“Who are you?” he called. Then again inMāori, “Ko wai koe?” He felt that the bushes shimmered a little, but no one replied. The girl was sobbing now, holding on to his leg with a ferocious grip, and he knew he had to get her away from here and to safety.
He helped her upright on the front of his saddle, and trotted his horse back to the sawmill, the girl holding his arm in a death grip. At the sawmill, he delivered her into the hands of her brother-in-law Pieter Sorensen, Nissen’s neighbour who had come with Nissen to talk to him about the missing boys. She spilled out the story breathlessly, and, before Frank could stop her, added the possibility that Hamlet might have been wriggling in a bag held by the Hauhau. Sorensen grabbed his axe and the two ran off towards home, eyes wide with fear, to rescue the boy.
Frank watched them go, bemused. He told Nissen what he had found so far, which was nothing. Nissen nodded sadly.
“I expect they’ve drowned,” he said. “What else could it be? But what about this man in the bush that Mette was in so much trouble about?”
“He tried to steal a piglet that she’d killed,” said Frank, realizing what an achievement that was for a young woman. No woman he knew would have the grit to hit a piglet over the head with a rock, even if it was standing still in a pig sty fast asleep on its feet.
“She goes into the bush to look for food for her family,” said Nissen. “Pieter doesn’t like it. Now he has proof that a woman should not go into the forest alone. No doubt he will keep her at home after this.”
“She seems capable of taking care of herself,” said Frank. “But let your women know that there’s a suspicious looking character hanging around, a tall dark man who’s after food – a Māori or a deserter who resembles a Māori. Tell them to stay close to home.”
“They’ll do that,” said Nissen. “They’re always telling each other stories about fierce Māori who lurk in the woods waiting to kill them and eat them. They scare our children with such stories. Most of them wouldn’t leave the clearing unless accompanied by men with guns. Mette is different, unfortunately for her.”
Not so unfortunate, really. Frank liked to see a young woman with courage. Especially a good-looking woman like…Mette, her name was.
“He may be a Māori,” he said. “Although that alone doesn’t make him dangerous. I suspect that he hasn’t eaten in a while. Not the most intelligent thing to do, throw a tomahawk at me. But he may just be hungry, and annoyed that he lost the pig.”
“If he asked us for food we’d give it to him,” said Nissen. “We wouldn’t let someone starve.”
“Keep an eye open for him,” said Frank. “I have his tomahawk so he isn’t armed. I doubt he’s dangerous, as I said.”
He left Nissen standing at the door to the mill and rode off towards the town to talk to Constable Price, keeping an eye out for the mysterious tomahawk-thrower.
6
Monrad's Barn
After her encounter with the two giants, as Mette thought of them, she was glad to be back at the clearing with the baby pig still in her possession. She had told her story to Hans Christian and Pieter, and then run home with Pieter, both wanting to make sure that little Hamlet was still safe. The thought of Hamlet in peril gave her the courage to run by the spot where she had seen the Hauhau. Sergeant Hardy had assured them both that Hauhaudid not eat little boys, but they could not believe him. They had arrived at the clearing out of breath and in a state of high anxiety, only to discover that Maren and Hamlet were nowhere to be found. Pieter sank to his knees and raised his hands skyward.
“Oh Lord, not my little boy. Please, not my little boy.”
Mette took a more sensible approach and went to look for her sister and her nephew. She discovered Maren standing with a rowdy group in front of the Jepsen home, and, much to Mette’s relief, holding a querulous Hamlet on her hip. Maren turned to Mette, her face animated, and spoke before Mette could say a word about how she thought she had seen Hamlet wriggling in a sack held by a vicious Hauhauman.
“Mr. Jepsen has hurt himself, and serve him right. He pulled down Mrs. Mortensen’s clothesline and made the washing muddy.”
