Daughter of Destiny

by Louise M. Gouge

  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.

  Chapter Eight

  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.

  Now she sat in this lovely shelter telling Bible stories to the children in their language. When memory failed, she communicated with them through signs and thus learned something new from the people.

  “Lady Leah.” Little Tekai tapped her knee to get her attention, a gesture that brought gasps from the other children and the mothers. Islanders risked death for touching their chief, and Leah’s exalted status could make touching her just as lethal.

  Suni, Tekai’s mother, reached toward her son, but Leah laughed and tousled the boy’s hair. The woman pulled back, her eyes round with wonder, and the children giggled.

  “Don’t be afraid. I’m just like you.” Leah looked around the group and then back at the youngest son of Chief Fénua. “What do you want, Tekai?”

  “Another story from your holy book.”

  Leah’s heart warmed. “Which story shall I tell?”

  “The story of Ru and Anu.” Tekai reached out to touch the Bible, but his mother clicked her tongue, and he withdrew his hand and wrinkled his nose.

  Leah opened the scriptures and found the page in Genesis, but she interpreted instead of reading to her eager audience, for they would not understand the English text. She had learned in her early weeks that the biblical story of creation and of Adam and Eve had many parallels in Fénuan creation folklore. At first the children insisted on correcting her version, and Leah felt dismayed. But soon they began to mingle the two accounts, and she could see God’s hand at work when some of the people acknowledged her names for the original man and woman.

  Perhaps now that the island had been visited by a different race of men, they could begin to see the broader scope of God’s creation and their own place in it. Even the village priest admitted that men who could build such large ships as Destiny’s Hope must be powerful indeed and their words worthy of consideration.

  Leah wondered how the old man would react when more white men came, as surely they would, with guns, diseases, and treachery to corrupt this peaceful paradise. Indeed, if not for intervention from Captain Swain and the Hillermans, some of the sailors would have done serious damage to the start of her mission work. She must hasten to build a spiritual wall of protection around their souls. But the stories unfolded slowly as she told them, in the daytime to the women and children and in the evening to the men. How long would it take to help them understand their sinful nature and their need for a Savior? Only He could protect them.

  That night, fears for her newly adopted people and her own feelings of inadequacy caused tears to slip down her cheek and fall on her cushioned pallet bed.

  “Oh, Jonah, I need your wisdom, and these people need your seminary training. There is so much I do not know.” If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God. . .and it shall be given him. The verse from the Epistle of James swept into her mind, and she rose from her bed, knelt, and poured out her petition to the One with power to answer. In bed once more, she wondered if she had made an idol of Jonah just as the islanders seemed intent on making a god of her.

  True to the nature of a close-knit village, someone must have heard her weeping. In th
e morning, she was summoned to Chief Fénua.

  “Lady Leah.” The tall, massive chief met her outside his grand, thatched house and nodded his graying head with respect. “It has come to my attention that while you smile in the daylight, you weep in the dark.”

  Leah noticed that the chief still would not look at her face. Perhaps her blue eyes startled him as much as her red hair. She followed custom and did not give a quick response. After a few moments, she said, “That is true, but I. . .”

  Fénua held up his large brown hand to silence her. “You are lonely. You must have someone to share your home with, yet it must be someone who is worthy.”

  Leah bit back a laugh, for laughing would have been a grievous offense. Instead, she waited, and a tight knot grew in her chest. Would she be forced to marry?

  “My eldest son will be chief after me. His only right consort is my eldest daughter. But my second son is a mighty warrior.” Fénua paused and lifted his chin with pride. “He has climbed the volcano.” A remarkable feat indeed, Leah knew.

  Lord, give me wisdom. How do I decline without insulting him? And how can I teach them that incest is a sin?

  “Lady Leah, a woman must not live alone. Will you take a husband of my people?”

  “I am honored, Chief Fénua, but I must decline. My husband will come from the sea.” The sea? Why on earth had she said that?

  Fénua stared into her eyes for the first time, and his gaze bored into her as though he would conquer her with a look. But then his eyes widened and he appeared to grasp some important concept. “Ah, yes. From the sea. How fitting. Perhaps mano, the great shark. Perhaps ocua, the great whale. Yes, your husband must come from the sea.”

  He bowed again and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. Then he drew in a quick breath and frowned.

  Leah wondered if he still feared that she might have some magical powers. She gave him a broad smile and a slight curtsy and, following custom, backed away until she had reached the outer circle of his yard.

  In her own hut once more, she laughed to herself. A husband from the sea? What nonsense. Even if Captain Swain returned, she would not marry him, for then she would have to leave this beautiful island of lost souls.

  ***

  Jonah took an extra watch in the crow’s nest of the Nantucket whaler. The captain told him the previous evening that they should reach the right coordinates for Fénua today or tomorrow. Heart in his throat, Jonah saw a thin string of smoke on the horizon. Was it another whaleship with burning try-pots? Or was it a volcano?

  “Smoke, ho,” he called down to the captain, who nodded and lifted his glass.

  “Land, ho,” the captain shouted.

  In his excitement, Jonah nearly fell out of the crow’s nest when another man arrived to take up the watch.

  “Easy, laddie.” The Scotsman who had pulled him from the ocean over three months before clapped him on the shoulder. “If you fall and break your neck, we’ll have no excuse to visit the island.”

  “Thank you, Andrew.” Jonah clung to the ropes and eyed his friend. “Now don’t forget what I told you about that.”

  Andrew’s face wore an exaggerated look of dismay. “Aye, laddie, but it canna’ be a sin just to look at the lovely lassies, can it?”

  “But remember that Jesus said you’re not to look at them with lust in your heart.”

  “By me mother’s haggis, mon, you’re asking me to gi’ up being human.”

