Fires of Change (The Fire Blossom Saga) Page 3
“We should leave as quickly as possible,” Karl told his wife and daughter, “before the prophet decides to start freeing this village of pakeha. Mara, go get Mr. Johnson and the redcoats, and I’ll pry Mr. Carter away from those girls. Ida, take Father O’Toole straight to the horses. We don’t want him trying to challenge that madman.”
Mara didn’t have to be told twice. The ghostly atmosphere, the dark words of the prophet, and the men’s mad dance around the niu scared her. She saw the Maori as her people. If she married Eru, she would be a member of the Ngai Tahu tribe. But she had never seen her countrymen this way before. It seemed as though all of their common sense and wisdom had been blown away by a bewitching wind.
Father O’Toole looked to be in a trance as Ida led him between the fires, fortunately without incident. A few of the villagers noticed the pakeha leaving. The chieftain, who was sitting off to the side, was certainly aware. But Maihi Paraone Kawiti didn’t stop them. Nor did he seem particularly impressed by the prophet currently entrancing his tribe. Perhaps he could sense the danger radiating from Te Ua, or perhaps he was afraid of losing his own power over his people. He nodded to Karl and regarded Father O’Toole with an expression somewhere between disdain and regret.
“Keep moving,” Ida urged the missionary.
After helping Carter and the alarmed soldiers saddle their horses, Mara handed Father O’Toole the reins of his gaunt bay mare. He stared at them in his hand as if rooted to the spot.
“I want to go now,” Mara said.
“As do I,” Father O’Toole whispered. “This is the end. Irrevocably. I’m going back to Galway. God save this country.”
Chapter 3
“God called, and you answered!”
The voice of Reverend William Woodcock filled the little church at St. Peter’s College. The archdeacon of Adelaide looked appraisingly at the young men lined up in front of the altar. They gazed up at him expectantly.
“‘Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.’”
“Amen,” said the eight freshly ordained missionaries and their family and friends who had gathered for the celebratory service.
The Australian Church Missionary Society ran a seminary that sent a handful of enthusiastic, pious young men into the world every year to convert the “heathens.” Most of them stayed in the country—the huge continent of Australia offered plenty of opportunities. But every now and then, a new missionary was sent to New Zealand, India, Africa, or another destination.
William Woodcock had been given the task of assigning the new missionaries to their future posts. He raised his arms as the last “amen” resonated off the church walls. The eight young men lined up for a formal exit from the church while the organ played and the college’s choir sang. Most of the congregation joined in the singing. Almost all of the missionary-school students came from strict religious families and knew the words and melodies of the popular hymns quite well.
Franz Lange strode third in line through the church, his head lowered reverently. But when he heard German coming from the final pew, he glanced up and saw his father. Jakob Lange stood stiffly between Franz’s younger half brothers and sang defiantly in his native language. His deep, sonorous voice drowned out those surrounding him, who eyed him with annoyance that he neither noticed nor cared about. Franz knew his father thought it crucial that the Gospel be spread in the language of Martin Luther and regarded foreign languages as a nuisance. Twenty years after his emigration from Mecklenburg, Germany, Jakob could still barely speak a word of English. As a result, he hadn’t understood very much of his son’s ordination ceremony.
In truth, Franz hadn’t even dared to hope that his father would be there at all. The Australian Church Missionary Society might have Lutheran roots, but it was now part of the Anglican Church, and they didn’t adhere to the Gospel nearly as strictly as Jakob Lange would have liked. But for Franz, there had been no alternative. The Lutheran community near Adelaide that Lange’s family belonged to had no seminary. If Franz wanted to follow God’s call, then his only option was St. Peter’s College.
At the sight of his father and his brothers and the thought of God’s call, Franz was briefly racked with guilt. More than any true yearning to be a priest, Franz had simply had enough of the unrelenting, monotonous, and difficult farm work that was only relieved by church services and prayer circles. The young man had been weak and fragile since childhood, when he’d repeatedly suffered from terrible colds and shortness of breath. Neither the climate in Mecklenburg nor that of the South Island of New Zealand, where the Lange family had formerly lived, was suitable to his constitution. The heat in Australia was better for Franz, but the remorseless drudgery of making new land arable hadn’t improved his health. Jakob Lange had demanded that the youngest son of his first marriage put all his energy into the family farm. When they had arrived in Australia, Jakob had sent the ten-year-old to the German school, but in the afternoons, Franz was forced to work to exhaustion.
“It’ll keep you from getting any foolish ideas,” his father had said.
Franz had heard that sentiment countless times while growing up. It always came with complaints about his siblings, who had escaped their father’s influence. Franz’s brother Anton and his sister Elsbeth had actually run away. Franz assumed they must be somewhere in New Zealand, but their father had never shown any interest in finding them. What was more, Jakob and his second wife, Anna, exchanged only occasional and superficial letters with his eldest daughter, Ida. Ida had gotten married to a member of the Lutheran community shortly after their arrival in New Zealand, and had later become a widow under dubious circumstances. She had then gotten remarried to a man whom, as Franz understood it, Jakob didn’t approve of.
