The Fire Blossom

by Lark, Sarah

  Two years ago, shortly before Barker had arrived with his whores, George and Linda Hempleman had landed in Piraki Bay and settled on the Banks Peninsula. Back then, Frau Hempleman had been in much better health. Of course she heard about the new women at the beach, and went down herself to have a look at them. She had probably been hoping for some female company. But Priscilla, Noni, and especially Suzanne were certainly not appropriate companions for Linda Hempleman. Just the idea of whores sitting on her clean sofas in their greasy, dirty dresses was too much for her. As was the thought of their rough, uncultured speech disturbing the peace in her household, and the gentle, friendly words that she liked to share with Kitten.

  Kitten smiled at her memories of Linda Hempleman’s pleasant, rather quiet voice, which at the beginning, mostly spoke in a language that was strange to her. She and the lonely woman from the manor house had taken to each other very quickly. It had begun with Kitten staring in disbelief at the confections Frau Hempleman had given to her the first time they met on the beach. No one had ever given her anything sweet before. Plätzchen, cookie, was the first word she learned in the German language.

  “And when someone gives you one, you say danke,” Frau Hempleman had said, reprimanding her when she had taken the cookie in both hands and stuffed it into her mouth.

  Kitten had looked at her intently and repeated the word. In Linda Hempleman’s household, people were polite to each other. Kitten had much to learn, but she sucked up the knowledge and good manners, and above all the new language, like a sponge. When the kind woman began to offer her refuge in her home during the afternoon and evening when the pub was open, Kitten learned German very quickly. And because Suzanne was usually sleeping off her whiskey in the arms of the last man she’d served and Kitten had nowhere to sleep, the girl usually spent her nights in the horse stables at the manor house.

  George Hempleman knew nothing of this—Kitten snuck out of the house to the stables when she heard him coming home, and was long gone and back on the beach before he left his wife in the morning. But Linda Hempleman knew. She had always left a little milk, bread, and honey by the barn door when her health had allowed it. But that had stopped weeks ago. Now, it was Kitten who brought her motherly friend her meals in bed.

  On this day, too, the girl had misgivings when she opened the front door of the house and found the kitchen a mess. It was easy to see that the lady of the house wasn’t available, even though Mr. Hempleman had made some kind of an effort not to distress his wife. Still, almost everything was in disarray. The breakfast dishes were unwashed, the pillows on the sofa hadn’t been plumped up properly, and of course no one had cleaned.

  Kitten called Frau Hempleman by name to announce her presence, and walked toward the first-floor bedroom that Mr. Hempleman had recently set up for her. Stairs led to the second story where the couple’s private rooms were, but Linda Hempleman was currently too weak to climb them. As Kitten walked through the house and tidied up a little, pushing furniture back in place as she passed, a thought came to her. Since she was going to be officially grown now, maybe Frau Hempleman could hire her as a maid! She could live with her, take care of her, and keep the house tidy. Or no, perhaps she shouldn’t live here . . .

  No matter how often Kitten dreamed of sleeping in a real bed in a real bedroom, she was also wary. Mrs. Hempleman was ill, and Mr. Hempleman was a man! Kitten had heard Barker complaining that his whores weren’t good enough for Mr. Hempleman. The whalers claimed they’d seen him visiting the brothel in Port Victoria.

  “Kitten?” Frau Hempleman opened her eyes as Kitten entered the room. It was quite small, previously a sort of handicrafts room, where Kitten had often seen her doing embroidery by the big window overlooking the bay.

  “It’s so lovely to see you!” she said in German. Es ist schön, dich zu sehen! “And such pretty flowers! Fire blossoms . . .”

  Kitten returned the smile that the thin, pale woman in the bed gave her. She had known Frau Hempleman would appreciate the bouquet of rata flowers that she’d picked from the meadow in front of the house. Rata grew abundantly in the area, as a bush on its own and even sometimes as an invader in the middle of plants like the crown fern or other vegetation. But Frau Hempleman loved the flowers and had invented the poetic name for them.

  “I’ll just put them in the vase,” Kitten replied, and set about exchanging the new bouquet for the now-wilted yellow kowhai flowers that she’d brought the day before.

