Baptism of Fire (6 page)

Bewildered, Aunt Constance held the two fowls at arm's length. They hung upside down, feathers sticking out untidily, their legs like sticks. The larger fowl protested by madly flapping.

‘Don't drop them!' Joshua called as his mother squealed. Deborah fled to the other side of the room.

‘You can hypnotise fowls by stroking their breastbones,' put in Hannah.

Mrs Stanton disregarded her niece's inventive suggestion, carried the fowls outside and returned empty-handed. ‘I hope they don't wander off before Mr Stanton decides where he wants them kept. Fowls are a welcome addition. The Lord can turn any situation to his servants' advantage.'

That was
one
way to describe an apology. Ten minutes ago a knock at the door, a hesitant speech in broken English and a dark hand thrust across the threshold had left Aunt Constance with the
two fowls in her hands and a bemused expression on her face. Ratu Rabete had sent one of his men with an appeasement offering to show he was, in the words of his messenger, ‘Big angry at bad men armed with teeth.' The man had departed with a promise that further disturbances during church services would meet drastic retaliation. With a wincingly clever mime, he had demonstrated the consequences to an offender's skull.

Only last night Ratu Rabete had wrapped his large fingers around Uncle Henry's throat. Today he was sending gifts. Hannah was unsure what this erratic behaviour meant.

With the fowls safely outside, Joshua's nose back behind his book and Aunt Constance silently brushing Deborah's hair, Hannah was again bored. ‘Aunt Con … Aunt!'

‘You may call me Aunt Constance when it's just ourselves, Hannah.'

‘May Joshua and I take Deborah for a walk, somewhere that would be safe?' She hastened to add, ‘We wouldn't run or make much noise, just a quiet stroll … there's so much nature here to appreciate.' It might not be a convincing reason
for a walk, but that was all that Hannah could come up with on the spur of the moment.

Joshua peered over the top of his book, waiting to see whether escape was possible.

Aunt Constance placed the brush on the table. ‘Do you want to go for a walk with Hannah, darling?'

‘Darling' nodded.

‘Would you like me to come with you?' offered Aunt Constance.

Hannah smiled, steeling herself to show no disappointment. ‘If you'd like to. But we'll be fine if you want to rest while the house is quiet. You look tired.'

Her aunt seemed relieved: the offer had only been a display of good manners. ‘Joshua!'

‘Yes, Mother.' In his eagerness, Joshua dropped the book.

‘Hannah may like to see the beach again. There was so much confusion yesterday.'

As they set off, Aunt Constance issued a warning. ‘Remember it's the Sabbath, a Holy day, and we must set an example for the villagers. They will judge the Lord by our actions.'

Solemnly Joshua and his cousin nodded. Hannah took Deborah's hand in hers, and an unexpected warmth swept over her. In her other hand the child clutched an unusual doll, carved from wood, with unruly brown hair of coconut fibres. A pink dress and half-worn painted features made the toy look absurd. If Deborah would let her, Hannah could certainly repair the face with her paints but the hair was beyond help. Oblivious of the odd nature of her toy, Deborah squeezed it close to her chest.

‘What's your doll called, Deborah?'

‘Charlie.' She looked proud and motherly.

Hannah wanted to laugh but she knew it would hurt Deborah's feelings. Never had she met a Charlie who wore a pink dress. She scarcely knew whether to call the doll ‘he' or ‘she'.

‘Ratu Rabete made that for Deborah,' Joshua explained.

Deborah smiled from ear to ear. Away from her parents, she was more communicative and for the first time, Hannah noticed the little girl had a lisp.

They kept their pace slow until they were out of sight, but couldn't keep the excitement from their
faces. Hannah tapped Joshua's arm as they reached the marked tree, and raised one eyebrow. He shrugged and kept walking. Oh well, she'd find out eventually.

Joshua halted where the path forked. ‘Let's go this way. Then we don't pass the village.'

Hannah agreed. She had no desire to march past the church and attract Uncle Henry's critical attention.

Once at the beach, Deborah practically danced on the sand. Shells and sprigs of seaweed littered the shore, and loose coconuts queued at the previous waterline. There were three women wading in shallow water some distance out.

