Fires of Change (The Fire Blossom Saga) Read online

  Franz nodded stiffly. “It would be a pleasure to meet the reverends from St. Luke’s and St. Michael’s,” he said. “I will use the opportunity to ask about a ship to the North Island. I have to start thinking about how to get there.”

  Linda nodded. Of course, Georgie, the boatman, could easily tell him when ships bound for the North Island were leaving Lyttelton. But Franz clearly couldn’t allow himself a pleasurable experience without finding a dutiful pretext.

  “We’ll be leaving tomorrow around noon,” Linda said. “Georgie will be going up the river then, and he’ll be able to take us with him on the way back as well.”

  The next day at noon, Franz’s breath caught in his throat when Linda came to the pier. That morning she had been wearing an old riding habit to work in the barn, but for the outing, the girls had dressed up. Franz blushed when he realized how similar Linda looked to the way she had in his daydream. She was wearing a light cotton dress that even had a hoopskirt. Her hair was braided just as prettily as Carol’s had been for the regatta. It was crowned with a little hat decorated with flowers, and Linda beamed so cheerfully that even Karl noticed.

  “You look pretty today, Lindy,” he teased. “Do you have a secret admirer in Christchurch?”

  Karl laughed, but Ida looked at her daughter shrewdly. Did she disapprove of her appearance? Franz wondered. As a good Raben Steinfeld Christian, she certainly should. Anna Lange would have never bought such clothes for her daughters! Then Franz found himself caught in Ida’s doubtful gaze. Was she afraid of his disapproval? Was there enough Lutheran piousness left in her to at least be ashamed of her daughter’s appearance in front of her brother? Franz wanted to believe it, and above all he wanted to feel disapproval of her himself. But he couldn’t. All that mattered to him was Linda. She was simply breathtaking, and he just couldn’t manage to see her as the embodiment of sin that all women represented.

  Carol, who greeted her fiancé just as enthusiastically as she had at the regatta, had dressed more modestly that morning, perhaps in anticipation of visiting the churches. Her dress was simple and had a high neckline, and the hat covered all but a little of her pinned and braided hair.

  Ida, too, was dressed conservatively, if not on par with the women of Hahndorf. She wore a cream-colored blouse with an elegant, dark blue ensemble, and a matching hat instead of a bonnet. After his initial doubts, Franz had learned that Rata Station had indeed made its owners rich.

  “I don’t want to rush anyone, but we have to leave soon. Perhaps you could catch up on the sweet nothings later,” Georgie said, grinning at Carol and Oliver, who let go of each other reluctantly. “You’ll be married soon anyway, won’t ya?”

  Carol nodded, but a shadow flitted across her face at the mention of the wedding. She wanted a reception on Christmas Day in the middle of summer so they could celebrate outdoors. However, Deborah Butler said she wouldn’t be able to complete the preparations by then. She had ordered various things from England for the young couple, and the ship full of furniture, rugs, curtain fabric, and dress material wouldn’t arrive before January. For that reason, they’d set a date in February, and the party would take place in Christchurch instead of at Rata Station.

  “We want to pick a church today,” Carol declared, and proceeded to bore the boatman with the details of the preparations for the next half hour.

  Franz Lange wasn’t listening. During the river journey two weeks earlier, he’d been too gloomy to enjoy the landscape on either side of the Waimakariri. Now, cheered by Linda’s presence, he made up for it. He gazed in amazement at the endless openness of the plains, and at the mountains, which rose in the distance, fresh and white as clean laundry. Behind the stands of cattail reeds on the riverbanks, nikau palms gave the landscape an exotic flair.

  “The Lord created a paradise here,” Franz said at last. “But has he really put it in human hands without any further requirements? Sankt Pauli Village looked similar, didn’t it? Especially when the river wasn’t flooding—” Franz looked mistrustfully at the water of the Waimakariri.

  “The Moutere Valley was marshland,” Karl said patiently. He’d had to ease Franz’s mind whenever it rained and the level of the river rose. “It always had been. In order to settle there, it would have been necessary to build dikes, like on the Elbe in Mecklenburg. Just trusting in God wasn’t enough.”

