Baptism of Fire (2 page)

Single file they followed Uncle Henry down the path to the mission house. He trod firmly, his boots making a dull thud on the thick layer of leaves. Joshua walked at the tail of the line.

Hannah started as a lizard dashed in front of her, then another. Small and indecently pale, with bulging eyes at the side of their heads, the lizards wriggled up a tree trunk almost before she could blink. She hitched up her dress to keep it off the ground.

What was that? She spun around to investigate the sounds coming from behind them. A cluster of giggling children who had been tagging along, fled into the bushes. Joshua scarcely paid them any attention. Perhaps he was accustomed to such behaviour. A short time later, the giggling started again.

One time when her mother and father had taken her into town, they had seen a crazy woman with dishevelled clothes and tangled hair
wandering the streets, crying out. Several children pranced behind her. Each time the woman rounded on them with abuse, the taunters dispersed, only to regroup a few minutes later.

Hannah turned her head a second time to catch a glimpse of brown legs and bare bottoms diving into the undergrowth.

‘Cough,' whispered Joshua, his grey eyes alight with amusement.

‘Cough?'

The boy smiled; his teeth straight and white against his tanned skin. ‘They're scared of white man's sickness.' As Hannah hesitated, he bent double, and squeezed out a cough which began in his boots and erupted from his throat like a bark. Instantly, the retreating spies could be heard blundering through the bushes.

His mother stopped. ‘Are you all right, Joshua?'

‘He had something in his throat.' Hannah reached over to pat him on the back.

Joshua swallowed, then cleared his throat. ‘I'm fine now, Mother.' He turned on his charming smile and she visibly relaxed.

‘Take care now.'

‘Yes, Mother.'

The two conspirators exchanged glances and resumed walking.

Suddenly the thick bush opened up into a clearing. Thatched houses clustered around an area of flat land. The village was quieter than the beach but perhaps that was because many of the villagers were still trading with the sailors. An old woman called out and Uncle Henry replied in her language. Inside one of the houses a baby was crying. A scrawny hen bolted across the path and into the undergrowth.

The houses were made of reeds or leaves of some sort, with triangular roofs arching high above the walls. A thick trunk of wood protruded from each end of the roof and smoke curled out through the thatch. There were no windows and the doors were miniature. If she hadn't seen the people who lived here, she would have suspected they were dwarfs.

‘Joshua, why are the doors so tiny?'

‘So their enemies can't rush in and club them.'

Hannah gasped.

‘If you go inside you have to stoop and it gives
the people inside a chance to see who you are, or to get you first.'

It would take a team of horses to drag her inside one of those huts. She quickly caught up with her aunt and uncle. Without warning, Aunt Constance stopped abruptly and Hannah almost cannoned into the back of her. Deborah's large eyes stared over her mother's arm at her new cousin.

Blocking the path was a tall man, powerfully built. Uncle Henry was not short but the Fijian seemed to tower over him because of the sheer bulk of his body.

A jagged scar ran from his hairline, across one cheek, disappearing beneath a thick beard. His hair had been severely cut. One half was shorn to the scalp while the other continued to stand out from his head, just like an apple that had been neatly chopped in halves. A piece of wood had been inserted through one earlobe, and his chest was partially concealed by a huge neck decoration of yellowish bones attached to a circular shell.

‘
Ni sa bula
,' Uncle Henry said, but the man merely glared.

Uncle Henry shrugged and stepped to one side, continuing along the path. So did Aunt Constance. Hannah wanted to follow but she froze, torn between desire to escape and terror of passing close to the man. He stood between her and her only protectors, unless she counted eleven-year-old Joshua, who was obviously no match for him.

The man's eyes caught Hannah's gaze: held it. She couldn't look away. Despite the heat, she shivered.

A hand pressed against her back. ‘Go on. Keep walking.' Joshua spoke gently but firmly.

She forced herself to turn away from the man and scuttled past with her head down.

Joshua tried to speak to her again but she refused to look at him. She slipped a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at the perspiration on her face, wishing she didn't feel so wretchedly hot, or so humiliated for giving in to her fear in front of her cousin.

Another clearing revealed a single house, like those in the village, but with glass windows and a regular-sized door. Uncle Henry stood to attention. ‘The mission house. See how the Lord provides. We are blessed to have a roof over our heads.'

Hannah was still annoyed with herself and remained silent. Blessed they may be, but she had a feeling that it was in the Lord's best interests to provide shelter. Without it, their lives would be
shortened, and the mission work curtailed.

Aunt Constance stood Deborah on the ground and stretched. The child was obviously quite heavy. Hannah wondered why her aunt didn't insist that Deborah walk.

There were a few plants along the front of the house, and a vegetable patch at the side. Uncle Henry opened the front door and beckoned. Hannah felt reluctant to enter. It was one thing to talk about a new home, to think about it, wonder what it would look like. But that was all abstract; the moment she crossed the threshold, her new life would begin.

Hannah took a deep breath and walked towards the open door. ‘Oh, what is this?' She paused by a tiny house made of wood and cloth, touching it with her hand. It couldn't be a birdhouse: they were always in trees. Perhaps it was a dolls' house. She became aware of a long silence and looked up.

Her expression sad, Aunt Constance bent to pick up Deborah yet again, although the child hadn't asked to be cuddled.

Uncle Henry's face had settled into stern lines. ‘The earthly remains of our baby daughter,
Rachel, lie here.'

Flinching, Hannah snatched back her hand. She could have bitten off her tongue. Of all the questions to ask at a time like this!

