The Fire Blossom

by Lark, Sarah

  Te Haitara nodded. “But now you have lived with the pakeha,” he replied. “There is talk that you belong to the man with the thin hair who rode over our land yesterday but had no greeting for Te Konuta.”

  Te Konuta, a young nephew of the chieftain’s, had met the men while fishing the day before. Karl and Chris had exchanged a few friendly words with him, but Ottfried hadn’t paid any attention to the Maori boy.

  “I don’t belong to anybody!” Cat said firmly. “Least of all Ottfried Brandmann. I traveled with these pakeha, that is correct. I was working for them.”

  “And why do you no longer wish to work for Christopher Fenroy?” the chieftain asked. “Have you angered him by teaching us how to milk the sheep? Did you anger the Maori first by consorting with the white men, and then anger the white men by consorting with us? Are you a wanderer between tribes who doesn’t know where she wants to be?”

  Cat sighed, but she also had to suppress a smile. “As you say correctly, ariki, I am a wanderer between tribes. But I have not angered Chris. He and Karl don’t have the slightest problem with Ida and me showing you how to process wool and milk. Chris is your friend. Only—he—” She lowered her eyes. “I do not want to work for him anymore because he looks at me lustfully.”

  There were angry murmurs among the council.

  “Did he force himself on you?” Makutu asked.

  Cat shook her head. “No, not that. He’s a good man. But—”

  Te Haitara frowned. “How can this be? Chris Fenroy has a very beautiful wife. A woman with much mana. A woman anybody would envy him for. So why should he look at you lustfully?”

  Cat realized that Jane had an admirer in the chief, and she raised her hands in resignation. “I am certain there were also many beautiful women on Hawaiki,” she said, “but Kupe wanted Kuramarotini. You all know how it can end when people let themselves be ruled by their desires.”

  “Kuramarotini also wanted Kupe,” Makutu said suspiciously.

  Cat nodded. “That can make things worse.”

  An acknowledging smile flitted over the tohunga’s wrinkly face. “I vote in favor of Poti staying,” she said. “She speaks our language and that of the pakeha. She can represent us with Ca-pin-ta.”

  “With who?” Cat asked, but the chieftain spoke over her.

  “Jane Fenroy represents us with Ca-pin-ta,” he said sharply.

  Cat was startled. “I have no wish to get in Jane Fenroy’s way. That is truly the last thing I want.”

  Some of the women laughed until Makutu commanded everyone to be silent. “Someone should represent us,” she said. “Poti is one of us more than Jane. I have sung karakia with her; she knows more than the prayers to the gods of money. And she can teach our children English. Then, we won’t need an outsider to speak for us anymore.”

  The chief pursed his lips and thought for a moment. “Good,” he said finally. “She can stay. But she does not speak to Ca-pin-ta for us. She will teach the children English and reading and writing and math.”

  “I can’t do math,” Cat replied. “Or not very well, anyway.”

  She had learned simple arithmetic as a child, but when Ida had kept track of her cooking income in the pub, Cat had never quite been able to follow.

  “Then learn,” the chieftain replied. “Jane Fenroy says we must all learn it, and that it’s the most important thing.”

  The old tohunga shook her head unhappily. “No, ariki. The most important thing—”

  “—is the people!” Cat declared.

  The old woman looked at her. “We’ll get along well, you and I.”

  Cat couldn’t stop thinking of Chris as she unfolded her sleeping mat that night in the Ngai Tahu’s meetinghouse. On one hand, she felt at home, listening to the joking and chattering between her new fellow tribeswomen before settling down for the night, but on the other, her body longed to repeat the night with Chris, to make love to him, and to fall asleep in his arms. She also missed the babies and wondered how Ida would get along without her.

  To distract herself, she listened to the conversations. She had settled down in the sleeping area of the young, unmarried women and listened to the girls talk about fabrics and colorful necklaces they wanted to buy. And again and again, Cat heard the name that she had been wondering about all day.

  “Reka,” she finally asked the girl next to her, “who’s Ca-pin-ta?”