  Franz crossed himself. “But if you don’t trust in God—”

  “Franz, certain characteristics of a landscape determine whether a river tends to flood or not. That has absolutely nothing to do with God!”

  Franz was about to respond, but Linda put a hand on his arm and her adoptive father’s at the same time. “The Maori would see that completely differently,” she said. “They’d say you can trust the river gods, that they made the river the way they did for a reason. If they’ve allowed it to flood since the dawn of time, you can be sure it will do so again after the next big rain. And we can be just as sure that the Waimakariri won’t flood no matter how hard it rains. That’s very comforting, Franz! God isn’t inconsistent. He always makes it rain so the grass grows. A spring follows every winter. Just imagine what would happen if God kept changing his mind and you never knew when it was time for the lambing or to harvest the sweet potatoes!”

  Franz looked confused, but Ida smiled at her adopted daughter.

  “Wise words,” Chris said. “And we could add how smart it is of the gods not to answer every prayer. Just imagine if Jane could influence how fast her sheep’s wool grew. She would bring the village’s wool to market early, and then all the other breeders would have to be satisfied with whatever business was left!”

  Franz pursed his lips as everyone laughed in agreement.

  “This is the Deanses’ farm,” Linda said, pointing to the riverbank, changing the subject.

  Karl and Chris talked about the quality of the sheep grazing near the water, and Oliver talked about the rowing club; Fitz had applied for membership again, but he’d been turned down. Ida and Linda talked about the wedding. It would soon be time to get dresses made. The two of them wondered if they would have time to visit the seamstress in Christchurch.

  “You used to make your own dresses,” Franz remarked unmercifully.

  Ida nodded. “Yes, but I never really enjoyed it.”

  Franz prepared a cutting remark about humility, but then he glanced at Linda’s pretty face and fetching hat, and the words got stuck in his throat. No, he didn’t want to imagine her in the dark, traditional dress of Hahndorf. So he held his peace, returned Linda’s smile, and allowed his thoughts to roam freely for a moment.

  Chris, Karl, and Ida had an appointment at the notary; Franz had caught wind of that. Karl wanted to sell his share of Rata Station and move with Ida to the North Island. Ida had kindly invited her brother to visit them there, but Opotiki was still three hundred and fifty miles away from Russell. He certainly wouldn’t be coming very soon. But Ida had insisted that she didn’t want to wait another twenty years to see him again, and it had warmed Franz’s heart. Ida wasn’t the woman he remembered, but she was still his sister, and she still loved him in spite of everything that had changed.

  “Tell them it’s time to chill the champagne!” Oliver cried as Georgie steered toward to the rowing club’s pier. “We’re here to eat, and we have something to celebrate!”

  Franz shot him an indignant look. While Chris, Ida, and Karl went to the notary, Oliver had brought the girls to the rowing club. But were they really planning to drink alcohol before visiting prospective churches? Oliver led them into the boathouse, where, to their surprise, a table was already waiting, complete with a bottle of champagne.

  Joe Fitzpatrick appeared from behind an eight-man rowing scull that was hanging from one of the roof beams. He had been painting the bottom of it with tar. He beamed at the new arrivals. His white shirt and canvas trousers showed no signs of tar stains, and Franz had the impression he’d just been pretending to work.

  “Welcome!”
he said to the girls. “I thought I’d repay you for the last picnic. Miss Linda . . .”

  Fitz bowed formally, and Linda blushed, grateful for the dim light.

  “Miss Carol, Reverend—and I finally get to see you again, Ollie! I’ve missed you since the regatta. Has your old man been keeping you busy working on the farm, or was your winning a medal enough for him?”

  Oliver reassured him that of course he wanted to continue rowing practice, but it seemed to Linda, at least, that Fitz wasn’t even listening to his excuses. His eyes twinkled whenever he looked at her. As he handed her a champagne glass, she allowed herself to be captured by his gaze completely.

  “Do you have a boat for me, Fitz?” Oliver asked after the young people had toasted to their reunion.