“Oh,” said Mette. “Well, I had an extremely scary…”
“Mrs. Jepsen sent her son Pieter to the Mortensen’s cottage to ask for the return of a missing axe,” interrupted Maren, “but Mrs. Mortensen said they didn’t have it. Carl Jepsen came home from the sawmill and went to yell at Mrs. Mortensen and tell her she must give him back the axe, which he knows she has. She’s had it for almost a year. When she said again that she did not, he pushed over her new fence, and Mrs. Mortensen’s washing fell in the mud. Her shifts and Mr. Mortensen’s shirts, all muddy!”
Maren was obviously enjoying the drama, so Mette let her talk.
“Then Mrs. Mortensen picked up a slat of wood from the fence and hit Mr. Jepsen on the head.” Maren started to giggle. “And Mette, it was so funny. He ran off and fell over that tree stump, and he was lying there yelling he would take the Mortensen’s to court, he swore he would.”
“Why would he expect money for that?” asked Mette, interested now. “Was he hurt?”
“Not much. But he says he needs to pay for a doctor and nurse, and his time away from work. I don’t suppose he would win the case, but it would cause trouble for the Mortensen’s.”
Mette listened to Maren and pretended to be shocked and interested, waiting for an opportunity to tell her own story. Eventually Pieter appeared and behind Maren’s back shook his head slightly, so that Mette understood she was not to tell her sister that they had feared for Hamlet’s life. She was disappointed; she’d built up a wonderfully exciting story in her mind, but realized that a story including the possibility of Hamlet wiggling in a sack belonging to a strange native would not interest and amaze Maren, but rather scare her and give her nightmares; she would not be distracted by Mette’s adventure.
Mette started to walk towards home, but Johanna Nissen, wife of Hans Christian, who had witnessed the whole thing, stopped Mette to tell her version of the story. Johanna was a gossip and she would as soon tell stories about Mette and Maren as about the Jepsen’s and the Mortensen’s. It wasn’t a good idea to indulge her if you wanted to keep a few secrets. She got away from Johanna as soon as she could. Two weeks taking care of Johanna after the birth of Claus had been quite enough for Mette; Johanna was a demanding and unappreciative invalid. But Mette was disappointed she couldn’t tell anyone about her own adventure, especially the part where she was rescued by a handsome soldier on a large black horse, like something out of a fairytale.
Maren and Hamlet continued to watch the ongoing melee, and clearly little Hamlet had not been eaten by the Hauhau, or carried away in a sack, so she left the argument to play out and returned home, first letting Pieter know that she would say nothing to Maren.
Back in her lean-to she settled into her comfortable wooden rocking chair and picked up the only book she had ever owned: a battered copy of Charles Dickens A Tale of Two Cities. She was using the book to improve her English, rereading each page until she understood what it said. She’d cried when Sydney Carton arrived in the tumbrel holding hands with the seamstress, and both had gone to the Guillotine, Sydney Carton in place of Charles Darnley, the man who looked so much like him; she thought she might be a bit in love with him because of his bravery. “It is a far better thing I do…” she loved it! If she could find such a man…But now, after spending almost a year carefully reading the book and its heart-wrenching conclusion, she was starting it for the second time.
“It was the best of times. It was the worst of times,” she read. “It was the age of wisdom. It was the age of foolishness.”
She loved the way those lines swung back and forth, like a pendulum! They made her want to dance.
The roast piglet distracted everyone, and there was no talk of the Jepsen-Mortensen fight during aftensmad, the evening meal. After it was over she went to her lean-to and dressed for the dance, wearing her freshly washed a
pron and putting on heavy boots with nails in the soles. It was a long ride to the Monrad property and who knew when she would have to help push the bullock dray out of the mud. She wished she could wear proper dancing shoes, but apart from the fact that she didn’t own any, the boots were easier to dance in than clogs, her only other footwear.
Going to the Monrad’s place was always exciting. Bishop Monrad had been a famous man in Denmark—the premier in fact—before he came to New Zealand. He had returned to Denmark a few years ago, but his son Viggo now lived at the farm with his wife Olga and their children. Everybody loved Olga Monrad, who was the daughter of a Lutheran minister and a kind-hearted woman. She, like Maren, was now pregnant with her second child and unable to attend the dance, although Viggo had assured everyone she had longed to come.