  The girl made a conscious effort to act lighthearted, but Frau Hempleman’s appearance shocked her. She seemed to grow sicker from one day to the next—and older! Linda Hempleman surely wasn’t more than thirty, but even the exhausted, alcoholic Suzanne looked younger and more vital. Frau Hempleman’s once shiny blonde hair was now dull and graying. Her face was pale and bony, and her eyes were sunken and surrounded by dark circles.

  “Are you feeling all right, Frau Hempleman?” Kitten asked. “Shall I make some tea for you? Or is there anything else you’d like me to bring you?”

  Linda Hempleman tried to sit up a little. Kitten put the vase down on the bedside table and helped her. She seemed to gain a little strength and ran her fingers through her hair, which she still had down from the night.

  “Would you brush my hair, child?” she asked in her weak but still melodic voice. “And a cup of tea . . . Tea would be heavenly. But there’s time. Keep me company for a while first, Kitten. Then you can get tea and bread with honey for both of us, all right?”

  Linda Hempleman didn’t really seem hungry, but she certainly knew that Kitten hadn’t had much to eat that day. Priscilla and Noni cooked only for themselves or their current admirers, and there was rarely anything left over for the girl. Suzanne didn’t cook at all and didn’t give anything she earned to Kitten. It angered Kitten that most of the customers didn’t bother to pay her mother’s fee, and of course Barker took much of what little she did make. Suzanne spent the rest on whiskey.

  But Kitten was patient. She was used to being hungry, as long as she could remember. She certainly wasn’t going to rush Frau Hempleman. Instead, she reached for the brush on the nightstand and began to brush the woman’s thinning hair, and then put it up with a pretty tortoiseshell comb Frau Hempleman had brought from Sydney.

  “Would you also like to wash a little?” Kitten began to fill a bowl with water and got a washcloth and a towel, as well as a piece of Linda Hempleman’s perfumed soap.

  “Yes, please, but you’ll have to help me,” she answered sadly.

  Frau Hempleman obviously didn’t like having to be dependent on anyone, but Kitten didn’t mind at all. She enjoyed giving her friend a hand, and even helped her take off her nightgown and put on a fresh one after she’d cleaned her body. Perhaps this would be a good time to broach the subject of working for her as a maid.

  “I think you should always have someone here to help you,” she began cautiously. “In—in the house, and especially now that you’re ill . . .”

  Linda Hempleman nodded unhappily. “That would be lovely, child. But it would have to be a woman, and household staff is just impossible to find here. George already wanted to ask among the Maori, but I don’t want to have a savage around me who can’t speak one understandable word . . .”

  Frau Hempleman’s forehead creased disdainfully as she spoke, and Kitten couldn’t really imagine a Maori woman in this house either. Both of them were a little afraid of the half-naked, heavy-bodied natives who occasionally appeared at the whaling station and sold the whalers sweet potatoes or grain. The Maori were always very friendly, but they spoke little English and didn’t seem as though they would enjoy polishing furniture or helping ladies to dress. Kitten also thought that they looked a little dangerous—there were strange tattoos around the women’s mouths and all over the men’s faces. Frau Hempleman would be terrified of them.

  “But I could help you!” Kitten suggested courageously. “I know where things are kept, and how you like everything, and—”


  “But you’re still a child, Kitten!” Frau Hempleman said with an indulgent smile. “It’s very kind that you want to make yourself useful, and you’re already a great help to me. But you’re far too young for real work.”

  “You’re the only one who thinks so!” The desperate words burst out of Kitten’s mouth before she could stop them. “Mr. Barker sees things differently. And he has a completely different notion of ‘real work’!”

  Shocked at her own outburst, she suddenly stopped. She hadn’t wanted to say it so clearly. With horror, she realized that Linda Hempleman seemed to be alarmed. An unhealthy red flush crept over her pale face. Kitten had certainly upset her, and it was possible she was going to have an attack. Kitten reached desperately for the smelling salts on the nightstand. Sometimes they could help.

  But Frau Hempleman managed to pull herself back from the edge. She waved away the bottle. “Child, does that mean the man wants to—he wants you to—sell yourself?”

