Fires of Change (The Fire Blossom Saga)

by Sarah Lark

  Neither of them replied. Cat turned away.

  “At any rate,” Bill finished anxiously, “they seem to be alive.”

  Cat turned back and forced a smile. “Thank goodness. Is there any word about where the warriors fled to?”

  Bill nodded. “According to Winter, Te Ua Haumene and his men went to another fort called Waikoukou. He says the governor and General Chute were determined to end this once and for all.”

  “Well, then,” Chris said, taking a deep breath, “we must find out as quickly as possible if that fort has been taken yet.”

  Bill straightened his back. “If it hasn’t, I’ll go straight to Wellington so I can offer my service in the general’s army. I only hope they’ll take me back.”

  Chris nodded. “Given the circumstances, I’m sure they would. It would be foolish of the general to turn away such an experienced soldier.”

  Cat put a hand on Bill’s shoulder. “The girls are alive and they are strong,” she said. “We’ll find them.”

  “General Chute’s campaign is over,” the local newspaper’s editor in chief told them. Mr. Hunt had received them right away. “Chute approached from Whanganui with hundreds of men. On his way west, he stormed several pas, destroying them. Villages too; it was quite the controversy. Waikoukou was conquered back in November. But that wasn’t Chute’s doing; it was McDonnell with his military settlers. Anyway, right after that, they arrested Te Ua Haumene. Chute found him with eight followers in a village near Opunake. He had him transferred to Wellington. It’s not clear if there will be a trial. Haumene is communicating with all sorts of missionaries, making himself out to be the victim of his own movement. Allegedly, he lost control of things. He says all he wanted was peace and love and a good relationship with the pakeha, and that he never ordered anyone to be killed. A likely story.”

  Chris cleared his throat. “We have reason to believe that the Hauhau were keeping two white women as slaves back in Weraroa. Do you know anything about that? Was anyone freed?”

  The editor in chief laughed. “Are you serious? Imagine the uproar if two white women had shown up anywhere near Haumene! I would’ve heard about it, of course. Every newspaper in the country would’ve been writing about it. No, I’m sorry to disappoint you there.”

  Bill’s brow creased. “Are you sure the campaign is over? There aren’t any Hauhau warriors left in the woods?”

  Mr. Hunt shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that. All I know is that Chute went back along the coast road to Whanganui after obliterating seven pas and twenty-one villages. Who knows if he missed something?”

  “Of course he did!” Cat interjected. “They’re fooling themselves if they think there are no Hauhau left in the area. There might still be dozens of brigades on the road, and one of them probably has the women.”

  “If they aren’t dead,” Bill murmured.

  Cat shook her head. “They aren’t dead. All we have to do is find them. What’s the situation in the area now, Mr. Hunt? Who’s in charge?”

  The editor in chief thought for a moment. “The land that was taken from the Maori belongs to military settlers now. Major McDonnell’s in charge of security, and he’s operating from a base camp in Patea—”

  “The camp that Cameron set up?” Bill asked.

  “I’d assume so,” Hunt said. “He’s organizing the settlement of land from there. That’s his main task. But he isn’t afraid of campaigns either. As I said, he stormed Waikoukou with his troops. If you’re looking for action, he’s your man.”

  That caught Bill’s attention. “You mean he doesn’t deliberate like General Cameron?”

  Hunt grinned. “To the contrary, Mr. Paxton. If McDonnell sees a reason to fight, he’ll jump at it like a hungry dog.”

  Bill glanced at Chris and Cat. “I’ll take the next ship to Wellington and then ride to Patea to talk to Major McDonnell. Will you come too, once you’ve taken care of your business in the plains?”

  Chris nodded. “As fast as we can. Thank you very much, Mr. Hunt—and good luck to you, Bill.”

  The editor in chief shook their hands. “Will you give me an exclusive interview if you find these women you’re looking for?”

  Chris and Bill hesitated.

  Cat, however, smiled. “I’ll put in a good word for you when I find our girls.”