They arrived as the sun was setting, the shed already lit by flames of kerosene lamps. A cluster of men lounged outside the double doors watching the women go in and eying them up and down—like a cattle market, Mette thought. She put her head down and followed Pieter and Maren through the gauntlet of men, feeling a dozen pairs of eyes inspecting her as she passed. Inside, the dance was in full swing, with rosy-faced couples lined up for a mazurka. A fiddler played Mette’s favourite mazurka, the one from Coppelia. It made her feel like a doll on strings, being pulled around against her will, but she loved it and wished she had been there in time to join them. She stood tapping her boot on the hard dirt floor, humming along with the music. She could see Viggo Monrad circulating around the shed, slapping men on their shoulders and patting children on their heads. He was a tall handsome man with a lean face and an intense expression. Of course, he wasn’t as handsome as Sergeant Hardy, who had saved her from the Hauhau, but still very handsome.
The music stopped, meaning the dancers needed to find another partner. Mr. Larsen, the manager of the sawmill, but much too old to be a husband, asked Pieter if he could dance with Mette and Pieter gave his permission. She was swept into the dance and joined in energetically, swinging from partner to partner with excited abandon. She could feel her cheeks burning and her heart pounding; she felt alive.
When the mazurka was over, she thanked her companion and went to catch her breath and find a cup of coffee. The Monrads owned a vacuum coffee brewer that was the wonder of the community, and a group of men stood around trying not to stare at it. They used the more traditional method in which hot water was poured on to ground coffee and strained into a cup after sitting for a while. A machine that made coffee was a miraculous thing. Mette poured herself a tiny cup and sat down near to the men. She would have loved to join in the conversation, but knew if she attempted to do so the men would stop talking about anything interesting.
“I don’t agree with it at all,” she heard Pieter, who was one of the men in the group, say loudly. “It isn’t necessary to educate children once they’re old enough to work. Ten years is long enough to learn everything useful. Nothing to be learned after that! I remember when I…”
“Some children should be out to work at that age,” said the pastor, who had soft-palmed sons of fourteen and fifteen away at boarding school in Wanganui. “But others are capable of being educated for more intellectual work, or even for no work at all, just quiet contemplation.”
Pieter grunted his disagreement, and a third man joined in.
“The new law says all children must stay in school until they’re thirteen. If it’s the law, Pieter, we’ll have to obey.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Pieter. “My Hamlet will be joining me at the mill as soon as he’s old enough, which will be ten to my way of thinking.”
Mette had a sudden image of Hamlet, still barely walking, managing a circular saw at the sawmill and she smiled to herself. Imagine poor little Hamlet, who was afraid of the troll under his bed, working at the mill.
The pastor saw her smiling and leaned towards her.
“What do you think, Mette? Should all children be educated until they’re thirteen?”
Despite the hard faces of the men staring at her, Mette felt compelled to reply.
“My father was a school master, and so was my mother, a school mistress at least, before she married my father. They taught me to read and write, and to do arithmetic, and I’m very glad they did. All children should at least be able to do that, although I know for some it may take longer than others. I’m pleased if the law now says that children have to stay in school.”
“Why do you need to read and write as well as you do,” said Pieter, whom Mette knew had a great deal of trouble reading and could barely sign his name. “What good is it doing you?”
Mette knew he was referring to her lack of ability to find a decent husband and to marry and have children. She blushed and looked down, saying no more. The men returned to their discussion, moving on to the merits of the new Land Act and denouncing the acts of Julius Vogel, the man who’d lured them to New Zealand and had recently been voted in as premier once more.
A large pair of boots appeared in her vision.
“I would like to dance with you, please.”
Without checking to see who was speaking, Mette leapt to her feet ready to join the dance and get away from Pieter and the group of men who were now ignoring her. Too late she realized it was a waltz, which she must never dance with an unmarried man, and the man who faced her now was Gottlieb Karlsen, who worked on the road crew breaking rocks, was unmarried and definitely not the type of man she should dance with. This was going to cause discussion once they returned home. He smiled at her with a large crooked mouth that was missing several teeth, and his breath wafted towards her in a miasma. But she had risen to her feet and was now obliged to dance with him unless she wanted to cause further problems.
