A Mother's Courage

by Maggie Hope

  And besides, Eleanor thought wearily as Prue came in and took the baby from her, she and Francis had to live with each other, hadn’t they? Though they did not sleep together, not now – Eleanor was still too bitter for that and Francis did not press her.

  ‘Try to sleep,’ Prue advised. ‘You need all the rest you can get. I’ll take the baby on to the verandah for now.’

  ‘Thank you, Prue,’ Eleanor replied and turned on her side, thinking how the experience had changed the girl. She was brighter somehow, more self-assured and not so obsessive about the children. And then, she and Matthew were getting on much better now. Although, she recollected sleepily, it had been Mary who had argued with him more than Prue.

  ‘Ship coming!’

  Eleanor looked up and smiled at Francis William as he ran up the verandah steps to her.

  ‘John Wesley! Daddy’s coming.’ He caught hold of her hand and tried to pull her out of her chair.

  ‘All right, I’m coming,’ she laughed, knowing better than to ask how he knew it was the missionary ship. ‘Where’s John?’

  ‘He’s gone to meet Daddy,’ said Francis William, still pulling at her impatiently.

  Eleanor felt a tug of fear and gazed at the ship, which was coming in to the quay. ‘He shouldn’t go by himself,’ she said sharply. ‘Haven’t I told you both you have to wait for me?’ Hurriedly she got to her feet and walked rapidly through the compound to the beach, Francis William trotting by her side.

  Despite the fact that the whole of Viwa was buzzing with activity, the men fishing in the bay, the women and children at their own end of the beach splashing about in the shallows, she was anxious until she caught sight of John at the end of the quay. He was waving enthusiastically at Francis’s black-clad figure on the deck of the ship.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she said sharply, taking hold of his shoulder and swinging him round to face her. His happy smile disappeared abruptly and he looked ready to cry. ‘How many times have I told you not to go off on your own?’

  ‘I was with him, missus,’ said a quiet voice beside him and she noticed Matthew for the first time.

  ‘Oh.’ Eleanor could think of nothing else to say. She had spoilt the homecoming for the boys, she thought, oh, when was she going to get rid of this fear? The tribes in the north were quiet now; there was nothing to worry about. She had to conquer her fears, she knew.

  ‘Well, you should have told me, John,’ she said lamely. ‘Now, go on, you can go on the quay to meet Daddy.’

  Francis had news. After he had swung John up in the air and lifted Francis William on to his shoulders for the walk back to the mission house, they sat on the balcony drinking tea before it was time to go down to the church for the mid-week service. Already they could hear the notes of the harmonium that they had recently acquired and the voices of the choir as they practised an old Charles Wesley hymn.

  ‘Love divine, all loves excelling

  Joy of heaven to earth come down—’

  Briefly Eleanor wondered how much of it the singers really understood. She glanced at Francis but he seemed untroubled by such thoughts; he was smiling slightly at the sound of one of his favourite hymns and humming the tune softly in his now husky voice. When it was finished he turned to her.

  ‘We are to be transferred to Bau,’ he said. ‘In September.’

  ‘Francis, that’s good news indeed!’ A wave of thankfulness washed over Eleanor. She was sure she would feel safer at Bau, where the king lived, the Christian king, she reminded herself. No rebel tribe would ever dare attack Bau.

  Edward, whom Eleanor was convinced would be their last child, was baptised on Bau by the Reverend Langham. The church was full to overflowing; even the king and all his retinue condescended to attend. Mr and Mrs Calvert were there, and Mrs Langham stood as godmother and Eleanor felt surrounded by friends and, above all, safe.

  John and Francis William stood beside her looking positively angelic in white cotton and with their hair cut short because of the heat. Eleanor glanced behind her at Prue, who was standing by Matthew looking happier and plumper than she had since she arrived newly widowed from Sydney. As she watched, she saw Matthew and Prue exchange a glance that was startling in its intimacy and then she thought immediately that she must be mistaken; of course there could be nothing between the two, it was simply that they were often together, it was in the nature of their work.

