by Lark, Sarah
“I still can’t agree to it,” he insisted, his heart bleeding. “It goes against all our traditions. It’s something like tapu. You have to understand that.”
But Te Haitara shook his head. “It’s not tapu for us,” he explained. “It’s not tapu for Jane either.” He straightened his back, and looked even more formidable. “It’s you who has to understand: I’m not here to ask for your permission. I want to offer you utu so there will be no bad blood between us.”
Chris knew that utu was a kind of payment that was used as compensation for injustice. The council of elders ordered such a payment when someone had injured someone else or had stolen something. It could prevent war between two tribes.
“As for the separation,” the chieftain continued, “that’s been taken care of. Jane already asked the tohunga, and Makutu said she would do it. The ceremony takes place at sunset, in the reed beds by the river, by the rocks in front of the glade. You can come or stay away; you can accept our land or continue to pay the lease. It won’t change anything. This evening, Jane will be free.”
Of course Chris went to the divorce ceremony, and Karl joined him. Ida would have liked to go too. She was shocked and fascinated by the idea of being able to end an unhappy marriage so easily. She hadn’t cared for a while now if what she did was agreeable to God. She had come to the conclusion that God, even if he wasn’t totally apathetic about his creations or didn’t like them, was much more likely to bless her relationship with Karl than her marriage to Ottfried.
But Ottfried forbade her from going that evening. Many sheep were ready for lambing, and Ottfried insisted on Ida’s presence in case something went wrong. He wasn’t convinced by the argument that she would only be by the river and he could fetch her within half an hour. He also complained in his old Raben Steinfeld voice about the ungodly ceremony he wanted Ida to have no part in.
“He wants me tonight,” Ida told Karl before he left, and lowered her eyes.
It upset him terribly to see her suffering. He wasn’t jealous anymore, because he’d known for a long time that Ottfried only had her body, not her soul. But the thought of the pain and the constant humiliation that she still patiently endured made him sick. He spent almost every evening restlessly pacing between the barns and Ida’s house, listening for any signs of her distress.
But right now, the divorce ceremony had distracted him. The entire Ngai Tahu tribe had already gathered when Chris and Karl arrived at the banks of the river. The tohunga, Makutu, stood between the rocks in front of the reed bed, with Jane and Te Haitara next to her. The ariki was wearing the formal garb of a warrior again and his dramatic chieftain’s cape. Chris had half expected Jane to be wearing traditional Maori dress, but it was cool that evening, and the young woman had chosen a loose-fitting dark green woolen dress that suited her well. But above all, the expression on Jane Fenroy’s face made it almost beautiful. Happiness glowed in Jane’s green eyes. She gazed almost worshipfully at Te Haitara, and regarded the little old medicine woman with respect and trust. Makutu raised her powerful voice and called various gods and spirits to the ceremony.
“Are you ready?” she asked Jane. “If you really want this, then I will say the karakia toko now.”
Jane looked questioningly at Te Haitara, and then saw Chris standing at the edge of the gathering. She seemed unsure whether to lower her eyes in shame or to return his gaze. Jane chose the latter, while Chris pulled himself together to make it a little easier for her. He raised his hand and made a sweeping gesture, as though he wanted to send her on her way. Te Haitara nodded happily at Chris and encouragingly at Jane.
The young woman straightened her back. “I do,” she said loudly.
The tohunga raised her arms and paused briefly to unite her spirit with the sky and the rising stars, and then she intoned the karakia, so fast that Chris could barely keep up. The most important prayers of the Maori often consisted of a quickly delivered chant. In this case, it was an extremely short one.
“Ka tokona atu nei korua. Tu ke Rangi, tau ke Papa.”
“You both have been forced apart, as though you were Rangi and Papa,” Chris said, translating for Karl. “You know the story. Tane, the forest god, and the other children of the earth and sky separated the pair to give light to their creation. It was the first divorce.”
“But it wasn’t what the married couple wanted,” Karl said.
Chris shrugged. “It was for the good of the world. And really, when I see Jane like this—well, it’s definitely what the wife wants!”
