by Sarah Lark
Ottfried snorted. “I don’t trust them. You certainly won’t be driving my sheep out to the highlands. They’re going to stay here under constant supervision.”
Chris exchanged a look with Karl. They’d been expecting trouble, and here it was. But things would get even worse. Karl and Chris led their new partner quite far west, where there was a row of high hills. Chris galloped up, proudly gesturing at the sprawling fields, the little forests, and the rock formations that thrust up like castles and towers.
“So that’s Fenroy Station,” he said happily. The farm was only barely visible on the horizon. “Isn’t it beautiful here? All of this is ours. Soon there will be sheep grazing everywhere! You were right, Karl, sheep are the future of the South Island!”
Ottfried walked his horse over, and his eyes gleamed too. He sat up straight in his saddle like a king overseeing his land.
“It’s a lot bigger than Raben Steinfeld!” he said haughtily in German. “Bigger than what the squire had too.”
Karl laughed. “It’s almost the size of Mecklenburg!” he joked. “But it’s a different kind of property. We won’t set up fences and found settlements here. I’d rather think of us as shepherds. We’ll herd our flocks across the land, but we won’t change it.”
Ottfried snorted derisively. “That’s how you see it. Others might see it differently. So how shall we do this?” he said. “How we now make it?” he added in bad English.
“What?” Chris asked as he led his horse back down the hill.
“I mean about the land and the farm. If it belongs to all of us now, it can’t be called Fenroy Station anymore. And we should divide the land into parcels, so we know whose is whose.”
Karl had to take a deep breath before translating for Chris. “Ottfried, this is going to be a sheep farm,” he said imploringly. “A large one. There are already farmers on the North Island with over a thousand animals. The herds grow quickly. And they should be grouped according to whether they’re ewes, young animals, rams, wool, and meat and dairy animals—not according to whether they belong to Jensch, Fenroy, or Brandmann. Besides, we need open land; you can’t put that many sheep in a pen. Once they’ve trampled the grass, the ground will be ruined and barren. I suggest that we graze them all together and divide the final earnings by three. It seems to work very well for the Deans and the Redwood brothers.”
“With brothers, it’s in the family,” Ottfried objected. “But what if I end up with an heir and you don’t?”
Chris shook his head as Karl translated. “Brandmann, so far we haven’t earned a penny. We can’t start talking about inheritance yet!”
Ottfried laughed. “You haven’t earned anything, but I’ve already invested a pretty penny,” he bragged. “Fifty beautiful sheep! And I’d like to have them on my own land.”
Chris rolled his eyes and smiled sardonically. “All right, Ottfried. I have a certificate of ownership signed by John Nicholas Beit. According to that, I own quite a bit of land here. You can have a third of it. But only on paper for the time being, please. We’ll use the land as Karl suggests.”
“And we all love one another like brothers,” Karl remarked sarcastically as he walked Brandy next to Chris’s mare on the way back. Ottfried had already cantered ahead, spurred by the prospect of his very own land. “Perhaps Cain and Abel? Admit it, your certificate from Beit isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.”
Chris grinned. “Not in the eyes of the Maori, at least. As for the pakeha, Ottfried can lodge a complaint with the governor. Though I doubt he’ll send armed forces to enforce his claims. I’ll word it very carefully, and I’ll refer explicitly to Beit’s certificate when I transfer the land to the two of you so nobody can use it against me when Te Haitara sells it to me the normal way in the end.”
“The two of us?” Karl asked.
Chris nodded somberly. “Of course. If Ottfried gets a share of Fenroy Station, then so should you. I want to do things properly.”
Karl laughed heartily. “How generous of you, my brother! What should we call the farm, then? Paradise Station? Or the Garden of Eden, maybe?”
Part 8
KARAKIA TOKO
CANTERBURY PLAINS AND PORT COOPER, NEW ZEALAND (THE SOUTH ISLAND)
1846
Chapter 57
Ottfried reclaimed Ida just as triumphantly as he had claimed “his” new land. He drank more with his reluctant new business associates and then moved into “his” house, which he was apparently disappointed by.