Franz and the other young missionaries passed through the church doors and waited outside for their families. The Langes were the first to step outside into the bright winter sunlight. Franz smiled tentatively and reached out a hand to his father and stepmother. Though men and women were forbidden to sit together inside the church, Anna was standing with her husband now, as were their three daughters and two sons. Anna, at least, returned her stepson’s friendly greeting. With her eyes slightly lowered in humility, she smiled at him from under her bonnet.
Franz gathered his courage and broke the silence. “Father! Stepmother! You can’t imagine how pleased I am that you’ve come.”
Franz hoped that his father would embrace him, but Jakob stood stiffly.
“In the winter, there’s not as much to do on the farm,” he grumbled.
Anna shook her head indulgently. Then she took her stepson’s outstretched hand. “Your father is proud of you,” she said.
Anna also spoke German, but she’d learned to at least understand English. The school in Hahndorf taught the local language, even though many settlers didn’t think it important for their children to learn, as most never left the village.
But the lessons had been important to Franz, who thought constantly about the example his sisters had set. No matter how angry he was at Ida and Elsbeth for deserting him, he knew that his sisters’ ambitious efforts to learn English quickly after their arrival in New Zealand were what had set them free. Franz, too, would have to embrace the language of his new country if he ever wanted to escape the drudgery in Hahndorf. So he’d studied English with a fiery enthusiasm, even though he was far more talented with numbers and would have made a better bookkeeper or bank clerk than a preacher. Sometimes he even dreamed of higher education in mathematics. But that was unthinkable. If Jakob Lange ever let his son go, it would have to be in the name of the Lord.
The older man stroked his full white beard, frowning at his wife’s warm words. “I feel pride for sons who know their places and humbly stay where they belong—sons who support their parents in the hard figh
t for daily existence,” he replied. “You, Franz, are rather a disappointment. But very well, I accept that God has called you. The ways of the Lord are unfathomable. And who knows, perhaps you are atoning for the sins of your father when you go out into enemy territory to tame the savages. I don’t want to argue with my Creator. I just don’t want to lose the last of my sons.”
“You still have two wonderful sons,” Anna reminded him.
The small woman in traditional Lutheran garb was barely older than Ida. After the wedding, she had given birth to seven children in quick succession. Two boys and three girls had survived, and all of them were strong and healthy. Young Fritz and Herbert were already a big help on the farm, and the girls seemed to be just as domestic and proper as Anna.
Jakob Lange nodded. “I told you, I don’t want to disparage the Creator. He has been generous with me, after all. But Franz, don’t forget the homeland! Don’t give up your language and your past. No matter where you go, always remember that you are a boy from Raben Steinfeld.”
“Are you coming, Franz?” Marcus Dunn, who had been Franz’s roommate during their studies, interrupted Jakob’s sermon. “The archdeacon already invited John and Gerald into his study. He is telling everyone where we’ll be sent! You’re surely next.”
Franz seized the opportunity to excuse himself. “You’re welcome to stay,” he told his family. “There’s food and drink for celebrating our commencement.”
Jakob Lange snorted. “I see nothing worth celebrating here. And we must get home; there are ten cows to milk. So, go with God, Franz. I hope he guides you on your path.”
Franz bit his lip. His father had already turned to leave. Anna shrugged helplessly. She was a gentle, accommodating person. When Jakob had married her, she had lovingly accepted Franz as her son and made his life easier in many respects. But she was unconditionally devoted to her husband. She never contradicted him or stood in his way. Franz wondered if he would have a similar kind of wife one day. But if he were honest with himself, he would much rather have a partner with whom he could have a real conversation. A wife who didn’t always comply with his wishes. A wife who sometimes said no. Franz wanted to be able to ask questions and share secrets.
But now he had no time to dwell on such things. This day had been a whirlwind of emotions: his brief joy over the successful commencement, his pride at being able to call himself reverend, his renewed feelings of guilt toward his father, and his fear about the future. There was something that Franz had never told anyone, that he didn’t even want to admit to himself: no matter how quickly he learned, how intensely he prayed, or how enthusiastically he proclaimed God’s word, the thought of standing face-to-face with the heathens he was supposed to convert made him rigid with fear. Franz had never had any real contact with the Australian Aborigines. The previous owners of the land on which Hahndorf stood had long since been relocated to distant places. That was also true for the tribe that had occupied the area around Adelaide. One could still see some natives on the streets as beggars or drunken vagrants—unpleasant but harmless.
During Franz’s education as a missionary, guest lecturers had occasionally brought baptized tribesmen as examples. These men weren’t scary; they were calm and quiet. They wore European clothing and kept their eyes humbly lowered. But Franz clearly remembered his family’s arrival in New Zealand, when their town of Nelson had ended up in the middle of the Wairau conflict. The Langes had never seen a Maori in person, but for a fearful child like Franz, the horror stories had been enough. And the Australian Aborigines were supposed to be much more aggressive than the Maori. Every settler knew about massacres of immigrants, perilous expeditions, and bloody battles. Sketches of savages with war paint, armed with spears and boomerangs, had been passed around. What was more, the outback was full of dangerous animals. When Franz had helped his father plow, he’d often barely missed being bitten by a deadly snake or attacked by a dingo. The thought of being sent once more into virgin territory to found a mission gave him panic attacks.
