She wondered how Jenkins had managed to slick his hair down so well. On his arrival she had looked twice to make sure it was really him. All through the voyage, his hair had sprung out uncontrollably, making him look remarkably careless: which he certainly was not. And his crooked face didn’t help any: a result, according to ship’s gossip, of sleeping on deck with his head in direct moonlight.
Also at the table were Aunt Constance and Joshua, his eyes missing nothing. Deborah sat on the floor near her mother.
Each time Merelita approached the Chief, she stooped, hunching her back as though she were either injured or hiding. The Chief ignored her, devoting his attention to Uncle Henry while occasionally patting the green parasol. Hannah vowed that she would not bow in that ludicrous fashion—not to anyone.
‘Hang me from the yardarm and tickle me …’ Jenkins rubbed his hands together with pleasure. A warning frown from Hannah stopped him, mid-sentence. While Jenkins’ outbursts were amusing and witty, they were occasionally scandalous and Hannah feared that her uncle’s sense of humour would not stretch that far.
Scattered conversation began, and Hannah returned to the small cookhouse to check that everything had been taken inside. As Merelita handed her a plate with yet more fruit, oranges this time, Hannah noticed she had half a finger missing. Merelita slid her fingers beneath the plate.
‘What happened to your finger?’ It was rude to ask but Hannah couldn’t resist.
Merelita thrust the plate forward and shrugged. Hannah waited. Sometimes a silence could persuade confidences where further questions would fail.
With short, quick motions Merelita made sawing actions with the side of her hand.
Hannah felt faint. ‘It was … cut off?’
The Fijian girl nodded.
‘Why? Was it infected?’ Hannah remembered that back home an old man on a nearby farm had his leg amputated because it had begun to rot. They needn’t have bothered, because he died anyway.
‘Father.’ Merelita pointed to the ground and Hannah knew all too well what that gesture meant. ‘When he die … cut. Everyone.’ As she spoke, Merelita showed her shortened forefinger, then lifted a lock of hair which dangled over her forehead. Her meaning was plain. Cutting hair as a sign of mourning was one thing, but amputating digits …?
Gripped by morbid curiosity, Hannah whispered as though that disguised the question. ‘What do they do with the fingers?’
Merelita looked upwards.
Even as she spoke, Hannah felt foolish. ‘You put them on the roof?’
The Fijian girl smiled. ‘Yes. Many fingers on roof. Show what is in here.’ She gestured to her chest.
Surely there were other, less painful, ways of displaying grief. ‘But what if you have many people in your family who die?’
Merelita held up both hands, then folded down the tops of her remaining fingers at the knuckles.
‘I … I see.’ Hannah wanted to ask what happened when they ran out of fingers, but resisted. Now might be a good time to change the subject. ‘Are you coming inside with me?’
Merelita shook her head.
Somehow, as the girl turned, her hand knocked Hannah’s plate to the floor. Orange slices and broken china were scattered across the mats.
Hands clasped to her mouth, Merelita rolled her eyes.
Hannah remembered the crash she’d heard earlier and Joshua’s words ‘she breaks things’. She touched the other girl gently on the wrist. ‘It’s all right. I’ll fix it. No one will know.’
Quickly, Hannah retrieved the fruit, rinsed it with a scoop of water from the barrel and replaced the slices on another plate. With the crockery shards in her hands, she crept from the cookhouse into the gathering darkness to hide the evidence under a leafy bush.
A mosquito whined insistently, but Hannah dared not wave her hand during grace. She wriggled her face then gently shook her head, hoping that movement would discourage attack.
Uncle Henry’s passionate ‘Amen’ coincided with a loud slap. Jenkins brushed at his cheek with a weathered hand, then examined the tips of his fingers. ‘Blood, by gum. ’E’s bit someone already.’ Instinctively, everyone searched for telltale spots.
A cold look from the head of the family did nothing to quell Jenkins. ‘Them mosquitoes is as big as sharks.’
Hannah stifled a smile. The chinking of plates and clanging of cutlery was a familiar, comforting sound. The Chief didn’t bother with either. But it did seem ridiculously formal to eat fruit with utensils. She scanned the faces around her and wondered at being here when only this morning she had still been on the ketch. Only a few hours separated the two worlds and yet they were so different.