  While Bill set sail for Wellington, Cat and Chris boarded the Rosemary, bound for Lyttelton. They argued a little, trying to decide if the name was a good omen or if this ship would sink too, washing them up on another island. At any rate, the journey wouldn’t be anything like their luxurious trip aboard the General Lee. The Rosemary was a freighter. It had only two very basic passenger cabins, which were usually booked by merchants traveling with their wares. Having a woman on board was a rarity, and Cat attracted the attention of all the ship’s officers. Chris and Cat ate their meals in the wardroom, and were asked to tell about their survival on Rose Island again and again. Cat was always relieved when she was able to retreat to her cabin. The journey passed without incident. The weather was good, and the wind was just strong enough to keep the ship moving. After a few days, they reached Lyttelton.

  “Do you want to telegraph Jane, or shall we surprise her?” Cat asked as they rode along the Bridle Path on two borrowed mules. “If you’d prefer the latter, we should avoid being seen in Christchurch.”

  Chris smiled. “Let’s surprise the Deanses first. We can spend the night with them, and Georgie can row us upriver tomorrow.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing the Deanses,” Cat said. “Maybe they have news about Linda. And Karl and Ida too.”

  There hadn’t been enough time in Campbelltown for them to write a letter to the Jensches. They’d only sent a brief telegraph, then received an overjoyed reply from Ida, telling them how ecstatic she was that they were alive and well. Karl had added a short note: Wish I could be there at Rata Station!

  William and John Deans saw Fancy running toward them in greeting, and they expected Bill Paxton to follow. When the approaching figures turned out to be Cat and Chris, the Deans brothers thought they were hallucinating. Cat found herself being bear-hugged by William Deans, while John’s gigantic hand almost crushed Chris’s. The men shouted to their wives, who came rushing out of the house and also threw themselves on the castaways.

  Before the tears could start flowing, however, John had already opened a bottle of whiskey. William’s wife, Emma, lured Cat into the pantry with a conspiratorial smile, pulling a crate of wine bottles from a dark corner.

  “Here, these are yours,” Emma said happily. “It was your last order from Blenheim. Georgie brought it, but the girls were in Campbelltown then and asked him to leave it with us. We should drink to your health, Linda said, but we didn’t have the heart. Since then, I’ve thought of you every time I saw this crate.”

  Cat beamed and reached for one of the bottles. “Let’s make a toast, then,” she said. “To Linda’s, Mara’s, and Carol’s health. Now they’re the ones who’ve gone missing. I wish it was all over and they were home safe.”

  The two women brought the bottles into the kitchen, and Alison, John’s wife, went looking for a corkscrew.

  “Linda’s not missing,” Alison said as she filled their glasses. “In fact, I have a happy announcement to make: Linda has a daughter.”

  Cat placed a hand on her belly. “I’m—”

  “A grandmother now!” Alison laughed. “But the marriage didn’t work out. Nobody around here really believed it was going to. That Fitz—”

  “Do you mean she’s alone?” Cat asked, alarmed. “Where is she staying? Is she still in Otago?”

  Emma shook her head. “No. Fitz tried his luck as a military settler. They had a farm somewhere in Taranaki, according to Ida. But they lost it. Ida didn’t give us any details; she probably didn’t know very much herself. All she had was a short letter from Linda telling her about the child and her breakup. According to the letter, she was on her way to Russell.”


  “Thank the spirits!” Cat sighed. “Also for the failed marriage, although I shouldn’t say it. But it means we’ll have her back with us soon. She can live at Rata Station with her baby—with or without a husband.”

  Chapter 65

  “Twelve more children?” Franz Lange looked up from the message a young cavalryman had just handed him, indignant.

  The man nodded. “Yes, sir. They’ll be arriving tomorrow, from a village in Taranaki. McDonnell stormed it as revenge for a Hauhau attack.”