“We’ll build a new one on our own land, Ida,” he announced after examining the simple hut. “Just like in Sankt Pauli Village. We have much more land here and much less work! The sheep practically take care of themselves. Jensch actually had a good idea, who would have guessed. Of course, the Jensches were never much for work, that’s why they didn’t make it far.”
Finally, he ordered Ida to come to the bedroom and moved the cradle to the kitchen when Carol and Linda began crying. Ida wondered if the little ones could feel her tension the same way Chasseur could, and all that horrible night, she listened guiltily to their crying. At least she didn’t need to worry about the dog; he’d immediately followed Cat to the barn. Instead, she thought of Karl with a mixture of worry and hope. He was also sleeping in the barn, perhaps not too far away. Maybe, if he heard the screams she sometimes couldn’t suppress . . . Would he come? Would he try to save her?
Ida knew it was a crazy idea. Carol and Linda were making a lot more noise than Ida ever would have, and apparently their crying didn’t reach the barn either. Otherwise, Cat would have come to take care of them. But it was comforting to imagine Karl as her rescuer, tearing Ottfried away from her and lying down in his place. Ida was ashamed of her fantasy, and yet, in the most painful moments, she thought of Bahia and Karl’s kiss.
Cat hadn’t set up camp with the horses but in the cow barn farther away, just to make sure Karl didn’t get the wrong idea. In the scratchy straw, she mulled over dark thoughts. Now she would really have to leave Fenroy Station. She couldn’t sleep in the barn forever, playing the unlikely role of the Brandmanns’ maid. Soon, Jane would wonder why she was still there, and she might have enough intuition to guess that the reason was Linda. Besides, Cat was worried about being assaulted by Ottfried again, or even just about his stupid bragging. When he’d had too much whiskey, he might let slip that he hadn’t had only Ida but Cat as well. And little as she cared how much Gibson knew about her child and Ottfried’s role, she would have been mortified if Chris and Karl found out.
As she rolled out her blankets next to Jennifer’s stall, not only Chasseur snuggled up next to her but also Ottfried’s collies, who seemed unhappy in the barn. Cat wondered if they’d slept in a house before. It was another riddle on top of all the questions Ottfried’s trip to Nelson had raised.
Brooding, Cat tossed and turned on her bed of straw—and realized how noisy the barn was. Jennifer’s restlessness wasn’t normal. Every time the cow lay down, she got up again, wandered around in her box, and mooed.
She’ll be calving soon . . . Cat remembered with a pang that Ida had mentioned it that morning. But then the men had been occupied with Ottfried, and Ida had been walking around all day as though in a trance, frightened about the coming night.
Cat shoved the dogs aside and jumped to her feet. She got to the cow as the creature was just lying down again. It was clear she was having contractions. Cat squatted down next to the cow, stroked her, and sang a karakia. It seemed to calm the cow just as it had calmed Ida during her own birth. According to Laura Redwood, this had to be Jennifer’s third calf already. Basically, all Cat had to do was wait until she’d squeezed the tiny being out into the world. It was in the right position, and Cat could already see the front hooves and the nose.
She watched in fascination as the head and shoulders emerged and the calf slid out onto the straw with one last violent contraction. Jennifer lay there for a moment, then she sat up, mooed at her calf, and began licking it. Cat h
elped her by rubbing it down with straw, and kept on singing. Now it was a song of joy, Te Ronga’s song of greeting for a new creature in the world.
Chris Fenroy heard Cat’s voice as he was walking back to the house after a short visit to the stables for one last whiskey with Karl.
Now the men had put the stopper back on the bottle, because as much as they would have liked to drown their worries about Ottfried, there was much to do in the morning, and neither of them wanted a hangover. So, Chris was still fairly sober when he walked back into the starry night. He passed the old house, heard the babies crying, and grinned to himself. Not a good night for Ottfried; Ida would surely be busy comforting the twins. Then he passed by the cow barn and heard a karakia being sung in Cat’s beautiful, clear voice. Chris wondered if he was dreaming.
He opened the barn door uncertainly. Whatever kind of magic Cat was weaving, she probably didn’t want an audience. And what was she doing sleeping in the barn, anyway? And then he saw her, kneeling next to the cow and her calf, her face glorified by her joy in the wonders of birth. Her hair fell over her shoulders in soft waves. She sang quietly and gently, praying for the blessing of the mother goddess Papa on the little calf. Papa, who was also the goddess of love.
