by Sarah Lark
At least he kept away from the women in the days following his misdeed. When he was sober again, he even seemed scared of the hatred that blazed in Cat’s eyes every time she looked at him. He knew that she would never put her knife down again. At first, he left the house by the river to Cat and Ida and slept in the hut—when he wasn’t traveling back and forth to Nelson. Building materials were needed again to repair the flood damage, and the men were working from dawn until dusk on the houses of the Busche and Schieb families. Jakob Lange encouraged them, and also wasn’t terribly hard on the Schiebs about the lost cow. After all, he didn’t want the affected families to give up their homes and leave the village. Indeed, both families stayed in Sankt Pauli Village, but two other young couples and three older boys left for Nelson.
Ida was afraid that Elsbeth would run away. The girl had been completely demoralized since the third flood and refused to pick up a hoe again. Of course Jakob Lange chastised her, but Franz had fallen ill again, and all of Elsbeth’s time was taken up with his care. Cat’s cough syrup worked very effectively for him, and he should have recovered quickly. But the boy was fretful and exhausted, like so many of the other residents of Sankt Pauli Village.
At this point, they no longer believed that God would protect the village from further catastrophes. In the best case, they spoke of a carefully engineered system of drainage ditches or even building a dam. Lange, Brandmann, and the missionaries were attempting to motivate the people with communal prayer and singing, a village festival to celebrate the beginning of spring, and stirring speeches. Their efforts mostly served to convince the older women, and some of the younger women who were afraid of giving up their community to be stranded among English-speaking strangers. Their husbands flocked to Ottfried and his whiskey bottles, meeting nightly around the table in the old hut. Officially, they were supposed to be discussing the work they had to do together, replanting the fields and the drainage-ditch project. But actually, they were just drowning their sorrows in alcohol. Lange and Brandmann allowed it to happen, with their teeth gritted.
The natural vegetation of the Moutere Valley recovered from the flood quickly now that it was spring. The tussock grass turned a rich green, the trees budded, and the landscape seemed kind and inviting. When Ida was able to pull herself together enough to attend a prayer meeting for the first time, she thought back to the year before. Upon their arrival in Schacht Valley, she had looked out onto the landscape and dreamed of pretty houses, fields of golden grain, cows on lush green meadows, and gardens in full bloom. Now she saw cows grazing by the river, and the first hints of sprouting grain had softened the fields. But for Ida, it had lost all of its appeal. The cost was too high, and they were constantly in danger.
“We don’t have to stay here,” Cat said quietly.
Cat had accompanied her friend to the prayer meeting. Ida was still weak, but it was very important that they both be seen there. Half the village knew that the women were living alone in Ida’s house while Ottfried slept in the hut, and they found it extremely suspicious. Had Cat somehow broken up the Brandmanns’ marriage? Had she made eyes at Ottfried, and now he was trying to escape from the temptation? As long as Ida was seriously injured, it could be safely assumed that he didn’t want to be an additional burden to the maid while she was caring for his wife. Either that or he didn’t want to share the house with her for reasons of propriety. Now that Ida was getting better, though, people were starting to talk.
For Cat, it meant the time had come. She would not live with Ottfried again. She had to leave, and she wanted Ida to go with her.
“But where can we go?” Ida asked despondently. “Maybe you can go to the Maori, but what about me? How could I live there?”
Of course Cat had asked herself the same question. Realistically, there was no reason for the Ngai Tahu tribe to accept this weak woman who couldn’t even speak fluent English, let alone Maori. Perhaps they would be hospitable and take care of her for a few weeks, but in the long run . . .
“I don’t know, Ida, but we’ll think of something,” she replied impatiently. “You can’t just keep letting Ottfried rape you and hit you. Anything would be better than that. We could—”
She stopped when she realized she was about to promise too much. In no way could she guarantee that Ida would be able to find work, or that the Maori, like the pakeha, would be waiting for an interpreter to come along. And it wasn’t true either that anything was better than what Ida already had. Life as a whore at the whaling station would have been much worse.
