by Sarah Lark
“If Franz wanted nothing more than to grub in the earth while Jakob Lange cracked his whip, then why did he go to seminary?” Karl didn’t buy it, no matter how often the young missionary insisted that he had merely submitted to the Lord’s call.
“The man lacks everything that makes a good preacher,” Chris Fenroy said in agreement. “Sure, he seems to know the whole Bible by heart.” Franz often surprised them with extended recitations. “But he doesn’t have any presence or charisma. Could you imagine him describing the kingdom of God colorfully enough to the Maori that they would want to give up all their spirits and eternal paradise under the Hawaiki sun?”
The Maori afterlife was set on a gorgeous South Sea island. Ida, who was always longing for sun and wide beaches, found it far more attractive than the Christian version of heaven—something she’d always felt a little guilty about.
“I don’t know what they taught him at missionary school,” Karl said, “but to deliver God’s word to the wilderness, he has to be able to get there first. The man doesn’t even know how to ride.”
It was true. Franz had driven Mara crazy on the trip from Tuahiwi to the mouth of the Waimakariri. The young reverend had insisted he could ride, but had actually slipped helplessly back and forth in the saddle. Joseph Redwood’s bay had carried him faithfully, but as soon as Mara had made any attempt to pick up speed, Franz had almost fallen off.
Finally, he admitted to only having ridden his father’s draught horse to the watering hole occasionally, and Mara had to adjust her tempo for his weakness. As a result, uncle and niece only arrived at the river by late afternoon, which got Mara in trouble with her father and Joseph Redwood. Their irritation was also aimed at Franz. After all, if he’d admitted his limitations, they could have left earlier. What was more, Karl was angry at himself for allowing fifteen-year-old Mara to pick up her uncle. That had meant a long ride alone through the dark for the girl.
“Franz just doesn’t think about things like that,” Ida said, defending her brother, as she felt she must at every opportunity. “He’s too excited about bringing the Maori closer to God.”
“Oh, really?” Karl said after she’d used that excuse several times. “I get the feeling he’s scared of them. Even of Te Haitara. Franz behaved quite strangely when he was here.”
Ida had been watching her brother and knew Karl was right. Franz couldn’t manage a conversation with any of the Maori who worked on the farm or came to visit. He seemed to be offended by their tattooed faces, and made no attempt to learn even a few words of their language, even though Cat had offered to help him several times.
Chris refused to support the missionary in any way, and Mara’s shocked report about the conditions in Tuahiwi had only hardened his anti-proselytizing stance. He liked to say that the Maori already had enough gods, and it was pointless to try to convert them.
He tactlessly informed the young missionary of his opinion during a Maori-style dinner that Cat had prepared, prompting heated discussion. Cat had served fish with sweet potatoes and taro, seasoned with berries and herbs from the plains. It was Mara’s favorite meal, and she had come to join them for a weekend after working with the Redwoods. She had told her employers she needed a break from the hubbub with the children. Now she ate enthusiastically and entertained the group with anecdotes about the Redwoods’ family life, until she and all the others noticed that Franz was poking skeptically at the unfamiliar food. He announced that, at the missionary school in Tuahiwi, he had been served shepherd’s pie, and the students had been given porridge and stews, as they would eat at similar institutions in England.
Mara objected immediately. She was no longer trying to impress her uncle. Since her visit to Tuahiwi, she categorically rejected everything that had to do with missionaries.
“Eru says it tastes terrible. At the beginning, most of the children refuse to eat it,” she said, interrupting the reverend.
Franz gave her an angry look. Having learned about her motivation for meeting him in Tuahiwi, he could only see the girl as a sinner.
“We must all thank God for everything he gives us to eat, and that’s especially true for the heathen children we educate in our school—” Franz began.
But Chris wasn’t having it. “You aren’t doing the Maori any favors by repressing their beliefs and culture, Reverend. Besides, in the end, they’ll just add the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost to their own contingent of spirits. I highly doubt that what Te Ua Haumene is preaching on the North Island is still Christianity.”