“It’s what the husband wants too.” Karl smiled at Cat, who was standing with the women. “Have you talked to Cat yet? What does she think of the ceremony?”
“When would I have had time to talk to her? Between noon today and this evening? I don’t even know myself how I feel about it.”
Cat briefly smiled at the men, and then closed the circle around Jane with the other women as they welcomed her back to the community of unmarried women and girls. Makutu said a few more karakias, and then they all sang. Finally, the chieftain announced that there was food and whiskey for all in the village, and the crowd dispersed quickly.
“That was fast,” Karl said in surprise.
Chris shrugged. “A wedding is fast too,” he said. “A few words, and you’re married. It’s just that marriage is recognized everywhere, and this here means absolutely nothing in the rest of the world.”
“It means nothing in the world of the pakeha,” Karl said, correcting him. “But for all the Maori tribes, it’s official. According to their rules, Jane will marry the chieftain, and you will take Cat.” He smiled at Jane, who was standing next to Te Haitara and glowing with happiness, and obviously accepting the good wishes of other members of the tribe. She looked more relaxed and content than he’d ever seen her before. “God, Chris, in Auckland no one will give two hoots about it! Where there’s no plaintiff, there’s no judge. Besides, who would complain? The Beits are in Australia. Jane can decide herself how much she wants to tell them. After all, it was she who wanted the divorce, not you. The Maori, our closest neighbors, accept the ceremony, anyway. And the few pakeha we know in the area, the Redwoods and the Deanses and the other sheep farmers, aren’t particularly religious. They’re more likely to be happy for you if you can finally be with Cat. They’ll also be happy for Jane and Te Haitara. So just accept it, and see it as divine intervention!”
Chris bit his lip. Maybe Karl was right. In this new land, there were new rules. But in the end, it would all depend on how Cat saw it.
Part 9
RATA STATION
CANTERBURY PLAINS, NEW ZEALAND (THE SOUTH ISLAND)
1846
Chapter 66
During the next few weeks, Chris didn’t find time to talk to Cat alone, and certainly not to court her. The sheep were lambing one after another, and Cat and Ida, Chris, Karl, and even Ottfried were busy around the clock taking care of the sheep and their spindly, bleating lambs. Every now and then, there were “orphaned” lambs that had been rejected by their mothers. Ida collected them in a warm corner of her kitchen, while Cat and the other Maori women carried them around under their coats to keep them warm. During all the hustle and bustle, Carol and Linda had been quickly weaned from the baby bottles they had still been suckling on to fall asleep, and they giggled when Ida filled the bottles for the lambs. With Cat’s or Ida’s help, Linda held them for the small creatures to drink from. She was loving and patient with them, while Carol seemed more interested in the puppies. One of Ottfried’s collies had given birth to a litter.
“All mine!” Carol declared, and sat down in the middle of the commotion in the whelping box. “All with me, herd shhheep!”
The group of shearers arrived unexpectedly early from Australia. The five men must have come directly on the next ship after Jane’s letter had reached the breeder for whom they’d been working. As planned, they started on the Banks Peninsula, and surprisingly needed only ten days to shear all of the Redwoods’ an
d Deans brothers’ animals. A little later, the adventurous men arrived at Fenroy Station and filled the farm with laughter, hearty jokes, and the lanolin-rich smell of the shearing shed. With clattering shears, they freed the sheep from their fleeces so fast that Chris, Karl, and their Maori helpers could barely follow their movements. Finally, they asked the men for a few hours of lessons.
“No problem. We can’t come all the way from Down Under every year, anyway,” their foreman, an old Swedish man called Nils, said agreeably. “Although Mrs. Brandmann’s cooking might change my mind!”
From the very first day, Ida’s food had earned their boundless admiration, as had her beer-brewing skills. The shearers consumed a vast quantity of beer and whiskey. Within a very short time, they worked their way through Chris and Karl’s entire supply.
When Chris told Te Haitara they’d run out, the chieftain had appeared with his warriors, carrying a respectable number of bottles and barrels for the shearers’ farewell party at Fenroy Station. Additionally, he brought a tidily rendered contract, written in Jane’s accurate handwriting, signed by himself and two of the village elders.