  Franz sighed. The campaigns were supposed to have been over for a few weeks now, and he’d thanked heaven for it. General Chute’s advances farther inland had filled his orphanage beyond capacity, yet children were still being brought to Otaki. Increasingly, many were actual orphans. McDonnell didn’t think twice before launching a punitive expedition, and Franz was left to care for the confused, traumatized survivors—a task that was far too much for him alone. Originally, the project had been conceived for about sixty orphans, but the old pa now held 120 children between the ages of three and fifteen.

  Franz did his best, but communication was a major problem. Franz had been hoping his fosterlings would absorb English as naturally as babies did, but that would have required many more English-speaking caregivers. Kahotu mostly spoke Maori with the children; that was what Franz had hired him for in the first place. The man could get a grip on things when he wanted to, but he had a strange work ethic. At times, he wouldn’t show up for days, going on long walks or hiding away in his shelter with a bottle of whiskey. Franz was often frustrated with Kahotu, but he knew he’d be lost without him.

  Franz tried to teach lessons based on the Bible. Unfortunately, the children found that as exciting as watching paint dry, just like their compatriots had in Opotiki. And here, Franz didn’t even have the option of telling stories suitable for children, such as Jonah and the whale. His Maori simply wasn’t good enough, though it was improving. Franz tried to study a few pages of the Maori-language Bible each night, comparing it with the English one. He fought his way through Genesis, but the fact that he could quote pages of it in Maori didn’t help his everyday struggle. Often, he fell asleep in exhaustion over the book.

  The older children only reluctantly studied the language of their enemies, and the little ones would often jump or cry when someone addressed them in English. Among themselves, of course, the children spoke Maori—and to Franz’s immense relief, they seemed not to have brought tribal feuds along with them. Kahotu had told him why this was happening. Chute’s recent campaigns had taken him through an area populated by related tribes. The little ones uprooted from there had no problem helping one another. There was desperate need for this, especially since nobody from Otaki wanted to work at the orphanage. So, Franz and Kahotu encouraged the older girls to take care of the younger children and help with the cooking. Kahotu took the older boys fishing and trapping to supplement the orphanage’s limited provisions. The government provided some food, but it wasn’t plentiful or nutritious. Without the hard work of Kahotu and the boys, they’d certainly all be malnourished.

  Of course, all the additional jobs were an excellent excuse for the older children not to show up for class very often. Only mathematics lessons were well attended. The reason, once again, was blackjack. Right after introducing numbers, Franz had started using the card game in his lessons again, with enthusiastic support from Kahotu. The Church Missionary Society would have doubtlessly been appalled, but the children learned not only addition that way but also how to calculate wins and losses. Of course, they weren’t playing for money, just for pebbles, but they soon moved from tens to hundreds.

  Franz was pleased, but still had to put limits on the unholy pastime. He was painfully aware of how much he was neglecting his religious duties and the missionizing of his charges. So far, not a single child over the age of five had been baptized—something else the Church Missionary Society would surely hold against him. But Franz didn’t want to impose that decision on anyone. Many of the boy and girls, left with no one else in the world, had come to trust their “Revi Fransi” deeply. But could they call themselves Christians if they didn’t truly know the Bible? What if his sermons meant nothing more to them than the opportunity to shout “hallelujah” as loud as possible? Franz would have liked to discuss these questions with a colleague but knew better than to approach the hard-hearted, pious reverend in the village. He was on his own—with twelve more children on their way.

  “All right, Lieutenant,” Franz said. “I will meet you in the village at noon, and I will take the children with me. Just don’t lock them in the barn at the parsonage, even if the reverend or his wife suggests it. If their time here begins with such a negative experience, it makes everything more difficult.”

