almost the entire day. A few of the newly arrived women were crying anyway. The temporary huts weren’t the houses they had dreamed of. What was more, there were hardly any furnishings. The settlers’ long-stored trunks would be delivered only a few at a time.