by Lark, Sarah
“On no account should you show impatience or fear,” Cat lectured the men. “It’s part of the ceremony that the warriors show their weapons and make angry faces. They will talk a lot, but I’m assuming you don’t care which canoe this tribe took to Aotearoa and what journeys they’ve taken since they arrived here. So just let me answer, and try to relax. What’s the name of the ship you came with, Gibson?”
Gibson and Ottfried sat through the ritual patiently, though Ottfried was startled every time the men danced their haka. They listened to the tribal elders’ speeches and Cat’s replies, even though the only words they understood were “Sankt Pauli.” When the elders asked, she told them honestly about her life with the Ngati Toa. Te Rauparaha was well known and feared. Ottfried and Gibson began to worry when Cat defended herself in a sharp tone. But finally, an old woman spoke warmly and exchanged the hongi with Cat.
“Haere mai, Poti!”
The villagers whispered among themselves as Cat smiled against her tears. Then they sang songs and called out greetings.
“He tangata,” the chieftain said solemnly. And with that, the bond between the visitors, the members of the tribe, and the spirits was made.
“Now you can get out a few bottles of whiskey,” Cat advised as the Maori women brought out food, chatting excitedly.
Gibson grinned. “When do we talk business?”
It was hard to slow the men down, but Cat finally got her way and managed to put off business to the following day. The chieftain allowed his guests to set up their tents on the village meeting ground. Ottfried insisted on sleeping as close as possible to the wagons to guard the trade goods. He took his musket into the tent, and Cat worried that some boy might sneak up in the night out of curiosity and get shot. She didn’t get a wink of sleep, and she heard a few giggling Maori girls making their way to the tent of the interesting pakeha men. Fortunately, they were loud enough not to arouse Ottfried’s suspicion that they were planning to steal anything, and they were skillful enough to let the men know what they wanted without a common language.
The next morning, Ottfried and Gibson emerged from their tent seeming to be satisfied and relaxed. Cat was busy helping the women prepare breakfast. She joked with them while she baked flatbread and fed fruit to the children, and almost felt like part of the tribe when the girls arrived and excitedly giggled about their night with the pakeha men. Finally, with magnanimous gestures, Joe and Ottfried pulled the covers off the wagons. The women admired the clothing and kitchen items, and were already discussing who would get what, while the men looked in amazement at the steel knives. For Cat, their reactions confirmed what she’d heard: at least this village of the Ngai Tahu was significantly poorer than Te Rauparaha’s people. Aside from the blanket that the young people had mentioned the day before, they owned no European goods or clothing. They lived primarily from fishing and bird hunting, and the only crop they had was sweet potatoes. The buildings were also more rustic than the Ngati Toa’s, and there were fewer carvings and totem poles. The women had told Cat that morning that the tribe often wandered. If a year was too wet and the harvest spoiled, or if a winter was too long and the provisions didn’t last, they would head for richer hunting grounds, as far as the foothills of the Southern Alps.
When Cat broached the subject of their wish to trade wares for land, the chieftain called the visitors into the meetinghouse and asked the tribal elders to join them. They were all friendly and kindly gave information about the land. Te Kahungunu and his tribe had access to huge tracts of land. There were no other tribes in the area.
“So does the land belong to you or not?” Ottfried asked. “Can you sell it, and do you want to?”
“They are very open and willing,” Cat explained to the bewildered men. “But you have to understand, the Maori don’t have European notions of land ownership. The chieftain doesn’t really know what it would mean to sell.”
“The fellows in Wairau knew that very well!” Ottfried retorted. “What’s more, they knew how to swindle us!”
“Back in Wairau, Te Rauparaha had already been in contact with the pakeha for many years, and he understood how we think. That’s why he wouldn’t accept blankets and cooking pots as payment. He’s also tough. The Ngati Toa are interested in controlling certain areas of land. But the chieftain here, Te Kahungunu, has never had to fight for land, and he has only a vague notion about money. For him, the land belongs to whoever uses it. He has nothing against settlers coming here to work it. He says he would welcome them. And he thanks you again for the generous gifts.”
