A Mother's Courage

by Maggie Hope

  Even as he spoke he was looking about the street and miraculously there was a cab with soft seats and a top to shade them, open-fronted so that when the driver clucked to his horse and they began to move, a small breeze played on Mary’s over-heated body.

  Now then, what were you doing in The Jolly Sailor? You didn’t think Prue would be in there, did you?’

  Mary had to admit that Prue hadn’t just run off in a fit of pique or that they’d had a row or anything like that but had run off with a seaman. Jack Allan, in fact, the steward from the Liberator.

  ‘And she’s only fourteen, she’s never been on her own without me before, never.’ Mary took out her by now grubby handkerchief again and wiped her eyes.

  Morgan put a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry so much, Mary, I’m sure Prue’s all right. She may be only fourteen but as I remember she’s quite grown up. In any case I noticed Jack Allan is besotted with her, he won’t hurt her. Do you know, in my part of the world, girls sometimes marry as young as twelve or thirteen.’

  ‘But if I could only see her, make sure she isn’t in trouble, oh, where is she, Captain West?’ Mary was conscious of his arm around her suddenly; she could feel the heat from his body through the thin clothing between them. She looked up into his face, her blue eyes damp and beseeching, and his own darkened, became intent. He bent his head towards her.

  ‘You’re a damn fine-looking woman, Mary,’ he drawled softly. ‘Let me comfort you.’

  The cab had slowed to a stop on a headland high over the bay and a sea breeze freshened their hot flesh as he gently touched her lips with his. In front of them, the cab driver sat stoically, his back to his passengers.

  Chapter Ten

  The trouble with Captain Morgan West, thought Eleanor as she watched him pause on his morning walk round the deck of the John Wesley and raise his hat to one of the ladies, was that he was too charming, too courteous, too … too … oh, altogether too much. He was extravagant in his dress, his hats were too big and flourishing, his smile too wide and what’s more he had all the ladies on the ship, even Mrs Calvert and Mrs Gibson, twittering and simpering when he bent in greeting to them and lifted one of those hats with such an air of assurance and something else, something almost indefinable, exciting. No, not exciting, wicked.

  Oh, yes, look at Mrs Calvert now, such a dumpy little woman with a double chin and no waist yet, as Captain West spoke to her, Eleanor was close enough to see how her face softened and tilted to one side when he bent over her.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Calvert,’ he said and that lady blushed and fluttered her fan as though she saw some hidden meaning in the greeting. Eleanor turned away feeling sickened. She would go back to the cabin; she certainly wasn’t going to show herself for a neddy in front of the other passengers by being charmed by him. Thank goodness they were almost there; another day and the ship would berth at Lakeba.

  ‘Eleanor? Where are you going?’

  Drat, it was Francis. His meeting with the rest of the missionaries must be ended; now she wouldn’t be able to escape before Captain West got to her.

  ‘I thought I would just go below …’ she began but already Captain West was standing beside her, lifting his hat and looking down at her with those intense blue eyes under their startlingly black brows.

  ‘Mrs Tait, how are you this beautiful morning? And Mr Tait, of course?’

  ‘We are both well, praise be to God,’ said Francis stiffly. Was that amusement lurking in Captain West’s eyes? wondered Eleanor. What on earth did he find so amusing about Francis? She glanced at her husband and was surprised to see him staring unsmiling at the American.

  ‘Is something wrong, Francis?’ she asked when Morgan West had gone on his leisurely progress round the deck.

  ‘That man is not all he seems,’ answered Francis. ‘We have been discussing him just now. Do you know, we suspect him of blackbirding? Why on earth the captain agreed to give him passage I don’t know.’

  ‘Blackbirding?’

  ‘Bringing in natives from some of the other islands to put to work on the plantations. They are virtually slaves and what’s more, no regard at all is paid to their moral or spiritual welfare.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. Well, at least he is not getting off the boat at Lakeba, he is going on to Viti Levu. It’s this trouble over slavery in the American South, they think the cotton trade will be affected and scoundrels like Morgan West are finding new places to grow cotton. At least, that is what I have heard.’