A few days before, Chris had received a letter that made him deeply uncomfortable. It was from the chieftain of a nomadic tribe and had actually been sent to Te Haitara, who’d shown it to Chris. The northern chieftain reported that a preacher had stopped at his iwi, wanting to found a new church called Hauhau, after Te Hau, the spirit of the wind. He’d included in his letter a booklet of sorts, a piece of scripture written by Te Ua Haumene. The prophet had been born as Tuwhakaro, but changed his name after an epiphany in which the Christian God and angels had appeared to him.
Cat, who was even better at Maori, had read the booklet, titled Ua Rongo Pai, and discovered a hodgepodge of Christian scripture and Maori legend. Essentially, Haumene applied everything that had happened to the Israelites to the Maori. Suddenly, the Maori were the chosen people, and Canaan was replaced by New Zealand. The text was also full of many new terms derived from English, like niu for “news.”
“Such a corruption of the Holy Scripture will not be tolerated!” declared Franz Lange when Chris showed him Haumene’s words.
Chris shrugged. “How do you propose to stop it? This nonsense has already spread like wildfire.”
“You could also say the bush is burning,” Karl added. For Ida’s sake, he had been trying to mediate between Franz and Chris, but now he had also received an unsettling letter. The governor and the head surveyor wanted to know how quickly he could get back to the North Island. “There’s more and more unrest. There just aren’t enough preachers who can reassure their flocks that God is always with them.”
“The Church Missionary Society preaches only peace,” Franz intoned, but Chris just laughed.
“During the Musket Wars, missionaries sold weapons to the Maori!” he said. “Even though they like to deny it. That has nothing to do with love.”
“I would never sell weapons to anyone!” Franz insisted. But it was hopeless; the discussion was obviously over his head. He knew as little about the Maori as he did about the history of his own church. “I became a missionary because I wanted to bring people light, and teach them to read and write—”
Chris raised his eyebrows. “They already know about gas lanterns,” he joked, “but they usually don’t have the money to buy them. Of course, reading and writing can be useful in order to earn some. But, Reverend, it isn’t your main goal to turn the Maori into faithful servants of the Lord?”
“No, it isn’t,” Karl said, abandoning any attempts at neutrality. “To the contrary. The goal of the missionaries is to put people in their place. And in the case of the Maori, that place is very low on the ladder. The pakeha can read and write, but they require the natives to give up their gods in order to be allowed to learn. And then the missionaries only teach them enough to be able to read the scriptures that establish their inferiority as a rule. I recognize all that from Raben Steinfeld. I had to flee my home in the dead of night because I refused to acknowledge ‘the life that God has ordained’ for me. So, I can understand it very well if the Maori have loftier ambitions than servitude.”
“You understand Te Ua Haumene?” Mara asked. To Chris and Cat’s surprise, she had asked to read the little booklet and had practically devoured it. “I thought you said he was dangerous.”
Karl shook his head. “What I mean is, I understand his anger and I understand his strategy, which is basically the same one the missionaries use. It’s no wonder, considering that’s where he learned it. Haumene has just turned the tables. Now he wants
the Maori to feel superior to the pakeha. In the end, two armies will be facing each other who both think God is on their side. You can’t bring anyone light that way,” he told his brother-in-law. “All you’re doing is feeding the fire.”
Ida sighed with relief when Linda shyly changed the subject and told a story about something funny that had happened in the Maori village. Since Miss Foggerty had quit, surprising them all by marrying a gold prospector and moving to Australia with him, Linda had been teaching the village children three times a week.
They finished the meal, and Franz said a short prayer of thanks. Then he retreated to the guest room where he was staying in the stone house.
Ida wasn’t sorry to say good night. She was tired of the arguments and ready for Franz to finally leave for the North Island. She wasn’t worried about him, in spite the volatile political climate. The mission at Opotiki had been established for a long time; Ida and Karl had even stopped there during their travels. The head missionary, a German named Voelkner, seemed to be a peaceable, simple man. He would never provoke a Maori tribe intentionally.
