Daughter of Destiny

by Louise M. Gouge

  Despite her words, Leah felt great concern for her friend. She herself would wrap Gladys in sheets and secure her to the cot in her cubicle. As for her own safety, she felt no need to be likewise secured. Surely the captain and Jonah would agree. Better that she be free to assist where needed. In fact, better that Brother Hillerman be lashed to Leah’s cot so his sprained leg received no further injury.

  “Master Daniel.” Swain leaned toward the boy. “Tomorrow after dinner, be sure to tie Mrs. Goat in her stall and give her plenty of straw for cushioning.”

  “Yes sir.” The boy’s eyes sparkled, as they always did when the captain addressed him.

  Swain now directed the conversation to other things, but Leah noticed Jonah’s eyes sparkled just like Daniel’s. Each time they met a new circumstance, Jonah seemed to view it as a personal challenge. With each success, Leah’s pride in her husband grew. She knew he would come through the Straits just as he had every storm. Further, she knew he would adjust to life on their island destination with that same courage and determination.

  ***

  Jonah took a firm stance, grasped the halyard, and pulled with all his considerable strength. Over these months of hoisting sail, his muscles had grown so large that Leah had to let his shirts out. Nothing exhilarated him as much as working side by side with the sailors, unless it was the prospect of a new challenge. He had earned Swain’s confidence and would work on deck during the upcoming passage.

  Fifty foot waves. Despite all he had seen, he could not imagine such monstrous seas. But he determined to gird up the loins of his mind and face them with God’s strength. Swain said the men working the sails would be lashed to their positions, just as the captain would be to his place at the helm.

  “Oy, Rev, look lively.” Samuel stood across the deck pulling the other mainsail halyard. “Keep it even.”

  “Sorry.” Jonah grimaced at his error. Disaster could happen when a man got lost in thought. He put his weight into leveling the sail. “Say, Samuel, what’s all that wood we see in the water?”

  Samuel shot a dark glance over his shoulder and then jerked his head toward the quarterdeck where the ladies sat sewing. Jonah caught his meaning, and fear clutched his heart. Not for himself, but for Leah and Sister Hillerman. Some other ship had tried this passage and failed—recently.

  Lord, be with us. Protect us all.

  Verses of scripture came to mind: “They that go down to the sea in ships. . .these see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep. For He commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof. They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths: their soul is melted because of trouble. . .Then they cry unto the Lord. . .and he bringeth them out of their distresses. He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.”

  Perhaps God would use this passage to change the hearts of Pete and the others who thus far had spurned His salvation. When they reached the far side of the Straits, Jonah would preach a message on those verses from Psalm 107 to remind the crew of God’s mercy. For now, he would cling to God’s promise of deliverance to subdue his own fears over the coming danger.

  ***

  “Are you comfortable, sister?” Leah tied the last corner of the sheet around Gladys’s body and then checked to be sure the baby within her was not too tightly bound.

  Gladys laughed nervously. “Oh, yes, of course.” She gripped Leah’s hand. “Sister, if anything should happen to me. . .”

  “Shh. We’ll all be fine. Reverend Hillerman is secure in the captain’s berth, and Daniel is safe in mine.” Leah caught her balance as the ship met a surging wave.

  Gladys sighed. “I trust in God with all my heart, but that does not keep me from being afraid.”

  “Oh, yes, I understand. But let us recall the Psalm: ’What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee,’” said Leah.

  “Yes. Yes, you’re right. If you hear me cry out, pay no attention.” She exhaled another nervous laugh.

  Leah squeezed her arm and set a kiss on her cheek. She shut the cubicle door and crossed the cabin just as the ship dipped low into a sudden trough, sending Leah to the deck on all fours.

  “Eeep!” She gasped back her cry. “I’m all right, Sister Gladys. You?”

  “Yes.” The weak call came through the door. “Please check Daniel.”

  “Right away.”

  As the ship tossed about in the increasingly savage waves, Leah crawled across the deck toward her cubicle. Halfway there, she saw the open door.