  If Eleanor wondered where he had heard anything about anyone in these last few weeks while they had been at sea, she said nothing. No doubt Francis had his sources. Suddenly she felt quite queasy and a little dizzy and longed for a short rest on her bed.

  ‘I think I will go below, Francis,’ she said. ‘I have a slight headache.’

  ‘Will you be all right? I can come with you.’ But his gaze was wandering to the group of his friends that was gathered in a corner of the deck engaged in a discussion. In any case, she wanted to be on her own. Shaking her head, she went to their cabin.

  This was the third time she had felt like this in the mornings, she mused as she opened the door. Perhaps she was sickening for something. Mary was in the cabin, singing softly to herself and packing their clothes ready to disembark at Lakeba.

  ‘Can’t you leave that now?’ Eleanor said grumpily. She felt decidedly out of sorts and the other girl’s glowing health and shining blonde curls did nothing to help. And anyway, Mary had no right to look so happy either; did she not care at all that her young sister had run off when they were in Sydney?

  ‘You look very pleased with yourself considering what happened to your sister,’ she said, sitting down heavily on the bottom bunk and knocking the back of her head against the top one in the process.

  Mary’s smile faded. ‘I don’t know that anything has happened to Prue,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘Jack Allan thinks a lot about her, he wouldn’t have left his ship if he didn’t. He’ll look after her. And any road, Morgan says that lots of girls marry when they are fourteen and even younger where he comes from. Aye, I bet Prue’s wed by now, she’ll be all right.’

  Eleanor had her eyes closed and was rubbing the bump on her head, only half-listening to Mary. But suddenly she realised what the other girl had said and she jumped to her feet, forgetting the pain.

  ‘What? What did you say?’

  ‘I said Prue’s likely wed—’

  ‘No, not that, you said Morgan, you’re calling that – that American by his Christian name, are you? You forward besom, you! By, I’m beginning to think Francis and Mr Johnson were right about you, you and your sister are both alike, so you are.’ Eleanor’s voice rose shrewishly; she could feel the rage rising in her yet felt helpless to control it. Her hands clenched by her sides.

  ‘He calls me Mary, why can’t I call him Morgan?’

  ‘What do you mean, he calls you Mary? Of course he would call you Mary, you’re a servant, that’s why he calls you by your first name, you know very well why. But him, he might be an American, but he’s a gentleman—’

  Eleanor paused momentarily as she remembered what Francis had said about him that morning. But still, he was a gentleman born, surely?

  ‘He told me to call him Morgan.’

  Mary’s flat statement made Eleanor’s rage rise even more. ‘He told you? Do you mean to say you’ve been meeting the man? Flirting with him, I dare say, rolling your eyes at him like a common—’

  ‘He likes me!’

  Mary was shouting now, standing there before her and shouting at her, oh, why on earth hadn’t she listened to Francis, why had she brought these two miner’s brats? He’d been right, they’d been nothing but trouble.

  ‘I forbid you to talk to this man.’

  ‘What for? Because you like him yourself? I tell you what, Mrs Eleanor Tait, I’m sick to death of you telling me what I can do. You think because you helped me out when Mam was so bad,
you think you own me, aye, an’ Prue an’ all. Why do you think she ran off then? It was because of you, if it hadn’t been for you she’d still be here with me, but you couldn’t let her have a beau like normal, could you? Oh no, you think lasses like us has no right to our own lads. Well, I’m telling you, I like Morgan and he treats me proper like I’m a lady.’

  ‘Mary! After all I’ve done for you!’

  ‘Well, it suited you, didn’t it? There you were playing at being Florence Nightingale and everyone in the colliery rows laughing at you. Miss Know-It-All, that’s what they called you behind your back because you know nowt, that’s what. But it’s different here, this isn’t England, I’m as good as you here, I’m telling you. And if I want to go with Morgan West, I will, and I won’t ask you if I can or not. I only hope he asks me, I’ll go like a shot. Any road, you’re only jealous, you fancy him yourself ‘

  Eleanor was staring at her in stupefaction; all these years she’d known the Buckles and she’d never guessed what they’d been thinking.

  ‘Mary! I’m a married woman, don’t say such wicked things!’

