She looked at Frank, remembering something. “You said your own mother died when your brother was born. I hadn’t thought about it before, what a terrible thing it was. How terrible for your father, and for you. You must have been just a little boy.”
Frank was no longer smiling. “I was five. It’s one of my earliest memories. My mother screaming, just like…my mother screaming. And my father never really got over it, although he took comfort in Will.”
She sat up, a look of realization in her eyes.
“I think I will never marry and have children,” she said. “I came to New Zealand to look for a husband, to have children, to start a family and have a good life. But now I see that there is too much pain. And children die. Look at Paul and Jens. What will their mother feel when she hears? That they have died in a country so far away, that will be unbearable for her. Children are born in pain, and they die and there is more pain. I would not be able to stand it. My books will be my children.”
He was quiet for a very long time. Eventually he said, “But children live as well. Look at little Hamlet, playing there, and all these other children. Think how Maren loves her little Hamlet.”
Mette nodded. “That’s true,” she said. “But still, it does not balance out, for me.” As she said it, she believed it.
Frank nodded slowly.
“If there is no baby, if it has really died, you’ll still have your room to stay in,” he said. “Not that that’s a comforting thought for you.”
“I suppose I will,” she said. “But I’m not going to stay. I know that now.”
“What will you do? Will you leave? Please don’t go into service. I would hate to see you as someone’s servant girl.”
Mette regained her composure.
“I didn’t tell you, but I have a job, and it has a room for me to live in as well.”
“Not as a servant,” Frank said again. “Please Mette, not as a servant.”
“I’m going to be a seller of books,” she said, and he could see that her usual good spirits were bouncing back again. “Mr. Robinson has asked me to work in his bookstore. He has a nice little room at the back of the shop, with a stove for heating, and even a proper water closet just outside the back door. The room is small, but it will work well for me. And I will always be close to books.”
“The books that will be your children, as you said,” said Frank. He was looking sad for some reason. A butterfly landed on her fingers and she moved her hand around, admiring the blue and yellow on its wings. After a minute she spoke, not looking at Frank.
“Just living is not enough, said the butterfly. One must have sunshine, freedom and a little flower.” She blew gently on the butterfly and it fluttered away. “That was said by our very famous storyteller Hans Christian Anderson,” she said, then added, “What about you, Sergeant Frank? Is your life going to change?”
“Not as much as I’d hoped,” he said enigmatically. “But I won’t be driving coach any more. I’ve had enough of that.” He turned towards her. “Did you hear they’re building railway tracks through the Square? Soon we’ll be able to take the train all the way to Wanganui, and even up to New Plymouth.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said. “Perhaps when the tracks are built you could become a train driver.”
He laughed. “I don’t think so. No fun in that. I have a better idea, if it works.”
“And what is it, this better idea? I’ll only be happy if you tell me you are going to stay in Palmerston.”
“I will,” he said. “I’m going to open a small private investigation firm. I’ll work throughout the Manawatu, even the rest of New Zealand if I must. There are many people who need help. I would rather think and explore than simply drive a coach. Wiremu, Will, Karira wants to become my partner. He’ll be an excellent person to work with.”
“And will you have an office close to Mr. Robinson’s bookstore?”
“I’ve taken a room in the new building next to the Royal Hotel,” he said. “I can sleep and eat at the Royal, and have an office right next door.”
Mette clapped her hands. “You’ll be just across the Square from me, and we can be friends forever,” she said.
“Friends? Yes, that will be good. Friends. Forever.”
He stood up. “Well, I must be going. I hope to see you soon, in town.”
She watched as he mounted his horse. She was sad, but was not sure why. She felt as if something had been left unsaid, something that she had wanted to be said. He had just disappeared when Pieter came out of the house and called her.
“Mette, come quickly. Maren is asking for you.”
She trudged reluctantly over to the house. At least Maren was alive, if she was asking for her. She was not looking forward to seeing a dead niece or nephew, however.
In the house, the women were standing around smiling at nothing in particular. Maren was lying on the bed also smiling. Mette’s heart began to beat and she felt the beginning of joy. She rushed over to Maren’s side. Maren was lying there, her face white and drained. Pieter was beside at her looking proudly down at her, his face a picture of love. Beside Maren lay two small bundles, one on each side. Mette gazed down at two tiny red faces and it seemed her life was now perfect.
“Mette,” said Maren. “You must meet your two new nephews.”
One of the babies waved a tiny red fist and squealed; the other joined in.
“We have two new little brothers for Hamlet,” said Pieter. “Mette, I introduce you to little Paul and little Jens, the future farmers and landowners of the land that is New Zealand.”
Maren spoke for the first time, her voice soft.
“Mette, I will do as you want, and make sure these boys grow up to be strong and brave, but also educated men.”
Mette held two tiny hands between her own and smiled sadly. Everything is perfect, she thought. Almost.
