Fires of Change (The Fire Blossom Saga) Read online

  The innkeeper, who’d introduced himself as Benny, led Franz down the pass with shocking agility for his age. The way down was almost as difficult as the way up had been. Here, too, the path was steep, and one had to be terribly careful. But every step brought Franz closer to his goal. Benny, who was often lonely up on the mountain, entertained his companion with ceaseless chattering. Everything he said seemed strange and foreign to Franz. He had never heard of rowing races, and aside from a few members of the Church Missionary Society, he didn’t know any English people either—certainly not gentlemen—who took part in sporting events. Physical effort for its own sake struck him as absurd.

  “It’s quite possible that folks from Rata Station could be at the picnic,” Benny remarked, as the steep mountain trail finally gave way to a more even footpath. “Best if you ask around a bit.”

  “The people come so far just for a—a regatta?”

  Benny grinned. “Why not? The shearing is done, and many of the sheep are already in the highlands. Why shouldn’t they enjoy a little distraction?”

  Franz didn’t respond. For the members of his community, rest and a change of scenery were achieved by reading the Bible or going to church. But of course they all celebrated together sometimes. There were weddings, feast days, and christenings. But nothing could have prepared Franz for the noisy, colorful festival that had taken over Christchurch that day. The entire town seemed to be on the move. Men, women, and children all wore their Sunday best, which was in no way limited to dark suits and dresses, white aprons, and tidy bonnets. Many local businessmen and their families wore their wealth on their sleeves. The women paraded in brightly colored dresses under matching parasols. Their hoopskirts rustled alluringly, and their corsets were laced tightly, creating wasp waists. The men wore elegant three-piece suits, and heavy gold watch chains poked out of their pockets. Franz noticed with surprise that most of the pubs were open, even though it was Sunday. The pub owners were serving ginger beer and punch on the street, and the people were standing in groups, drinking and laughing.

  Benny was greeted cheerfully from all sides. As they walked, he was offered a beer and a few glasses of schnapps, which he happily consumed as he led Franz toward the river. There, in a parklike area surrounded by lush green lawns, was the center of the festival. Blankets were spread out on the grass everywhere, and happy people ate food from picnic baskets. Little stands had been set up to sell refreshments or to offer games of chance. Franz was shocked when a man from one booth challenged him to a hand of blackjack, and a woman at the next offered to tell his fortune.

  And now something was happening on the river. Accompanied by the sounds of a marching band playing “God Save the Queen,” all the boats that were taking part in the race rowed past together. They were colorfully decorated with flowers and garlands, and the audience greeted them with shouts of glee. Friends and family of the participants cheered for their favorites. Franz stared at the multicolored flotilla with fascination. There were boats of all sizes. The smallest carried only two oarsmen, and the largest carried eight. The band changed to an Irish folk song, and some of the audience joined in.

  “Look, there he is! Hey, could you please step aside? You’re blocking our view.”

  Franz started in surprise at the clear, high voice. Confused, he turned and saw two young women lounging in an unladylike manner on their blanket. They were gazing out at the boats, not caring whether their skirts covered their ankles. One of them was craning her neck to look past Franz, while the other lay on her stomach to peer between his legs. That was the girl who had spoken to him, and who didn’t seem to have the least trouble reprimanding a strange man.

  “Move already! Look, Linda, rata blossoms! He decorated the entire boat with them. How sweet!”

  Franz stepped aside while the girl sat up and began to wave urgently.

  “He doesn’t see me! And I even told him where we would be sitting.”

  In all the excitement, her blonde hair was escaping from her pretty braids, and her blue eyes were flashing in a way that suddenly reminded him of Ida. A tricolor dog bounced happily by her feet.

  “He has to row, Carol,” the girl named Linda said, and then arranged her skirts more properly over her ankle boots. She took the barking dog by the collar to keep it from rushing to the river and following the boats. “As he told you many times, it’s not easy to keep the boats on course. Don’t worry, he’ll find us afterward. Just let him win first! We don’t want him to say afterward that we distracted him.”

  Now teams of four were passing on the river, which seemed to interest the girls less. The blonde with the braids sank back onto the blanket, resigned. To Franz’s surprise, the other one, also blonde, turned to look at him.