“Cat!” Chris called softly so he wouldn’t startle her. He came closer.
Cat raised her face to look at him. She was beaming, and her glow only intensified when she looked into Chris’s eyes.
“A bull calf,” she said quietly. “For the Deans brothers. I’m happy it will live. I wouldn’t have enjoyed helping with the birth if I knew it would just be slaughtered.”
Christopher came closer. “It’s healthy and strong!” he said. “And you’re beautiful, Cat. I wish—I wish you could sing karakia for my child one day.”
Cat returned his gaze. “For your child and Jane’s?” she asked seriously.
Chris shook his head. “No. For your child and mine, Cat.”
He held out his arms and almost swooned when Cat stood up and nestled into them.
“I didn’t want this,” she said quietly, but then he sealed her mouth with a kiss, the first kiss of her life, not counting Ottfried’s brutality on that terrible night.
Cat returned the kiss haltingly at first, but soon, she was full of curiosity. She had always wondered what the pakeha saw in it—Maori didn’t kiss, and they’d only had a word for it since the English had arrived in Aotearoa. Now she enjoyed being close to Chris, his tongue in her mouth, stroking hers gently. Cat pressed her body into his and shivered as he stroked her back.
“Chris, what are we doing?” she asked hoarsely when he pulled his lips away from hers for a moment. “We can’t—”
“We can,” Chris said, kissing her again.
This time, Cat returned the kiss and allowed him to go further. He kissed the corners of her mouth, her forehead, her chin, and then her neck and the tops of her breasts. Cat’s resolve not to fall for Chris again was crumbling by the second. Finally, she let passion take its course and allowed herself not to think, but only to feel. She didn’t feel guilty as she pulled Chris down to her bed. The two of them laughed when they had to push aside Chasseur and the collies.
“I hope he doesn’t start howling,” Cat murmured with a glance at the brown-and-white mutt.
But all the dog did was look slightly miffed at having to give up his place. He didn’t make any move to protect Cat from Chris.
Chris paused for a moment as Cat stripped off her dress—the gesture reminded him of Jane’s dispassionate preparations. But Cat didn’t just lie down on her blanket and freeze; instead, she caressed him, relishing how he took the time to arouse her fully before entering her very slowly. Given Maori openness about sex, he wasn’t surprised to find she wasn’t a virgin. And yet, in many ways, she behaved as though all this was new to her.
He himself had never been so happy, so completely at one with a woman before. Cat’s love would heal him from Jane’s humiliation. Cat was kind, whereas Jane was cold; she smiled and encouraged him, whereas Jane could ruin the moment with a single sarcastic comment. Chris felt like a man again. With Jane, he always found it hard to fulfill his “duties,” but with Cat, it was easy and natural. They made love again and again, kissed and caressed each other, and explored one another’s bodies with delight.
For Cat, this night erased everything that had ruined the thought of physical love for her before: the sleazy remarks of the whalers, the groaning and grunting in her mother’s bed, and finally, being raped by Ottfried. What she was experiencing here was love: pure, joyful, and doubtlessly blessed by the gods. Nothing else mattered.
Finally, the two of them lay next to each other, damp with sweat, and Chris carefully tucked a blanket around her so she wouldn’t get cold.
“Don’t you have to go back to the house?” she asked sleepily as she put her head on his shoulder. “Won’t Jane be wondering where you are?”
Chris shook his head. “Jane and I sleep in separate rooms. And the word ‘wonder’ isn’t even in her vocabulary.”
“But it’s in yours,” Cat murmured.
Chris kissed her. “It wasn’t until today,” he whispered.
Cat slept blissfully in Chris’s arms, but the two of them woke before they could be discovered by Karl—or Ida, who might well have taken it into her head to check on the pregnant cow. But she didn’t show up at her usual early hour that morning.
After her night with Ottfried, Ida was sore and exhausted again. It had taken her a long time to calm the children, who had only squalled themselves into a fitful sleep toward the morning. Carol was awake again early.