  Chapter 58

  Cat could hardly believe that the tribe’s traveling salesman was really old Tom Carpenter, in whose wagon she’d fled as a child. But really, it wasn’t too far-fetched. After Cat’s “adoption” by the Ngati Toa, he had shown up only once more in the north of the island. Expeditions to Tasman Bay were expensive and burdensome, so it was no wonder that Carpenter left the market there and focused on the growing population around Port Cooper.

  Only two weeks after Cat’s departure, he visited Cat’s new Ngai Tahu tribe. During those two weeks, Cat had done everything she could to integrate herself into the tribe, while Chris had visited almost daily, imploring her to return.

  “There has to be a solution, Cat! We love each other! What we had, what we have, it’s special. Please don’t throw it away!”

  It made Cat’s heart bleed to hear him plead like that, but she wouldn’t change her mind. “We’ve already found a solution, Chris. I live here and you live with your wife. It wasn’t I, but you who threw away what could have been. Not that I blame you. It all happened so fast back then; we were both still in shock from Wairau. You hardly knew me, I hardly knew you. I was caught up in grieving for Te Ronga, and you in your dream of having your own farm. We knew there was something between us, but we missed the chance. It’s something we both have to learn to live with. So please, don’t make it so hard.”

  But Chris wouldn’t give up. He kept thinking up reasons to ride to the village, and his desperate glances followed Cat around Fenroy Station when she came to visit Ida and the children.

  “I shouldn’t even come here anymore,” Cat complained to her friend. “The way he looks at me . . . Jane must notice. Ottfried too. Karl probably knows, but it’s a bad idea to give Ottfried any kind of leverage.”

  Ida could only nod. She also watched worriedly as the situation between Ottfried, Chris, and Karl began to escalate. Ottfried hardly took part in their efforts to build communal sheep barns and shearing sheds. Instead, he explained that he wanted to build all those things himself on his own property. He was also planning to build a house for his family there, but for now, he wasn’t making any moves to start building, first and foremost because he had no materials. Chris and Karl cut down the trees they needed for their barns and stables in the nearby southern beech woods. But they wouldn’t help Ottfried with his single-handed efforts.

  “We run the farm together; that’s what we agreed,” Chris insisted. “So all the sheep and feed belong in one barn. To finish the buildings before winter, we need every hour of daylight and every working man we can get. So don’t ask Kutu and Hare to help with your buildings instead, unless you want to pay them yourself! Barn building comes before house building. Everybody has a roof over their heads already, and your family has quite a comfortable one. Karl should be the one to complain. Now, are you going to help us or not?”

  Ottfried couldn’t entirely refuse. So, he turned up at some point every day to cut wood or build a little, but preferred bossing around the Maori workers. Of course they wouldn’t tolerate this, and Chris had to repeatedly apologize to the chieftain and bring gifts so the men would come back. Finally, he and Karl agreed not to pressure Ottfried into further participation, even though they really could have used his carpentry skills.

  “He’d rather go to Port Cooper to stock up on supplies,” Ida told Cat. The two of them had taken refuge in the dairy. Cat was helping her friend turn the almost-ripened cheeses out of their molds and rolling them in herbs or marinating them in aromatic liquids. “He brags that he used to do that for Sankt Pauli Village too. Goes on about his knack
for business. But it’s too risky; the lawyer or that Potter man could still be in Port Cooper, or they could come back and hear about Ottfried’s whereabouts. And it doesn’t make any sense, anyway. In Sankt Pauli Village, everybody’s English was worse than Ottfried’s, but here, everyone’s is better.”

  Cat laughed grimly. “Given her negotiation skills, Jane would probably be the very best one for the job. She’s rushing the Ngai Tahu again. They’re expecting Carpenter soon, which means the goods need to be ready. And goodness, I knew she could be exhausting, but the way she bosses people around! They only let her get away with it because the chieftain supports her, and because they like the clothing and housewares Carpenter sells them. The ariki’s generous; everybody gets what they want. Of course, that annoys Jane. She’d rather reinvest the money. She’d probably build an actual factory if she could. But Te Haitara isn’t stupid; he knows how much he can ask of his people. Or they might question his authority, which some of the elders are seriously considering. They accuse him of breaking their tikanga, their old traditions. But the young ones admire the pakeha. They’ve even stopped tattooing their children, which makes the moko masters angry.”