Ratu Rabete leant forward, his huge beard sweeping his plate, and stared into Uncle Henry’s face to watch him chew. Further and further the Chief leant until they were almost face-to-face. He took a banana from the table and peeled it. Although it was a large piece of fruit, it was dwarfed by his hand. With one massive bite, half the banana disappeared. Then he pressed the remaining half against Uncle Henry’s mouth. Uncle Henry had no choice but to eat. Hannah looked away. She had no great love for banana at the moment; not after Joshua’s earlier revelation.
‘Speaking of sharks,’ continued Jenkins long after everyone had forgotten he had ever mentioned them, ‘I knew a man once oo ’ad a dream ’bout a giant shark wot was swimmin’ towards ‘im with its mouth open.’ He curved his arms to demonstrate the size and shape of the beast’s jaws. ‘’E got a fit of the wobblers and wouldn’t go swimmin’. ’Is mates gave ’im plenty of mouth, paddlin’ in front of ’im in this salt-water river, bragging about ’ow safe it was and what a silly chap ’e was. So ’e jumps in and starts swimmin’ until …’ Jenkins stopped to load his plate with food.
Joshua couldn’t stand it. ‘Until what, Mr Jenkins?’
‘Oh, that’s right. I was tellin’ you a story, wasn’t I? When a man’s been on board ship as long as me and ’e sees a spread like this, it drives all thought from ‘is mind but food. I beg yours, young sir.’ He sucked at his front teeth. ‘Where was I?’
‘The man who had the dream was swimming …’
‘Oh, that’s right. Well, next thing, ’e looks up and sees a huge shark comin’ towards ’im, jaws open. Quick as a flash, ’e rams ’is arm into the shark’s mouth and grabs its tongue. Bein’ a strong swimmer like, ’e starts for the bank, paddlin’ with one arm, towin’ this great shark behind ’im. When ’e reaches the edge, his mates haul ’im out. The shark took off nursin’ sore tonsils. The bloke had teeth marks and such on ’is arm, but it healed, and ’e got back nearly all the use of ’is arm.’
Uncle Henry stared at his guest. ‘I believe you enjoy telling stories, Mr Jenkins. Personally, I feel it is always best to stick to the truth.’
Hannah caught her breath, embarrassed that her uncle had virtually called her friend a liar. Smart and Stephenson exchanged nervous looks.
‘But Reverend, you got a book with such stories,’ was Jenkins’ reply. ‘What a man that Samson was, eh? Ripping a lion in two with ’is bare hands like that!’
He had a point. Both stories sounded equally far-fetched. If one was true, why not the other?
A second slap showed Jenkins was still on the mosquito warpath. Hannah swished at the air in front of her face.
‘Perhaps we could try the sawdust?’ Aunt Constance threw a pleading look at her husband. He nodded and stood up.
‘Sometimes we light sawdust in coconut shells,’ explained Joshua. ‘Smoke is supposed to drive the mosquitoes away.’
‘Oh, how clever.’
‘Not really.’ The boy shrugged. ‘It doesn’t work.’
He was right. In a short while they were all struggling with watering eyes and aggravated coughs while the insects dived with undiminished vigour.
‘Reverend Stanton,’ began Jenkins, ‘did the church send you and Mrs Stanton out ’ere ’mong these ’eathens on your own?’
‘There was another family here by
the name of Robinson. But Mrs Robinson passed away.’
‘That’s ’orrible that is.’ Beneath all that blustering and hurling of oaths Jenkins had a kind heart. So ’e went back ’ome to Mother England did ’e? Couldn’t stand it ’ere without ’is beloved.’
Joshua made a face. He was the wrong age to be impressed by soft words. Ratu Rabete couldn’t understand the language, but still listened eagerly, waiting for Uncle Henry to interpret.
Then Uncle Henry turned his attention back to Jenkins. ‘Actually Brother Robinson took his six children back to England to search for a new mother for them, so he could return and continue his God-given work.’
Hannah preferred Jenkins’ softer version.
