The Fire Blossom

by Lark, Sarah

  Two giggling girls crawled out from behind a bush. They walked shyly in Jane’s direction, each holding out a large sweet potato as a welcome gift.

  “Kia ora, haere mai,” the two girls said in chorus in their high voices, and even Jane had to smile.

  The little girls were adorable with their long dark hair and round faces. Jane wondered where she had packed the sweets from Nelson. Of course, she’d brought them for herself, but it was slowly occurring to her that there was no way to avoid close contact with the natives. Perhaps some of her problems could be solved that way. Reluctantly, she relinquished her aloofness as the mothers, sisters, and aunts of the girls appeared. Jane counted twelve women and older girls, and at least ten excited children. Each one had brought a gift of welcome, and an older, very dignified-looking woman handed her a polished green stone and a seashell, with friendly sounding words.

  “That’s pounamu jade,” Christopher explained. He looked worried. He was surely afraid that she would react inappropriately to the female greeting committee. “It’s very valuable to the Maori, especially here in this area where it’s difficult to find. The stone is supposed to bring good luck. They usually carve figures of their gods out of it.” He pointed to the neck of one of the women, who wore such a figure dangling from a leather cord. “But Hera says she didn’t want to give you a hei tiki, because she didn’t know if you liked such things. A few missionaries have reacted badly to that kind of gift.”

  Jane could easily imagine that. It was hard to picture a missionary or someone like those intolerant German settlers accepting a heathen amulet as a gift. She wouldn’t mind at all herself, though.

  “How do you say ‘thank you’ in Maori, Chris?” she asked, and then stepped back in surprise when the woman Chris had called Hera suddenly came very close to her. “What is this?” Jane asked fearfully. “What does she want from me?”

  “She wants to exchange the traditional greeting with you,” Chris said. “The hongi. You put your noses and foreheads together, and feel each other’s breath. I’m so sorry, Jane, I should have warned you.”

  But Jane controlled herself unyieldingly. She hadn’t chosen any of this, and it was completely against her instincts. But if it served her purposes, she wouldn’t refuse contact. With a forced smile, she turned to the woman. Hera put her right hand on Jane’s shoulder, pulled her close, and gently rubbed Jane’s nose with her own. To Jane’s amazement, the Maori woman didn’t smell bad at all, but fresh and earthy, of herbs and flowers.

  After the exchange of hongi with the tribal elder, all the Maori laughed and applauded. Jane couldn’t deny the rush of other women who came toward her to repeat the greeting. Finally, she put an end to the onslaught by inviting all the women into the house with a magnanimous wave of her hand.

  “Tell them I am honored by their visit and want to offer them some refreshment,” she commanded to the surprised Chris.

  Jane dug inside her trunks for the Meissen porcelain tea service that her mother had insisted on sending with her. There was no reason to forget her good manners in the wilderness, her mother had insisted. There would always be a lady to whom you might want to offer tea, and you really couldn’t serve it out of any old pottery! Jane almost laughed when she thought of her mother’s remarks. She certainly hadn’t had this gregarious group of tattooed ladies in mind! But Chris’s supply of cups and saucers just wasn’t enough to serve all of them. In any case, they were already sharing cups between them and devoutly slurping the black coffee out of them. Jane didn’t know where Christopher had put the tea, or which kettle was best suited for heating the water. But she at least found her sweets and distributed them generously among the women and children, with a secretly bleeding heart.

  Then her efforts to please the Maori women bore fruit. A few of the girls discovered her trunks, and Jane took the opportunity to enlist their help with her unpacking. She observed how they handled the porcelain with extraordinary care, and then entrusted them immediately with the unpacking and polishing of her crystal glasses. There was no vitrine available to put them in, but for now there was space on the kitchen shelves. Two other girls pulled dresses and corsets out of a trunk with obvious amazement. Jane made an effort to be patient as they giggled and held the garments against themselves. Most of the women wore traditional Maori clothing, which consisted of woven skirts and tops. Two of them, including the obviously very high-ranking Hera, walked around proudly in faded European dresses. They had probably been purchased from traveling merchants who brought things that the settlers had discarded. Jane briefly considered sorting out several articles of clothing and giving them as gifts to a few of the women; it wouldn’t be difficult to find someone whom they would fit. Among the Maori, she realized, a figure like Jane’s seemed to be desirable. Almost all of the women were stocky.