At Rata Station, Franz’s departure would restore the peace—not only within the family, but also Ida’s personal peace. After all, Franz wasn’t the only one who’d given hesitant and unsatisfying answers about his life. Ida didn’t feel able to speak freely with her brother either, even though she would have liked to pour out her heart to him. She wished she could tell him about her ex-husband’s responsibility for the Wairau conflict and his crimes against herself and Cat.
But Franz was so physically fragile and so removed from reality that sometimes Ida had the feeling she was talking to her father. Of course she never would have told Jakob Lange about both women becoming pregnant after being raped by Ottfried, or about the lie of necessity that Carol and Linda were twins. So, Ida kept the secret from her brother as well. Ida also lied to him about the events surrounding Ottfried’s death. She said that her first husband was caught stealing sheep and had been killed during his attempt to avoid arrest—which was true. But what Ida left out was that she herself had fired the deadly shot.
Ida suffered for her silence. She hated lies and secrecy, and wished she could relax and enjoy the reunion with her brother. Additionally, Cat made an observation that unsettled her even more. Her friend actually didn’t care whether Franz learned the truth about the girls’ parentage, but left it to Ida’s discretion. At the beginning of the second week, though, Linda had taken Franz out to teach him how to ride.
“Ida, are you sure Franz believes that Linda is his niece?” Cat watched the two of them ride away with her brow creased in puzzlement. “I’m only asking because—I’ve seen the two of them together quite a few times now, and the way he looks at her—well, it’s not the way a reverend should look at a young relative. Ida, forgive me, but he looks at her with desire.”
At first, Ida had laughed at the idea. Surely the young missionary, whom Mara had aptly nicknamed “the raven” because of his slightly hunched shoulders and black suit, had control over all of his mortal desires. Of course, she’d also noticed that he spent more time with Linda than any of the other residents of Rata Station. But that didn’t surprise her. Linda had always had a heart for the lost and rejected. Her interest in healing often brought her together with the Maori priestesses and wise women, and she had absorbed much of their spirituality. It was possible she recognized the unhappy, injured child in Franz. Or perhaps she felt sorry for his helplessness in the face of Chris and Karl’s criticism.
Linda listened to him patiently when he talked about his schooling with the Church Missionary Society. She accompanied him on walks around the farm and even took him with her one day into the Maori village, although that required all her powers of persuasion. Then she broke the ice by asking her students to sing a few hymns and recite some English poetry. When Franz began to relax, she offered him the opportunity to teach the class. Surprisingly, he managed quite well. His stiff formality left him as soon as he was with the children. All the children in Jane and Te Haitara’s village spoke at least a little English, and Franz quickly won their trust when he told the story of Jonah and the whale in simple terms. He didn’t even lose patience when one of the little boys remarked that whales don’t eat people.
“Perhaps it was another kind of big fish,” he said.
“Like the one that Maui caught,” a little girl explained.
Then the girl told the missionary how the demigod Maui’s gigantic catch had created the North Island of New Zealand, which was shaped like a fish. Linda preserved the peace by leaving the word “demigod” out of her translation and just presenting Maui as a legendary hero. Afterward, Franz taught the children math for an hour, and Jane immediately offered him a job in the village school. He declined, but returned to Rata Station proudly after his first teaching experience.
Ida happily observed the good relationship between her brother and his niece. It wasn’t until Cat pointed it out that she noticed the way Franz’s eyes lit up when he looked at Linda. She also noticed his efforts to please the girl, and the shadow that flitted across his features when Linda offered her smile just as freely to the farmhands and Maori workers. The latter made Ida’s heart a little lighter. At least the family secret wasn’t destroying any budding young love here. Linda was friendly to Franz, but nothing more. Perhaps the young missionary had fallen in love with her and was wrestling with feelings of guilt, but Linda didn’t reciprocate his feelings. She wouldn’t be sorry when he left for the North Island.