As he waited outside the archdeacon’s study, Franz’s heart pounded and he began to sweat. He swallowed with a dry throat when William Woodcock finally called him in. What would he do if he was sent on an expedition into the wilderness? Could he give up and leave? Would God punish him? Or worse yet, would God punish him right now through the hand of the archdeacon, banishing him to a far worse place than the one he was fleeing?
The archdeacon’s bright eyes bored into Franz’s own. He seemed to be able to look directly into the young man’s soul. “Sit down, Reverend Lange. You’re terribly pale. Was it the reunion with your family, or are you already feeling the burden of duty?”
Franz murmured something unintelligible. But then he pulled himself together. “I haven’t broken my fast yet,” he admitted.
The future missionaries had spent the day before their ordination fasting and praying, and Franz had almost collapsed with hunger during the ceremony. But then the encounter with his family had taken away his appetite, while his classmates were already enjoying the refreshments the school had provided.
The archdeacon nodded. He covertly appraised the wispy young man. Franz Lange was of medium height, was very thin, and had slightly hunched shoulders, as though he were constantly ducking the stroke of a whip. The traditional black missionary suit fit him loosely. William Woodcock briefly scanned the evaluations from Lange’s teachers: reliable, pious, patient, extraordinarily well versed in the Bible, but unfortunately not a good speaker. The young man also seemed to have difficulties looking someone in the eye. Woodcock persisted with his steady gaze anyway, staring into the childish round face with big blue eyes—fearful eyes. Woodcock didn’t want to torture the boy. He spoke to him kindly.
“I won’t keep you long. After all, you’ll have to fortify yourself for the duties that lie ahead. Tell me, Reverend Lange . . . If you could choose a posting, where would you go? Which country, what kind of work?”
Franz rubbed his temples. Was there really a chance that the archdeacon was going to include him in the decision? But this could just as easily be a trick question. His father, at least, would have taken a direct answer to reveal a lack of humility and then would have given him a task that was particularly contrary to his wishes.
“I—I will take the place that God has ordained for me. I—”
The archdeacon dismissed his words with a wave. “Of course you will. I’m assuming that. But there must be some duties that attract you more than others.”
Franz bit his lip again. He desperately searched for a noncommittal answer. “I like to teach,” he said. “I like to work with children.”
Truthfully, the only children Franz had ever worked with were his younger half-siblings, and they often seemed rather slow-witted. But he’d never minded when Anna had asked him to help them with their school work. To the contrary, it had been a pleasure because then at least his father didn’t send him to work in the fields. And Franz thought that perhaps if the natives were civilized enough to send their children to school, then they couldn’t be all that dangerous.
The archdeacon nodded and made a note on the documents in front of him. “So, you are a born teacher,” he said kindly. “Good to know. Unfortunately, at the moment none of our missionary stations have requested teachers. On the other hand, there is surely a need in the larger stations where the work with the heathens is in a more advanced phase. Would the summons to such a station attract you, Brother Franz? I have a request from New Zealand. One of our long-serving missionaries, Reverend Voelkner, requires assistance. Didn’t you come from New Zealand with your family, Reverend Lange?”
Franz felt a seed of hope germinating inside of him. His memories of New Zealand were fraught, the settlement that his father had founded having fallen victim to a catastrophic flood. But he’d liked the town of Nelson. And the countryside there harbored no snakes, scorpions, or dangerous animals.
“I came from Mecklenburg,” he replied. “Raben Steinfeld.”
“No!” Franz’s objection was a little too quick and too loud. If the archdeacon did mean to test him, he might be on his way to China in a few days. “I—I mean, of course I’d follow the call to distant lands, but I—”
The archdeacon smiled. “Very well, Reverend Lange. Then it’s official. I will send you to Opotiki. That’s on the North Island of New Zealand. The mission has been there for several years. Good luck, Brother Franz. Go with God.”
Staggering out into the sunshine, Franz felt dizzy but also indescribably relieved. Now he just had to make his way to the long tables of food to satisfy his hunger and to congratulate his brothers for their posting in China, and perhaps endure their friendly teasing that he “only” got to go to New Zealand. But instead, he walked back into the little church. There, he thanked God fervently for answering his prayers.
Part 2
RETURN
CANTERBURY PLAINS, CHRISTCHURCH, AND LYTTELTON, NEW ZEALAND (THE SOUTH ISLAND)
1863
Chapter 4
“You’ll see, Carol, this time we’ll win. Last year, with Jeffrey, we were just paddling around. Joe is teaching me a completely different technique now. After all, he’s from Oxford. His team won the boat race, you know, that famous regatta on the Thames.”