  ‘Who brings this child to be baptised?’ asked the Reverend Langham and Eleanor forgot all about Prue and Matthew as the ceremony got under way. The rest of the afternoon and evening was taken up with the baptismal supper, which the king insisted on providing and which went the way of all the native feasts, held on the beach and lasting until the stars came out and the subject of the celebration had been tucked up safely in his bed for hours.

  Prue was not at the feast for she was needed to stay in the mission house with the children and Matthew was not in the habit of attending the Fijian celebrations either, being a Tongan. Which was a pity, really, Eleanor reflected as she walked back home with Francis; there were not many Tongans on Bau, it being the home of the Fijian king.

  Eleanor picked up a sleepy Edward and brought him into the bedroom that she still shared with Francis; she wanted no gossip about them and it was amazing how such things got about. She sat down on the nursing chair that Francis had recently had brought in from Australia and, turning slightly away from him for modesty’s sake, began to breastfeed the baby, drawing a thin scarf over her bared breast to make sure there was no part of it to be seen.

  Francis watched her; he couldn’t help himself. Did she not realise what she was doing to him? he wondered. She looked up and caught his eye and he hurriedly began to prepare for bed. The same bed as she would lie in, he thought moodily, though she would be at one extreme and he at the other. Just as well it was a wide bed, he thought and smiled mirthlessly.

  Eleanor felt the tension in the air and did her best to ease it. ‘It went very well on the whole, didn’t it, Francis?’ she asked him.

  ‘Oh yes, very well. In fact, Mr Calvert was saying how friendly the king is becoming. That bodes very well for the church, you know. It was good of him to provide the feast, was it not?’

  Eleanor pulled a face. ‘Oh, the church. Yes, of course, you would think of that first.’

  Francis sighed; he had said the wrong thing yet again. ‘It’s important, Eleanor.’

  ‘And so is the baptism of your son. I would have thought this was Edward’s day, he should come first.’

  ‘But he did!’ Francis was genuinely bewildered but he said no more, just climbed into bed and lay in the shadows watching as she winded the baby and then put him to her other breast.

  ‘The boys were very good,’ he ventured after she had taken Edward back to his cot and slipped into bed. He sat up and put out the lamp and then lay stiffly for a few moments. But his feelings were too strong and in the end he reached across the bed to her, his hand coming in contact with her body just under her breast, not totally by chance.

  ‘Don’t, Francis.’

  He didn’t hear, perhaps because he didn’t want to. He could feel the beat of her heart as it quickened and thought for a moment it was because she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  Moving closer to her he kissed her lips, groaning slightly in anticipation. It had been so long, so long.

  Roughly Eleanor pushed his hand away and jumped out of bed and in his fever he hardly knew what was happening.

  ‘Eleanor? Come back, my love, what is it?’

  ‘You know very well, Francis,’ she said harshly. ‘I’ve told you, I don’t want you touching me, do you hear? If you can’t leave me alone I will have to sleep elsewhere, I don’t care what other people may think.’

  To Francis her icy tone was like a cold shower. He had told himself all during this time since the boys had been kidnapped that Eleanor was acting as she was because she was in a certain condition, and afterwards that it was too soon after
the birth of Edward. But he could no longer deceive himself. The truth was that she didn’t want him near her. Rising from the bed, he walked to the door that led on to the verandah.

  ‘Go back to bed, Eleanor,’ he said. ‘I won’t trouble you again.’

  He lay down on the cushioned swing, having to curl up his long legs to do so, and lay, sleepless and uncomfortable, until dawn.

  ‘You had better have a cot made up in the bedroom,’ he said to Eleanor next day. ‘You’re right, after all, there is no need to have anyone gossiping about us. You can say—oh, make some excuse, I’m sure you’ll think of something.’

  Chapter Twenty-four

  ‘There is the most dreadful news,’ said Mr Calvert. ‘Bad tidings of the worst kind. I was really on my way to Lakeba but in view of what has happened I felt I should come and tell you myself. After your maid servant and two boys were abducted last year, I mean.’