  “Daniel?” She searched beneath the covers, under the cot, and even in her trunk. “Daniel!” She spoke in an anxious whisper, praying Gladys would not hear.

  A door banged outside the central cabin—the door to the topside hatchway.

  “Daniel!” This time the child’s name screamed from deep within her.

  “Sister Leah, what is it?” cried Gladys.

  “Mrs. Adams, what is it?” Reverend Hillerman emerged from the captain’s cabin, inching across the deck on one knee, the injured leg dragged behind him.

  “See to your wife, brother. I will go. You cannot help in your condition.”

  Leah forced herself to her feet and plunged through the cabin door, staggering with the roll of the ship toward the hatch. “Daniel.”

  The boy clung to the stairway railing, his faced streaked with sea spray and tears. “I forgot to tie up Mrs. Goat.”

  The ship pitched into a trough, and Leah fell once again. “Daniel, come back.”

  “No.” Knees on the steps, he held the railing and pulled himself toward the hatch.

  The ship listed to starboard, and Leah fell against the wall, dazed. “Daniel,” she whimpered. “Come back.”

  ***

  The ocean roared with indignation that mere mortals dared to breach its secret channel. It churned and thrashed, seeking to destroy the intruders. Lashed to the main mast, drenched to the skin by the icy waters, Jonah held fast to the ropes and kept watch on Pete and Jim high above. There they tightened the gaskets that secured the furled sails. If any sail broke loose, Jonah was to climb the ratlines and help them. Both Swain and First Mate Turner stood at the helm keeping the ship in the center of the strait, lest it be dashed on the great, jagged rocks on either side.

  The sudden thump of the hatch slamming open drew Jonah’s attention from his task. In horror, he watched Daniel emerge, fall, and skid across the deck with a squeal of fright. Jonah grabbed the ropes that bound him, quickly loosening them despite their wetness.

  “Daniel,” he called. “Hold on. I’m coming.”

  Sliding on the drenched boards, Jonah skidded to the boy and grasped him. Daniel flung tiny arms around his neck, tiny legs around his waist. On hands and knees, Jonah inched his way across the deck, groping for something to hang on to. At last he made it to the hatch, where Leah clung to the railing. He thrust the trembling child into her arms.

  “Get below.”

  She nodded, then stared beyond him and screamed. Jonah turned just in time to see a wall of water crashing down upon him.

  “Leah!”

  Water drowned out his cry, slammed him to the deck, and swept him toward the ship’s rail. Another wave dashed against him, lifting him, washing him overboard. He grasped for something, anything, but touched only the sea. He tried to draw in a breath, but took in only water. And then everything went black.

  ***

  Water filled the passageway, but when the ship arced high on a wave, then plunged into yet another trough, much of the water drained out, almost washing Leah and Daniel out with it. With Daniel gripped in her arms, Leah jammed her legs against the outer wall, crying to God for help. If only Jonah would come back and help her. . .

  What had Captain Swain said? This worst part of the Straits might take a few hours or it might take several attempts. Jonah would be needed topside. She must take care of Daniel by herself.

  “Lord, help me,” she said once more. “Daniel, hold on.”

  H
e clung to her neck and wrapped his legs around her waist. When the bow of the ship rose again, she let gravity roll them to the cabin door. Before the vessel dipped forward, she gathered her strength and made the passage, slamming and locking the door behind her.

  In the cabin cubicle, the Hillermans clutched one another, each grimacing in pain. When they saw Leah and Daniel, both broke into grateful weeping and reached out to receive their son. Leah let herself be drawn into the family’s embrace. But in this terrifying time, how she longed to be in the arms of her own brave husband.

  Chapter Seven

  Leah slumped against the railing and stared across the calm waters. Her heart felt like a stone in her chest. Behind her, the setting sun cast flames of red and orange and purple over the glassy Pacific Ocean and the now-distant shores of southern Chile. After seemingly endless hours of being tossed about by violent waves, Destiny’s Hope had been thrust from the Straits of Magellan like a toy being discarded by a petulant child. Mild Pacific breezes filled the sails, moving the ship toward the South Pacific island that would be Leah’s home.

  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 m
e.” 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?”