Daughter of Destiny (7 page)

She would not ask God “why?” Why He had allowed Jonah to be
swept away to his death. Why He had sent her husband on this mission only to
slay him as he neared his destination. Why the overwhelming love she felt for
her beloved would never come to fruition. Why He had not let her die too. No,
she would not ask foolish questions, as Job had. She learned after her parents’
deaths the futility of asking “why?” She would only grieve and weep and try to
discover what God wanted her to do now.

As the sunset faded, shadows deepened across the ship. Leah
sank down on the deck, sobbing anew as she had when Captain Swain brought the
devastating news that Jonah had been swept overboard. The Hillermans grieved
with her, but she begged them not to tell Daniel why Jonah died, for the child
should not carry a burden of guilt for something God had done.

Now she wept freely and let the evening wind dry the tears
on her cheeks. Nothing would ever dry the tears in her soul.

“Mrs. Adams.” Captain Swain crouched beside her and spoke in
gentle tones. “Please come below. The wind will turn bitter soon, and you must
take care of yourself.”

Leah stared at him, surprised to see tears glistening in
his eyes. She must not let him take on her grief.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” She took his offered hand, stood,
and moved toward the steps.

Swain touched her shoulder, stopping her. “I. . .I will. .
.” He looked away, heaved a sigh, then stared deep into her eyes. “I will protect
you. I will take you wherever you wish to go. If you wish to return to New Bedford, your passage will be free. If you wish to go on to Hawaii with the Hillermans,
I will see to it.”

Leah returned his stare, her mind suddenly clear. “You said
yourself that God called me to be a missionary to the island of my birth.
Nothing has changed that. You must take me there.”

He burst out with an ironic laugh. “No, dear lady. By my
soul, no. That is the one thing I will not do.”

“You would thwart the will of God?” Leah wondered at the
forcefulness of her own words.

Swain frowned and shook his head. “You are grieving. You
cannot think clearly.” He took her arm and gently guided her toward the steps.
“We’ll go down for supper now.”

Leah permitted him to direct her to the lower cabin, but with
every step, her determination grew. If Swain forced her to go to Hawaii, she would return to Fénua in spite of him. God had clearly spoken His will for her,
and no one would stand in the way of her obeying.

***

Jonah bobbed about in the water and clung to a large plank.
Somehow God, in His great mercy, had placed this broken board in his path as a
life preserver, although he did not feel much life left in him.

“Why prolong the torture?” He mouthed the words of his
heart, but no sound came forth from his parched throat. “Kill me now. Let me
come to You.”

How long had he drifted on these calm seas? How long since
he had been spat out of the Straits as the biblical Jonah had been spat out
onto dry land by the great fish? No dry land for this Jonah. He now drifted in
the calm waters of the Pacific Ocean. He felt certain that the sun had risen and
set at least two times, but perhaps it had been more.

Piercing cries of unseen birds taunted him to release the
board. Mysterious sea creatures bumped his legs in the night, inviting him to
sink to his rest. . .and death.

“No! I will not heed the devil’s voice. You alone do I
serve, oh God.”

Visions of Leah’s sweet face swam before him. Where was
she? Had the ship sunk? Why could he not have been there to save her?

“Leah, forgive me. I never told you of my love.” He had seen
in her sorrowful eyes that she did not know of his devotion. Yet he held back,
waiting for privacy when he should have proclaimed it to the world. “I love
Leah!” He shouted to the empty, endless sky. Did God now chasten him for his
failure as a husband? “If she lives, oh Lord, please let her know what a brave,
wonderful woman she is.”

As the day wore on—this third day?—Jonah saw his father and
younger sister, long departed. Then came Grandfather Adams, who had fought
valiantly in the War for Independence and lost an arm and an eye for his
efforts. Sister Meg’s dead baby drifted by, laughing and reaching out to him.
“Come join us,” they all cried.

“No. I will not give in.”

Jonah tasted Mother’s ginger cakes and hearty winter stew.
Did Leah know how to cook? No matter. She sewed very well.

There now,
Destiny’s Hope
sailed near. He was saved.
But why did the ship smell so rank? Why did smoke billow from its deck? Was it
on fire? Leah! Leah. . .