  “At least it’s good for Chris if Jane’s busy,” Ida said.

  Cat rolled her eyes. “It was. But now Chris is always in the village, too, pining after me. Jane’s sure to notice. I should have joined a tribe farther away, but I didn’t want to be too far from Linda and Carol.”

  The two girls were playing in front of the dairy. They babbled at each other in a language only they could understand and played with scraps of wood and pebbles.

  Ida smiled. “Or from Chris,” she said. “Come on, Cat, you don’t really want to be away from him, do you? I mean, Jane could fall over dead any day—oh God, I can’t believe I said that!” She clapped a hand to her mouth.

  Cat shrugged. “Face it, you’re not the girl from Sankt Pauli Village anymore. And Jane’s healthy as an ox. Besides, I don’t hate her. Jane’s just as unhappy in that marriage as Chris is. Too bad there’s no such thing as divorce with the pakeha.”

  “There is with the Maori?” Ida asked eagerly.

  Cat nodded. “Yes. It’s not that difficult. You don’t even need consent from both sides. If one of the couple wants to separate, there’s a simple ceremony. Only, that would be just as invalid to your governor as it would be to your church.”

  Ida sighed. “I hope the men make the farm work, at least. I can’t leave here, I don’t want to!”

  Ida sounded so desperate that Cat bit her tongue. It was probably better not to speak the truth: Cat could live without Chris, but Ida could never live without Karl again.

  Cat recognized Tom Carpenter immediately. He stood up merrily on the coach box to greet the Maori. Almost all of them had gathered in the village square, most buzzing with excitement. The women had packed bottles and jars of elixirs and ointments into crates, and the men had sealed and stacked them. Makutu tried to satisfy the traditions to some extent by speaking prayers over the prepared crates, but nobody paid her much heed. Cat joined the old woman, if only to annoy Jane a little, and sang a karakia in her beautiful voice. But she stopped when Carpenter reined in his horses and eagerly jumped down from the cart.

  “Excellent news, Miss Jane, ariki!”

  He bowed before Jane and then the chieftain, who looked put out. Te Haitara knew the pakeha considered it polite to greet women first, but the lack of respect he was shown bothered him.

  “Sales were more than satisfactory. Especially the cough syrup and the medicine against joint pains. I’ll need more of that next time—triple the amount, if possible. And I assume you’ll sell them to me at a special price, Miss Jane.” Carpenter let his gaze wander over the expectant villagers and tried to translate for everybody. “Good hokohoko! All rawa uruhau! Rawa moni, rawa buy things!”

  “He sold everything we made,” Cat translated in correct Maori. “All buyers were very satisfied.” Then she paused and rubbed her forehead before embellishing a bit. “And they wish to thank the tohunga and their helpers for all the medicines that made their children and elderly healthy again. They include you in their prayers to their gods. And of course, Ca-pin-ta has brought you lots of money to buy nice things.”

  Te Haitara made a gesture of thanks in Cat’s direction, but Jane seemed annoyed at the interference. Still, even she had to see that not only were the younger tribe members smiling, but also Makutu looked pleased. The old healer was happy about the recognition of her work. But then Jane frowned in displeasure because Carpenter had taken his attention from her and Te Haitara and was staring instead at Cat.

  The young blonde woman was wearing a woolen dress. Autumn had come, and biting cold with it. Cat’s hair was loose in the Maori style, held back by a headband. The hairstyle made her look younger—and Tom Carpenter recognized her immediately.

  “It can’t be! I don’t believe it! Barker’s runaway Kitten. And you’ve become such a beauty. Hell, you always were. When I think back on the drool running from old Morton’s open mouth when that Maori woman offered to buy you!”

  “I thought you didn’t sell me,” Cat shot back. “Didn’t you say a good Christian doesn’t trade in women?”

  Carpenter grinned. “No. Morton said that, to the amusement of all. But forget that dolt for a moment. How did you get here? I dropped you off with an entirely different tribe!”

