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 fight 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.