  “You’re welcome to join us on the blanket, Reverend,” Linda said in a melodic voice. “Then you won’t be in anyone’s way, and we’ll all be able to see well.”

  Franz looked more closely at the girl, and couldn’t stop the blush that crept into his cheeks. He felt impolite looking so directly, but the young lady’s light blue eyes seemed to draw him in. They looked kind and gentle, and the sun flashed on golden flecks. She had an evenly formed face with strawberry-red lips. Her hair was combed cleanly back from her face and fastened in a loose bun, covered by a blue net that matched the color of her summer dress. The charming hat that the net was attached to was also sky blue and decorated with flowers. Franz had never seen such a pretty girl.

  “That—that wouldn’t be, um, appropriate,” he murmured. “I mean, no one has introduced us.”

  The girl smiled. “I’m Linda Brandmann,” she said. “This is Carol.” Linda pointed to the girl next to her. “My sister. She’s not usually so rude, but today she’s a little nervous. She has to cheer for her fiancé.”

  Franz caught himself wondering if Linda had a fiancé too. She seemed young but remarkably self-possessed. Franz had often thought about a future wife. He’d had to. Missionaries were expected to marry, and most of his classmates from the missionary school had done so right after their ordination. They’d often chosen cousins or other distant relatives who wouldn’t distract them with lustful thoughts. Franz, too, had so far only regarded women in terms of their appropriateness as preacher’s wives. But looking at Linda, he suddenly began to daydream about a warm, comfortable home; laughing children; and—God save him—holding his wife in his arms and kissing her. He had to force himself to look away.

  “I’m—” Franz began, but at that moment Benny appeared.

  “There you are, Reverend! I see you’re already getting to know some of the ladies here!” He grinned, and Franz blushed deeply. “I found someone who might know your sister. Come, I’ll introduce you.”

  Franz stuttered a polite goodbye, which was returned cheerfully by Linda and disinterestedly by Carol, who only had eyes for the boats. Linda smiled apologetically, and Franz would have liked to return her smile but was afraid it might be inappropriate. He followed Benny without another word. The old man led him to a hay wagon that was outfitted with pillows and blankets. A large family was spread out on top of, under, and next to it. A pleasant woman with brown hair and a plump face was passing out muffins to a horde of children. Boys of various ages were playing happily. In Hahndorf, the oldest of them would already be working the fields. Here, they were chasing each other and fighting for sweets, and playing with the three or four dogs that frolicked around the wagon. A girl with long dark hair and an angelically beautiful face watched the start of the first boat race as she bounced a baby on her knee.

  “Do you have a moment, Mrs. Redwood?” Benny said to the woman on the wagon, who smiled.

  “Benny O’Rourke! I haven’t seen you in ages. Are you still guarding the Bridle Path? And would you like a muffin?” Mrs. Redwood held out the treats.

  “You know I would, but first, I’d like to introduce you to someone,” Benny said. “This is Reverend—what was it again? In any case, he’s looking for someone you know. Reverend, this is Laur
a Redwood.”

  Franz bowed formally. “My name is Lange,” he said. The woman on the wagon showed no recognition, but the dark-haired girl turned sharply to appraise him. Franz thought he recognized something in her face. Yes, there was a certain similarity to Ida, wasn’t there? He rubbed his eyes in confusion.

  “I’m looking for my sister Ida,” he said decisively. “Ida Jensch.”

  Laura Redwood beamed at him. “My goodness! You must be Franz! Ida has spoken so often of you, and worried about you. God, she’ll be delighted to see you again! What a pity that she’s not here right now. But I was just talking to her about—”

  “Ida’s here?” Franz asked, confused. He was reeling to hear that Ida hadn’t forgotten him, that she’d talked about him and even worried about him.

  Laura Redwood smiled indulgently. The young man seemed to be a little slow-witted. “No, she’s not here,” she repeated. “She’s just returned from a long trip, and decided to spend more time with her friend Cat while the young people are watching the rowing. But her husband and daughter are here.” Laura turned to the dark-haired girl.

  “Mara,” she said, “give me little Julie. And then take your uncle to your father. Reverend Lange, may I introduce you? This is your niece Margaret. We call her Mara.”