  “Not at all, mon,” Jonah said. “Just obedient to the Lord. It won’t be easy on this ship. But just as surely as you saved me from drowning, God has saved you from eternal death. Now you must live for him among these unsaved men.”

  “Aye, laddie, sure as sunshine, He’s saved me. And if He can take the drink out of a Scotsman like me, He can take the lust from my heart.”

  “That’s the fellow.” Jonah smiled, then scrambled down the ratlines and found the captain in his quarters, the door wide open. The tall, black-haired Nantucketer puffed on his pipe and wrote in his log. At Jonah’s knock on the door jamb, he looked up and beckoned him into the cabin.

  “Captain, may I consider myself a passenger from this point forward?”

  The man studied Jonah for a moment. His dark eyes gave no hint of his thoughts. Then he nodded curtly. “You may.”

  “Sir,” said Jonah. “If you recall, I worked extra shifts to buy the right to require that the men stay on board when we come near the island.”

  He gave a mild snort. “That you did.” His tone was non-committal.

  Jonah bit his lip. This was not the time to make an enemy of this austere man.

  The captain stood to his full height, well over six feet tall, and looked down at Jonah. “I am a man of my word, preacher. I will keep our bargain.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Jonah knew he was grinning like a child as he emerged from the cabin. He hurried to the crew quarters and gathered his few possessions—clothing, tools, and Leah’s necklace, all of which he had bartered for. He took his leave of the crew, some with more regret than others, for most had, like their captain, utterly rejected the gospel.

  On deck again, Jonah realized the island was so close he could swim to it. People gathered on the shore, and some were putting a long boat into the water to greet the ship.

  “Say, preacher,” called one whaler. “If they come on board, does that mean our bargain ain’t no good?”

  “Not if you’re a man of honor, Bobby.”

  His response brought a riot of laughter from the other crew members. “He ain’t never been accused of honor, preacher,” cried one man.

  “Avast!” the captain shouted. “A promise is a promise.” He surveyed his crew and then leveled his dark stare on Jonah. “But that does not mean we cannot sail over to Tahiti before going back around the Horn.” The men gave up a raucous cheer.

  Jonah felt his heart sink. He could not protect the women of every South Pacific island from these men, but at least those on Fénua would be safe.

  The captain stepped near and offered his telescope. “Do you want to see if she’s there?” His soft tone surprised Jonah.

  “Yes sir. Thank you.” He grasped the glass and held it up. On the silver beach, perhaps two hundred people had gathered, their attitude clearly one of welcome. As he scanned the crowd, a bright flash caught his attention.

  Leah! Her long, blazing red hair blew in the wind, and her lovely green dress fluttered like a standard welcoming him home.

  Jonah burst into tears, caring nothing for the startled whalers around him. Until this moment, he had not been certain she was alive.

  “Thank God. Oh, thank You, God,” he choked out. “Now let me make it all up to her.”

  ***

  Leah watched with concern as the whaleship sail closer until it anchored just outside the reef that protected the island. She had persuaded Chief Fénua to send out only one boat of men and not to let any of the young women go out with flowers to greet the newcomers. Why had this ship chosen Fénua? Was it too late to save the women, who were still very confused about her attempts to discuss morality? She knew all the young girls would gladly offer whatever hospitality the men wanted, for that was their custom.

  “Lord, protect them from their own ignorance.”

  “See, Lady Leah.” Suni, Chief Fénua’s youngest wife, stood near. “Only one man is coming ashore.”

  Leah held her hands above her eyes, wishing for her bonnet. The sunlight that glistened on the calm waters within the reef played tricks on her vision. The man who now stood in the returning longboat looked just like. . .Jonah?

  Her knees turned to jelly, and Suni caught her before she sank to the sand. “Lady Leah, what is it?”

  “M-my husband.”

  “Ah. So the sea has sent you a husband, after all. We did not believe your words, Lady. Please forgive.”

  “Hmm? Oh, there’s nothing to forgive.”

  Jonah! Thank You, merciful Father, thank You that he’s alive. Please, please help me to e
arn his love.

  Her prayer pricked her soul. How foolish. She did not have to earn anyone’s love. God loved her freely. And although now it made her blush, she knew Captain Swain’s sincere attentions proved she was a lovable woman. She exhaled a determined breath. Just let her get her arms around Jonah. If it upset him, he would just have to cope with it.

  Almost as if she were a bird, Leah flew into Jonah’s arms even before he reached the shore. This time, he did not pull back or shove her away, but held her tightly and cried, mingling his tears with hers as together they waded through the surf toward paradise.

  Chapter Nine

  “Are we supposed to eat that?” Jonah leaned close to Leah and whispered in English so Chief Fénua would not understand. “It looks like a rotten fish head.”

  “It is a rotten fish head, my dear. Fénuans consider it a delicacy.” Leah tried not to laugh at the disgust written across her husband’s face. “They buried it many weeks ago so it would be ready for our celebration, and they dug it up today. The sandy soil seasons it—cooks it something like our cured ham.”

  Now Jonah looked as if he might be ill. “I will not eat it.” He glanced toward the chief, and his expression turned to entreaty. “Must I eat it?”

  Leah gave in to her laughter. “I don’t think we have to. But you will have to eat the breadfruit and shark fins.”

  “I believe I can manage that.”

  “Lady Leah,” Suni approached the circle of celebrants with a wriggling bundle. “Your daughter is hungry.”

  Leah reached out to receive her month-old infant. “Thank you, Suni.” She flung a light blanket over her shoulder and prepared to nurse. Then she glanced at Jonah, whose expression of paternal joy was tempered by his disapproval of feeding the baby in front of the villagers. Although the child had begun to fuss, Leah struggled to her feet. “I’ll be back soon.” She was rewarded by a beaming smile from her husband.

  ***