Devotion(75)

The pastor bore evidence of his persecution. I remembered him as stout, but now he was thin, his face lined and whiskers greying. The ridge of his prominent nose was peeling badly, and when he removed his hat to pray I saw that his forehead, too, had become mottled with sun. In life I had always been a little afraid of the pastor, awed by his power. I had not liked to look him in the eye, and I had never spoken to him beyond a few murmurs of assent, even when he had schooled me for confirmation. But dead, and no longer under the weight of his religiosity, I could regard him as a man rather than as Christ’s authority on earth. I had never noticed the hair sprouting out of the pastor’s ears before, or the purple hollows in the corners of his eyes. His hair was fine and thin and he had a loose neck which wobbled as he spoke, out of time with his words, so that he reminded me of a beady-eyed rooster, wattle jiggling.

Flügel placed his hat back on his head as the congregation murmured, ‘Amen,’ the broad smile on his face showing a missing incisor. ‘There is much to talk about,’ he said, shaking hands with the men and nodding at their wives and children. ‘Let us spend the day in conference. Let us rejoice at our freedoms and praise His name for so swiftly delivering you to this paradise!’

As soon as Flügel intimated he would speak with each elder from his congregations first, Magdalena pushed her husband in the small of the back, mouth close to his ear. Samuel glanced at her, uneasy. I followed him as he approached the pastor.

‘Elder Radtke.’ Pastor Flügel gestured to a grey-green tree, the same one I had watched Elder Fr?hlich piss under that morning. ‘Shall we sit? The English call this particular tree a she-oak. There isn’t a great deal of shade, but we might hope for a breeze.’

As soon as they had made themselves comfortable and prayed together, Samuel gave his account of the journey. He spoke of Elizabeth’s death, his fear for her soul on account of her christening performed at home, and seemed greatly relieved when Flügel, voice gentle, assured him that Elizabeth was with Christ, in glory.

A little distance away, Magdalena was staring intently at her husband. The pastor noticed. ‘Would Frau Radtke like to join us?’ he asked.

Samuel shook his head then, changing his mind, called for Magdalena. She made her way over, lips stretched over her teeth, face going red. ‘Pastor Flügel. We are overjoyed to see you in such good health.’

‘Your husband says you have something you wish to discuss.’

Samuel was staring at the ground, boot toe nudging the sand. Magdalena shot him a look of irritation. ‘I don’t mean to burden you so soon after our arrival here, Pastor,’ she began, eyes flicking back to Flügel, ‘but something quite grave, quite concerning, occurred on the journey.’ The pastor waited for her to continue, hands on his knees. ‘I have reason to believe that a member of our congregation has a book of the occult.’

Pastor Flügel frowned.

‘There were some incidents on the ship.’ She cleared her throat. ‘A paper seal bearing occult symbols was found on the body of a man who perished. I have reason to believe that the seal was placed there by the same person who, against the direction of the ship’s surgeon, practised herbalism upon the sick. The same person whom Christiana witnessed pressing a book of the devil on the chest of her dying daughter. The daughter in question was expected to die.’ Magdalena glanced across the port to where Anna Maria and Thea were dragging a branch along the ground. ‘She made an unusual recovery,’ she murmured.

The pastor followed the direction of Magdalena’s gaze, hand lifted against the sun. ‘You know who this person is?’

‘Her, there,’ Magdalena said. ‘Anna Maria Eichenwald.’

Pastor Flügel nodded. ‘I have not met this woman.’

‘She is a Wend,’ Magdalena elaborated.

‘Married to a German, Friedrich – a good man,’ Samuel added, eyes still lowered.

‘And have you confronted his wife?’ the pastor asked. ‘Where is the book now?’

Magdalena hesitated. ‘I don’t know where it is. I presume she’s hidden it.’

Pastor Flügel bit his upper lip. ‘I will speak to her.’ He shook Samuel’s hand again. ‘Thank you for telling me. Now is the time that we must work to preserve the purity and sanctity of our faith, as we build our community and lay its moral foundations.’


I remained by Flügel’s side that afternoon, as he spoke with the head of each family and listened to their concerns and questions. It was hot and unpleasant, but Flügel did not complain nor ask for respite from his congregation, and as much as the reverence shown him troubled me, I saw that his faith and conviction gave them comfort.

Flügel prayed over the passengers who still suffered from scurvy and reassured those who were afraid of the great sum of money owed to Angas, the English benefactor. Several families came to him with new, unanticipated concerns: some had not realised that the land was inhabited by ‘Eingeborene’ and, having spent the morning speaking with the occupants of the shanty houses and the sailors, were now afraid of being speared.

‘We see much of them at Neu Klemzig,’ said the pastor, speaking of the village he had founded. ‘The English call them Cowandilla, though they themselves do not use that name. You will see them, but you have little to fear. The greatest threat to our way of life are those who live in a profligate manner. I do not like that Neu Klemzig is so close to Adelaide. I worry for the young amongst us, that they should be so close to places of drunkenness and gambling.’