by Sarah Lark
The blood rose in Cat’s face.
“If she stays, then she’ll have to be married soon,” a second man said. Someone had just called him Brandmann, and his kinship to Ottfried was obvious. In a few years, Ottfried would be just as bald and bloated. Cat wondered what had moved the beautiful Ida to marry the man. “At the moment, however, I can’t think of a suitable bachelor. Of course, the young man’s virtue would also have to be taken into consideration. He’d certainly be better off with a properly raised virgin of his own faith.”
Brandmann frowned. He reminded Cat of an unctuously croaking frog. But the young men at the meeting didn’t look as though they would prefer one of the black crows from their own community. On the contrary, some of them were staring at her with undisguised lust. The thought that she would soon be available for marriage obviously encouraged their fantasies.
“Are you even christened, girl?” Lange interjected. “And if so, in which faith? How can someone be named Cat?”
“Her name is Katharina!”
Cat looked up in surprise at the group of women staring at her indignantly. Some of them were holding sheets of canvas over their heads against the rain that had begun during the sermon. They would probably rather be in their houses than here on the muddy meeting ground, trying to withstand the early autumn chill. Instead, a strange woman was forcing them to remain there longer, and worse, she had caught the eyes of their men.
But now, everyone was staring at Ida. There was furious whispering among the men as well as the women.
Ida was trembling, but she courageously pressed on. “Of course she is christened. Her first—her first foster mother was Lutheran.”
Cat furrowed her brow. Everything Ida had said was based on assumption. She had only briefly mentioned Linda Hempleman without giving any details about the woman’s religion. Cat sought Ida’s eyes in confusion and didn’t know whether she should feel gratitude or annoyance. She herself wouldn’t have told any lies about where she had come from. But Ida surely meant well.
“Whatever has possessed you, Ida?” Jakob Lange said sharply to his daughter. “Women must remain silent!”
Ida twisted the ties of her bonnet nervously. But then she got support from an unexpected place.
“No, Brother Lange! Let her speak. It’s clear that the new girl won’t speak for herself; we’ve scared her too badly,” Pastor Wohlers said in a gentle voice. “Speak your heart, Miss Ida, if Katharina entrusted you with her story.”
Ida took a deep breath. “Their name was—is—”
“Hempleman,” Cat whispered. She had to corroborate Ida’s story now; otherwise, there would be terrible consequences for the young woman.
Heartened, Ida smiled at her and continued. “Their name is Hempleman. In any case, Mrs. Hempleman prayed with her and taught her to read from the Bible. She also never participated in the savages’ heathen rituals. She—she told me that she refused to say their prayers.”
It was true. Cat had shown her new friend a rongoa bush and had explained to her how to make cough syrup from its leaves—little Franz was sick again. At the same time, Cat had told Ida about Te Ronga and how she had spoken to the spirits of the plants. Now her hands clutched into fists of frustration. The way Ida put it, it sounded as though she hadn’t respected Te Ronga’s beliefs. She really didn’t want to let them think that, but the looks in the eyes of the village elders were proof that Ida had said exactly the right thing. Pastor Wohlers and Pastor Riemenschneider were glowing with approval. Ida’s father and Mr. Brandmann were frowning a little but couldn’t help but nod.
“Of course, Cat—I mean, Katharina—will need some guidance,” Ida said. “It would surely be good if she could stay with a family who would give her a proper education.”
Ida looked expectantly at her father. It wasn’t easy for her to make the suggestion, because she had been excited about having Cat in her own house. But since she’d seen Elsbeth again, her decision had been firm. Her sister needed the help more than she did. Elsbeth looked haggard and unhappy, and she was scared to death about Franz, who was constantly becoming weaker and paler. The girl couldn’t keep up with their father’s demands. Cat, who seemed extremely energetic and also understood the use of the native plants, would be a godsend for her younger siblings. And in the Lange household, her safety wouldn’t be at risk. With Ottfried, on the other hand . . .