She winced as he put his arm around her waist and they glided onto the floor together—not exactly glided as Gottlieb, like Mette, was wearing large hobnailed boots. She leaned back as far as she could to avoid the almost visible smell of his breath and committed herself to the dance, which went on forever. He smiled at her throughout, obviously pleased with his own success at finding a partner. When the dance finished, he remained beside her, his arm around her waist, expecting they were together until the end of the evening, if not forever. Mette hastily remembered something important she had to tell Maren, and escaped from the clutches of his arm across the room to her sister.
“You will come back?” he called after her. She gave a vague wave and grabbed Maren’s arm in relief. Maren grinned at her.
“I see you found yourself a wonderful partner,” she whispered, looking across at Gottlieb, who was staring at Mette. “But be careful. If he comes courting Pieter will be happy to see him and give him permission to marry you.”
Mette gave Maren a light punch on the arm.
“Please don’t say that,” she said. “It was quite accidental that I danced with him. I need to find someone else to dance with now, before he comes back and expects to have the next dance with me.”
She managed to corral Pieter. He was happy to dance with her, wanting to continue their discussion, or at least his side of the discussion.
“Mette,” he said, panting as they twirled around in a Polka. “You don’t understand how important a man’s work is to him. To do it well a man must start working young to make himself strong.”
“And what about women,” she said. “Should we be educated? If you have a girl next time, will she stay in school until she is thirteen, at least?”
He said nothing for a few more twirls. Then he said, “If she does she’ll never find a husband,” he said. Then, to make sure she understood, he added, “Like you.”
“If I do,” she replied, “and if I have children, I will teach them to read in Danish, German and English, so that they can read newspapers and contracts, and especially so they can enjoy great literature, like, like Fru Marie Grubbe, or a Tale of Two Cities.”
They danced for a minute more, before he said quietly, “Then I expect you will never marry.�
�� She knew he was thinking of his small cottage, and how one day soon he might need more room, so did not reply. Pieter escorted her in silence back to Maren, who was sitting with Hamlet clutched awkwardly against her swollen belly.
Mette sat quietly beside Maren, watching the married couples dancing together, thinking about Pieter and her sister.
“Maren,” she said eventually. “Will Hamlet and this new baby of yours go to school and learn how to read?”
“I expect so,” answered Maren, jiggling Hamlet up and down to stop him from squirming like an eel. “Pieter says it’s the law now, and he always obeys the law. Not that he likes the idea much.”
“He says Hamlet will join him at the sawmill as soon as he is able,” said Mette.
They both stared at Hamlet silently. He had grabbed the neckline of Maren’s dress and was tugging at it, obviously hungry. Maren looked up at Mette, her expression disingenuous. “I hope by the time he starts work at the mill he will no longer need to feed from my breast.”
Both sisters started giggling, first silently, and then in full, gasping hysteria, tears running down their cheeks.
When she had finally calmed down, Mette asked, “Does Pieter know that our father taught you to read?”
Maren gazed across the room to where Pieter stood staring at them angrily. They had embarrassed him with their laughter. “I told him I could read a little bit, but didn’t enjoy it. I said I was bored when papa was teaching us, and that you were his little star. Which was true of course.”
Mette was shocked. How could Maren lie so to her husband, about reading of all things? They sat without speaking for a while, the camaraderie of the laughter forgotten.
As people began to tire, Mr. Snelson, who was attending the dance in his capacity of mayor, climbed on a bale of hay and introduced Viggo Monrad, even though everyone in the barn knew who he was. Viggo Monrad was seeking the nomination to the Board of Education and would very much like them all to support him, Mayor Snelson told them, at least those men who had taken citizenship and were able to vote, or a handful of those present. Mette was tired and didn’t pay much attention to what he said, but thought it sounded like her side in the argument she’d just had with Pieter. He recommended that all children should stay in school until Standard Six and he hoped they would all agree the new Education Act was a wonderful idea. Mette tried hard to avoid Pieter’s eye during the speech, although she suspected he was glaring at her.
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