Ottfried frowned. “They weren’t supposed to be gifts—”
“He’ll understand that soon enough,” Gibson said, interrupting him.
“Cat, ask him if it’s all right if we measure the land for the settlers. He’ll also have to sign a contract, of course.”
Cat didn’t like this, but both of the men seemed quite relieved when the chieftain nodded happily. After they’d finished their business, they let a kind, white-haired tohunga show them where the pakeha would be allowed to settle without offending the spirits or breaking any tapu. Cat made sure that Gibson actually respected the boundaries as he drew his map, even if he sometimes complained that the holy places were sometimes right in the middle of a suitable parcel.
“The only things there are a few rocks,” he grumbled. “Everything around it is wonderful land. We can’t just let twenty acres go because of a few spirits!”
“The Maori must at least have access to those places,” Cat said. “They aren’t interested in the land around them. But you have to mark the places on the map. Whoever buys those parcels will have to know that a few square yards of land in their parcels won’t belong to them.”
Barely a week later, Gibson had surveyed an area twice as large as Sankt Pauli Village for new settlers. Basically, it was all the land between the Maori village and the Waimakariri River. He solemnly presented his maps to the council of elders, and they laughed at the notion that one could confine land to paper. Harata, the tohunga, pointed excitedly to the places on the map that were tapu. Gibson had marked them faithfully. The settlers would have to decide later how to deal with them.
Gibson let Te Kahungunu, Harata, and two other village elders make their marks on the contract that would make the deal official. They all completed the task with ceremony and great austerity, and afterward there was a feast.
“Now you’ll have to bring settlers soon,” Cat said on the first evening after they’d begun their journey back. “For the Ngai Tahu, the contract will only be valid when people actually come. I hope I was able to help them understand what the contract is.”
“Our contract is legal and valid,” Ottfried declared. “They can’t get around that.”
Gibson nodded. “The fellows won’t worm their way out of it!” he said with a laugh. “But don’t worry, Cat. We’ll find settlers. We can start in Port Victoria.”
“Port Victoria?” Cat said skeptically. “That’s hardly more than a whaling station. Sometimes a ship comes in, but settlers? Families? Do you really believe you’ll find the kind of people you’re looking for there?”
“Where else?” Ottfried asked, and opened a bottle of whiskey. Cat wondered if the men’s alcohol reserves were actually bottomless. “Of course, Nelson would be better. But then one of us would have to go there.”
“Don’t you need to have contacts in England too?” Cat asked. “Or in Germany, or wherever all the settlers come from? Someone to recruit them like you were recruited by John Nicholas Beit? I heard in Nelson that a bunch of Scottish settlers are coming to Otago. That was organized by some church or other.”
“We’re depending on the ones who come independently,” Gibson said breezily. “Someone has to take them into account too. It’s better when they come by themselves, anyway. Then each one can buy as much land as he wants.”
“Do people just come to New Zealand on the off chance that they’ll find a place?”
Cat didn’t
know much about settlers, but the ones she’d met had seemed quite dependent, at least compared to the whalers in Piraki Bay. Of course there were people like George Hempleman or the Redwood brothers who had come in search of adventure. But they were in the minority. Most immigrants wanted to know where they would be living from the start. They didn’t want to have to learn foreign languages, and especially didn’t want to have anything to do with the Maori. The ones who came on speculation were mostly young men who then earned their living by seal hunting and whaling. Perhaps many of them dreamed of buying land, but the two hundred pounds that Ottfried and Gibson wanted for each parcel would be too much for them. Not even Christopher Fenroy had been able to save that much, even though as Tuckett’s translator, he had earned more than a seal hunter.
“Droves of them are coming, darling!” Gibson said. “We’ll be able to sell our land sooner or later.”