As the young women gazed unhappily into the valley, Frau Brandmann approached them. Ottfried’s mother was panting; the walk to the missionary station was difficult for her. Almost everyone in Sankt Pauli Village was suffering from bad nourishment and excessive work. However, Frau Brandmann had it easier than most. So far, none of her half-grown sons had moved away to Nelson, and her daughters were still unmarried. She had enough help in her household, and Ottfried’s brother, Erich, had become very good at fishing. Since Cat had shown him how the Maori did it, he also laid snares for birds.
“How lovely to have you with us again, Ida!” Frau Brandmann said, greeting her daughter-in-law. “And you, too, Katharina. Recently you’ve been too busy taking care of Ida to pray with us. Not that she looks much better.” She gave both Ida and Cat a disapproving look. “She’s still so pale, so thin . . . and I even sent Erich to you with the last partridge he caught.” It had actually been a kiwi bird, but Frau Brandmann staunchly refused to learn any new words for plants or animals. “You could have cooked a nice soup for her with it. Can you cook at all?” She regarded Cat with annoyance, and had completely forgotten that her son had Cat to thank for his success at bird hunting.
“Cat cooks very well,” Ida said. “But I’m not very fond of kiwi—I mean, partridge—soup.” She smiled. “But recently, I don’t know. When I even smell soup, I feel ill.”
Cat had noticed the same thing. Ida had been sick to her stomach often, and if Cat thought about it, she herself wasn’t doing any better. But she mostly felt sick in the mornings. As she was trying to remember which dishes had made both of them nauseous and what food might be responsible, Frau Brandmann grinned widely.
“Oh, so that’s it!” she cried. “Of course, that explains everything! Don’t worry, Ida, in the first month you often lose some weight because you don’t want to eat. But of course you’ll have to force yourself. In time, the nausea will pass.”
Ida looked at her mother-in-law uncomprehendingly. “Of course, I’ll get well again,” she said hesitantly, “and then—”
Frau Brandmann laughed heartily. “Darling, you’re not sick! Believe me, you’re as healthy as a good wife can possibly be. You are blessed with a child, Ida!” Beaming, she continued on up the hill to the missionary station.
“Could that be true?” Ida asked, shocked, after her mother-in-law was out of earshot.
“Of course it could,” Cat replied gruffly.
Ida had gone white as chalk. But Cat couldn’t deal with her friend’s panic at the moment because she was already trying to deal with her own. She couldn’t deny that she had the same symptoms as her friend; perhaps for that reason she hadn’t divined their meaning.
Cat felt her panic rising and racked her mind for clues. When had she bled the last time? In the days just after the rape, she was sure of it. But that had probably been because of injuries, not her monthly cycle—it wasn’t even the right time.
Cat lowered herself onto the rock next to Ida. She only hoped that the pastor would take his time getting the prayer meeting started. She was so flustered that she wouldn’t be able to face the other women.
“I don’t want to be with child,” Ida whispered. “Not from Ottfried, and not here . . . Oh Lord, what shall become of me?”
Cat sighed. “You should have thought of that before,” she said angrily. “After all, you could have refused to be his wife. But no one asked me, Ida! Yet it looks like we are both expecting his
children.”
Ida and Cat somehow survived the prayer meeting, and then the friendly, curious glances of the women during the Bible study group, and finally their congratulations. Obviously, Frau Brandmann hadn’t hesitated to inform the entire village about her daughter-in-law’s pregnancy. The women mistook Ida’s fluctuating blushing and paleness for shyness, but they laughed away her protests when she said she wasn’t completely sure.
“You’ve been married over a year, Ida,” Elfriede Busche said. “Of course it has finally happened! And how considerate of Ottfried to leave you in peace these first few weeks when you aren’t feeling well. My Robert didn’t know any better, but fortunately, it didn’t hurt the child. You’ll feel better soon, it’s just the first few months. Let me know if I can help you with the garden or something. We’ve all noticed that you haven’t replanted.”