‘They're looking for shellfish,' Joshua explained.

Hannah collapsed onto the fine sand. She removed her sunhat, unravelled her hair from its plait, rumpling the curls with eager fingers. The blue clear sea stretched before her, reminding her that across that expanse there were other lands. She scooped up a handful of sand, letting it run silkily through her fingers. It was so much cooler and more pleasant on the beach.

‘Deborah, let's build a sandcastle.' Joshua moved down to the wet, heavy sand. His little sister hurled herself onto his back, one hand still clutching her doll and, to her delight, Joshua pretended to fall.

Disregarding her navy dress and the clinging sand, Hannah lay on the sand then rolled onto her stomach with one ear close to the ground. She could feel faint vibrations. Was it the waves as they swept over the sand, or was it the reef?

She laughed and shook the sand from her hair. Leaving her cousins to construct sandy turrets and other embellishments, she sauntered along the shore. With the tide out and the water crystal clear, coral was visible. Tiny iridescent blue fish chased each other into the shallows, turning left and right at unseen signals. Miniature crabs no larger than a man's thumbnail scuttled across the sand. Hannah raised her arm and the women searching for shellfish waved back.

Hannah unlaced her boots and although she did not dare roll down her stockings, enjoyed the cool sand against her stockinged feet. A larger set of footprints meandered along the waterline and
she stepped beside them, comparing feet sizes. Her own prints were different: the indent of her heel was deeper whereas the larger footprints were even.

A sharp scream interrupted her and boots in one hand, Hannah raced back to where the beach curved outwards. Deborah was trying to hurl herself off the rocks into the water while her brother hung onto the back of her dress. Heart pounding, Hannah clambered awkwardly over the black rocks, terrified at the thought that Deborah might be hurt. How could she explain that to Aunt Constance? Hannah would never be forgiven. Her aunt and uncle would send her to a home for wayward girls and throw away the key.

‘What is it, Deborah? Are you hurt?'

Joshua's face was filled with panic. Deborah kept struggling, her angry face growing redder by the second. The little girl pointed out to sea. ‘Charlie!'

Some distance away, a familiar lump of wood in a pink dress bobbed up and down as it was carried by the tide.

‘Don't cry, little one. I'll get Charlie for you.'

Deborah hiccupped. Her bottom lip trembled menacingly. Hannah was an only child, but she had spent enough time with the neighbour's noisy brood to know when a fit of hysterics was about to happen. She stood, holding a hand to her eyes to shield them from the hot sun. Charlie was happily floating and bouncing across the bay, towards the rocks on the other end of the beach.

‘Take Deborah back to the sand, Joshua. I'll save Charlie.' Deborah began a slow wail which threatened to wind up to a full-scale explosion. ‘Now, Joshua!' Hannah's tone was more abrupt than she meant it to be but separating child and toy meant all hell could break loose.

She had to be quick to stop Charlie doll from floating away. Leaping from rock to rock, she hurled her boots onto the sand and with her skirt hitched in two hands, sprinted across the beach. When she reached the rocks, she climbed gingerly to the furthest point. Her foot scraped down a rock, ripping a hole in her stockings and making her wince.

Charlie was still visible, his fibrous hair dipping and rising as he drifted closer. If she could just
hang onto this niche and stretch out, she could grab him. Ready, set, now!

As luck would have it, Charlie, at that moment, happened to dip rather than bob. His wayward head disappeared under Hannah's outstretched hand. There was a second's delay as her brain caught up with the lurch of her body, and she knew she was going to fall.

Almost in slow motion, Hannah pitched into the sea and launched into a manic struggle. Panicking, arms thrashing she struggled to reach the surface. Hampered by her long skirt, she felt heavy and awkward, then her foot struck something solid.

Stretching out her legs she could just manage to stand on tiptoe. For the last few seconds she had fought to keep her head above water without realising that she could actually touch the bottom. It would have been funny if it hadn't been so frightening.

A glance to the left told her that Charlie was out of reach, merrily bobbing his way around to the next cove. Hannah looked at the rocks, then at the beach. Climbing the rocks would be quicker.