‘Ratu Rabete, the Chief, built this out of respect. Even a confirmed heathen has moments of humanity. His workmen used calico to muffle the hammer blows.' Uncle Henry stared at the memorial and added. ‘I have no doubt that given the passage of time, I can persuade the Chief to bend his knee to the only true God.'

‘This is your room.' Joshua stood to one side, inviting Hannah to enter. She squeezed past him and took a careful look. The room was small, but Hannah was relieved that she had a place of her own. She glanced up at the ceiling.

Joshua followed her gaze. ‘The cloth lining stops centipedes and bugs falling on us.'

Hannah wished he wouldn't take so much pleasure in exposing the less delightful aspects of her new life, especially on the first day. Honesty had its limits. At the moment, she would be quite satisfied with a few significant silences.

Somehow, though, she couldn't imagine the centipedes would be more of a nuisance than the cockroaches on board the ketch. They ran over her pillow and woke her many nights.

‘Centipedes are poisonous,' added Joshua. ‘A man from the village was bitten and his arm swelled up to three times its normal size, and it throbbed like a drum.'

‘What happened to him?'

‘He died.'

‘Oh …'

‘Just remember to check your bed at night, and shake your shoes before you put them on.' He returned his cousin's disgusted glance with clear, grey eyes.

She should have thanked him for his advice, but felt too disheartened.

‘You'll get used to it,' he said. ‘I like it here. I suppose I'm Fijian in a way because I was born on this island.'

Hannah blinked. Somehow she had thought of Joshua as English.

‘Who was that man on the path?' she asked abruptly.

‘His name is Enoke.'

‘Is shaving off half your hair the latest fashion or does he have a bad barber?'

He looked at his taller cousin quizzically, uncertain whether she was joking or serious. After a moment, he answered, ‘Enoke wears his hair like that as a sign that he seeks revenge. He's sworn to get even with the man who killed his nephew. He
doesn't speak either, only whistles to show what he wants. The villagers say the next time he speaks, it will be to announce the death of the murderer.'

Hannah shivered. The way Enoke had glared made her suspect he blamed them in some way. Resolutely, she tried to put him out of her mind. Being too imaginative would not help. Here, things were strange enough on their own.

The voices of Uncle Henry and Aunt Constance intruded, even though they spoke softly. Sound travelled freely in this house because the walls, secured with rope, were more like woven screens.

Hannah inspected the room while Joshua stood in the doorway and watched. There was a bed surrounded by a white gauze curtain, a looking glass, washstand, and a crooked chest of drawers. On the wall above the bed hung a message stitched in green thread: GOD IS OUR REFUGE. Mats woven in brown and black patterns covered the floor.

‘Joshua!'

‘Yes, Mother?'

‘Merelita is back. Would you help her, please?'

Hannah raised one eyebrow.

‘Merelita works here. She wasn't here when you arrived. Every afternoon she disappears.' Joshua turned. ‘She goes to the beach.'

The crash of crockery was followed by a burst of Fijian. Merelita sounded young. ‘That's another thing about Merelita.' Joshua grinned. ‘She breaks things.'

‘Joshua!' Aunt Constance tried again. ‘You must let Hannah rest.'

‘I'd better …' he gasped in mid-sentence as Hannah removed her sunhat.

‘What is it?' She flung the hat onto the chest of drawers and ran nervous fingers over her hair.

‘Your hair!'

She hurried to the full-length looking glass. Her hair was a little flattened and damp around the edges from perspiration, but the thick braid remained firmly secured with no unwelcome visitors in sight.

‘What's the matter with my hair?'

Joshua whispered, ‘It's orange!'

She spun on her heel. ‘What, may I ask, is wrong with that? And it is
not
orange! I prefer to
say
red
.'

‘I've never seen hair like yours before. It's … the colour of a sunset.'

Instantly, Hannah forgave him. She had often been teased about her thick carrot-coloured mane but no one had ever likened it to a sunset. Such a romantic description pleased her.

‘I suppose I should have guessed by your eyebrows,' he added. ‘I just thought you'd been sunburnt …'

At the gathering frown on his cousin's face, he wisely departed.

She longed for her trunk to arrive from the beach, so she could change into a fresh blouse and skirt. It shouldn't be long, especially as some of the crew were expected to dine. In this odd world of strangers, Jenkins seemed like an old friend, although she had only known him for the length of the voyage from Australia. Hannah was pleased that he and the other sailors would be there. It would make things less awkward, and perhaps more exciting, with Jenkins and Uncle Henry together. Jenkins was not a man to mind too much what he said, and Uncle
Henry seemed to mind everything.

Hannah yawned. Usually she found it impossible to sleep during the day, but today might be an exception. Gingerly she drew back the netting that surrounded the narrow bed, checking it from top to bottom, then shook it for good measure. Likewise, with the cotton coverlet. Then she knelt and peered underneath the bed. Besides a chipped chamberpot, there was nothing. She dusted her hands then climbed onto the mattress and, just to be on the safe side, drew the net around the bed, then stretched out and sighed.

Her mother had hated creepy crawlies. Her father had been a gentle man and felt sick to his stomach if he was forced to kill anything, so he always picked up small invaders with sheets of paper or his painting brushes and carried them outside. Hannah was sure the insects waited a bit, then crawled back inside.

She wondered if she would ever become accustomed to the anguish such memories brought. But it was better to think of her parents and feel the pain, than to forget. While she remembered, it seemed they were still alive.