Mette was on her knees digging up the last of the winter potatoes, separating the ones that were good enough to eat from those that would make good seed potatoes. The work was soothing and she was enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face and the process of deciding which potato should go into which pile.
She heard Maren scream and started back on her heels. Maren was inside lying next to a sleeping Hamlet. In the last months of her pregnancy she had become very tired and usually slept with Hamlet beside her for an hour or two every afternoon, both taking comfort from the contact. Mette had left them back-to-back on the bed, snoring contentedly. She listened for a minute. Maren gave another choked scream and Hamlet woke up and started to wail.
Mette stood up and faced the house, her heart thumping and her hands sweating with fear. What was happening? Had someone now attacked Maren? She called her sister’s name tentatively. Then louder, said “Er du gut, Maren?”
Her sister groaned, then said, “Hjaelp mig, Mette.”
Mette rubbed her hands against her apron and ran into the house. Maren was lying on her side, her hands on her stomach, eyes closed, teeth bared in pain. Hamlet had stopped crying and was sitting up, looking at his mother with his thumb in his mouth.
“Maren, Maren, what is it? What is the matter? Are you ill?”
She moved quickly to Maren’s side and saw that her dress and the bedding were soaked.
Maren groaned again. “It’s too early, it’s too early.”
“What is too early?”
“The baby, the baby is coming. It is too early.”
Mette’s heart almost stopped. She knew very little about how babies were delivered. She’d been present when Hamlet was born while a woman from town, Mrs. Hansen, had coached Maren into pushing the baby from between her legs while she and Pieter watched helplessly. It had all happened in a few hours and everything seemed so natural, other than Maren’s screaming when the pain hit her, that she’d decided that it would be an uncomfortable thing to go through, but worth it when you saw the beautiful little baby at the end of it. This was not the same.
She touched Maren’s arm gently.
“Should you push?” she asked. “Will that help it come out?”
Maren looked at her with pain-filled eyes.
“He has not been moving,” she said. “I knew something was wrong. When I was like this with Hamlet he was moving all the time. But this time, not for many days. I thought it must be because it was a girl, but I was fooling myself…agh.” She stopped and clutched at her stomach again, then whispered, “so much pain.”
“What should I do?” asked Mette. “Tell me what I should do and I will do it.”
“Find one of the women in the clearing who has had babies and bring her here,” said Maren. “Johanna Nissen, or Frida Jepsen. Frida would be better. She has had three children and one was stillborn.”
Mette backed out of the house, then turned and ran. She could see several of the women in their gardens, either digging potatoes as she had been doing, or hanging out washing. She rushed down the path to Johanna Nissen, who was standing holding little Claus and talking to a woman Mette did not know.
“Johanna, Johanna,” she panted. “You must come. Maren’s baby is coming early. I don’t know what to do. Maren says it hasn’t moved for a long time and she has been worrying.”
A faint look of annoyance came over Johanna’s face. She sighed and thrust her baby at Mette. “Take care of Claus for now and I’ll see what I can do. If she’s losing the baby she just has to carry on and let it come. Even a baby who has died must still be born first.”
“You should send for Mrs. Hansen,” said the other woman. “She can help. My sister lost her baby and Mrs. Hansen was very helpful. She gave her something to drink which made the baby come out very fast.”
“But Mrs. Hansen is in town,” said Mette. She was clutching baby Claus feeling totally helpless. She did not trust Johanna Nissen to be helpful, or even kind.
“Run over to the sawmill,” suggested the woman. “Find someone there to go into town and bring Mrs. Hansen back. Mette turned towards the path to the sawmill. She had not been on that path for some time, and with all that had happened since then the thought of running to the sawmill made her cold with fear. Just when she thought she was over her encounter with the Hauhau, and what Frank had been through with him, she would be forced to confront the dark forest again.