  “Are we going to do business, Mr. Carpenter, or are you here to catch up with old friends?” Jane Fenroy said. “I’m certainly curious to hear who you sold this young lady to, but later. At the moment, we’d like the receipts and the money, if you please. I don’t have all day.”

  Carpenter rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, Kitten, duty calls. But don’t run away. I have something to talk to you about, now that I’ve finally found you.”

  “I’m no Kitten anymore,” Cat corrected him coolly. “If you wish to address me, I call myself Poti or Cat. As for your matter to discuss, well, if it’s about my mother, Mr. Carpenter, or anything I might ‘owe’ Mr. Barker . . .” Her voice hardened.

  Carpenter shook his head. “Oh, nonsense. Of course Barker was furious back then, but he’s long gone. The whaling station in Piraki closed down, so he moved on with his whores. No idea where they went. No, no, it’s something entirely different. George Hempleman has been looking for you for years, and he won’t give up, so it must be something truly important.”

  Cat frowned. “What could George Hempleman want from me?”

  She tried to sound calm, but just hearing his name reminded her of the way Hempleman had looked at her the last time they’d met. And she could still hear the words he hurled at the garishly made-up child on the makeshift stage. You shameless little whore! Cat rubbed at her temples.

  “I think he wants to apologize,” the merchant said. “And there was something about an inheritance.”

  Chapter 59

  Although Cat found it hard to curb her impatience, it would take some time before she learned more about George Hempleman’s intentions. The tribe’s business came first, and there was no arguing with Jane on the subject. She wouldn’t let Carpenter out of her sight before the fate of each and every jar of salve was registered and the revenues were noted precisely in her books. In the end, the chieftain announced their profits with magnanimous gestures and let the tribe praise him for it. The next day, every villager would be able to fulfill his or her wishes when Carpenter displayed his wares. While Jane and the merchant haggled over the terms of the next shipment, the women prepared a feast. There was no need to hurry, because the negotiations would go on for hours. Makutu, who was present for the negotiations as tribal eldest, kept coming outside to confer with Cat about what she thought she’d understood.

  “The merchant wants us to give him more medicine for less money. Jane and the chieftain want us to give him less medicine for more money. I do not understand. Does the amount of medicine not have to grow with the numbers of the sick? Do the pakeha healers refu
se their people the medicine they cannot pay for? That would be condemnable. And is it not condemnable, truly, to ask for money for medicine at all?”

  Cat tried her best to explain and appease the woman. She was of the same opinion as Makutu, but she told the woman that the pakeha would appreciate the Maori’s medicine only if they had to pay for it.

  Jane Fenroy glared at Cat angrily when she finally left the meetinghouse. Apparently, Makutu had held up their negotiations and contributed to the fact that the profits would be smaller next time. Cat returned Jane’s gaze defiantly, but she only dared to take a breath of relief after the chieftain had given her a friendly nod. Te Haitara cared about harmony among the elders just as much as he cared about profit, and Makutu seemed much happier today than she had after other negotiations.

  This was also expressed in the speeches that were made after they’d finally come to an agreement. Makutu herself called on the gods and spirits to bless the new deal and read favorable conditions in the stars. Again, there were karakia and dancing, and of course they all ate together. When Carpenter finally found some time to speak with Cat, night had long since fallen, and Jane Fenroy had gone home.

  Cat was waiting by a fire near Carpenter’s cart, her shivering shoulders wrapped in a blanket. The night was marvelously clear, and the stars shone down on the peaceful scene of celebrating villagers. Music and singing drifted over from other fires.

  “I hope you brought some wool fabrics,” Cat said to the merchant. “It’s getting cold.”

  Carpenter nodded. “Everything. Fabrics, clothing, even some proper coats. And dried beans, you can make those into soup.” He grinned. “Whiskey too!” He took a bottle of it from his pocket, pulled the cork, and handed it to Cat. “Here, have some. It’s the best way to get warm. You should buy lots of it; I won’t be back before spring. I’ll sell this last shipment, and then I’ll spend the winter in Akaroa, about thirty miles southeast. It’s a pretty place on the Banks Peninsula, completely French. You can’t understand a word they’re saying, but their cooking is excellent. And I have my eye on one of the women there . . .” He winked at Cat merrily.