  ‘No, but you can say what you like to me, can’t you? Fancy saying I don’t care about my own sister!’ Mary’s voice began to wobble and her face crumpled as she rushed from the cabin, leaving Eleanor speechless.

  She lay down on the bunk and put her hand over her eyes. It was true; what she had said was unforgivable, of course Mary cared about Prue. She had got into such a rage though, even before Mary had opened her mouth. What had made her so angry? She was shaking still and a pulse was pounding in her temple as she fumbled for the bottle of lavender water that was on the packing case by the bed. She would just put a little on her forehead; perhaps it would help. And when she felt better she would go and apologise to Mary.

  ‘Eleanor? Are you all right? I thought I heard shouting in here, did something happen?’

  She opened her eyes wearily. Oh dear Lord, she had used too much lavender water; the smell of it was overpowering, making her feel sick. Francis was bending over the bunk, his brow puckered in concern.

  ‘I’m not well,’ she said faintly, scrabbled for the chamber pot and vomited copiously.

  ‘Shall I get Mary?’ he asked anxiously, backing to the door hastily.

  ‘No!’ she cried, lying back and wiping her face with her handkerchief.

  ‘But—’

  Eleanor struggled to a sitting position and after a moment her head ceased its swimming. She began to feel better and it was then that it came to her almost as a revelation.

  ‘No, Francis, I’m all right now, it’s over. Most women feel like this when they start a baby.’

  Slowly the ship edged its way into the bay at Lakeba and tied up at the recently constructed jetty. All around the vessel, natives paddled canoes, looking to be in imminent danger of being run down. Francis and Eleanor stood close together on the deck, staring at the dense tropical vegetation that ran down right on to the beach, coconut palms and tall ferns and grasses. Right in what looked to be the centre of the island rose a mountain – a volcano was it? – covered in dense vegetation, lush and green.

  The noise was tremendous, men and women shouting and holding up things they wanted to sell, dogs on the beach barking hysterically and running into the waves and out again, birds shrieking and crying and rising in great clouds from the trees before settling back again. The only animals ignoring the coming of the ship were the pigs, grunting and rooting about in the sand and mud.

  The ship slowly nosed its way alongside the jetty and at last they had arrived. There were last-minute goodbyes, for the rest of the party was going on to other stations and the John Wesley was staying only long enough to drop supplies for the mission house, and the Taits and their baggage, as the ship had to leave before the tide ebbed. Francis and Eleanor watched from the shore as it drew away again almost immediately. Glancing at Francis’s set smile as he waved, Eleanor guessed he was feeling almost as forlorn as she was herself. Tucking her hand under his arm in a gesture she hoped was comforting, she lifted her chin and turned towards the line of natives waiting in the hot sun to greet them with a black-coated minister at their head.

  Neither of them noticed the look of despair on Mary’s face as she trailed after them. She had been so sure that Morgan would take her with him to the island of Viti Levu or at least say that he would send for her when he had concluded whatever mysterious business he had on Bau. Last night, as she lay in his arms in a secluded corner of the ship, well away from the prying eyes of the missionary party, she had waited for him to say he would send for her at least, even if he couldn’t take her with him immediately.

  He had not. Instead he had said he was sure they would meet again soon. ‘It’s a small world, Fiji,’ he had said softly as he kissed her goodbye. ‘I’m sure to be visiting Lakeba one day soon. Be a good girl while I’m gone.’

  She was struck dumb at first; she thought she hadn’t heard aright. And by the time she had gathered her thoughts to protest he had disappeared, to his cabin no doubt. She had lain awake for most of the night after that, sobbing quietly to herself, and now her head throbbed unmercifully.

  ‘Mary! Do come along,’ Francis said sharply, pausing at the end of the jetty and looking back. Mary’s heart burned with resentment though she quickened her step and followed him ashore. Her shoulder began to ache from carrying her own bag in the sticky heat and she changed it to the other hand. Of course the Taits had a native porter to carry their luggage. Mary looked at him now: a Tongan, that’s what he must be; he was different from the black men in the canoes, not so wild-haired and he was even wearing a shirt and a sort of wrap-around skirt over his loincloth.