“I’ll go,” said a voice from behind her. Mette turned to see Frida Jepsen standing behind her. “Mette, can you take care of the children while I’m gone? Pieter and Sofie are in my cottage. I will just tell them quickly that they must mind you, and then I will go to the sawmill as fast as I can.”
Other women had started to gather, and two of them headed off to Maren and Pieter’s house to give what help they could. Frida Jepsen hurried off along the path to the sawmill. Mette watched her go and shivered. She hoped Frida would arrive safely, even though the Hauhau had been captured. The bush represented a place of fear to her, as much as she had struggled to regain her love of the treasure it represented to her. She knew she would have to move into town. She sat down on a tree stump and made the children sit on the ground around her. She took deep breaths and was just starting to feel better when a black shape erupted from the forest and came towards her. She stood up with a little cry, almost dropping Claus in the process.
Frank Hardy stopped his horse in front of her and leaped down.
“What’s happening? I just ran into a hysterical woman in the bush. She said something about needing help, but she wouldn’t stop to tell me why, or what help she needed.”
Mette felt her body flood with relief. He was here. Sergeant Frank was here. Now everything would be well.
“Maren, my sister Maren is having her baby,” she said. “Only she thinks it’s dead already, and it’s too soon anyway. It should have waited almost until Christmas. We need to get Mrs. Hansen to come and help us.”
“Wouldn’t a doctor be better?” said Frank.
He was met with choruses of “No’s” from the women.
“Very well, Mrs. Hansen. Where does she live? I’ll go fetch her.”
One of the women gave him directions to Mrs. Hansen’s house, and he galloped off. Mette watched him go, thinking that she should have been on the horse with him. Of course, then there would be no room for Mrs. Hansen, so it was a foolish idea. She sat back down to watch the children, who were building a house with sticks. Hamlet had joined them and sat watching them, his thumb still in his mouth, his eyes large. She hadn’t seen Frank for weeks and she was beginning to think that he did not want to see her, now that all the mysteries were solved—except the one about where the body of Gottlieb Karlsen was. The Armed Constabulary had announced that Anahera, the Hauhau, had killed Sergeant Jackson because he was a Die Hard, like Frank.
After a while, Pieter emerged from the bush running, Frida Jepsen close behind him. He ran to Mette with his eyes full of fear, and Mette was reminded of the day she and Pieter had run from the mill to see if Hamlet had been taken by the Hauhau. It all seemed somewhat foolish now, thinking that the Maori would want to eat a little boy. She felt so much older and wiser than she had been just a few weeks ago.
“Maren, Maren,” was all Pieter could say.
Mette stood up and put her arms around him.
“She’s fine, Pieter, and Sergeant Fr…Sergeant Hardy has gone to fetch Mrs. Hansen. We don’t know how the baby is doing, but Maren is in pain, just as she was when Hamlet was born. That’s what happens.”
Pieter slumped his head onto Mette’s shoulder.
“I would die without her,” he said. “Mette, what will I do if she dies?”
Mette had not thought of Maren dying, but she realized now it was possible.
“She’s not going to die,” she said firmly. “The baby will be born and then she’ll be fine. She just has to suffer for a little while. I am sure she thinks it will be worth the pain. Or she’ll think so, eventually.”
Pieter sat down on the tree stump where Mette had been seated, and she sat beside him and held his hand. They were still sitting like that half an hour later when Frank returned with a flustered Mrs. Hansen sitting in front of him on the horse. Mrs. Hansen was a strong woman. She had walked beside the bullock carts coming from Foxton back in 1873, three young children by her side and another one on the way, all of which she frequently spoke about. But she had not sat on a horse with such a handsome man before, Mette thought, realizing what it was that was so exciting about riding in front of Frank.
Frank helped Mrs. Hansen down and followed her, still with her hand in his. Mrs. Hansen was flushed a bright pink, but managed to collect herself to say, “Where is she? Where is the mother?”