  Of course, Franz declined the alcohol. He stood to the side, totally ignored by Fitz and Oliver. Oliver had no objection to Franz’s presence. Indeed, without her uncle there to chaperone, his fiancée wouldn’t have been allowed into the boathouse with him. But no one was talking to Franz anymore. Even Linda seemed to have forgotten all about him.

  “I have to row Carol across the Avon.” Oliver winked at his fiancée and his friend.

  Fitz grinned. “But of course, old boy! And there’s no one around to notice if you row into the reeds by the riverbank. You can take that one.” He pointed out the doors to a little rowboat bobbing in the water, which had obviously been made ready. There was another one next to it.

  “And perhaps the reverend would like to accompany Miss Linda?” Fitz asked politely.

  Franz’s temperature shot up. “I—I’ve never rowed before,” he stammered.

  Fitz seemed to have expected this. “Well, then the pleasure is mine!”

  His smile was self-assured and irresistible. Franz knew he should object, but he was dumbstruck.

  “Miss Linda . . .” Fitz sprang into the boat and held out his hand to her.

  Linda tried to climb in gracefully, but it didn’t work very well. The little boat rocked far more than Georgie’s vessel, and she staggered. Fitz caught her without getting inappropriately close, but then smiled at her as though he knew how much both of them would have enjoyed it if she had fallen into his arms. Linda shyly pulled her hand out of his. Fitz acted as though he hadn’t noticed the electricity between them. He waited until Linda was sitting securely on the bench across from him, and then he took the oars.

  “Wait! You can’t just—”

  Franz had remembered his duties as a chaperone far too late. Fitz was already rowing onto the river when Franz cried out. He made no effort to turn the boat around.

  “You can follow us on the riverbank,” he called to Franz, and winked at Linda. “Like a proper chaperone,” he whispered, making her laugh.

  She felt wonderfully lighthearted with Fitz. He continued to joke with her and waved periodically at Franz, who really was following them on the riverbank, and he rowed with powerful strokes. They made much quicker progress than Oliver and Carol. But those two disappeared in the other direction, downstream.

  “Do you actually have permission to do this?” Linda asked as Fitz rowed her past the clubhouse without hesitation. “I mean, to just take the boat and row out here with me. Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

  Fitz grinned. “My dear Miss Linda, this rowing club needs me much more than I need them. If only the old windbags—excuse me—if only the old gentlemen of the steering committee would finally admit that! That’s probably why they still haven’t accepted me as a member. A real gentleman could never handle all the maintenance that has to be done on the boats.”

  “Hmm,” Linda said. In truth, she thought that sounded quite plausible. She had never heard of a gentleman who painted boats. Only staff was responsible for maintenance work—at least, in the English books she read. “You could look for a different job. What else would you like to do?”

  Fitz laughed. “At the moment, nothing more in the world than to be here with you in this boat, watching the world go by.” His disturbingly bright eyes caught her gaze and easily held it captive. “Have I told you yet how enchanting you look today? That hat makes your face look even more fetching than usual. Is it intentional, Miss Linda? Did you have plans to catch someone’s eye?”

  Linda blushed immediately. “I—no, I—”

  Fitz winked at her again. “Come now, you can admit it! Actually, you already have. After all, you’re here in this boat with a strange man. Or would you prefer to be doing something else, Miss Linda?”

  Linda shook her head, marveling at how easily he seemed to read her thoughts. “Right now,” she admitted, “I want nothing more in the world than to sit here in this boat.”

  Fitz smiled contentedly. “Then let’s forget about the rowing club and enjoy the moment. Carpe diem, as they say in Latin, Miss Linda. Seize the day!”

  Linda didn’t have much practice with flirting, but Fitz’s flattery and her confession that she enjoyed his company just as much as he did hers had made things plain. What surprised her most was that Fitz didn’t take advantage of the situation. He didn’t try to take her hand or kiss her. If his gaze felt like a caress, she thought it must be purely her own interpretation. Fitz remained a perfect gentleman, polite and obliging—and he was a wonderful listener.