  A few of the girls showed interest when she demonstrated how to put dresses on hangers and stow underwear in drawers. A young girl named Reka managed to do it better after half an hour than Mary in Nelson had after half a month. Jane had remembered her by the shape of her hei tiki. Otherwise, it was hard for her to tell the Maori apart. For her untrained eye, they all looked the same with their dark hair and eyes.

  But it didn’t matter if she liked the tattoos or skin color of her enthusiastic helpers or not. Her trunks had been emptied at record speed, and they’d all had a wonderful time doing it. Jane decided to take on the next project at hand, and led the women to the door.

  “This is where I’m planning to plant my garden,” she said.

  She was determined not to resort to baby talk; her personnel should get used to hearing proper English. Jane pointed at the land that stretched to the back gate. When she showed them a spade and a hoe that were leaning against the wall of the house, they began an animated discussion.

  Finally, Hera advised Jane with a serious expression that it wasn’t a good place for a garden. Using gestures and many words in her language, she explained that there was a much better place on the wind-sheltered side of the house. Jane barely understood anything, but she didn’t care where her garden would be. It was just important to her that the young women immediately reached for shovels and hoes and began to work the earth. Christopher finally came over with his two helpers and was obviously happy that Jane was doing so well. He began to translate, but Jane declined his offer.

  “I’ll worry about the details later. First, we can figure out the basics. I want some of them to work for me,” she said, pointing out the girls who had helped so enthusiastically in the house, as well as a very strong and obviously ardent gardener. “Please ask them if they would be willing, and how much they want to be paid.”

  Chris bit his lip. “I don’t know if that will work, Jane,” he replied. “They aren’t applying for a job. I mean, the girls aren’t here looking for work. This is a welcoming committee. We should be careful not to insult anyone. I don’t know the customs of the Ngai Tahu very well, or the rank of these women in particular. They might be princesses, for all we know.”

  Jane rolled her eyes and snorted lightly. “Nonsense, Chris! There couldn’t be so many princesses. And if there were, they certainly wouldn’t be allowed to run around by themselves without supervision. But even if their mothers and fathers are all kings or viscounts,” she said with a sardonic grin, “they surely won’t mind swinging a hoe here if they get proper clothes in exchange, and a few baubles.” Reka had regarded Jane’s rather meager collection of jewelry with reverence. “And princesses or not, they surely can learn that you can’t get something for nothing in this world.”

  “They already know that,” Christopher said uncomfortably, and wondered if she had been making an insinuation about the way he had acquired his land. “Kutu and Hare work for me. And the Maori don’t just want clothing like ours. Though they would appreciate blankets, seeds, cooking utensils . . .”

  Jane nodded with satisfaction. “There you go. I have far too many of the latter, anyway. I have no idea what to do with al
l the frying pans my mother sent with me.” She waved the women into the kitchen, and pointed at the shelf that contained the wares that they had helped her put there. “You can have half of them,” she told her visitors. “But first, you have to show me how to cook these!” Jane pointed at the sweet potatoes that they had brought. “I’ve never eaten them before.”

  When Christopher translated for the women, three of them immediately took over the kitchen. Jane nodded with satisfaction before turning to her husband again. “Yes, and we’ll order seeds in Nelson or Port Victoria, if that’s possible. I’ll need them for the garden too. So, will you tell the girls now that I’ll expect them here for work tomorrow?”

  Christopher reluctantly translated, which resulted in another rush of happy chattering. Hera, however, spoke in more serious tones, directly to Jane.