Ida couldn’t fully admit it to herself, but she had noticed the lewd jokes he had made to Cat during their journey and the lustful looks he had given her. Cat seemed embarrassed and even now tried to avoid Ottfried. It would surely be better for her if she didn’t move into the new house with the young couple.
“That’s true!” Both Ida and Cat started in surprise as Ottfried Brandmann suddenly supported his wife. “The girl needs the Lord’s help to be led back to the path of virtue she had been following before she was led astray by the savages. It’s a position of great responsibility that will demand much sacrifice. But my wife and I didn’t make the decision to bring Katharina with us lightly, and we would like to continue to contribute to the salvation of her soul. With hard work on our fields, instruction in prayer from my pious wife, and of course my strict supervision, she will find her way back to the right path. I can assure all of you that I will keep an eye on her. Ida and I are moving into our new house tomorrow. We will make a place for her in the new cow barn next to our house. With permission from the village elders, we would like to accommodate Katharina there.”
“But—” Ida began. “I thought—”
“A gallant offer,” Pastor Wohlers said, “in the true spirit of Christianity. I would like to appeal to the village elders to accept the proposal. Where could the girl go if we turn her away? One doesn’t even want to think about what dangers she would be facing if she were turned out into the wilderness now.”
Cat almost laughed. There would hardly be any danger for her at all in the “wilderness.” True, from the Moutere Valley she’d have to cross Ngati Toa land if she wanted to reach the Ngai Tahu. She would have to be careful and avoid making fires for a few days, and perhaps walk at night. It would be unpleasant and not free of risk, but it was preferable to a life under Ottfried’s “supervision.” Ida’s husband hadn’t alleviated her fears with his unctuous speech.
But a quick glance at Ida made her abandon her plans of escape. The young woman looked worried and almost fearful as her father, Brandmann, and the clergymen withdrew for deliberation. She seemed to desperately want Cat to stay with her, even though she’d shown surprise at Ottfried’s appeal. She was now waiting for the elders’ decision as though it were a matter of her own acceptance or rejection in a vitally important community. Cat didn’t understand, but she couldn’t bring herself to disappoint her new friend. If the village elders wouldn’t accept her, she would leave. But otherwise, she could stay with the Lutherans for a while. Cat wasn’t afraid of hard work, and she could handle Ottfried. She discreetly fingered her knife.
When they finally returned, Lange announced to the villagers who had been waiting in the cold drizzle that he, Brandmann, and the other elders had come to a decision. He tried to build excitement by first reciting a prayer and then talking in circles. However, Cat had known as soon as she’d caught a glimpse of Ottfried, who looked like a fat, complacent cat with a saucer of cream.
“We will give the girl a chance,” Lange announced. “Ottfried Brandmann, an upstanding member of our community, has declared himself willing to take responsibility for her virtue. He will keep the girl under strict supervision, and his wife, Ida, shall be a model of humility and piousness.” The patriarch glared at his daughter forbiddingly, as though he suspected complete rebellion behind her apparent meekness. He only stopped glaring once Ida had returned his look with a steady gaze, hiding her joy behind a stoic expression. Then he spoke to the new member of the community for the first time. “Katharina . . . Hempleman, we invite you henceforth to work with us, break bread with us, and serve God with us.”<
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Ida permitted herself a happy smile, but Cat clenched her teeth. She wasn’t Katharina Hempleman; she was Cat. No more, but also no less! Unhappily, she remembered the first time she’d been called Poti, and had been taken seriously and felt loved.
Cat looked sharply at the village elders. “Thank you,” she said reluctantly. “But my name is Cat. Just Cat.”
Perhaps that would have led to the first rebuke from the strict prayer leader, but Cat’s words were drowned out by the excited exclamations of the villagers. The women in particular gathered around and spoke to her kindly. They were dying to hear the latest news from Nelson. Many asked about people they knew in the town, and about the Beits and the New Zealand Company. Only later, when a few women helped Ida and Cat move their things into the new house, did they ask questions about her life with the Maori. Cat replied patiently, but with extreme care, anxious to avoid the misinterpretations of the people in Nelson.