  After an enchanting hour, Fitz rowed the little rowboat back to the boathouse where Franz was waiting, sweating and annoyed, and Linda still knew almost nothing about Joe Fitzpatrick. But he knew Linda Brandmann better than anyone besides her family. He knew that she hoped to be a doctor but was a little scared about the examinations in medical school, especially because she’d probably be the only girl there—if they even accepted her. He knew her true opinion of Oliver and the story of Mara and Eru, and she’d even told him that she would probably inherit Rata Station one day. To her relief, Fitz hadn’t reacted in any way to that revelation. He seemed not to care if she were rich or poor. Linda felt light and happy.

  Carol seemed no less joyful, although she was considerably more disheveled than her sister. Oliver hadn’t stayed decorously in full sight, but instead rowed the boat to a spot along the riverbank where the trees and ferns hung heavy, hiding them in a dense thicket. He’d kissed her there, and in her romantic mood she’d allowed him to touch places and do things that she had previously denied him. It was so much more beautiful to give him her love on this sunny day instead of waiting for a dark wedding night. Now she was overjoyed and jittery, and whispered to her sister that she couldn’t wait to tell her everything.

  The girls were oblivious to Franz’s stony silence during the lunch at the rowing club that followed. At least Linda was polite enough to apologize to him. On the river with Fitz, she hadn’t spared a thought for Franz, but in retrospect, she felt bad for leaving him alone, and ashamed at having laughed at Fitz’s jokes about him.

  The young missionary listened to her apology with an impassive face and didn’t say a word. What could he have said, anyway? That it wasn’t just Joe Fitzpatrick’s impertinence making him seethe, but also jealousy?

  Linda, who had no notion about the man’s feelings, figured he probably wouldn’t tell her parents about the little boat ride. Even if he did, Ida, Chris, and Karl probably wouldn’t scold them very much, but they’d doubtlessly take an interest in Joe Fitzpatrick. Karl would probably use all of his connections to find out as much as he could about the young man, and Linda didn’t want that—but why not? Fitz surely didn’t have anything to hide, and if their relationship became more serious, her parents would need to ask him a lot of questions. Still, Linda wanted to keep Fitz to herself, at least for a little while. The only person she would tell was Carol.

  Ida, Karl, and Chris didn’t notice Franz’s bad mood during the lunch either. They were so used to his disapproval that they assumed his sourness had to do with their consumption of good food and champagne in the afternoon. However, Ida was a little more restrained than usual, and scolded her husband when he poured himself a second glass.

&nb
sp; “Karl, we can’t be tipsy when we speak to the reverends. If we make a bad impression, Deborah won’t get the church of her choice for the wedding, and then she’ll put the whole thing off again.”

  After that, Oliver and Carol didn’t touch their champagne. The last thing they wanted was another delay.

  Ida was a little surprised when Franz didn’t join them for their church visits. She’d assumed that meeting his colleagues was the main reason he’d joined them. But she refrained from mentioning it. In truth, she was happy not to have to deal with the uptight missionary. After all, the priest from St. Luke’s had a reputation for being very modern and open.

  While the others went to the church, Chris accompanied Franz to Lyttelton to help him arrange a crossing to Wellington. Franz was worried about the cost. He didn’t want to have to work on a ship again, sick as sailing made him. But Chris dismissed his worries.

  “It’s on Rata Station. Ida was so happy to see you again. We certainly aren’t going to let you work for your crossing.”

  Chris also paid for the boat that took them from Christchurch to Lyttelton, despite Franz’s protests. They would have never managed it on foot over the Bridle Path in an afternoon, but the boat got them there in no time. At the mouth of the Avon, the water was calm, and Franz was able to make the short trip without getting sick.

  “Next Friday I’m leaving with the Princess Helena, a direct crossing to Wellington,” he announced formally when they finally all met for tea in the White Hart Hotel.

  Ida was ashamed of the relief that washed over her.

  “And we’re getting married at St. Michael’s!” Carol chimed in so she didn’t have to feign regret over Franz’s departure. “I thought St. Luke’s was prettier, but Oliver’s mother is right; that church is too small.”

  “Only if she plans to invite half of the South Island,” Karl grumbled.

  He, too, had preferred the homey little chapel with its rather liberal priest. The reverend of St. Michael’s hadn’t made any secret about wanting to be appointed bishop if Christchurch soon built a cathedral.