  “She says that you have to talk to the chieftain about that,” Christopher explained to his uncomprehending wife. “But I have to tell you: I didn’t translate what you said directly. I don’t want to offend anyone. I said you wanted to order seeds for your garden and would like to share them with the tribe, and also that you are very grateful for the women’s help and enjoyed their company. Hera said that she is happy that the women can learn things from you, and they want to share their wisdom with you too. You almost started your garden in a very inappropriate position; there’s no morning sun there, and it also has something to do with a place some kind of spirits live. I didn’t understand that completely, but you shouldn’t offend the spirits. That’s why we definitely can’t pull up that bush there,” he said, pointing to a plant that Hera had called koromiko. “Apparently, it’s very important for a good sweet potato harvest.”

  Jane rolled her eyes but made sure that the Maori didn’t see her. “Of course I’ll respect that,” she said, and turned to Hera with a smile.

  If she didn’t have to work with a hoe herself, Jane couldn’t have cared less whether the bush remained where it was. She was even prepared to call up the spirits herself.

  “That’s what they’re assuming,” Christopher said seriously. “But she wants to know if the collaboration will be approved by the village elders. Especially if you want Reka as a maid. I translated that more in terms of a foster daughter. Reka is actually the daughter of an ariki, a tribal leader. You see how easy it is to make a faux pas here. On the North Island, it would be completely impossible for a relative of the chieftain . . .”

  Jane’s eyes glazed over as he continued his long explanation. “If the girl comes regularly, I don’t care what you call it,” she said. “And as far as I’m concerned, we can speak directly to the chieftain about it too. When do we do that? Immediately?”

  Christopher rubbed his temples. “It’s not that easy,” he said.

  Two days later, the Ngai Tahu tribe greeted the Fenroys with a formal powhiri. Jane endured the two-hour ceremony of dancing and prayers with a kind of tortured patience. It was the same way she had faced the classical concerts and operas that her mother forced her to attend in Europe. Neither art nor religion moved her; she was basically a practical person. However, she also knew when she had to conform to the whims of society. She took a deep breath of relief when the last of the hongis had been exchanged with the female dignitaries of the tribe, and the Ngai Tahu moved on to the festive part of the gathering.

  “Now you are part of tribe,” Kutu announced formally. His English was quite good. “Powhiri unites manuhiri and tangate whenua—guests and members of tribe. Afterward, all one tribe. Now celebration!” He uncorked the bottle of whiskey that Chris had brought as a gift.

  While chatting cheerfully, the women of the tribe served a simple but delicious meal of grilled fish and the omnipresent sweet potatoes. Reka brought Jane her food, which Christopher took to be a very good sign. Jane had gotten quite hungry during the ceremony, and accepted the offering with pleasure. She noticed that the chieftain, who had been waiting in a place of honor somewhat removed from his people during the powhiri, was now observing her carefully.

  “That’s Te Haitara,” Christopher said when he noticed her interest. “A great chieftain and an honest man. He even recognizes our claim to the farmland here, even though your father, hmm, settled the contract with the Ngai Tahu very much in his own favor.”

  “He did what?” Jane exclaimed. “Are you saying he didn’t obtain this land legally either?” She immediately regretted her outburst. The word “either” had been a mistake. Chris didn’t need to know about the New Zealand Company’s problems in Nelson.

  He made an appeasing gesture. “Don’t worry so much,” he said. “But yes, there were just as many blunders here as there were with his land purchases in Nelson. But how do you know about that, anyway? I thought the company was keeping it a secret. I only found out from Tuckett. In any case, it could have resulted in a serious conflict here, too, if your father had sold the land to some unsuspecting, self-righteous settlers. Fortunately, we have it now, and my knowledge of the Maori language and my wish for a good relationship and fair exchange help a lot. The Ngai Tahu are actually very interested in learning about us. Much more than the Ngati Toa in the north were. Te Haitara is very open-minded.”

  Chris nodded at the chieftain. With his tattoos and his hair tied in a warrior’s knot, and the traditional weapons in his hand, Te Haitara looked very menacing at first glance. But upon closer inspection, one could see untroubled, empathetic features; full lips; and clever brown eyes that revealed a sense of humor.

