Daughter of Destiny

by Louise M. Gouge

  Daughter of Destiny

  A Novella

  Louise M. Gouge

  DAUGHTER OF DESTINY

  Copyright © 2013 by LOUISE M. GOUGE

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations in books and critical review.

  All scriptures are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  Gouge, Louise M. (Louise Myra), 1944-

  Daughter of Destiny / Louise M. Gouge

  http://blog.Louisemgouge.com

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Acknowledgments

  This novella is a work of fiction conceived entirely in my imagination. I would be remiss, however, if I did not mention the inspiration I found in James Michener’s great novel, Hawaii. However, unlike Mr. Michener’s miserable, misguided missionaries, who were driven by guilt and fear of an angry God, my characters are courageous, true-hearted, and joyful in their devotion to the Almighty. I dedicate this small work to the countless brave souls who have served Him throughout the ages and around the world, often sacrificing their health and lives that others might know the saving grace of the Lord Jesus Christ. “Neither is there salvation in any other: for there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.” (Acts 4:12, KJV)

  “I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.” (Hebrews 13:5 KJV)

  1822, Massachusetts

  Chapter One

  “I-I am honored by your proposal, Reverend Adams. Truly, I am. And I do not mean to be…discourteous.” Leah Smith twisted her threadbare linen handkerchief and attempted to swallow the lump in her throat. Still, she forced herself to say the necessary words. “But during these past years as your mother’s companion, I have observed that you hold Miss Hattie Wallace in highest esteem. Did you not journey to her parents’ home just two weeks ago to propose marriage to her?”

  In his mother’s parlor, Leah watched Jonah Adams shift in his chair opposite her position on the divan. Leah had never seen him so dispossessed of himself, but she could not claim to be the cause of his charming discomfort. Forbidding herself to react to the riot in her heart, she offered him a smile of encouragement. It seemed to help, for after a moment of apparent emotional struggle, he relaxed a little, smiled back, and gazed at her with his customary kindness radiating from dark gray eyes.

  “Indeed, Miss Smith, I did propose to Miss Wallace. I would not pretend otherwise, for you always see right to the truth of any matter. Nor would I wish to deceive you.” He paused and glanced toward the window, and then turned back to her with resignation written across his handsome face. “She would accept me only if I abandoned my plan to become a missionary.”

  “But this was always your plan. Surely she knew that.” Foolish anger tore through Leah. How could Miss Wallace be so cruel as to lead dear Reverend Adams on all this time?

  Jonah gave a rueful shrug. “She told me she hoped all along that her father’s offer of a position in his bank would change my mind after I graduated from seminary.” He shook his head and frowned. “Neither of them understands what it means to be called by God. Unlike you, Miss Smith. And Mother, of course.” He stood and wandered toward the tall front window, then stared out toward the wide front lawn.

  Bright sunlight poured into the room and cast a long, wide shadow of Jonah’s tall, broad-shouldered form across the gold and red Persian carpet and mahogany coffee table. His light brown hair was short, curly, and kissed by that same sunlight.

  “Perhaps I played the same game as Miss Wallace.” He spoke as if Leah were not in the room. “I believed beyond doubt that she would grow to accept the idea. She’s so generous, so kind. Everyone knows how often she visits the poor, how gentle she is with the elderly. I thought . . .”

  “Perhaps she will change her mind.” Leah almost choked on her own self-betraying words. Jonah had proposed to her. She had but to say yes, and she could marry the man she had loved for eight long years.

  Jonah straightened and lifted his chin. “No, she will not. But it makes no difference.” He stepped back over to his chair and sat down to face her, his expression filled with determination. “You will make a proper, dedicated missionary wife. Indeed, I know you would have long ago returned to the island of your birth, had you been able. Come, Miss Smith, be my wife. Together we will lead the heathen into the Kingdom of God.”

  She stared down at her trembling hands—wide, callused, accustomed to work. Lord, is this Your will for Reverend Adams? For me? Give me wisdom, Father, for I fear my heart would answer too quickly in the affirmative. She looked up to see Jonah’s steady gaze still on her.

  “I understand your reticence, Miss Smith, and I do not mean to rush you. But I must have a wife . . . an answer . . . soon. The mission board will not send out single men into the mission field, and my ship, Destiny’s Hope, sets sail in six days. I must leave then. Captain Swain is the only merchant captain I have found willing to divert his course and take me to the Fénuan Islands. My only other option would be to seek passage on a foul-smelling whaler, and that is abhorrent to me.”

  Leah winced. She had grown up on her father’s whaling ship and knew very well that most people despised the stench of the industry that in recent years had begun to bring great wealth to New Bedford ship owners.

  Why was God so silent? Why would He whisper no verse of Scripture into her mind?

  “What of Mrs. Adams?” Leah was somewhat surprised that her employer, Jonah’s mother, has not told her about this situation.

  “Why, when Miss Wallace declined my offer, I of course asked Mother what she thought I should do. She suggested that you would be the perfect choice. She will miss you as her companion, but since her age and health exclude her from this sort of service to God, she is willing to bless our union and our calling.”