“Ahoy, laddie, hang on just a wee bit longer,” a voice
called out. Samuel? Swain? No, this was an Irishman. Or Scotsman. Never mind.
Jonah surrendered at last to all the forces that sought to pull him under.

***

Leah stood at the bow of
Destiny’s Hope
and gazed at
the distant island. Lush, dark green forests and silver beaches came into view,
and on the far side, a volcano sent a stream of white smoke into the air, as if
welcoming her home. Despite her lingering sorrow, she felt a surge of
excitement. “Oh, Jonah, if only you were here to see it with me.”

“Will you not reconsider?” Captain Swain joined her,
drawing nearer than good manners dictated and speaking close to her ear, a
habit he had developed over the past seven weeks.

Leah stepped apart from him. “Do you mean to ask if I will
disobey God?”

Swain bowed his head and sighed. “You know that’s not what
I mean.” He placed both hands on the railing and stared toward their
destination for several moments. When he turned back to her, sorrow filled his
eyes. “I will return. After the Hillermans and my cargo are safely delivered, I
will come back. If I discern that anything is amiss, I will carry you away from
here whether you like it or not.”

She smiled and glanced toward the shore. “They might have
something to say about that.”

Swain followed her gaze to see boats being launched from
the beach. He stiffened. “Mr. Turner, break out the muskets.”

“No.” Leah gripped his arm. “They will not harm us. Believe
me.”

“I cannot risk the lives of people on this ship by
depending upon your childhood memories. Now please go below. If I can determine
that these are reasonable, trustworthy people, I will call for you.” He strode
across the deck then turned back. “Will you obey me, madam?”

Leah glared at him, surprised at her own mettle. She looked
over her shoulder at the longboats skimming over the water toward the ship.
Without another thought, she grabbed the nearby ratline, scrambled up on the
railing, pulled off her bonnet, and waved it furiously at the approaching
islanders. Her red hair loosened and blew in the wind, and she felt giddy with
joy.

“Iaorana! Iaorana!” she called. “Hello, hello!”

The echoing cries of the islanders greeted her. “Iaorana! Iaorana!”

“Leah, are you mad?” Swain gripped her by the waist and
pulled her down.

“Let go of me.” She twisted out of his grasp.

“Captain,” the third mate called from aloft. “Look. They
seem friendly.”

Swain and Leah rushed to the railing to see the islanders
waving flowers, holding up branches of breadfruit, and chanting in obvious joy.

“Pede, Pede, Pede,” called the bare-skinned men and women.

“What are they saying?” Swain accepted a musket from the
first mate.

Leah frowned. She only recalled a few words of Fénuan, and
“pede” was not one of them. “It must be some sort of greeting.”

Soon the islanders swarmed over the railing and threw themselves
on the deck before Leah. “Pede, Pede.” Their chant had become reverential, and
they did not look at her face.

“What on earth. . .?” Swain scratched his head and stared
at the prostrated men and women with a frown.

Leah noticed some of the sailors were ogling the half-clad
women. By the quarterdeck stairs, Reverend Hillerman held one hand over
Daniel’s eyes while Gladys fanned herself.

“What are they doing?” Swain moved close to Leah, but when
he touched her shoulder, one of the men cried, “Unauwee, unauwee,” and sternly motioned
him away. Swain snorted his disgust. “If he thinks. . .”

“Shh. Please, Captain.” Leah stepped away from him. A story
her mother had told of Leah’s birth burst into her memory, and she understood
exactly what these people meant by their obeisance. But she would not tell
Swain. Instead, she stretched out both arms, palms down, and said, “Iaorana.” She placed her
right hand over her heart then drew it away from her body in a sweeping motion
over the stunned islanders, with her palm now upturned in an inclusive gesture.

“Ahhh,” they hummed, almost as one, and bowed once again.
Then they stood and made signs to invite Leah to disembark.

“You see, they remember me.” She gave him a bright smile.
“Now, will you please see that my things are brought ashore?”

He started to reach for her arm, but one burly islander
growled and stepped forward with words clearly meant to threaten.

Leah lifted her hand and shook her head. “No.” She smiled
again at Swain and touched his arm to demonstrate his significance. The man
stepped back with a bow.