  “Te Haitara is trying to learn our language,” Christopher added. “Even if he doesn’t speak much English, he can see that contact with settlers can be good for both parties.”

  The young chieftain, who had realized that Chris and Jane were talking about him, stood up and came over to them. He bowed briefly to Jane, regarded her attentively, and then exchanged a few words with Chris in Maori. Her husband blushed, but then both of them laughed, and Chris thanked him. Jane could follow that much.

  “What did he say?” she asked impatiently.

  Contrary to her original expectation, she was now determined to learn the natives’ language as quickly as possible. It didn’t suit her to be so dependent on Chris for her communication with them, and she also had no wish to allow him to teach her. She would order books. At least the Bible must be translated into Maori by now. Jane wondered briefly which testament would contain the most useful phrases for dealing with household personnel.

  Christopher bit his lip. “He said a few things that I’d rather not translate. Sometimes the Maori have a rather bawdy way of expressing themselves. But basically, he said—”

  Kutu, who was still sitting with them, translated less circuitously. “Ariki say that pakeha Chris Fenroy have very beautiful wife.”

  Chapter 28

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t see it as divine punishment, but more as a divine message,” Ottfried said.

  After the heavy rains during the first days of January, they had finally been able to wade down to their land by the river, and were now staring at Ida’s ruined garden and the muddy foundations of the house, in which the layout of the rooms was still barely visible.

  “I mean, we hadn’t gotten that far yet. And the boards aren’t even broken, just wet. We can build the house in another place, a little farther away from the river.”

  Ottfried had only just begun the work on their new house a few days before. So far, he’d given priority to building the church and the homes of the wealthier settlers who were willing to pay the carpenters well. Ida, though, had been working on her garden and fields for months already. She had started immediately after the wedding, and now, in the New Zealand summer, she had almost been ready to harvest the first beans and squash. She fought back her tears as she thought of all the good things washed away by the water or buried under masses of mud, and the countless hours of hard work that had been undone in a single day.

  The rainfall had begun two days ago, on Sunday, the day of the Lord, while the community had been
praying. The faithful were soon soaked to the skin but had toughed it out, assuming that the sun would soon be shining again. Until that Sunday in January, the settlers hadn’t experienced hours of heavy rainfall. It rained and rained, and an increasing mass of dark clouds towered above the mountains. The sweet little streams that had flowed with happy gurgles through the fields swelled into raging rivers feeding the Moutere. It was the sound of the river’s threatening roar that had finally driven the settlers to leave their prayer meeting, even though the final “amen” hadn’t yet been spoken.

  The Moutere normally flowed languidly. But now it raged, and the once-clear water was yellow from the mud that it carried. The settlers watched helplessly as the foundations of their new houses were washed away when the river overflowed its banks, gurgling and foaming. The parcels of land directly on the Moutere were soon completely flooded. The water churned over them for hours. When the rain finally stopped, it left a perfectly smooth lake, which first shone yellow, then settled to silver gray. When the water retreated into the river, the mud remained.

  “It’s fertile ground that’s been delivered to us,” Ottfried said. “God—”

  “God could have given me his message before I’d cleared and plowed the field and planted ten pounds’ worth of seed on it!” Ida replied angrily. “It was nice of him to deliver fertile soil, but he destroyed all my hard work. And yours too! We—”

  “Blasphemy!” Jakob Lange’s voice rang like the pronouncement of an avenging angel. “How dare you? It could very well be that the vanity and constant complaints of our women brought this punishment down on our heads—as well as the disobedience of our sons.”

  The older settlers grumbled resentfully. Several of their younger sons had fled the drudgery in the valley. With support from the government, the New Zealand Company was expanding the street network in the Nelson area, and the work paid very well. It was more attractive to the young men than building farms and workshops in Sankt Pauli Village that only the eldest brothers would inherit. The boys had gotten to know the freer town life in Nelson and didn’t want to live by the old traditions anymore, always subordinate to their fathers and pastors. For the first time in their lives, they had a choice, and the most courageous of them had chosen freedom.