Uncle Henry popped a nut into his mouth and chewed it carefully. ‘It was necessary you see, for if the missionary has no wife then the heathen has no gospel. How can a man devote his life to the service of others if he is consumed by household matters? And there is also the matter of temptation …’
Good manners forbade further information on that topic, but Hannah wished he would go on. Temptation was something she would like to know more about, purely as a matter of interest, of course. If it wasn’t for this ‘temptation’, men like Reverend Robinson could hire a servant to care for the children. But perhaps a wife was less expensive.
‘Fortunately, my own dear Mrs Stanton is a great support.’
A look of affection passed between husband and wife. Despite Uncle Henry’s odd remarks, their warm feelings for each other were obviously genuine.
Ratu Rabete contributed a comment that Uncle Henry didn’t immediately interpret.
‘Wot’s ’e on about then?’ asked Jenkins.
The other sailors seemed to have lost the power of speech. They devoured great portions of food but said nothing.
Uncle Henry hesitated. ‘The Chief wants to know how much I paid for my wife.’
Jenkins roared with laughter and the Chief joined in.
‘I explained that we do not buy our wives,’ Uncle Henry’s voice had an edge to it. He spoke with Ratu Rebete again.
‘The Chief feels that we should have more wives. He thinks we will tire our women too quickly if they do all the work themselves. He says it is better to …’ Uncle Henry paused to consider his words, ‘… roster many wives. I have explained to him that our Lord forbids this. He provided the first man with only one wife, and that arrangement continues.’
‘That reminds me of a story I ’eard.’ Jenkins waved his fork in the air. ‘There was this sailor, and ’e decides to jump ship. ’E finds an island, like this one, and ’e meets this native girl and it’s sparks and stars, the ’ole lot. ’E thinks she’s a regular princess.’
A shadow passed over Uncle Henry’s face. He wasn’t certain about allowing this story, Hannah could tell. But as yet, there was no reason to prevent it being told. If her uncle was relying on Jenkins’ judgement of when and where to tell a yarn, however, he was mistaken.
‘This bloke decides ’e wants to marry this girl, but she won’t ’ave ’im. Did I tell you ’e only ’ad one leg? Any ’ow ’e gets one of ’is native mates to talk to ’er.’ Jenkins bit his lip and hesitated. ‘So she says through this other bloke ’ow she wants a man with two legs, not one.’ Jenkins started to chuckle. ‘So ’e gets ’is dander up and says to her that if she wanted to marry for legs, why didn’t she marry a centipede?’ His chuckles grew into hearty laughter.
There was an awkward silence until Uncle Henry coldly asked his wife to serve coffee and tea.
Hannah moved to help, but Aunt Constance waved her back. ‘Merelita and I will take care of this, dear.’
It didn’t take long, but the waiting time was uncomfortable. Hannah hoped every evening meal wasn’t going to be this tense. She was suddenly unbearably tired.
Aunt Constance and Merelita began putting out the cups. Hannah smiled, but Merelita had an odd, tight expression as though she were concentrating on a sound which no one else could hear. She gripped the coffee cup with tight fingers. A few seconds later, she gave a loud sneeze. Hannah was impressed. Merelita didn’t spill a drop of coffee.
A look of fury swamped the Chief’s face and he reprimanded the girl. She fled instantly. What had she done now?
‘They’re not allowed to sneeze when preparing food or drink,’ whispered Joshua. ‘He won’t touch the coffee now.’
Uncle Henry carefully stirred his coffee. ‘You gentlemen will be joining us in Church tomorrow? It’s the Sabbath.’
Sunday? Hannah had lost track of the days.
‘Sorry, Reverend,’ replied Henderson. He, at least, had found his voice. ‘We have to sail tonight.’ Then he added quickly, ‘Before midnight. Couldn’t set sail on the Sabbath. No, Sir. Not on a Sabbath nor a Friday. It’s bad luck.’
As though prearranged, the guests stood as one to leave. The Stantons waited at the front door to bid them farewell. After a speech which seemed to be aimed at no one in particular, or perhaps it was everyone, Ratu Rabete left. With a massive club in one hand, Hannah’s green parasol in the other, his stocky outline merged with the humid darkness, his footsteps surprisingly quiet for a man of his stature.