  Eleanor’s ears pricked up as she heard this mention of the kidnapping of her boys. She was bringing the tray of coffee from the kitchen herself as Prue had taken the children with her to milk the goat tethered on the edge of the garden at the rear of the mission house. Now she paused and rested the tray on the back of the sofa just inside the sitting room and listened unashamedly.

  ‘Bad news?’ Francis said.

  ‘Yes, I wanted you to know before everyone else, most especially your lady wife. I know – we all know – how badly affected she was by what happened. I felt you were the best one to break it to her.’

  Break what? Eleanor wanted to scream. Why didn’t he get on with it?

  ‘Perhaps you are right,’ came Francis’s patient tones. ‘But Eleanor is stronger than you think, you know.’

  ‘Perhaps, perhaps. Oh dear, I hardly know how to tell you.’ He glanced at the open door that led to the sitting room and Eleanor stepped back out of sight. ‘It is Mr Baker. You know, of course, that he went to Navosa, up in the hill country. Well, he and his seven companions have been slain by the people he wished to serve.’

  Eleanor put down the tray on the green chenille cover of the dining table and sat down on the couch. The hill tribes, they were in revolt again then, oh, thank God she and her family were on Bau, where there was a Christian king. She closed her eyes as her head swam and a pulse rose in her throat, threatening to choke her.

  She jumped to her feet again in an instant. Where were the boys? She must have them with her, she couldn’t let them out of her sight. No, they were with Prue, they were safe, as safe as they would ever be in Fiji, of course they were. Her reason began to take over, telling her it was silly to panic. She strained to hear more of the conversation.

  ‘—worse, I’m afraid. I know what a narrow escape your poor man had. Mr Baker was not so blessed. He and his companions were—’

  Here Eleanor had to lean even closer to the door as Mr Calvert lowered his voice.

  ‘—were cooked and eaten. It is said that the chief even sent bits round to the neighbouring tribes, as a rallying call, I suppose. Poor Mr Baker. His poor family, too, I don’t yet know how they are taking this tragic news.’

  ‘His companions too? They were Fijian, were they?’ That was Francis.

  ‘They were, Christian Fijians, all had given their hearts to the Lord and were willing to risk their lives in His cause.’

  And now they’d given their hearts and other parts to cannibals, Eleanor thought, hysteria rising in her.

  ‘Now all have gained the martyr’s crown,’ said Francis. ‘We must see to the families, not let them suffer.’

  Eleanor snorted and this time the men heard her.

  ‘Is that you, Eleanor?’ Francis got to his feet and walked to the sitting-room door. ‘Give me the tray, I will carry it out for you.’ As he took it from her, he studied her face and he could see at once that he didn’t have to break the news to her; she had heard. He said nothing however, simply brought out the coffee tray and handed her into a chair.

  Eleanor was dumb. She stared out across the bay, over the heads of the people in the clearing that was rapidly becoming a street, with a proper store and even a small hotel. The church was larger than the one at Viwa, more imposing though still thatched in the manner of the islands. The king’s house was not in sight, although his boat house was and she saw there was unusual activity going on around it. The king’s warriors were forming up already.

  Of course, the news would spread like wildfire and King Thakembau would not let this challenge to his authority pass. He was struggling to have his claim to sovereignty over all the islands recognised, especially by Europe. Now that most Fijians realised that Fiji was not the centre of the world, not even very important in relation to other countries, the king needed a European protector, preferably Britain.

  ‘Eleanor?’

  She looked away from the bay and realised that Francis was handing her a cup of coffee. She should have been doing her duty as a hostess but she was glad to sit back and let Francis hand the plate of Yorkshire parkin cakes to Mr Calvert.

  The two men discussed the forthcoming conference when the ministers and lay workers would converge on Bau once again and, after a while, Mr Calvert put down his cup and rose to his feet.

  ‘I must be going,’ he said. ‘I have a long way to go today.’ He looked from Francis to Eleanor, who was stirring her coffee absent-mindedly, staring into the liquid thick with goat’s milk. ‘Aren’t you going to drink your coffee before it gets cold?’ he asked her gently.