The women loaded all of Ida’s household goods into two handcarts to bring them down to the river. The young family didn’t own very much. All the women remarked regretfully about how little they’d been able to bring from their homes in Germany.
“It’s a pity about your beautiful dishes, Ida, and the down quilts . . . I still remember the quality of your mother’s weaving. At least you still have her tablecloths and sheets.” The women’s fingers stroked the embroidered linen with admiration.
Cat wondered why it had been necessary to drag such superfluous trumpery across three oceans. Yes, the sheets were beautiful, but it would have been much more useful to bring tools, warm clothing, and cooking utensils. With a mixture of joy and regret, the women explained that the settlers had planned to buy all those things when they arrived. Ida and Ottfried’s trip to Nelson had been intended to remedy the problem. Basically, the settlers of Sankt Pauli Village didn’t own any more household goods than the women of the Ngati Toa.
“We thought we would be able to make everything ourselves,” Ida said. “Back in Raben Steinfeld, we didn’t buy anything. We wove and knitted our own cloth, and our ironware came from the smithy. But everything’s different here. There are no sheep and no wool. My father can’t start the smithy yet either, because the houses have to be built first. And I have no idea where he’s going to get iron. How do the Maori do it? They don’t keep any animals.”
Cat shrugged. “The Maori mostly cook over open fires or use ground ovens, but of course only when there’s volcanic activity in the area. Also, they spin flax, harakeke,” she explained to the women. “Of course you have to plant that first. Have you planted anything here?”
Cat was pushing one of the handcarts with Ida and her sister, Elsbeth. They had just reached the first houses of the new village. In shock, Cat noticed the high-water mark from the last flood. She wasn’t surprised when the women told her about their destroyed gardens.
“But we won’t let ourselves be discouraged!” said Ida’s future neighbor, Elfriede Busche, the young wife of the shoemaker. “We’ve already started new gardens.”
“For the second time already,” Elsbeth remarked. Although the other women spoke with pride and enthusiasm, the girl made no such impression. “I already told my father, I won’t do it again! If the river floods its banks one more time, then—”
“Then what?” Cat asked.
But her question was drowned out by a general storm of indignation as the women reacted to Elsbeth’s recalcitrant pronouncement. No, there couldn’t and wouldn’t be another flood! And if there was, then the drainage ditches would protect the houses and gardens this time. After all, the women had surrounded every field with one. Sometimes the men had even helped, too, and then the ditches were twice as deep.
“God will protect us!” Elfriede Busche pronounced, and crossed herself.
“We should pray for it,” one of the older women said, and immediately, their bonneted heads were bowed in the misty drizzle.
“Can’t we go inside to pray?” Elsbeth complained, while Cat examined the drainage ditches that surrounded the parcel of land.
What she found were barely more than plow furrows. Te Ronga and the other Maori had always surrounded their fields with such ditches. They were enough after a normal rain, but certainly no good against the power of a flood-swollen river. If it had been so easy, the Ngati Toa would have settled this valley long ago.
“Yes, come in!” Ida said, inviting the women into her house. “Then we can also ask God for happiness in our new home!”
Cat thought her friend looked more chilled than pious, and she felt the same. All of the women must be longing for a warm, dry place, but only Elsbeth dared to give voice to her feelings.
“Maybe we could start the fire first?” the girl added.
But the older women’s will to compromise didn’t extend that far. They carried the hope chest into the house and then began an improvised prayer meeting.
Cat endured it patiently. After all, ceremony had also framed Te Ronga’s daily life, with prayers to appease the spirits or to encourage them to take part in people’s lives. But her invocations had been happier, and included singing and dance. Elsbeth seemed very annoyed by these prayers, and Ida’s heart didn’t seem to be in it either. She was probably thinking about the rest of her things sitting outside in the rain.