  Chapter 12

  Mara Jensch stopped for a moment to orient herself, and then caught sight of the refreshment stand by the river. She set off toward it as elegantly as a dancer, moving so quickly that Franz could hardly keep up.

  Finally, Franz spoke to her. “Your name is Margaret, child?” he asked. “Margarethe was my mother’s name.”

  Mara nodded vaguely. “I know. Mamida told me. It’s the name of a flower that doesn’t grow here. I prefer Mara. Or Marama.” Her voice sounded yearning. “That’s a Maori word, and it means ‘moon.’ You, um, you’re a reverend? Are you going to take a parish here?”

  Franz shook his head. “No, I’m a missionary. I’m going to—”

  “That’s what I thought!” A triumphant smile spread over Mara’s pretty face. “You’re going to teach at the missionary school in Tuahiwi, aren’t you?”

  “I’m going to teach at the school in Opotiki,” Franz said, correcting her. “On the North Island.”

  “Oh.”

  The girl seemed to be disappointed but pulled herself together again quickly. At the refreshment stand, Mara pointed to a group of men who were sipping from beer glasses and conversing comfortably. One of them, a lanky blond man, looked familiar to Franz.

  “Kapa,” Mara said, tapping the man on the shoulder, “this reverend says he’s Mamida’s brother.”

  Karl turned and stared at Franz Lange in disbelief. Then he smiled. “Franz! The last time I saw you, you were eight years old and horribly seasick! And now—my God, how happy Ida will be!”

  Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain. Franz heard his father’s voice in his head.

  “I still get seasick easily,” he replied instead, and shrank back a little when Karl kindly put an arm around his shoulders and seemed to be about to embrace him. “But since following God’s path led me back to New Zealand, I saw fit to call on my sister and also to—greet her for our father.”

  Jakob Lange hadn’t asked him to do any such thing, but after all, he hadn’t known about Franz’s plans to visit the South Island. Ida would expect a greeting from her father, and with this careful wording, it wasn’t really a lie.

  “That’s a lot better than not letting her know you’re in the country,” Karl said. “Chris, did you hear? This is Ida’s little brother! Franz, this is my friend and business partner, Christopher Fenroy.”

  Franz greeted Chris and the other men Karl introduced him to, including Joseph Redwood. Joseph had just ordered another round of beer, and generously pushed a tankard toward Franz.

  “Let’s drink to the return of the prodigal son!” Joseph said, laughing. “Or rather, the prodigal brother. Cheers, Reverend!”

  Franz swallowed, but his throat was still dry. He didn’t want to drink beer. Fortunately, the men quickly lost interest in him. Only Karl continued to ask questions.

  “So, you intend to do missionary work with the Maori? That’s a challenging task. I always get the impression that they’re completely happy with their own gods. Do you speak their language?”

  Franz frowned. “It has nothing to do with whether they’re satisfied with their heathen beliefs. It has to do with sparing them from eternal damnation,” he replied stiffly. “And as for the language, the savages should learn the language of Martin Luther, instead of us learning theirs.”

  Karl raised his eyebrows. “You want to teach them to speak German? I don’t think that’s very likely to be successful. But if you say so.” He certainly didn’t want to get into a theological discussion with someone from Raben Steinfeld—and somehow there seemed to be one here in front of him, twenty years after the devastation of Sankt Pauli Village. It was surreal. “Let me introduce you to the girls,” he said, changing the subject. “And if you just came over the Bridle Path, you must be hungry. Come, we’ll watch a few boat races and plunder the picnic basket. That is, if your older niece is in her right mind again.” He turned to Mara. “Has Oliver raced yet?”

  Karl smiled at his daughter, and she glanced toward the river.

  “The first heats are over,” Mara said. “I think they started with six- and four-man sculls. There weren’t so many of them. But there are twenty of the doubles. There will be quite a few heats before it gets very exciting.”

  Karl sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m hungry now. And we should make sure we get at least a few of Ida’s delicious tidbits before the champion arrives and expects everything to be fed to him by his fiancée’s fair hand.”