  Linda and Omaka arrived in Otaki after several days’ travel, and they almost bypassed the town without stopping. So far, their journey had been uneventful. They usually sat silently next to one another, lost in their own thoughts. Linda drove the wagon while Omaka held the baby and sang her to sleep with traditional songs and karakias. Every now and then they stopped, and Linda nursed the little one. Omaka usually lit a fire. It was the end of June, and quite chilly. At night, the two women nestled up in their blankets on the wagon with Amy, keeping Aroha warm between them. They may have been able to find accommodation at farms along the way, but Omaka didn’t want to ask the pakeha for shelter. Linda respected her wishes. Ever since the Hauhau attacks, popular opinion had turned against all Maori, and Linda wanted to spare the tohunga any mistreatment or the humiliation of being turned away.

  Omaka was mourning her fate. She was now entirely uprooted. It seemed impossible to find her tribe, and the tribes around Russell were just as foreign to her as the remaining maraes near Wellington. Worse, they were occupied by tribes that had worked as auxiliary troops in the pakeha fight against Omaka’s people. Even if they’d been willing to take the old woman in, she certainly wouldn’t have felt comfortable. But there was supposed to be a missionary station in Otaki, and Linda thought the missionaries there might be able to help. Perhaps they knew where Omaka’s tribe had been sent, or even had members of her tribe in their mission.

  Omaka wasn’t terribly fond of this plan.

  “I will not pray to the pakeha gods,” she said as Linda steered Brianna into the town. “The missionaries preach peace and bring war.”

  “We aren’t going to pray here; we’re just going to ask a few questions,” Linda repeated, trying to hide her frustration. “And again, if we can’t find your tribe, you know I’d be glad if you came to Russell with me. Ida and Karl would be honored to have you.”

  In Otaki, they found no sign of a missionary station. The center of town was impossible to miss, though. In front of a lovely, well-maintained church was a square that offered plenty of space for market stalls. On this day, redcoats had gathered there. At the sight of the men, Omaka gasped and quickly wrapped a shawl around her head and face so she wouldn’t be immediately recognized as Maori.

  The cavalry stood in formation around a group of neglected-looking Maori children. The residents of Otaki were eyeing the little ones mistrustfully, and they in turn glared at the citizens of the town.

  One of the soldiers approached the covered wagon. “Good morning, miss, um, madam,” the man said as he saw the baby in Omaka’s arms. “Are you from the orphanage?”

  Linda shook her head. “No, I’m only passing through on my way to Wellington. I wanted to visit the missionary station.”

  “That’s gone,” another one of the soldiers informed her. He was a captain, and obviously the unit’s leader. “There’s only the orphanage now.”

  “And is that where these little ones are going?” Linda asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the captain replied. “The reverend is supposed to be here any minute to pick them up. I hope he arrives soon. The children don’t understand a word of English, and they don’t know if they should be more afraid of us or the townsfolk. I wis
h I could at least talk to them.”

  “The language isn’t a problem for me,” Linda said, preparing to climb down from the wagon seat. “I would be happy to translate for you.”

  “Look, here comes the reverend I spoke to yesterday!” a young lieutenant said.

  He pointed toward a hay wagon pulled by two sturdy horses. A tall, lanky man was sitting on the coach box. He wasn’t wearing missionary clothes, but instead torn denim trousers and a woodcutter’s shirt. Only the broad-brimmed hat made him recognizable as a clergyman.

  “Wonderful! We can transfer the children to his care.” The captain turned away from Linda and walked toward the approaching wagon. “Reverend Lange? Pleased to meet you. I’m Captain Tatler.”

  Linda stopped short. Lange? When news had spread of Voelkner’s murder at Opotiki, she’d been enormously relieved to hear there were no other victims, but she hadn’t been able to learn anything about Franz’s whereabouts. And now she had to look twice before she actually recognized him.

  The lanky man who now stood up to speak to the children had almost nothing in common with the shy, pious missionary who’d visited Rata Station. Franz had grown more muscular, and his pale skin was tan from working outdoors. Linda remembered thinking that Ida’s brother carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Now he seemed able to shoulder the burden.

  And then she had another surprise. Franz Lange jumped down from the wagon and spoke in broken but understandable Maori.

  “Welcome to children’s marae in Otaki. I Revi Fransi—ariki or papara.”