After a while Maren fell asleep, helped by the Chlorodyne Mrs. Hansen had dropped onto her tongue, and Pieter and Mette left her to rest, babies beside her. Mette’s elation had faded but she was not tired. She thought about Frank and wondered, what have I done?
She intended to walk until she was tired, down through the clearing to the path towards town. There was nothing or no one to be afraid of anymore, and she would not be able to sleep, even if Mrs. Hansen dropped some of the chlorodyne onto her tongue. Her body was buzzing with a strange energy, as if something had happened while she was not paying attention. She was happy that Maren now had her three boys and Pieter, but all she could think of was Frank, who had seemed to move away from her. He had left, and she wanted more than anything for him to return.
As she reached the entrance to the pathway she saw a shape coming towards her, a horse and rider. It was if she was reliving the first time she met Frank, as she ran from the bush and in front of Copenhagen. Was she imagining him? No. It was Frank coming towards her on his horse, and her heart leapt with joy.
She sat down on a log at the side of the path and waited. This time she would get it right. She would not run at him screaming, or say sad things to him about butterflies or the perils of having children. She would stay calm and see what it was he had wanted to say to her. He dismounted in front of her, his face hopeful, a smile beginning. Unable to help herself, she stood up and walked towards him quickly, holding his eyes with hers, and reaching her arms out to him. He opened his arms to her and held her tightly to him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I left you alone when you were in pain. I thought only of myself. I wanted to return to tell you…”
“Maren is not dead,” she said in a muffled voice, her face pressed into his chest. “And she has two baby boys. Paul and Jens she will call them.”
“Ah, that’s good then,” he said, his voice muffled against her head.
“Now would you please ask…say what you were going to say to me when I interrupted you with my silly ideas. I was wrong. There must always be children, no matter what the pain.”
She felt s
omething warm and damp push against her neck, followed by the sound of a faint snicker. She looked up at Frank, smiling.
“Copenhagen and I have something to ask you,” he said.
27
Epilogue: The White Ghost
Fears are entertained that two young men, named, respectively, Jens Lund and Paul Nissen, have been drowned in the Manawatu River. It appears they left their whare a fortnight ago yesterday for the purpose of visiting a relative living on the Fitzherberton side of the river. "We understand that they paid their visit and set out on their return home, at the same time telling their relative that they had crossed the river on a log. They have not since been heard of, and we learn that a party went in search of them yesterday.
Manawatu Times, 8 August 1877
He was cold and hungry. He had stumbled through the dense bush for hours after Paul sank below the frigid water and away from him, cold and terrified. He had seen the terrible Maori on the far side of the river making the face at him, after watching them in the water, not helping them. Even if he could have made it back across the river he did not want to. He was afraid. He would return to Knud’s tent, but there was no track on this side of the river and the woods had swallowed him up. He had climbed up from the river and scrambled between the huge dark trees, hoping always to see a track, or to hear people. Night came and he fell beside a log and slept fitfully. The light disappeared completely and he could see nothing, not even his own hand. The sounds in the dark of the night scared him. What animals were there in this forest? What people?
The next morning, he found the river again, but he was across from the place where the Maori lived, the village with the canoes, people coming and going, and he was afraid. Would they help him, or would they throw him in the river and watch him drown? He did not know. He had never talked to a Maori person in the year he had been in this country. He saw a small boy standing on the dock staring at him from across the river. The boy pointed and screamed, “Turehu!” He withdrew quickly into the bush so the boy could no longer see him.
He found a small stream gurgling down into the river and drank deeply. He wished he had kept the bottle that Knud had given them; then he would be able to fill it up and carry it with him, but it was gone, he did not know where. His clothes had dried now but he was freezing and found it difficult to move. His teeth chattered uncontrollably and he could not stop himself from shaking. He started to think about food—how he would find something to eat. Mette, his cousin Mette, was always finding things to eat in the woods, and she had talked about them. He could not remember much of what she said, although he remembered she said people ate young fern roots when they were very hungry. He pulled out some ferns and tried chewing them. The taste was terrible but he was able to create a mush in his mouth that he could swallow, allaying his hunger briefly. He searched more, and near a grove of pine trees found some brightly covered mushrooms, red with white spots. They would keep him from starving. He pulled out several and sat down with his back against a log to eat. There were some white grubs wriggling around on top of the log, and he brushed them away in disgust. Once he was full of mushrooms, at least as full as he could get with mushrooms, he would start walking through the bush again, back towards the Pa. Perhaps he should not be afraid. The people there must help him. He should not be afraid of someone just because they were different from him.
The hallucinations started within twenty minutes. He saw monsters coming at him, trolls. He fell and lay there calling for his mother, his stomach cramping. He leaned forward and retched and then fell back against the log, over and over again, getting weaker each time. Eventually he fell into a nightmare-filled sleep. By evening he was near death. He awoke briefly, the visions gone, his stomach aching from the vomiting, freezing cold. He could not move. His body was without strength. He lay there as the sky darkened and the moon came out. Now he could see the stars. He watched them, not knowing what he looked at, not understanding. Eventually he died. He was just another boy who had been lost in the bush. It would be years before he would be found, and by then he was forgotten.