  Leah gulped back her wicked pride. Although Reverend Adams had not thought of her on his own, if saintly Mrs. Adams had given her approval, surely God had willed it.

  “Then I will be your wife.” Her words came in a quiet, breathless rush, as if from some other source than her own voice.

  “Ah, praise be.” Jonah slapped his knees and stood. “We shall have a grand time, Miss Smith.” He strode toward the parlor door. “I must go tell Mother. She will want to make preparations for our wedding.”

  Leah waited until the sound of his footsteps faded up the front staircase before surrendering to her tears. She would be marrying Jonah! She would be returning to Fénua! Then why did her heart feel as if it would break?

  She knew he did not love her beyond pastoral affection, but upon her acceptance of his proposal, could he not have kissed her cheek? Patted her hand? Called her by her Christian name? Said “thank you”?

  “Dear Lord,” she whispered, “what on earth have I done?”

  ***

  Jonah wanted to kick himself. Miss Smith’s response had been soft, spoken almost with resignation, as if she were obeying an order. He knew her well enough to see he had wounded her. What a beast he was to propose in such a callous manner. He should have taken her flowers, as he had Miss Wallace.

  Hattie—faithless, wretched beauty. How would he ever forget her? But he must. From this moment forward, to think of her or even to permit her face to cloud his dreams would be nothing short of adultery. Now he would . . . he must turn his thoughts to the young woman who had served his mother so faithfully all these years and who would now serve God besid
e him.

  He remembered the day she came to their home, desolate and grieving her parents’ deaths of smallpox, but willing to perform any service for her benefactress, her mother’s best friend from boarding school days. A sturdy, fair-faced child of twelve, she had a curly mass of brilliant red hair—covered these last years by a prim mobcap denoting her position in the house—and bright blue eyes that seemed filled with understanding far beyond her youthful age. So often through the years, he had seen her reading her father’s worn Bible and murmuring silent prayers. Her dedication to God was deep and true. How could he not feel a fond, brotherly connection to her?

  To this day, he could see in her eyes the great depth of her soul and clear understanding of the task before them. Yes, this sweet, humble creature surely must be God’s choice for his mission to the cannibals of Fénua. How could he ever have thought that delicate, beautiful, wealthy Miss Wallace could withstand all that lay before him?

  With great effort, he subdued the pang that shot through his heart. He must forget Hattie. He must will himself to think only of sweet, compliant Miss Smith. He must think of her needs, for she would never ask anything for herself. What could he give her? What should he do? A half-thought prayer flowed from his lips in an exhaled breath.

  “Father, show me how to care for Miss Smith as a godly husband should.”

  The answer came immediately. She would need durable clothing and shoes fit for walking on rocks or in the rough island forests, but Mother would provide guidance in that. She would need her own trunk. Perhaps a new Bible, for her father’s old one showed its more than forty years of use and would surely fall apart in the moist ocean air during their voyage.

  One other need came to mind. Although they would marry in a few days, he must protect her by refraining from marital intimacy. A child conceived might prove more than even the sturdy Miss Smith could endure on a lengthy ocean voyage. Yes, that was a very sensible plan.

  Now, what else? He must take inventory to be certain he left nothing behind of all their earthly needs, for they would be far from civilization in the distant land. Medical supplies, books, writing implements and paper. On and on the list grew, but in the back of his mind he also considered his dear mother.

  As much as he regretted leaving her alone in this large, empty house, he trusted his older brother and sisters, now married with nearby homes of their own, to provide companionship for her. The generous bequest Father had left would provide everything else. Of course, she would stay busy with her charity work. Most important, she would undergird his missionary work with prayers and provisions—and encourage others to do so as well.

  The future lay bright before him: good health, a mission where he would serve God, a wife to serve with him, and loving support here at home. What more could he ask?

  ***

  “My dear, you are a lovely bride.” Mrs. Adams brushed a stray curl away from Leah’s face and placed a kiss on her cheek. “All these years you’ve been wearing that silly mobcap and hiding this lovely red hair. Well, now you can throw it away.” She turned to one of the large sea chests that held Leah’s new belongings. “Now, let me check to be sure we’re not forgetting anything.”

  While her new mother-in-law dug through the bolts of material, bedding, shoes, books, and sewing supplies, Leah touched her cheek where Mrs. Adams had kissed her—the very same spot where Jonah had kissed her after their brief wedding ceremony only an hour before. A warm, happy feeling swept through her as she recalled the tender expression on his face. Although he did not love her, at least not as she wished, he would be a good, gentle husband. Perhaps if she obeyed him in accordance with the Scriptures, his kind affection would grow into love. With that hope, she permitted happiness to fill her from head to heart and even down to her toes.

  “Hm. Leah, dear,” said Mrs. Adams, “run down to the kitchen and ask Cook for that large blue tin that keeps our tea so fresh. You must have it, of course, for I know how you love your tea. And be certain that she fills it with new leaves. And if there is anything you see there that we have missed, you have but to ask, and it is yours.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Adams—“

  “Dear child, you must now call me Mother, at least for these few minutes before you. . .” She sniffed back a sob. “Oh, bother, I must not cry.” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. “Now run along.”