Pieter stood up and took over. Together they hurried towards the house. Frank looked at Mette and smiled. She heard Maren give a loud trailing scream and turned towards the house, her heart pounding.
“Should you be with your sister?” he asked.
Mette sat down on the tree trunk again.
“I’m just in the way. I have no thought about what I should do and I don’t know how to make Maren feel better.”
He sat down beside her, taking Pieter’s spot on the tree trunk. She glanced sideways at him, noticing for the first time that he was not wearing his old greatcoat, but a smart jacket, and that his hair, instead of being untamed, had been combed down into a neat part. Even his beard looked trimmer, less wild than it usually did.
“You’re looking very fine today Sergeant Frank. Were you going somewhere special?”
He smiled again. “I was, but that will have to wait.”
Maren screamed again. Mette put her head in her hands and shuddered.
“It’s so terrible, having a baby. I had thought it would be a joyful thing, but Maren is in so much pain, and she thinks the baby has died because it hasn’t been moving inside her. She will be sad for a very long time, I think.”
She looked at Frank, remembering something. “You said your own mother died when your brother was born. I hadn’t thought about it before, what a terrible thing it was. How terrible for your father, and for you. You must have been just a little boy.”
Frank was no longer smiling. “I was five. It’s one of my earliest memories. My mother screaming, just like…my mother screaming. And my father never really got over it, although he took comfort in Will.”
She sat up, a look of realization in her eyes.
“I think I will never marry and have children,” she said. “I came to New Zealand to look for a husband, to have children, to start a family and have a good life. But now I see that there is too much pain. And children die. Look at Paul and Jens. What will their mother feel when she hears? That they have died in a country so far away, that will be unbearable for her. Children are born in pain, and they die and there is more pain. I would not be able to stand it. My books will be my children.”
He was quiet for a very long time. Eventually he said, “But children live as well. Look at little Hamlet, playing there, and all these other children. Think how Maren loves her little Hamlet.”
Mette nodded. “That’s true,” she said. “But still, it does not balance out, for me.” As she said it, she believed it.
Frank nodded slowly.
“If there is no baby, if it has really died, you’ll still have your room to stay in,” he said. “Not that that’s a comforting thought for you.”
“I suppose I will,” she said. “But I’m not going to stay. I know that now.”
“What will you do? Will you leave? Please don’t go into service. I would hate to see you as someone’s servant girl.”
Mette regained her composure.
“I didn’t tell you, but I have a job, and it has a room for me to live in as well.”
“Not as a servant,” Frank said again. “Please Mette, not as a servant.”
“I’m going to be a seller of books,” she said, and he could see that her usual good spirits were bouncing back again. “Mr. Robinson has asked me to work in his bookstore. He has a nice little room at the back of the shop, with a stove for heating, and even a proper water closet just outside the back door. The room is small, but it will work well for me. And I will always be close to books.”
“The books that will be your children, as you said,” said Frank. He was looking sad for some reason. A butterfly landed on her fingers and she moved her hand around, admiring the blue and yellow on its wings. After a minute she spoke, not looking at Frank.
“Just living is not enough, said the butterfly. One must have sunshine, freedom and a little flower.” She blew gently on the butterfly and it fluttered away. “That was said by our very famous storyteller Hans Christian Anderson,” she said, then added, “What about you, Sergeant Frank? Is your life going to change?”
“Not as much as I’d hoped,” he said enigmatically. “But I won’t be driving coach any more. I’ve had enough of that.” He turned towards her. “Did you hear they’re building railway tracks through the Square? Soon we’ll be able to take the train all the way to Wanganui, and even up to New Plymouth.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said. “Perhaps when the tracks are built you could become a train driver.”
He laughed. “I don’t think so. No fun in that. I have a better idea, if it works.”
“And what is it, this better idea? I’ll only be happy if you tell me you are going to stay in Palmerston.”