“Oh, it’s wonderful!” Frau Brandmann said joyfully. “The first grandchild to be born here in the new village! Does Ottfried know yet, dear Ida?”
“He’ll surely find out today,” Cat said despondently when the two women were finally alone again.
Elfriede Busche had accompanied them the entire way to the river and had chattered without a break about how nice it was that her little son would have a playmate, and how wonderful it would be for the children to grow up in the village. She also went on about how Ida must be incredibly happy that God had finally blessed her as a vessel of life. Fortunately, she was so busy listening to herself that she didn’t notice how neither Cat nor Ida had said a word before she went on her way.
“News like this spreads like wildfire,” Cat said, “and really, he should hear it from you. He’ll be angry if he hears it from others first.”
“I don’t care!” Ida said. “I’m certainly not going to find him and announce the ‘happy news.’ Oh God, Cat, I know it’s a sin, but I don’t want a child! I don’t want to stay here, I—”
She began to weep.
Cat pushed her onto a chair and sat down across from her. She would have liked to comfort her, but Ida’s difficulties were nothing compared to what she herself was facing. There was no time for gentle persuasion.
“Stop fussing, Ida, we have to talk!” she said determinedly. “There are possibilities . . . ways to kill the child inside the mother . . .”
Ida looked up, her pupils dilated in horror and confusion. “Would you do that?” she asked, her face white as snow.
Cat shook her head. “Maybe, but I don’t know how it works. Te Ronga taught me how to deliver a baby but not how to end a pregnancy or prevent one. Children are always welcome among the Maori, even outside of marriage. I only know about getting rid of them from—” She stopped as she thought about the whores in Piraki Bay. Priscilla had her methods, and Cat could still remember how both Noni and Suzanne had almost died from them. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “There’s no one here to help us, so we’re going to bear these children. But for you, it’s not so bad. Everyone in the village is happy about your baby.”
“Which will probably die in the next flood!” Ida interjected.
Cat shrugged. “There will be some kind of solution for the flooding. It can’t go on like this forever. Either you’ll all move away or build a dike. But—I’m sorry, but you’ll have to stay with Ottfried.”
Ida sobbed. She hadn’t really been able to imagine fleeing with Cat, but the thought of being bound to Ottfried for the rest of her life made her tremble more than it ever had before.
“What about you?” she whispered.
Cat bit her lip. “I’m leaving.”
She prepared herself to resist Ida’s tears and pleas not to desert her, but the young woman surprised her. Ida rubbed her eyes but remained calm. She wasn’t stupid. During the Bible study session and the walk home, the same thoughts must have been going through her head as Cat’s. It was completely out of the question for a bastard child to be raised in Sankt Pauli Village, especially not with its half-sibling in its father’s house. If Cat didn’t leave by herself, then she would soon be thrown out without mercy, and without any consideration for the child. No one would believe her about the rape; instead, they would pity “poor Ottfried” whom she had “tempted.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay another month until it gets warmer,” Cat said. “Then the boats will be passing more often.”
In the winter, the cold Moutere was often flowing too quickly, and no one wanted to venture into the wild inland area. But in the summer, missionaries and surveyors would be coming, and traveling merchants would stop in the village as well. Cat would surely find a way to get to Nelson on the river. From there, she would go to the Ngai Tahu as she’d originally planned. The pregnancy would make the journey more difficult, but if a tribe adopted her, the child wouldn’t be a problem. Cat silently berated herself for having stayed in Sankt Pauli Village in the first place. At least she would have been spared the rape and the unwanted child if she’d gone to the Maori directly.
“You can stay as long as you want,” Ida said softly. “The only question is, how do we prevent Ottfried from finding out about your child?”
Chapter 36
The women leaped apart as Chasseur fearfully announced Ottfried’s approach. Ida gripped her throat fearfully, and Cat reached for her knife, but to their surprise, Ottfried was sober. He stripped off his oilskin coat and awkwardly held out a bouquet of rata and kowhai blossoms to his wife.