  Mara giggled. “Can I come with you?” she asked. “One doesn’t get to meet a long-lost uncle very often!”

  Her voice sounded mischievous, and Franz was surprised. Before the talk had turned to his duties at the mission, she hadn’t seemed terribly interested in him.

  Karl nodded. “Yes, if Laura can spare you. You haven’t even told us yet if you like working for her. Do you really like babies?”

  Ah, Franz thought. Ida and Karl had hired out the girl to the Redwoods. Their sheep farm must not be all that profitable.

  Mara shrugged. “Julie is sweet,” she said, “and I like Laura too. Have you—have you heard anything from Jane?”

  Karl grinned. “You mean, have we heard anything about Eru? No, not a word. Jane must have come down hard. Oh, there are the girls!”

  The commentator was just beginning to announce the final round, and four small boats were practically neck and neck. The audience cheered as soon as one pulled a little bit ahead, and shouted loud encouragement when one fell back.

  As the trio made their way across the lawn, Franz’s eyes sought Linda of their own volition. Carol couldn’t be missed. The young woman was hopping up and down with excitement and shouting encouragement at the rowers. The energetic dog circled her, barking enthusiastically.

  Linda, too, was on her feet, but she showed a little more restraint. Then she shouted for joy as well and fell into her sister’s arms as a blue-and-red-striped, two-man rowing scull shot forward, just a few yards before the finish line.

  “The winners of the coxless double category are Oliver Butler and Joe Fitzpatrick!” cried the rowing club representative through a gigantic megaphone.

  “Yayyyy!” Carol cheered, and the dog howled along with her.

  Franz realized with amazement that Karl was leading him straight toward the two young women.

  “We won!” Carol threw her arms around Mara. “Did you see it, Kapa? Did you see Oliver?”

  Karl grimaced. “We’re not blind,” he said dryly. “But at the risk of sounding like your future mother-in-law, a lady should keep her composure. Please stop leaping around like a jack-in-the-box, Carol. You too, Fancy.”

  The dog stopped barking and let her tail hang. Carol attemp
ted to school her features into a more serious expression.

  “Anyway, we have much more important news,” Karl added. “We have a visitor from Australia.” Smiling, he turned to Franz and gestured proudly at the girls. “May I introduce Reverend Franz Lange, your mother’s brother. This is Carol and Linda, Franz. Our two older daughters.”

  Franz couldn’t begin to define the feeling that overcame him when he realized Linda was his niece. It was as though he were looking at the sunny day through a dark veil. Franz only hoped that the others wouldn’t notice his distress, and attempted in his mind to justify the strange attraction he’d felt for Linda by some similarity to Ida. Of course, Ida had a kind, gentle voice and a beautiful, evenly formed face as well. And his sister Elsbeth was also blonde. He thought he could see her reflected in Linda somehow too.

  Still, something inside of Franz refused to acknowledge the kinship.

  “But—didn’t you say your name was Linda Brander?” he stammered.

  “Brandmann,” Linda said, correcting him.

  Franz felt as though the sound of her voice not only touched his soul but his body as well. Horrified, he fought back the feeling. But now he understood. Karl had introduced the girls as his and Ida’s, but they were actually from Ida’s first marriage to Ottfried Brandmann.

  “Now that the races are over, maybe we can open the picnic basket,” said Karl, and Franz was grateful his brother-in-law’s eyes were on the food and not his own burning face.

  “Yes, of course!” Carol cried. “We have to lay out the picnic. Oliver will be here any minute. I invited Fitz too.” Fitz was what Joe Fitzpatrick’s friends called him, and she had picked up the nickname from Oliver.

  While Fancy lay down politely on the grass and watched her mistress’s every move, Carol got out porcelain plates, silverware, water glasses, and wine glasses, which she laid out artistically on a white tablecloth.

  “It’s time for the first award ceremony,” Linda said.

  Carol put aside her domestic endeavors for the moment and looked back to the river. The winners’ boats had tied up at the pier where Christchurch’s dignitaries and the board of the rowing club had been watching the regatta. To renewed strains of “God Save the Queen,” the winners lined up. Mrs. Tribe, the wife of one of the rowing club’s founding members, congratulated them and passed out medals.