  Mary sighed as she saw there was a reception party on the beach waiting for them. All she wanted to do was get inside out of the hot sun and wallow in her misery. If only she had had Prue with her, she thought, feeling sure she should have stayed in Sydney to look for her young sister. Guilt rose in her; by, Mam would have been past herself if she knew that Prue was left to God and Providence in a strange city on the other side of the world from Hetton-le-Hole. Mary had felt bad enough leaving Ben though he was a man now and earning a hewer’s wage at the pit. But Prue—

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the realisation that everyone had stopped talking and was moving off, the minister who had led the greeting and prayers of thanksgiving leading the way. Miserably she followed, halting once to look back at the ship that was bearing Morgan away from her. It was because of him that she had left Sydney, she admitted to herself. He would come back, she told herself, she knew he would, hadn’t he said so?

  A bare brown arm reached down by Mary’s side and took a firm grip on her bag, making her jump in alarm. ‘I carry,’ said the owner of the arm, his voice deep and guttural. Petrified, Mary released the bag, staring at the fierce-looking man, who was wearing nothing but a piece of cloth round his middle. And what was that stuck in his waist band, a club? If this place was so civilised, why did they need to carry weapons? She looked at Eleanor and Francis; at least she wasn’t on her own amongst these heathens, thank God for that. But to her horror, Francis was telling Eleanor he was just going off with his predecessor to view the church.

  ‘I’ll be back in plenty of time for supper, dear,’ he was saying. ‘It will give you a chance to get settled in.’ Mary moved closer to Eleanor, telling herself not to be a fool, these native servants were Tongans and Tongans were Christians, weren’t they?

  ‘Oh, God preserve us all,’ she prayed under her breath, fighting to keep down her sudden panic. No matter how fierce they looked, Christians weren’t going to turn on them and kill them, of course they weren’t, not these ones at any rate.

  They were striding away along the well-trodden paths in the sandy soil and before long they reached the house, a long, low, wooden building with a plaited palm roof and small fenced garden in front. It was part of a compound with half a dozen similar buildings and one slightly taller, which she surmised mus
t be the chapel because Francis and his friend were just disappearing into it. Well, she was here now, she told herself as she looked at the house. The Tongans carrying the luggage had disappeared round the side; she only hoped they hadn’t taken off into the hills with the luggage.

  She must make the best of it, she told herself. Maybe Morgan had been telling the truth and would come back for her, he might, he might. And maybe there would be a letter from Prue the next time the boat came in. Mary smiled grimly. ‘When the boat comes in,’ she murmured; the phrase reminded her of home.

  ‘Did you say something, Mary?’ asked Eleanor, who had gone out of her way to be nice to Mary since the row of the previous day. They had entered what looked to be the main living room of the bungalow and, without waiting for a reply, Eleanor went on, ‘It’s quite nice, isn’t it?’ Eagerly she inspected the furniture, a mixture of old wooden pieces that must have been brought in over time, since the mission was established thirty years before, and bamboo tables and chairs made locally. There were homely touches, cotton cushions and curtains that must have been made by previous female occupants.

  And they had moved on from here, Mary thought, so this wasn’t a life sentence; it just felt like one.

  Chapter Eleven

  At least she was beginning to tell the difference between the native Fijians and the Tongans, thought Eleanor. The alarm she had felt every time she had come across a black man, naked but for a loin cloth made from bark or sometimes a piece of cloth and tied round the middle, had begun to quieten. She sat down heavily on a bamboo chair on the verandah, one hand across her swelling stomach and the other waving a fan slowly before her face.

  A rivulet of sweat trickled down between her breasts under the voluminous coverall she wore over her dress to hide her pregnancy and another ran down her back. Lordy, she could do with a drink, even a drink of that sickly pineapple juice that seemed to be the main beverage of the island. She looked out over the compound, hoping to see Mary or at least Matthew, the Tongan houseman, both of whom had disappeared soon after breakfast, leaving her alone in the house. She debated whether it was worth her heaving her bulk to her feet and going out to the kitchen or whether it was just too much effort even for a drink of water. Lovely cold water.