It was not as difficult as she had feared. The dark rocks were rough, uneven, with plenty of platforms and crevices for fingers and feet.

‘
Hannah
!' Joshua stood on the beach, his legs
rendered immobile by Deborah's two-armed strangledhold. ‘Are you all right?'

One last heave and Hannah was clear of the water, bedraggled and annoyed, but safe. She waved one arm in response, not wanting to exert herself further by shouting. Deborah was utterly silent, too surprised at her new cousin's misadventure to bawl.

Hannah wrung out her hair, then squeezed as much water from her navy skirt as possible. Fortunately, the water was tepid. Now that her legs had stopped quivering, she felt able to clamber over the remaining rocks.

Joshua jiggled up and down on the sand, his face drained of colour. ‘What happened?'

A remarkably asinine question for a bright boy. ‘What do you think happened? I
fell
!' She hated to think what she looked like: a drowned rat most likely. Thank goodness she had taken off her good boots.

‘What are we going to do? You can't go home like that!' said Joshua.

Holding out her soggy, crumpled skirt she silently agreed. She knelt and took Deborah's
hand. ‘I'm going to find Charlie. Why don't you and Joshua build a lovely sandcastle for me while you're waiting?'

Deborah looked up at her big brother.

‘But we're not allowed on the next beach.' Joshua's tone was adamant, his face set.

Hannah considered for a moment then added, ‘But
you
are not going there. You are going to help your little sister build a special castle. I, on the other hand, have never been told not to go into the next cove.'

‘But it's my duty to tell you not to go there. Father and Mother would blame me.'

Hannah twisted her hair round and round her hand, forcing it into a large curl. ‘You can only tell if you see me go, so I suggest you turn your back.'

In her stockinged feet, she strode away without waiting for further argument. On no account would she let herself be beaten by a doll in a pink dress with half a face. Once around the bend, the beach snaked back sharply. Thick underbrush grew down almost to the waterline. Hannah scanned the sea for Charlie but there was no sign of him.

Following the water's edge, she determined to try one more cove then she would give up because Aunt Constance would soon begin to wonder where they were. There was no blob of pink material floating here. Perhaps Charlie had sunk or … just for a moment she allowed a vindictive thought to amuse her … perhaps he had been eaten by a large shark!

A second bend in the coastline brought Hannah to a long stretch of white sand with two huts on it. Hannah listened carefully, but there were no sounds of speech, no signs of movement. Were the huts abandoned? She moved closer. ‘Hello?'

It was too ridiculous to knock on the door as she would have done back home. She circled one of the huts, which was a little different from those in the village. There were palm leaves and coarse mats wrapped around the walls, and a door which closed. Was that smoke creeping from the corner?

Hannah tried again. ‘Is anyone there?'

Common sense told her to skirt the buildings and keep walking. It was none of her business who lived here. Perhaps they were aggressively
inclined and even as the negative thoughts raced through her mind, her hand was on the door. Her father had always told her that she was curious to a fault, but knowing the truth does not necessarily mean wanting to reform.

She slid back the bolt and slowly opened the door.

The interior was not at all what she had expected. Pungent smoke filled the air. Closing the door to keep the smoke prisoner, Hannah wandered between two sets of frames made from sticks and timbers. Beneath the framework were two long trenches in which fires were burning. Green palm leaves were criss-crossed over the flames, the cause of so much smoke, no doubt. Her clothing, soggy with seawater, began to steam. It seemed as though she had chosen a heavenly day to visit hell.

Failing the Devil, someone had been busy here. There were thick strips of something that Hannah could only liken to skin stretched out and skewered on twigs. It was the colour of bacon rind. She lifted her skirts clear of the fiery trenches. The sand was warm against her feet.

At one end of the trenches was a pile of fresh palm leaves and a collection of tools: long-handled knives; buckets; and an axe with an ornate black handle, leaning against a bucket jammed with large forks. She shivered as she thought of the long-pronged forks she'd seen handed over at church that morning.

A prickling sensation began at the back of her neck. She suddenly wanted to run. With perverse timing, as though the thought had given birth to action, the door swung open.