“I heard about the child,” he said to Ida, without sparing a glance for Cat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know myself,” Ida said, bracing herself in case of punishment for the shortfall. “I’m not even sure yet. It’s just that your mother thought so . . .”
Ottfried smiled. “Oh, my mother isn’t wrong. Not about something like this. So that’s why you were sick!”
He sounded relieved. Ottfried had probably been wrestling with his feelings of guilt, at least as far as Ida’s injuries were concerned.
“Oh, so the baby broke her wrist?” Cat interjected. “How does that work?”
“You shut up!” Ottfried snapped. “You only bring strife into my marriage. My mother says it would be better if you left. You’re nothing but a temptation.”
So Frau Brandmann had noticed Ottfried’s lustful glances at Cat.
“And you’re a bad influence on Ida,” he declared. “She probably would have been back on her feet much sooner if you hadn’t coddled her so much. Other women get pregnant and keep up with their work. But it’s all right, Ida.” His voice became gentler when he spoke to his wife. “Everything will be fine, now that we’re going to be a proper family. I’m going to stay here in the house. It’s not good if I stay up by the station; people are beginning to talk. If someone has to take care of you, then it will be me.”
“Ottfried, I—I can’t—” She put her hands over her abdomen protectively.
Ottfried grinned. “I understand, I’ll control myself. I don’t want to hurt the baby. Our son, Ida! The first Brandmann to be born in Sankt Pauli Village. It makes all of this worthwhile.”
“It might be a girl,” Ida whispered, as though she already had to apologize.
Ottfried waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense! This is our son and heir. Honestly, Ida, I—I’ll be better. I swear on my honor. My father reprimanded me about drinking with the men, and I also know that I should have resisted the temptations of this Lilith.” He swallowed.
Ottfried attempted an apologetic smile, but his voice and the look he gave Cat showed little remorse and much more cruelty and lust. Cat needed all of her strength and rationality not to pull her knife on him.
“I’m going to the barn,” she said hoarsely. “Call me if you need me, Ida.”
She had to force herself to turn her back on Ottfried as she left. She didn’t want him to think she was afraid of him. But she still held the knife in her hand, ready to whirl around and strike if she heard him following her. She turned once more when she reached the door.
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br /> “I mean that seriously. Ottfried, if I hear anything when you touch her, then . . .”
Her face twisted with hatred. She saw fear in Ottfried’s eyes. He had gone too far, and he knew it.
Cat could hardly sleep at all that night. She lay tensely on her bed in the straw and listened carefully, but there was no sound from Ida and Ottfried’s bedroom. It seemed as though Ottfried was really going to leave his pregnant wife in peace, for now at least. But there were other sounds that alarmed Cat almost as much. She heard rain falling hard and steadily on the barn roof, and the rushing of the river. The gurgling was growing louder from one hour to the next. The last flood had begun exactly the same way.
This time, the Moutere didn’t give Cat any time to warn Ida. Toward the morning, after she’d finally fallen into a restless sleep, she was awakened by Chasseur’s barking, Berta’s terrified mooing, and a swell of cold water forcing its way under the barn door.
As Cat sat up with shock and then leaped to her feet, the water roiled toward her. The land below the house had already been fully commandeered by the river, and Cat saw trees and bushes in the water that had been ripped out by the strength of the flood. This was worse than the last time.
First, the young woman set about freeing the animals. The horses were already kicking the walls of their stall and stormed out as soon as Cat untied them. But Berta had to be forced to leave again. She was scared in the flooded barn, but she didn’t want to go out into the rain. When Cat was finally able to drive her outside, the water was already up to her knees. When Cat tore open the door to the kitchen, it flowed in with full force.
“Ida!” she shouted, and recoiled when she saw Ottfried in his nightshirt instead.
“What are you doing?” Ottfried looked at Cat in confusion, then jumped back as the water engulfed his bare feet. “The—the river?”