  Kitten nodded unhappily. “There’s no other work here,” she said. “At least not for a girl. As a man, I could go whaling or hunting seals, and who knows what else. But as a girl, I can only do what my mother does.” She had wanted to be brave, but now she had to repress a sob. “Unless you hire me.” Almost hopefully, she raised her eyes to look at the sick woman. “And I would do my very best. I would work a lot, and I could really help you. I—”

  Linda Hempleman raised her hand weakly. “But I won’t be here very much longer, child.”

  Kitten’s forehead creased. “You’re leaving?” she asked in confusion. “Mr. Hempleman is giving up the whaling station?”

  Kitten could hardly believe it. After all, George Hempleman’s business was booming. Every few months, his colleague Captain Clayton left the station with a fully loaded ship, and she’d heard that he sold the oil and other whale products for a good price in England. Besides, the men in the pub would have been talking about it if the station was going to close.

  Frau Hempleman shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “My husband will stay here. And by the will of God, perhaps he’ll find a new wife—”

  “A new one? But why should he?” Kitten asked, shocked. “You aren’t going to leave him, are you?”

  “Yes,” the woman replied stiffly. “Although I certainly don’t want to. Georg has been a good husband to me, and I have been a loving wife.” As usual, she pronounced her husband’s name the German way. “But . . . my God, child, do I really have to say it out loud? I’m dying. I’m returning to God. I can already hear him calling me, Kitten.”

  Kitten suddenly felt hatred for this God, of whom she’d never heard before she’d gotten to know Frau Hempleman. And now he had plans to take away Kitten’s only chance for protection!

  “That can’t be true, Frau Hempleman!” she exclaimed. “You aren’t even old yet! Of course you’re sick now, but you’ll get better again. You’ve always recovered when you had an attack. And if you let me take care of you, then you’ll get better in no time, and—”

  Linda Hempleman shook her head again. “I won’t get better, child, believe me. The last attack was too strong. I’m tired, Kitten. I will obey God’s call gladly. I’m just sorry for you, and of course for Georg.” She reached out a hand and stroked Kitten’s cheek gently.

  “But—but when?”

  Kitten was fighting her tears again, and her voice sounded muffled. Of course she knew that there was no answer to her question. Frau Hempleman couldn’t know exactly when God planned to take her. Maybe it wouldn’t happen so soon. Maybe it would be months, maybe a year . . . Kitten could save the money she earned in the Hemplemans’ household, and then escape from the whaling station after Frau Hempleman died . . .

  “A few days, perhaps, child,” the sick woman said, robbing her of her last hope. Her voice sounded as though she wanted to drift away already. “A few weeks at the very most. But you must understand that I can’t have you in the house anymore. How would that look? How would my husband look if he took such a sweet young thing into his household, a few days before his wife—no, I’m terribly sorry, child.”

  Kitten bit her lip. She didn’t care at all about George Hempleman’s reputation. But even if Frau Hempleman changed her mind, a few days or weeks wouldn’t make the difference. Barker would take advantage of her as soon as Linda Hempleman died.

  “Will you go make tea for us, dear Kitten?” Frau Hempleman whispered. “Perhaps I could talk to Georg about you one more time. Maybe there is some kind of solution. Maybe a family in Port Victoria needs a maid . . .”

  The sick woman tried to sound encouraging, but Kitten didn’t have any illusions. Port Victoria was wild like Piraki Bay, and had also been settled by whalers and adventurers. There were a few recent settlers in the Canterbury Plains, she’d heard, with women and children among them. But it was difficult to imagine they would need a maid, especially if they didn’t even have a house yet. And why would a married woman want to take in a girl like Kitten? She was the bastard child of a whore, and she didn’t even have a name. She was also quite pretty by the general standards. Even Priscilla’s voice had rung with jealousy when she’d talked about Kitten with Barker, and Frau Hempleman apparently feared that the girl could seduce her husband after her death.

  No, it wasn’t going to work. Kitten gave up hope as she brewed the tea and cut the bread she’d almost lost her appetite for. There was no honorable solution for her plight. Unless she could think of something else quickly, she would have to do what Barker wanted.