Thank you for taking the time to read Not the Faintest Trace. Nothing is more exciting than knowing a reader has finished one of my books, and I hope the fact that you are reading this means that you did. Would you be so kind as to mention it to your friends, and also to leave a review on the site where you purchased the book? Even criticisms can be useful as I am always trying to improve my writing and I read everything that is posted.
Thank you
Wendy
Glossary
The Marae: A meeting area in front of the meeting house.
The Pa, a fortified Maori village. The Pa in this book does not exist. I used the original Maori name of Palmerston for the name of the Pa. The fact that Hakopa sold the Pa without the consent of his tribe was something that did actually happen, as land was communal. Note that Hakopa is the Maori version of Jacob, a reference to the biblical story of Jacob and Esau. Esau was the one who gave up the land for a mess of pottage, but there’s no Maori equivalent for that name.
Whare: A Maori hut made of flax or raupo.
Pakeha: White or European New Zealanders.
Turehu: A white ghost with red hair. I have exaggerated the importance of this ghost in Maori mythology, mostly because Jens had red hair and I wanted an equivalent to the Scandinavian troll.
Haka: A war dance with actions. Usually done before rugby games these days. Search YouTube for various versions involving the All Blacks, the New Zealand rugby team. You’ll love them.
Powhiri: The greeting ceremony performed when dignitaries arrive at a Pa. Search for a video of Hilary Clinton attending one of these.
Tapu: Taboo, or forbidden, because something is sacred.
Hangi: A feast cooked in a hole with hot rocks and leaves. I once attended a hangi where a group of ad executives cooked a roast pig using this method. When it was taken out the pig was not fully cooked, which made things awkward as you can’t really put it back in for an extra hour. Fortunately my agency also represented Alka Seltzer.
Hongi: Not to be confused with hangi. The act of touching noses as a greeting. Watch various members of the Royal Family do this on YouTube.
Waka: A dugout canoe. A small waka is called a waka teti. Teti means basket, so presumably a waka teti is a basket-sized canoe, although not shaped that way.
Utu: Can mean revenge, but the meaning is closer to balance.
Wiremu: Karira’s first name is Wiremu, the Maori name for William. Maori names often come from a Maori pronunciation of the English name, so Hori is George, Hohepa is Joseph, and Hemi is James. In the next book you will meet Wiki, short for Wikitoria, or Victoria.
For more Maori words, look here.
Sources
The quotations in the first chapter and the epilogue are from Papers Past, a searchable database of newspapers published in New Zealand in the last two hundred years. It was in Papers Past that I discovered a coroner’s inquest detailing the death of Paul Christensen Nissen, my great grandfather’s brother, and Jens Lund his cousin. The news story led to the creation of this fictional story. Sergeant Frank Hardy and Mette Jensen are my own creations, although sometimes it’s hard to believe they were not real people.
The source of the story in the opening chapter was James Belich’s excellent book I Shall Not Die: Titokowaru’s War.
More details of the Land Wars can be found on Papers Past or on TeAra, the online Encyclopedia of New Zealand.
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/
https://teara.govt.nz/en
Background History
Before you read this book you may want to read some of the background history. If you’d rather just start you can always come back to this history later.
The Scandinavians in New Zealand
The first Scandinavians came from Denmark in the mid-1860s after the war between Denmark and Germany over the Schleswig-Holstein border lands. Bishop Monrad the ex-premier of Denmark and
the protagonist of the recent Danish/BBC miniseries, 1864, fled to New Zealand and settled in Palmerston with his family and others from Schleswig. When the town had a brief scare during the war with Titokowera the Bishop returned to Denmark after first burying his plate in the garden. His son Viggo, who makes a brief appearance in Chapter Five, remained behind.
The next wave of Scandinavians (mostly Danes) arrived in the early 1870s. Sir Julius Vogel, Prime Minister of New Zealand, brought Scandinavians to New Zealand because the country was covered in rain forest and the Scandies were famed for their skill as axe-men. Poor farmers and farm labourers were offered assisted passage and land in return for clearing the bush or working on road or railway track construction. The Scandinavians arrived expecting farmland where a few trees needing removing and were shocked with what they found. Many turned to sawmilling as a way to survive, including my own great grandfather. “Little Claus,” born the week his uncle Paul vanished, was my grandfather.
Maoris at the time called the Scandinavians Yaya because of the way they spoke, and it is doubtful any New Zealander would know this now. The British settlers called the Scandinavians “Scandies” and were quite dismissive of them; articles from the time made negative comments about their accents. Frank moves from Yaya to Scandies to Scandinavians as he gets to know Mette. In general, the Scandinavians, especially the Danes, are not a group of immigrants many modern New Zealanders would know much about. Various Scandinavian Clubs do celebrate their shared past and have online presences.
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