  Eleanor put down the cup quickly and stood up. Making a great effort, she smiled at the kindly middle-aged minister. After all, though he was older than Francis and herself by at least fifteen years, he had braved the dangers of the hill tribes to go with Francis in search of the children.

  ‘I don’t think I will, Mr Calvert. I’ll tell you a secret, shall I? I never have got used to coffee, nasty bitter stuff I think it. Tea’s so much more refreshing, don’t you agree?’

  Mr Calvert was relieved; for a moment or two he had thought she had heard him tell Francis about poor Mr Baker. It was much better that such news should come from her own husband. ‘Now, don’t come with me, Francis, you stay here and enjoy the—Well, you stay here and have a little chat with your wife. I’m sure you have few enough opportunities for it.’ He said his goodbyes and went off down the muddy road to the ship waiting at the quay.

  Francis and Eleanor watched in silence until he was out of sight. Then she began gathering up the cups and saucers, putting them on the tray and the Yorkshire parkin in its airtight tin to save it from the ants.

  Francis watched for a moment before speaking. ‘You heard what Mr Calvert came to say, didn’t you, Eleanor?’

  Her hands stilled. ‘I did,’ she said tightly.

  Francis continued looking at her; what he wanted to do was put his arms around her and comfort her, hold her to him and promise that nothing was going to happen to her or the children, with God’s help he wasn’t going to let anything happen.

  ‘It couldn’t happen on Bau,’ he ventured at last.

  Eleanor kept her head bent, refusing to look at him. ‘Couldn’t it?’

  He couldn’t bear to look at her any more, she seemed so vulnerable. His Eleanor who was so capable, whose heroine was Florence Nightingale, that redoubtable woman. Eleanor who went among the Fijians doing all she could for them, often acting as doctor and nurse to the sick. He went to her and took her in his arms, holding her unyielding body close against him, one hand holding her head in the crook of his neck.

  ‘Eleanor, it’s all right, it is, really,’ he said and his already husky voice was almost breaking. ‘We can mourn a comrade-in-arms, eight comrades-in-arms, but this is a war, Eleanor, a war against the forces of evil. And you’ll see, as we go on the Lord will prevail, we will be triumphant and cannibalism will be banished from these islands. The Lord will protect us, Eleanor.’

  Eleanor moved, breaking away from his embrace. ‘Will He?’ she asked. ‘As He did the Reverend Baker and his companio
ns? Now please, Francis, I must get on, I was going down to the village this morning. I promised to look in on a poor girl who scalded herself when she was cooking a meal yesterday. I have to get my basket ready. Now, where did I put the jar of boracic ointment? Oh yes, I know, it is still in the kitchen with the supplies.’

  She went into the house and began packing her basket with rolled bandages she had made from old cotton petticoats and pillow slips. She added a bottle of liniment for Lia, the old lady with a painful shoulder joint, and then started for the kitchen to pick up the boracic ointment.

  ‘This ointment has only recently come into use for the treatment of burns,’ she said, seeing Francis still standing watching her. ‘I read a report of it in one of the medical magazines a month or two ago and sent for a jar. I’m so pleased it has come so quickly.’ She walked out on to the balcony with her basket before turning back to him. ‘Oh, and Francis, I think it would be better if you didn’t put your hands on me in full view of any passersby. I don’t think public displays set a good example to the younger Fijians, do you?’

  Chapter Twenty-five

  There was a letter from home, the first letter Eleanor had received from her family for more than two years. She gazed at the envelope with the address written in the copperplate script of her brother James. Trouble, she thought.

  ‘Best open it, my dear,’ said Francis, looking up from the sheaf of correspondence from the Wesleyan Missionary Society that had come on the same ship.

  ‘Yes.’

  Eleanor opened the envelope carefully, making sure the stamp with the head of Queen Victoria was not damaged any more than it had been by the franking machine, newly acquired by the infant Fijian Post Office. John was an avid collector of stamps.

  ‘Dear Sister, (she read.)

  I hope you and your family are well. Alice and I and the children are all in good health.’