“I will,” he said. “I’m going to open a small private investigation firm. I’ll work throughout the Manawatu, even the rest of New Zealand if I must. There are many people who need help. I would rather think and explore than simply drive a coach. Wiremu, Will, Karira wants to become my partner. He’ll be an excellent person to work with.”
“And will you have an office close to Mr. Robinson’s bookstore?”
“I’ve taken a room in the new building next to the Royal Hotel,” he said. “I can sleep and eat at the Royal, and have an office right next door.”
Mette clapped her hands. “You’ll be just across the Square from me, and we can be friends forever,” she said.
“Friends? Yes, that will be good. Friends. Forever.”
He stood up. “Well, I must be going. I hope to see you soon, in town.”
She watched as he mounted his horse. She was sad, but was not sure why. She felt as if something had been left unsaid, something that she had wanted to be said. He had just disappeared when Pieter came out of the house and called her.
“Mette, come quickly. Maren is asking for you.”
She trudged reluctantly over to the house. At least Maren was alive, if she was asking for her. She was not looking forward to seeing a dead niece or nephew, however.
In the house, the women were standing around smiling at nothing in particular. Maren was lying on the bed also smiling. Mette’s heart began to beat and she felt the beginning of joy. She rushed over to Maren’s side. Maren was lying there, her face white and drained. Pieter was beside at her looking proudly down at her, his face a picture of love. Beside Maren lay two small bundles, one on each side. Mette gazed down at two tiny red faces and it seemed her life was now perfect.
“Mette,” said Maren. “You must meet your two new nephews.”
One of the babies waved a tiny red fist and squealed; the other joined in.
“We have two new little brothers for Hamlet,” said Pieter. “Mette, I introduce you to little Paul and little Jens, the future farmers and landowners of the land that is New Zealand.”
Maren spoke for the first time, her voice soft.
“Mette, I will do as you want, and make sure these boys grow up to be strong and brave, but also educated men.”
Mette held two tiny hands between her own and smiled sadly. Everything is perfect, she thought. Almost.
After a while Maren fell asleep, helped by the Chlorodyne Mrs. Hansen had dropped onto her tongue, and Pieter and Mette left her to rest, babies beside her. Mette’s elation had faded but she was not tired. She thought about Frank and wondered, what have I done?
She intended to walk until she was tired, down through the clearing to the path towards town. There was nothing or no one to be afraid of anymore, and she would not be able to sleep, even if Mrs. Hansen dropped some of the chlorodyne onto her tongue. Her body was buzzing with a strange energy, as if something had happened while she was not paying attention. She was happy that Maren now had her three boys and Pieter, but all she could think of was Frank, who had seemed to move away from her. He had left, and she wanted more than anything for him to return.
As she reached the entrance to the pathway she saw a shape coming towards her, a horse and rider. It was if she was reliving the first time she met Frank, as she ran from the bush and in front of Copenhagen. Was she imagining him? No. It was Frank coming towards her on his horse, and her heart leapt with joy.
She sat down on a log at the side of the path and waited. This time she would get it right. She would not run at him screaming, or say sad things to him about butterflies or the perils of having children. She would stay calm and see what it was he had wanted to say to her. He dismounted in front of her, his face hopeful, a smile beginning. Unable to help herself, she stood up and walked towards him quickly, holding his eyes with hers, and reaching her arms out to him. He opened his arms to her and held her tightly to him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I left you alone when you were in pain. I thought only of myself. I wanted to return to tell you…”
“Maren is not dead,” she said in a muffled voice, her face pressed into his chest. “And she has two baby boys. Paul and Jens she will call them.”
“Ah, that’s good then,” he said, his voice muffled against her head.
“Now would you please ask…say what you were going to say to me when I interrupted you with my silly ideas. I was wrong. There must always be children, no matter what the pain.”
She felt something warm and damp push against her neck, followed by the sound of a faint snicker. She looked up at Frank, smiling.
“Copenhagen and I have something to ask you,” he said.