“Leah, I beg you, don’t do this. Come with us. With me.”

“Captain, you have my answer. I have returned home, and
this is where I shall stay.”

***

Jonah put all his weight into drawing the oar through the
water, lifting it, and dipping in again in rhythm with the other rowers. Seated
in the whaleboat beside a grizzled old whaler, he resolved not to complain about
his screaming muscles. If this ancient fellow could handle the task, Jonah
could too, for he had a compelling reason to succeed.

Over three months before, he had been plucked from the
ocean by a Nantucket whaleship. After a week of recovery, he had asked the
captain to deliver him to Fénua in exchange for whatever labor the captain
deemed appropriate. Just as he had on
Destiny’s Hope
, he endured tricks
and pranks from the other men, but his good humor saved him, and at last he
earned their respect. While this captain had no use for Jonah’s preaching, he
was a fair man who kept his word. He promised to sail to the Fénuan Islands after filling his hold with whale oil.

The whaling grounds of the South Pacific held an abundant
harvest ready for the picking. Jonah always despised the stink of the whaling
industry, perhaps even despised the whalers themselves. God surely wanted to
purge this unchristian weakness from him. In these several months, he had
learned to respect their hard, bloody work, if not to enjoy it. What a
hypocrite he had been, for he had always enjoyed the products of their labors.

Early this morning, the ship had come upon a large pod of
whales, and every man had sprung to his post. In a crew of eight men, Jonah
rowed one of the small boats that approached a whale while the harpooner stood
at the bow and plunged a harpoon into the hapless beast. Sometimes the victim
struggled, even to the point of dragging the boat for miles on a “Nantucket sleigh ride” before succumbing. Other times, the harpoon struck deep into the
heart, and all the crew had to do was haul the dead beast back to the ship to
be cut apart and rendered down into oil. Despite the blood and stink of the
business, Jonah knew he would appreciate smokeless whale oil lanterns and
candles much more for all the trouble it took to harvest them.

Another whale product pleased Jonah particularly: pieces of
bone that could be carved into various objects. With borrowed knife, pen, and
ink, he had made a pretty scrimshaw necklace for Leah. He could hardly wait to
put it around her lovely neck.

“Whale ho!” the harpooner called.

Jonah’s heart leapt with happiness. With only a few more
whales, every cask in every corner of the whaleship would be filled, and the
captain would sail for Fénua. . .and Leah.

Leah sat on the dais surrounded by flowers and dozens of well-behaved,
sweet-faced children and their mothers. Above her a leafy canopy stretched out
on woven vines to protect her from the sun. Beyond this little house and
sizable village lay the thick, lush,  green forests, shining beaches, blue ocean,
and, in the distance, her volcano.

Her father had told her that when she was born, the volcano
erupted for the first time in the memories—and even the legends—of the most
ancient villagers. The year Leah’s parents brought her back here, the mountain
had once again spewed forth white hot lava, but no time in between those two
visits. When once again steam began to ascend skyward from their holy place,
the people knew their flaming-haired friends would return. No wonder they
welcomed her as Pede, their legendary fire goddess.

With great difficulty, she persuaded old Chief Fénua and
the village priest that she was indeed human, not a god. At least she hoped they
no longer regarded her as such. Captain Swain had laughed when she explained
the islanders’ behavior, but he had irreverently expressed his agreement with
their original view of her.

Thoughts of Swain made her heart ache. He had proclaimed
his love and begged once more that she would sail away with him. His
declaration did not surprise her, for his attentions increased after Jonah’s death,
and she at last understood all those intense looks he had given her. The
sincerity of his devotion, however inappropriate, caused her to view herself differently.
No longer a servant, she felt worthy of love, despite Jonah’s bewildering
treatment. But she could not love Swain, at least not so soon after losing the
man she had loved since childhood.

Poor Jonah was gone forever, and now so was Swain. After
Gladys gave birth to a healthy baby boy—aided by Mrs. Smiley and the island
midwives—
Destiny’s Hope
sailed away for Hawaii, leaving Leah to minister
to these souls. Although she had felt a fleeting moment of panic as the ship
disappeared over the horizon, she hoped Swain would not return to complicate
her life. This was her home, as God had clearly ordained.