It had been a long and exhausting day and Mette was happy to be back in her lean-to getting ready for bed. She loved her bed. It had belonged to a soldier in the British Imperial Army, was made of good sturdy iron and folded down flat to the floor. On top was a mattress stuffed with straw, so she was very comfortable. Maren and Pieter slept on a solid wooden bed and Maren often complained about the insects that lived in the wood and crawled from the wood and took up residence in the mattress. She would hear Maren through the wall, slapping at them and denouncing them angrily to Pieter. One of the many sounds she heard through the wall, some of which she found vaguely embarrassing.
It was freezing at night, even in spring, and Mette wore a heavy nightgown, woollen stockings, and a cap that covered her head right down below her ears. She undressed in the dark and put on her nightclothes, not wanting to waste a candle. Next door she heard the soft lowing of the milch cow, which always comforted her and made her feel safe. Pieter and Maren had murmured quietly for a few minutes, and already she could hear Pieter snoring softly. She often read a little before she went to sleep, but tonight she was so tired she couldn’t keep her eyes open and fell asleep almost as soon as she crawled into her bed.
When she awoke, it was still dark. She was surprised as she seldom woke during the night. She lay there smiling to herself, thinking of the dance. She wished there were more events like that to attend. She had enjoyed dancing, especially the mazurka which had left her breathless and exhilarated. And seeing all the Scandinavians dancing and happy made her…
Something shifted in the shadow, over near the door. She stared towards it, not sure what she had seen.
Someone – a man’s voice – said quietly, “Mette?”
She sat up, clutching her quilt to her chest.
“Who is that? What do you want?” Had the Hauhaucome to kill her? How did he know her name?
“Du kender,” someone replied in Danish, and laughed softly.
“No, no, I do not know, I…” She was relieved that it was not the Hauhau, but puzzled that anyone would be in her room. Was it Pieter? No, it could not be. She could hear Pieter snoring on the other side of the wall. The shadow moved towards her. She still could not tell who it was, but she was beginning to be afraid. Should I wake Pieter and Maren, she thought? Pieter needed his sleep so he could leave early in the morning for the sawmill. And Maren, Maren was having a baby and was always tired.
She was still deciding whether to scream when a hand was clapped over her mouth and a face pushed near to hers. A smell of rotting teeth washed over her, and now she knew who it was. If I call him by his name, she thought, will he think I am happy to see him? Her entire body was shaking and she felt cold and numb all over.
She managed to put both her hands on one of his and tried to push it away. It came loose briefly from her mouth, and she gasped, “Don’t, please don’t.”
But he was already pulling the quilt away from her body and clutching at her gown.
“You want me to, I know you do,” he whispered. “After, we will get married because no one else will want you. That will be good for both of us.”
He’s right, she thought fatalistically. And it was my own fault. I did not look first, but stood up without thinking. Nevertheless, she kept pushing at his hand and struggling against the other hand as it pulled at her nightgown. His hand was still tight over her mouth; she grunted as loudly as she could, a sound from deep within her, praying that Pieter or Maren would hear and come to help.
He leaned on her heavily, his elbow on the bed and his hand over her mouth, pressing her down. She felt him fumbling with his own trousers, and something hard pressed against her stomach. Her heart pounded and she thought she might die of horror and shame. She tried to shake her head loose from his grip, but it was held fast in place. She wrenched her whole body from side to side in a fruitless effort to dislodge him. He laughed, seeming to enjoy her struggle. He pulled her nightdress slowly up, pushing himself at her. She braced herself for what was to come, her eyes closed tight so she could not see his face.
Then the bed did what it was supposed to do, and folded down flat. They landed in a heap, him on top of her still, his hands now out on the sides of the bed.
“Pokkers!” he blurted out, unable to stop himself. Then he whispered harshly, “You must be quiet, or your family will hear.” His hand closed over her mouth once more. She tugged at his hand, noticing as she did that blood ran from the side of her own hand where the bed rail had hit it. The collapse of the bed had happened too quickly, and she had not had time to scream for help.
But through the wall she heard Pieter or Maren stir and stay something. Her attacker’s hand tightened over her mouth so she could barely breath, but she made one more noise deep in her chest. She knew this was her single chance for rescue.
“Mette?” called Pieter tentatively. “Is everything well?”
The hand tightened even more and through the pain she managed another sound.
She heard Pieter say to Maren, “I’m going to see if Mette is all right. I’m hearing some strange noises through the wall.”
Maren said something quiet and she heard Pieter get out of bed and walk across the room. Her attacker swung his legs around and sat up and the hand on her mouth loosened briefly.
“Pieter, Pieter, help me,” she said. Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper, but Pieter had heard and started to run. Her attacker leapt to his feet, pulling his trousers back on.
“Taeve,” he snarled at Mette. “I will see you later, when you are walking in the bush. And you will like it and we will be married.” He began tucking himself back into his trousers, his face a mask of hatred and lust.
Mette was too distraught to reply. I will never, never marry him, she thought. I will die first.
As her attacker opened the door to her lean-to Pieter came round the corner. The intruder pushed at Pieter’s chest and Pieter fell backwards with a grunt of pain. They heard the intruder plunging into the bush, breaking branches and swearing.
Pieter struggled upright and Mette waited for him to chase after her attacker. He was a big man and strong, and would easily overtake and punish the man who had attacked her. Instead, he turned to her.
“Who was that?”
“I don’t know,” she said. She began to cry. “I could not…tell.” If I tell Pieter who it is he will either kill him or make me marry him, she thought. I wouldn’t be happy about either of those things.
“Someone from the dance?” he asked. When she did not reply, he said, “What did you do, Mette? Did you encourage someone at the dance?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps I did,” she said through gasps. “But is it permitted that he could come to my home and attack me like that, because I looked at him at the dance?” She stopped herself from saying because I danced with him at the dance, because that would allow Pieter to work out who it was.
Pieter shook his head, standing there looking at her his face full of reprimand. It was almost more than she could bear.
“You mustn’t be childish, Mette,” he said. “A man cannot sometimes help himself. There are many men here who do not have women, and you are a very nice woman. Not pretty, but a good cook and some men would be happy to have you.”
Mette had regained some of her composure.
“I would never marry a man who came into my room in the night and attacked me,” she said. She plucked at the middle of her nightdress and held it against her hand to stop the bleeding. Pieter didn’t seem to notice. Instead he asked shrewdly, “How would you know, if you didn’t see who it was?”
She had no reply to that and thought for a minute of telling him who it was. But before she could speak, Pieter added, “We can’t report this to the police. It would cause too much trouble in our community. I’ll ask Sergeant Hardy what we should do. He’s like a policeman, and very helpful. For now, I will make a bar for the door. When you come in you must place the bar across and you will be kept safe.”
“Is it necessary to tell Sergeant Hardy?” asked Mette. “He’ll think it’s my fault when someone attacks me because I don’t think about what I’m doing…”
Pieter looked at her, frowning.
“It is a lot your fault Mette,” he said. “You must be more careful.”
He left to report back to Maren, and Mette wondered what he would tell her. Maren would understand, at least she hoped she would. She pulled her rocking chair in front of the door and wedged it under the handle. The smallest sound and she would scream as loudly as possible. Then she fell on the bed and cried. She would try to sleep, but knew it would be very, very difficult.
Morning came eventually, and she awoke to the sounds of roosters crowing, amazed to realize she had slept. Her body ached and the hand where she had cut herself had crusted over. She lay there for a long time before she gathered her strength to dress and go outside to gather feed for the cow.