  Leah blinked back her own tears and curtsied. “Yes, ma’am . . . Mother.” With a giddy laugh, she slipped down the hallway, her soft shoes silent on the polished floors. At the top of the staircase, she stopped. Below, Jonah stood with another man, but not the minister who had just performed their wedding ceremony. She drew in an involuntary gasp and tried to still her racing heart. Mr. Wallace! What was Hattie’s father doing here?

  “You must know how you’ve broken my beloved daughter’s heart, young man. Do you think God will bless your ministry when you have played false with such a delicate soul?”

  Jonah coughed softly, and when he spoke, his voice sounded thick with emotion. “Sir, I’ve made a terrible mistake, but nothing can change it now. I am married, and my wife and I will begin our voyage to the South Pacific this afternoon. I beg you to pray for our mission and for the lost souls whom we will encounter.”

  “Pray, indeed.” Mr. Wallace gave an indignant, undignified snort. He slapped his tall beaver hat on his head and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.

  Jonah pressed his hand against the solid door and bowed his head. His shoulders shook as if wracked by sobs. But Leah could feel only icy stone where her heart should be.

  A mistake, he had said. Their marriage a mistake. Nothing could change it. Jonah—Reverend Adams, she corrected herself—a man of honor. He had spoken his vows before God. She knew he would not go back on his word.

  She swallowed hard, forbidding her wedding breakfast to reemerge, forbidding tears to fall.

  Neither will I break my word, Lord. I will serve You with all my heart, no matter how much my husband despises me.

  She turned away from the railing and tiptoed toward the back staircase to complete her errand.

  ***

  Jonah stood for several moments, his hand pressed against the front door. “Dear Lord,” he whispered, “thank you for revealing to me Hattie’s true nature. . .and Mr. Wallace’s, as well. Thank You for rescuing me from my mistake.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out Hattie’s letter, which begged him not to marry Leah or to waste his life on the mission field. He would not read the cruel missive again, for it sickened him to think of his horrible mistake. How could he have fallen in love with such a selfish girl as Hattie? How could he have thought her family to be so pious? “Lord, forgive me, but the only word that comes to mind right now is ’Pharisees.’”

  Yet he must not judge them and acquit himself. He had wasted precious time wooing the wrong woman when the Lord had placed the right one in his very own home. “Father, forgive me for being so blind. Help me to care for dear Leah according to her needs.”

  Glancing one last time at the letter, he strode into the front parlor and thrust it into the flaming hearth, using the poker to be certain it burned. The paper flashed as brightly as the joy now rising in his heart, then dissolved into ashes like the last of his doubts. He turned and gazed about the room, this happy place of childhood memories, and said his last, fond good-bye. Squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, Jonah marched into his new life.

  Chapter Two

  Destiny’s Hope lay anchored in New Bedford Harbor. The former whaling ship, now a merchant vessel, reminded Leah of her father’s ship, even though all traces of its previous industry had been removed. Perhaps the three giant masts, with their canvas sails tied securely to the spars, inspired her comparison. Perhaps the broad quarterdeck brought back memories of her father at the helm. Perhaps the mother and small child sitting there on a sea chest harkened back to her own days at Mother’s knee learning to read and write despite rolling ocean waves beneath the
m.

  The clear blue sky above, the brawny seamen calling to one another as they prepared the ship—every sight, every sound contributed to the rush of happy memories. Even the strong smell of nearby whaling ships aroused nostalgia. Leah saw Jonah’s nose twitch and his chin lift, but she could not despise the smell that had permeated her childhood.

  “We can be thankful to put that horrid stench behind us once we sail.” He glanced her way but did not seem to see her. His main focus appeared to be the handling of their numerous trunks and barrels by the dock workers. “Have a care,” he cried to one man. “Can’t you see that crate is marked ’breakable’?” He looked Leah’s way again. “Wouldn’t do to have all our dishes broken, would it?” Not waiting for an answer, he took her arm and guided her toward the gangplank. “Well, we’re off.”

  As they climbed, Leah felt a thrill at the firmness of Jonah’s grip on her arm and his easy balance on the slanted, swaying board. Perhaps her concerns for him were unfounded. He had sailed only a few times in his life and never farther than New York. His father’s death five years ago had prevented Jonah from going on a Grand Tour of Europe as his elder brother had. When he refused to complain but instead calmly called it God’s will, Leah realized that her affection for Jonah had grown beyond childhood fancies. Learning of his decision to become a missionary, she began to pray that his physical strength—honed by years of horseback riding, fencing, and other manly arts—would equal his spiritual strength. Thank You, Lord, that You have seen fit to equip him for Your purposes in every way.

  “I want to introduce you to someone.” He tugged her across the ship’s main deck. “This is the other missionary family I told you about, the ones going to the Sandwich Islands, which the natives call Hawaii.” Jonah guided Leah across the deck to the woman and boy seated on the sea chest. “Mrs. Hillerman, may I present to you my. . .my wife?” A slight blush spotted his tanned cheeks as he said the last word.