Chapter 16
Franz Lange had already put off his departure several times, in spite of his discomfort at Rata Station. His sister was no longer the pious, subdued woman he remembered. And his father had been right about Karl Jensch. Ida’s second husband couldn’t accept the Lord’s will, and always thought he knew better—and that Chris Fenroy was a total heathen!
It was Linda whom Franz couldn’t bear to leave. She was so kind and understanding, and she seemed so self-assured, especially when she interacted with the natives. Franz still couldn’t get comfortable with them. It was difficult for him to look the large, tattooed men in the eye. None of them seemed particularly interested in the word of God, as he had been promised at seminary. Actually, Te Haitara and his people seemed to be quite happy with their gods and spirits, and weren’t the slightest bit worried about eternal damnation. The chieftain’s English wife had surprisingly little influence on them in that respect. When Franz asked her about it during a visit to Maori Station, as they had started calling the Maori sheep farm, she just laughed.
“Reverend, I’ve never seen Te Haitara’s spirits, and I’ve never seen God either. So, one or the other might exist—or both, or neither. I suppose I’ll find out when I die. Until then, I have a sheep farm to run, and when it comes to that, I’m glad that my people aren’t constantly praying. If you want, you’re welcome to stay here and teach the children. I really don’t care if they count the Ten Commandments or ten sweet potatoes. But please don’t pester the adults. Our tribe is content, and my husband and I wish for them to stay that way.”
After that discussion, Franz was ready to end his sojourn in the godless place immediately. But again, it was Linda who changed his mind.
“We’re going on a family outing to Christchurch,” she said cheerfully. “Chris and Kapa have to visit the notary, and Oliver and Carol want to choose a church for their wedding. Carol likes St. Luke’s, but Lady Butler thinks St. Michael & All Angels is more stylish. We’ll have to meet with the reverends. Do you want to come with us? We’re also going to the rowing club. They have a very fine restaurant, and Oliver can finally row Carol across the river the way gentlemen in England do with their sweethearts.” She laughed, and her eyes flashed. “Maybe I’ll find someone to row me across too.”
Franz wondered if her last words were a subtle challenge. For the space of a heartbeat, he allowed himself to daydream about Linda sitting across from him in a boat, wearing a light-colored summer dres
s and holding a parasol coquettishly against her shoulder, her golden-blonde hair glowing in the sunlight. But then he fought back the thought. He wasn’t allowed to think of Linda as his future wife. What was more, it was disrespectful to his niece to imagine her lightly dressed and indulging in useless pleasure. A reverend’s wife had to be dignified, in a dark dress with a high neckline, her hair hidden under a respectable bonnet. Besides, Franz didn’t know how to row.
He was attracted by the idea of the outing anyway, especially since the alternative was staying with Cat at Rata Station. Cat Rata scared him almost as much as the self-assured Maori men did. The woman had a tight grip on the reins of the farm. She told the Maori workers what to do, and even wore trousers! Of course, it was a trouser-skirt that didn’t show any more of her legs than a normal dress would, but Franz had already been shocked that the women here rode astride, as Mara had. Additionally, Cat also had a strange kind of marriage with Chris Fenroy, while his previous wife lived with the heathen chieftain. Perhaps they’d all burn in hell. The worst part was that Cat refused to attend the prayer meetings Franz led every morning. Karl and Ida attended on Sundays, at least. Chris came once for the sake of keeping the peace, as did Jane and Te Haitara. The Redwoods brought the entire family. Laura said it would do her children good to attend a Sunday service every now and then. But Cat claimed to believe in Maori spirits, even though she didn’t seem to pay them much attention in daily life. When Franz had scolded her for her godlessness, she had informed him that she’d had two foster mothers: one a Christian, and the other a tohunga and priestess. No god had stood by either woman when they’d needed help, nor had any stood by Cat herself. She told Franz if he was so worried about her soul, he was welcome to pray for her.
“How about it, Uncle Franz?” Linda asked enthusiastically. “Are you coming to Christchurch?”