Hannah didn’t like goodbyes. She’d said too many of them lately, and she didn’t want Jenkins to go. She swallowed over a lump in her throat. He was rough, his language often colourful, his personal cleanliness suspect, but there was no pretence about him. He was exactly as he appeared, and after five minutes in his company she felt as though she had known him for years. His departure meant that she was left on this remote island with a family she was unsure of, and people she didn’t understand.
Hannah wanted to throw her arms around Jenkins’ neck and hug him as she used to do with her father, but she simply offered her hand. He clasped her fingers firmly in his own, maintaining his grip for longer than was necessary.
‘You take care now, Miss. You ’ear me?’
Hannah nodded. ‘I will. Are … are you passing this way again?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t rightly know, Miss. I goes where the Cap’n tells me.’
Her dismay must have shown on her face because he added, ‘But yer never know, does yer? I never ’ad no notion I’d be ’ere tonight, did I?’
‘But will you write to me? Just so I know that you’re well.’
‘Miss …’ He gently shook his head. ‘It’s all squiggles and lines to me. I never learnt ’ow to read nor write.’
That was the end of it then. She turned aside, allowing Jenkins to thank her aunt and uncle.
Joshua politely shook hands all round, even managing to coax half a dozen words from Gallagher. Hannah wondered why he’d bothered to visit. He had scarcely opened his mouth all night, except to gollop food at a rate of knots.
Jenkins solemnly shook hands with Joshua. ‘Young sir, you mind that story ’bout that big shark.’ Jenkins pushed his sleeve up high, revealing jagged purple scars. Some ferocious beast with sharp teeth had once gripped his arm.
By the flickering light of a tallow candle Hannah folded her clothes and placed them inside the trunk, making sure the lid was firmly sealed. Joshua’s vivid descriptions of the creepies that skulked here made her cautious. She stood stock still for a second, peering into the shadows cast on the far corner. Had something moved?
She smothered a giggle with one hand. There was no reason to jump at her own outline on the wall.
For the second time that day, she searched under the bed, in the chamber pot, behind the furniture and beneath the coverlet. All was clear.
She straightened to pick up the portrait that sat on the crooked chest of drawers. The oval frame was old, the silver tarnished, but behind the glass, the watercolours were bright. The two faces looked young, happy, full of life. If only her parents had not gone into town that day; if only a runaway horse had not overturned their sulky … But what was the use of ‘if only’? They had, and now they were not here.
Hannah blew out the candle, then spat on her forefing
er and pinched the wick. Two steps and she was in bed, tugging the mosquito net around her. She lay with her hands tucked under her head. Outside in the darkness, a bird’s eerie cry echoed through the trees. Although it was hot behind the protective netting, Hannah was grateful for it.
For the last hour or more she had longed to retire to the quiet darkness of her room, but now her tired brain refused to stop mulling over the day’s events. This place was strange, her uncle disconcertingly formal. He was so unlike her own father. If it wasn’t for the strong physical resemblance she would not have believed the two men had been brothers. Was that why they had not kept contact with each other—because they were so different? That might be a reason not to seek each other’s company, but why conceal the other family’s existence?
Not once had her parents even hinted they had living relatives. Hannah had never questioned family matters, always assuming there were just the three of them. Even Mr Mitchell, the lawyer, knew only that there was a brother, and the name of the island where he lived. Hannah’s father had a clause in his will stating the bare facts. That was all.
It was certainly mysterious. And it was unlikely Uncle Henry and Aunt Constance would reveal further details. In the hours since her arrival, they had not asked a single question about her parents. Furthermore, Uncle Henry was not the most approachable man, and Aunt Constance …? She seemed to do whatever her husband wished.
Hannah wanted to know what had gone wrong between the two brothers, but dared not ask. And if there were an uncle, aunt and cousins, were there other relatives? A grandmother, more aunts and uncles?
Complicating matters, she had not made a good impression. Her first query at the mission house involved the death of their baby; she had threatened to ventilate the village Chief’s nostrils with a parasol and consequently, if her uncle was to be believed, offended the Almighty by taking matters into her own hands; embarrassed herself at dinner by clumsily tripping over Mr Smart’s chair; and deceitfully hidden the broken remnants of a good dinner plate under a bush.
Baptism of Fire Page 3