“Here,” he said solemnly, holding it out to Chris. “You see, I keep my promises. And Jane thanks you for your understanding. She asked me to tell you that she’s very happy.”
Chris accepted the deed of land ownership that actually meant something, feeling quite touched. He raised his glass to the chieftain. Then he smiled. “In the end, everything has worked out the way it was supposed to in our marriage,” he said to Karl. “I got my farm, and Jane is happy!”
“Ottfried isn’t, though,” Karl said with a sideward glance at Ida’s husband, who was drunk as usual after an evening with the shearers. He surely hadn’t missed Te Haitara’s formal transfer of the deed. “You should have handled the business with the land more discreetly,” Karl went on. “Now he knows that you fooled him about dividing up the farm.”
Chris was about to reply, but then one of Te Haitara’s warriors came to speak with him, and later, there was no opportunity to discuss Ottfried’s claim to his own farmland. Chris and the chieftain were in a mood for celebration and so were the shearers, and Karl allowed himself to be infected by their good mood.
As it got dark, Maori women slowly began to appear on the farm. They built a bonfire, and everyone stood around it drinking, the party slowly transitioning into relaxed revelry. Only Ida abstained. She sat and drank a little whiskey with Cat in her house, but there was no way she would join the celebration.
“If I even look out there, Ottfried will accuse me of having an affair with one of the shearers,” she said worriedly. “That’s the kind of mood he’s in. He’s been acting so strange all evening. I hope he won’t do anything to me. I can’t expect Karl or Chris to help me either. They’re both already quite drunk.”
“They have something to celebrate—at least, Chris does,” Cat said. “He finally owns his farm.”
“And you?” Ida asked. “Will you marry him, now that he’s free?”
Cat shrugged. “He’ll have to ask me first. There’s a lot more to it than the Maori ritual. In the eyes of the pakeha, our children would still be illegitimate. Besides, the question remains what will come of the sheep business. The tribe has just gotten used to the idea, and the Ngai Tahu are wonderful with the animals. Should I just bring my herd ‘into the marriage,’ as they say? No, I’m certainly not going to make any rash decisions. But”—she smiled—“our situation has improved. We don’t have to get married immediately.”
“What do you think of our sheep?” Chris asked the foreman of the shearer convoy the day after the party.
The men had finished their work at Fenroy Station, and they only had to take on the Maori herd before riding onward to Butler’s farm. Now they were drinking a whiskey for the road with Chris and Karl. Ottfried was there too. Not only because he always appeared when alcohol was being served, but also to keep an eye on how much the shearers were being paid. Since Chris had received the deed, Ottfried was letting him know clearly that he didn’t trust him. He was obviously in a bad mood, but so far hadn’t dared to speak openly about the issue of the land. Karl thanked God for that. He knew very well that Chris wouldn’t make a concession for Ottfried again. In spite of his compassion for Ida, working with Ottfried was basically impossible.
“If he wants to leave, Ida will have to make up her mind,” Chris had said curtly when Karl asked him about it again. “In the long run, she’s got to do it anyway. Or do you want to meet her secretly in the barn all your life?”
“She’s afraid to run away with me, especially now that she’s pregnant again,” Karl had said, considering. “We’d have to take the girls with us too. I don’t really want to leave, we—”
Chris had shrugged and grinned. “The answer, as you recently told me yourself, is karakia toko. Makutu would surely be prepared to end Ida’s marriage. She only has to ask. After that, we can send Ottfried packing and all live in sin. We’ll probably meet good old Ottie again in hell. But until then, we’ll have our peace. In any case, he’s not getting my land. And don’t you dare even think about giving him yours!”
Karl’s partnership in the farm had been confirmed in writing. He could have insisted that Chris give him half of the farmland, but that wasn’t his way. He was content with things the way they were, and listened interestedly to the opinions of the experienced shearers about the quality of the animals at Fenroy Station.
“Do you think the quality of the wool is good enough for us to stay in business, in the long run?” he said now, adding to Chris’s question.