Cat bit her lip. Obviously, Gibson and Ottfried didn’t understand what she was saying about the Maori way of thinking. She could only hope that she had been better at helping Te Kahungunu.
“First, we need at least one buyer,” Ottfried said, “so we’ll have some cash again. We need to buy new wares and find new tribes. It’s unbelievable! I wish I could tell my father. I have land! Ottfried Brandmann has land! Much more than a couple of acres in Sankt Pauli Village. Even more than the squire in Mecklenburg!” He grinned. “In principle, we could even keep it and teach a few of the Maori fellows how to work it. They would be totally crazy about the idea of working for us for next to nothing. I could build a big house and ride across my fields on Sundays.”
Cat sought Joe Gibson’s eyes. He grinned understandingly. He probably assumed that Ottfried was letting the whiskey talk. Cat could only hope that was true. If he honestly believed he could make a dream like that come true, he would be disappointed. Te Kahungunu’s tribe might be friendly, but they would never be Ottfried’s serfs.
Chapter 44
“Ida!”
Laura Redwood was alarmed when Ida Brandmann didn’t answer the third time she called. When Laura had visited in the past, someone had always appeared immediately. Laura knew the men and Cat were gone, but the dog should have barked, at least.
“Where are you, Ida?” Laura’s calls became louder. “Where are you, Chasseur?”
When she finally opened the door of the Brandmanns’ house, she heard a whimper and followed the sad sound into the Brandmanns’ bedroom. Chasseur approached with his tail between his legs and an unhappy expression on his face—and then, finally, she saw Ida. The young woman was hiding in her wardrobe with all her clothing bunched around her.
“Ida, what in heaven’s name are you doing in there?”
Laura looked into huge, frightened blue eyes that were rimmed with red and lined with dark shadows.
“Shh,” Ida whispered. “They—they mustn’t find us. Chasseur, don’t bark, don’t—”
Laura shook her head. “Thank God I found you! What happened? Did somebody hurt you?”
But that scenario was difficult for her to imagine. The house hadn’t been ransacked, and there had never been a break-in or anything of the kind in New Zealand, or so she had been told.
“No, but the ghosts . . . the howling. They’re prowling around the house, you know.”
Ida was shaking. But at least now she seemed to recognize Laura, and the panic gradually faded from her eyes.
“Laura,” she whispered. “It’s you, Laura. Oh, how good that you’re here!”
Laura Redwood bent down to the young woman and put her arms around her. Ida clung to her in desperation.
“My goodness, Ida! How long have you been sitting there like that? Come on now, get up. I’ll make you some tea, and you can tell me what happened. There isn’t anybody prowling around the house! Aside from a few kiwis, that is.”
The small, dark-haired woman resolutely pulled Ida to her feet, led her into the kitchen, and kindled a fire in the stove. Ida was shivering despite the heat outside.
“I was so alone,” she murmured as Laura pushed a mug of tea into her icy hands.
Ida drank in small sips and gratefully felt the life flowing back into her, along with her ability to think rationally. Immediately, her sense of shame was stirred. What must Laura think of me? How stupid do you have to be to hide because you’re afraid of ghosts?
“First, everything was quiet. But then I heard screams and chaos, and—”
“The usual night sounds,” Laura reassured her. “Child, you’ve slept in tents often enough. You know what night birds and chirping insects sound like. On the other hand, I do understand. All alone here in this—this—God, I don’t mean to frighten you even more. But this has always been an unholy place for me too.”
“A holy one,” Ida corrected her. “Cat says it’s holy for the Maori. Tapu.”
“I thought tapu meant ‘forbidden,’” Laura said. “But in any case, it’s not good for you to be alone here. We’ll put an end to that now. You’re coming with me, and you’ll stay for a few days. We’ll see what happens after that.”
“What about your family? What about when my husband comes back? I feel so silly!” Ida rubbed her forehead. She could just imagine what Ottfried would have to say about her behavior. “I have to get used to being alone.”