“This one’s your brat, isn’t it?” Ottfried sneered as Ida rocked Carol. “The other one’s more peaceful. Extraordinary, it’s the other way around with the mothers. Maybe I should father my son and heir with her.”
“Maybe I should sleep with a knife under my pillow too!” Ida retorted and was shocked by her own courage. She feared punishment, but Ottfried only laughed.
“You wouldn’t even know how to use one!” he scoffed.
When she had finally pulled herself together enough to go out to the barn, Chris, Cat, and Karl were already standing around, marveling at the little bull.
“What’s his name? Does he have one yet?” Ida asked raptly and held out a finger to the calf, which he began sucking on immediately.
Chris laughed blissfully.
“Yes, Cat named him,” Chris said, and Ida saw his hand stroke Cat’s back. “Tell her, Cat, let’s see if Ida knows what it means.”
Cat had seemed exuberant a moment ago, but now she drew away from his casual caress.
“Oh, it’s silly,” she said. “I named him Kihi—‘kiss’ in Maori. Because the white spot on his forehead looks like a pair of lips.”
It took a bit of imagination to see it.
“He’s adorable,” Ida replied, just to say something.
Something had definitely happened between her friend and Chris, and she didn’t know if she could approve. Could? Or should? Ida decided she didn’t care what Raben Steinfeld would have thought. She resolved to be happy for Cat, if there was anything to be happy about. Cat’s own happiness already seemed to be fading. When Chris tried to put his hand on hers, she pulled it away and went to join Ida.
“Shall I help you with the milking?”
It was hard to miss that her friend could barely move after the night with her husband. One had to be quite nimble to milk sheep.
Ida nodded apprehensively. “Yes, that would be nice. But come with me to get the children first. I don’t want them to wake up with none of us there. They’re exhausted. We had a restless night.”
While Ottfried bragged about his night with Ida to the disgusted men, Ida asked her friend cautious questions—and was surprised at how openly Cat answered.
“It was beautiful,” she said quietly. “It was heaven. For both of us, I think. But there can’t be a second time.”
“Why not?” Ida asked, surprisin
g herself. The answer should have been obvious to a good Christian. Whereas she . . . The night before, instead of praying for God to end the ordeal, she had dreamed again of Karl rescuing her. “But you said you’re not ashamed. You don’t think it’s a sin. And it’s allowed with the Maori too. So why don’t you want to do it again?”
Cat took a milking pail and sat down in front of a ewe. “I’m free. But what Chris is doing is adultery in the eyes of the Maori as well. Think of the story of Kupe, who killed Kuramarotini’s husband. Of course Jane won’t kill me. But how are things supposed to go on? Am I supposed to live here as Chris’s secret lover? That’s hardly going to work; he can barely keep his hands off me. And what if I get pregnant again? Is Jane supposed to raise the child like you’re raising Linda? I don’t think she’d want that, and I wouldn’t give her the child anyway. She’s cold as ice. So it would be born without a name, just as I was. And I don’t want to do that to any child. No, Ida, I’ll go to the Ngai Tahu this morning and ask them to accept me into their tribe. I love Chris, and that’s why I have to leave.”
Te Haitara and the council of village elders listened calmly to Cat’s request. She had turned to Makutu, one of the oldest medicine women, and asked for a formal hearing. The dignified old tohunga had invited her into the meetinghouse. Now she was sitting uncomfortably in front of the men and women of the tribe.
“You lived with the Ngati Toa, and Te Rauparaha cast you out,” the chief summarized Cat’s story, which she had told formally.
Although Te Ronga had taught her how to say a pepeha and correctly list her ancestors, Cat neither knew her ancestors nor the name of the ship that had brought Suzanne, Noni, Priscilla, and Barker to Aotearoa.
“He cast you out because you didn’t stand with your tribe at a critical moment, but with the pakeha instead,” Te Haitara continued. “What guarantee do we have that you won’t betray us as well?”
“As far as I know, you have no strife with the pakeha,” Cat said. “So there are no two sides. And you know Te Rauparaha. He values war. But I was a daughter of Te Ronga, and she hated war. Her spirit guided me. And my actions hurt nobody. Wanting peace is not a betrayal.” Cat fidgeted with Te Ronga’s hei tiki, which she was still wearing around her neck.