The foreman nodded. “Yes, you have very good animals. But in the end, your success will depend on whether you can combine the two or three breeds you have to build your breeding stock. The sheep you have from Australia, Karl, are Merino crosses. Francis Holder is experimenting with them in Adelaide. They came from him, didn’t they?”
Karl nodded, stunned by the shearer’s professional expertise.
“Beautiful wool, but they’re also very sensitive animals. You must have seen how they keep them in the highlands here in summer. And, Ottie, your Romneys are very beautiful. They remind me a lot of the Redwoods’ stock. Where did you say you got them again?”
Ottfried crossed his arms. “What are you trying to say?”
The foreman held up a hand appeasingly. “Nothing, absolutely nothing. I just noticed the similarity, and I also remembered the story of the flock that was purloined. Is it possible that someone sold you stolen goods?”
Ottfried’s broad face went red. “You call me a—”
Karl shook his head. “Shut up, Ottfried, no one is calling you anything!” He turned back to the foreman. “He bought the creatures at the animal market in Nelson before the Redwoods’ disappeared. Or at least, before they’d have time to come to market. The thief wouldn’t have just sold them again immediately; no one would be that brazen! Regardless, we don’t want there to be any doubt. Next time I see James, Joseph, or Edward, I’ll invite them to come have a look at our animals.”
“How they know them?” Ottfried said derisively. “Answer to names? One sheep like next sheep.”
“Apparently not,” Karl said in annoyance. “You just heard that Nils said he could tell which breeder my sheep came from. And the Redwoods—”
“They were offspring of his own breed, and Joseph Redwood said his animals were marked,” the foreman said. “He didn’t tell me exactly how, but usually it’s the ears. The sheep at Fenroy Station almost all have earmarks. That’s how I recognized Holder’s sheep. You should come up with a new mark for your lambs.”
Chris nodded and refilled the glasses. “We’ll do that, thanks for the tip,” he said. “As for the Redwoods, they’re welcome anytime. We have nothing to hide.”
Karl sipped his whiskey and watched in annoyance as Ottfried tossed his back. The redness had receded from his cheeks amazingly fast.
“We don’t have anything to hide, do we, Ottfried?�
�
“Now I know what to do!”
Ottfried sounded triumphant when he came into the house.
“We’re going to have land, Ida. Our own land, which belongs to us without a doubt. This time I won’t let myself get swindled like we were back then with Wakefield, and then by the savages, and now by this snotty English upstart! This time we’ll make the chieftain sign personally, and his whore Jane can make the contract, the way she did for Fenroy. Then I’ll take it to the governor to be verified. This time—”
“Wait just one minute,” Ida said. “What land are you talking about? And how do you intend to pay the chief? Te Haitara certainly won’t give it to you for a few blankets and cooking pots. Especially not with Jane keeping an eye on things.”
“I’m talking about the land that we leased from the fellows,” Ottfried said.
When Ottfried’s sheep had arrived, Chris had made a deal with the chieftain about more grazing land. Ottfried, too, had to pay with one pregnant ewe per year for the use of several acres of grassland. As opposed to Karl and Chris, he’d insisted that the borders be clearly defined, and Karl had done him the favor of measuring it, even though he didn’t see much point. It was a pretty parcel to the north of Fenroy Station, which included some forest.
“I’m going to buy it for real.”
“If the tribe will sell it to you,” Ida said. “And if you can pay for it.”
“You mean, if we can pay for it,” Ottfried said, correcting her with a threatening tone. “You and I!”
Ida hunched her shoulders. “You and I,” she said, giving in. “But we don’t have any money! Of course, now we have a little from the shearing. Chris and Karl are very happy that the farm is finally turning a profit. But Karl thinks we should reinvest the money for a while, before buying ourselves any luxuries. We should buy more sheep—”
“Karl, it’s always Karl!” Ottfried stood up and began to pace the room restlessly. “I can’t stand it anymore! Who is Karl, anyway? A day laborer, a ne’er-do-well, nothing! He’s never had anything, and he will never have anything, and he doesn’t care. But I came to New Zealand to buy land! My own land! Not to pay rent to a bunch of savages. Damn it, Ida, this is like Mecklenburg with the damn squire!” He pounded the wall with his fist.