After they’d finished praying, Ida gave everyone a tour, though it was mostly for Cat’s benefit. The other women would soon be living in houses with the same layout. The men had based their plans on the farmhouses in Germany. There was an entry area and a long hallway with doors that led to other small rooms. The women admired the wide, formidable bed that Ottfried had built, and the other heavy furniture. They all helped put away Ida’s few dishes and pots and pans in the cupboards. Cat stacked supplies of dried meats and beans in the pantry, carefully observed by Chasseur, who had immediately appeared at Ida’s side after her return to the village. He was surely hoping for a place to sleep by the fire, but Ida told Cat to make a straw bed for him in the barn.
“If you’re sleeping there, at least he won’t be alone,” she said and stroked the friendly, long-haired animal.
Cat had already said that she wasn’t interested in sleeping in the house. The barn was enough for her, and additionally offered more distance from the man of the house.
“Ottfried doesn’t like having dogs in the house. So far I’ve insisted on it because of the rats. Hopefully there won’t be any here at the new place.”
Finally, Ida’s neighbors said goodbye. It was time to return to their husbands and children. Cat and Ida could make the last preparations for their move the next day alone.
“We should bring in the cow and horses first,” Ida said.
It was raining again, and she was already casting fearful glances at the Moutere. It was staying obediently in its bed, but Ida had figured out that the floods were impossible to predict. They didn’t depend on how hard it rained in Schacht Valley, but on snowmelt in the mountains.
“Yes, the animals will be glad to go somewhere dry,” Cat said.
She helped Ida lead a stubborn, fearfully bleating cow from the missionary station to the valley floor. The villagers responsible for the other two had already fetched their animals. At first, Ida’s cow allowed itself to be led willingly, but as they approached the river, she had to be dragged.
“She doesn’t know something we don’t, does she?” Ida asked with another fearful glance at the water.
Cat shrugged. “I have no idea. This is the first cow I’ve ever seen. But I don’t mind sharing the barn with her and the horses. If anything happens, I’ll let them out.”
“So you think it’s possible,” Ida asked as they led the horses into the barn. The two bays were obviously pleased to be getting out of the rain. “I mean, about the river. You believe that it could flood again?”
Cat furrowed her brow. “Ida, there have been floods here as long as anyone can remember. Why should that suddenly change?”
“Because—my fa
ther said so. Ottfried said it too. But I—I think we should have built the village higher up, in the hills. The water surely won’t come that far.”
“I wouldn’t depend on that either,” Cat said. “Te Ronga said that this valley belongs to the river spirits. They can take it back whenever they want to. No one knows how high the water will go, certainly not the pakeha.”
“But that’s blasphemy!” Ida exclaimed. “You—you aren’t allowed to say that. There are no river spirits!” She crossed herself.
“What about your blind trust in your father and Ottfried?” Cat replied derisively. “Isn’t it superstition, too, to think they know God’s will?”
“We must listen to the church elders,” Ida murmured, “and to our fathers. And our husbands. That’s God’s will.”
“That’s nonsense!” Cat cried. “Look, Ida, that might have made a certain kind of sense back where you’re from. There, your father knew what he was talking about. There were tikanga—traditions. The Maori say that the wisdom of the past makes the future safer. But here everything is different, you said so yourself. No one can predict when the next flood will be, not even a river tohunga, if there is such a thing, or a geologist like Mr. Tuckett. The only thing we know for sure is that there will be more floods. It doesn’t matter how much you pray or what your father says.”
“Are you saying that God won’t listen to us?” Ida sounded offended, but there was something else in her voice too. Doubt? Fear?
Cat knew that she should be diplomatic, but then she thought of all her senseless prayers for Frau Hempleman, and her desperate prayers for protection from Barker and Reverend Morton. She also remembered the extremely effective cough syrup she’d made from the rongoa plant, even though she hadn’t called the spirits before she’d picked it.
“Has he ever listened to you?” she finally asked. “Have you ever gotten even a hint of an answer when you asked a question? Was even one of your prayers ever answered?”