  Chapter 3

  It took a whole week until another whale was sighted in Piraki Bay, and for Kitten it felt like a death knell. The men didn’t earn enough from boatbuilding to be able to afford a whore, and even Priscilla, Noni, and Suzanne didn’t have enough work. But this week, at least Noni was busy. So far, the reverend had given no indication that he was ready to go off and meet the “savages.” Instead, he had spent every day with Linda Hempleman and, at the request of her husband, had prayed with her and bolstered her courage. But it was obvious that he was still dreaming about Kitten. Whenever they crossed paths at the Hemplemans’, he devoured her with his eyes.

  Kitten would have liked to avoid him, but she couldn’t bear to leave her sick friend alone with the reverend. Frau Hempleman needed help with the simplest of tasks. And the reverend certainly couldn’t be depended on to hold a cup to her lips so she could drink. Besides, he was from the Anglican Church and spoke no German, and Frau Hempleman’s English was bad. She was grateful when Kitten was there to translate, and the reverend was thrilled about it. He encouraged the girl to sit next to him on the sick woman’s bed. He invented excuses for physical contact, even putting an arm around Kitten as if overwhelmed by fatherly pride when she quickly found a Bible quote he’d cited in English in the German Bible and read it aloud. But she couldn’t read particularly well. Frau Hempleman had only just started teaching her when she had begun to grow sicker.

  “He’s going to want to bid in the auction,” Kitten said to Noni, dismayed.

  The woman was altering one of Suzanne’s dresses to fit Kitten, at Barker’s request. The pub owner had even bought some spangles to make it look fancier. That morning the traveling merchant Tom Carpenter had arrived in Piraki Bay. He traded with settlers on secluded farmland as well as the various Maori tribes in the area. The natives loved the colorful baubles he brought, while the settlers preferred to supplement their stocks with staples such as flour and dried beans. And, of course, Carpenter sold whiskey. He sold it more cheaply than Barker, in fact, because he could organize resupplies himself. Captain Clayton brought him barrels of the strong liquor from Ireland.

  Noni sighed. “He probably has money too. His home parish most likely collected funds for his mission. If they only knew what he was using them for!”

  “But I don’t want him!” Kitten said agitatedly.

  Noni pushed her in front of the old mirror that the whores shared, but Kitten demonstratively turned her head away. She di
dn’t want to see herself in the new finery. Just a quick sideward glance was enough for her to know that her delicate body in the tight red dress would drive the men wild. She usually wore her hair in a braid, but Barker would surely insist that she wear it loose so the golden curls cascaded down her back . . .

  “You’d better start getting used to it,” Noni said calmly as she gathered the material below the deep neckline. It made Kitten look almost as though she had breasts. “We can’t choose the men. And at least the reverend doesn’t stink of whale oil. He’s also not violent, and he’s always done quickly. There are worse men. It’s no good at all if your first is a fiery young one who catches your eye. Then you’ll only get false impressions about what’s to come.”

  Kitten didn’t answer. She didn’t want a young, fiery man. She didn’t want any man at all! At least not one who paid to use her body. She was increasingly desperate for a way out. Ever since Barker had announced that her auction would take place after the next whale hunt, the men’s lustful gazes had followed her relentlessly. She hardly dared to go out in public anymore.

  On a sunny morning in the manor house, after Kitten had spent a fearful night next to Linda Hempleman while she gasped for air, she heard the call she’d been dreading.

  “Whale in sight! All men to the boats!”

  Kitten couldn’t see the preparations in the bay from the house, but she heard the men’s excited voices and felt the tension in the air. The whalers would be lowering the boats into the water, each with twelve oarsmen and a harpooner. They were large boats, but in comparison to the gigantic creatures that the men set out to fight, they were fragile. A whale could capsize a boat with a single stroke of its tail, but it usually didn’t. The creatures were peaceful, and even when the men threw harpoons at them, they attempted to escape rather than defending themselves. They continued to allow the boats to get within harpooning range—even though it would be easy for them to swim away or dive as soon as they saw the humans.