“First of all, you need to get your strength back!” Laura declared. “When was the last time you ate? That’s very bad for the child—you do realize that, don’t you?”
Ida nodded. “Chasseur’s hungry too,” she said quietly. “I—I told him to hunt for rats, but he didn’t want to leave my side.”
Laura grimaced. “Meanwhile, the rats have been dancing around you merrily and frightening you even more,” she remarked. “That dog’s not really a hunter. He’s a sheepdog.”
As if to prove her wrong, Chasseur appeared in front them, happily carrying a dead rat in his mouth. He did not, however, intend to eat it, but seemed to be hoping that Ida would exchange the carcass for something more appetizing. Ida shuddered, but she pulled herself together enough to praise the dog.
“I’ll just have a look in your pantry,” Laura said, and then whisked together a quick meal from the kumara, cheese, and smoked meats stored there. She watched with satisfaction as Ida devoured the meal. The dog was not forgotten either.
“Now, you’ll come with me, and that’s the last I’ll hear of it. You too, Chasseur, you can play with our Suzie. But only play, no more than that! The last thing we need is puppies.”
Laura quickly packed some clothing for Ida, wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, and ushered her outside. Her eyes wide with confusion, Ida gazed at the brilliant sunlight of the autumn day and the cloudless sky. She saw the mountains on the horizon and the forest, which didn’t look threatening in the daylight. How had she gotten herself into such a state? But she was convinced that she’d heard the ghosts moaning. She would surely feel better at the Redwoods’ place.
She followed Laura without any further protest. It was a long walk. By horse, Laura could manage the journey to her farm in less than two hours. But Ida couldn’t ride, and Laura was afraid to put her on the horse after all the anxiety she had been through. Besides, it was a miracle in itself that the unborn child had survived Ida’s episode.
“You certainly have a strong baby!” Laura told the young woman. “It will surely grow into a splendid child!”
Ida put a hand on her abdomen in a gesture of worry. Alone in the pa, she had been concerned about the baby, but other than that, she didn’t have strong feelings about the life growing inside of her. To be honest, it was a thing that robbed her of her strength and would forever tie her to brutal Ottfried and the life he was forcing her to live. Of course she would have been afraid to leave him and run away with Cat, even without the pregnancy. But she’d liked working in Paddy’s kitchen. She had earned money, and she’d felt safe with the pub owner’s protection. She might have worked up the nerve to defy Ottfried, had he not forced himself and these pregnan
cies on them both.
“Children,” she murmured. “I’m sure there are two.”
The women reached the Redwoods’ farm early that evening. Joseph, James, and Ed had been worried about Laura’s long absence, and they hardly seemed overjoyed at the sight of the visitor she had brought along.
“I hope this doesn’t bring trouble,” Ed said worriedly. “Don’t misunderstand me, ma’am. You’re welcome here. But I have to wonder if your husband will be at all pleased. I believe you were told to hold the fort on your own.”
Laura snorted with annoyance. “Hold the fort against who or what, exactly? Don’t you start frightening her too! If those chaps want something, they can answer to me. I’ll tell them the truth! It was irresponsible of them to leave this poor, pregnant girl alone in that haunted old place with that stupid dog. No wonder she’s been seeing ghosts.”
She glanced protectively at Ida, who had curled up in obvious relief in Laura’s rocking chair in front of the hearth.
“I’ll only stay for a few days, I promise,” she said shyly. “I didn’t really want to come. I could have stayed. I’ll make myself useful here. I can sew and darn and clean, of course, and Laura said that you make cheese. I’ve always enjoyed making cheese.”
Edward, James, and Joseph might have been worried about the already-fragile neighborly relations, but they were gentlemen through and through. None of the Redwood brothers could have been strict with Ida—much less with Laura.
“Well, her people won’t be back very soon, anyway,” Joseph finally said. “It’s unlikely that they’ll be able to con the closest tribe with their marvelous trade ideas.”