by Maggie Hope
Edward Tait, aged eighteen months, died the next morning just as the sun rose over the bay. Eleanor and Francis had sat up all night beside his cot yet neither of them saw the moment he died. Eleanor felt his forehead and fancied he was cooler; he seemed to have fallen into a natural sleep.
‘I think he’s a little better, Francis,’ she ventured.
The early morning light stole over the verandah and Francis got up and flung the window wide. ‘At least it’s morning,’ he said. ‘It’s always better in the daytime, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Eleanor agreed and then she looked again at the baby and in that split second he had slipped away.
Edward was buried in the cemetery on the edge of the compound and the Reverend Langham conducted the service. The Tongans walked at a respectful distance behind the family and the children sang in high, piping voices, ‘There’s a Friend for little Children’. Afterwards Eleanor packed up Edward’s clothes for the new baby and the following week, the family sailed for Viwa.
Chapter Sixteen
Francis William rolled about at his mother’s feet, making valiant attempts to crawl after her ball of wool and just not quite succeeding. Eleanor watched indulgently as he managed to raise himself on his arms and even bring a knee up under him but his efforts were frustrated by his long skirts and he fell forward on to his face and began squalling with rage.
Eleanor rolled up her knitting but before she could pick him up Prue came rushing through the house and scooped him into her arms, smothering him with kisses.
‘Howay, bonny lad,’ she cried. ‘Whisht now, don’t cry. Prue’ll get you a nice biscuit and some milk, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Billy?’
‘Don’t call him Billy,’ said Eleanor crossly. ‘His name is Francis William.’
‘Why, aye, I know that, Mrs Tait,’ said Prue. ‘It’s a long name for a little lad though, isn’t it? There’s nowt wrong with Billy.’
Eleanor watched a little sourly as the girl snuggled the baby to her. It was a waste of time talking to her, she thought. Francis William had soon stopped crying; he had a sunny nature and he loved Prue, she had to admit it. In fact, sometimes Eleanor felt quite resentful of just how much he loved Prue; she couldn’t help feeling it wasn’t a good thing.
Maybe it was time the girl went to live with Mary. Prue never suggested it now and there was no denying she had been very useful in the house what with the children and the housework. And it meant she herself could spend more time in the native villages; she was proud of the way the Fijians were beginning to welcome her and trust her. This was what she had come for, wasn’t it?
‘Give him to me, I’ll see to him,’ she said abruptly and Prue looked up startled.
‘I can see to him,’ she said mildly. She settled the baby on her hip and started to go through to the kitchen for the biscuit jar but stopped at the sharpness in Eleanor’s voice as her request became a command.
‘Give him to me, I said, Prue. Why don’t you do as you’re told?’
For a moment Prue stood quite still, not looking at the other woman, then she handed over the baby silently. Francis William immediately set up a loud wailing, and twisted and wriggled to escape his mother’s arms and get back to his beloved Prue.
‘Hush now, hush,’ said Eleanor, sitting down and rocking him back and forth. Prue’s bringing a biscuit.’ But Francis William was weeping real tears, great drops that rolled down his fat cheeks and dropped on to his pinafore, and he was only quietened when Prue returned with the biscuit jar.
Eleanor relinquished him to the girl, defeated. What a fool I am, she thought, he’s only a baby, so he likes Prue, he’s not old enough to make a proper choice yet. She watched the girl as she put a biscuit in Francis William’s hand and sat gravely by while he smeared it all over his face and pinafore, patiently cleaning his chin. She was absorbed in the task and Eleanor felt an uncomfortable twinge. Poor Prue, her own baby passed on just like little Edward and she hadn’t even the consolation of having other children. She had to make do with Eleanor’s.
At the thought of Edward, a wave of sadness swept over Eleanor and she blinked; sometimes it still took her unawares. Rising to her feet, she smoothed down her dress and patted her hair into position. She was going to the village, she had promised the women she would, and they depended on her helping them, teaching them simple first aid, advising them.
‘I’ll be back in an hour, Prue,’ she said and Prue nodded without taking her eyes off Francis William. Eleanor bent and kissed the top of the baby’s head, a gesture that he ignored completely, so absorbed was he in his biscuit. He’s getting fat, she thought as she went down the steps and out into the compound so similar to the one on Lakeba with its chapel and circle of huts thatched with pandanus leaves.
Apart from the compound, though, living here at Viwa was different, Eleanor mused as she walked along the well-trodden path that broadened out until it was almost a road. Not so many Tongans here; the congregation was almost totally Fijian, and there were even a few from the hill tribes. She pondered on them; she never could be sure if they were here because they were genuine converts or outcasts from their tribes.
Eleanor’s heart gave a little jump of alarm as she came across two of them sitting by the side of the path. Even sitting down they were magnificent specimens of manhood, their black muscled bodies gleaming with the coconut oil they rubbed into their skins, their long legs tucked easily under them.
‘Oh! Good morning,’ she said, for all the world as though she was walking down a country lane at home. She felt like an idiot, especially when they glanced up at her blankly and then bent their bushy heads over the fire they were kindling with rubbing sticks and pieces of dry bark. Eleanor hurried on her way, feeling as though they were staring after her when in fact she knew that they had probably dismissed her from their minds as only a woman and a white woman at that.
She had looked at them for barely a second, yet she retained in her mind’s eye a picture of the tribesmen, so arrogant and masculine despite their ear plugs and bracelets of some sort of animal’s teeth. Most of all she retained a picture of the weapons, the heavy throwing clubs laid on the ground beside them and the wicked-looking spears propped against a nearby tree. Of course it didn’t mean anything that they had such weapons with them, Eleanor knew that. Tribesmen carried them everywhere, whether relaxing at home or going to war.
Still, there was some talk among the missionaries of uprisings in the north, tribes from the remote hills fighting between themselves and, worse, attacking white settlers and their servants. There were even rumours of cannibalism.
Eleanor felt a sudden fear for her children – should she go back, stay with them? Francis was, as usual, away from home, ‘about his Father’s business’, as he put it. But what if there was an attack?
She shook herself mentally. She was being absurd, of course there wasn’t going to be an attack, what a fool she was indeed. They were miles from any petty war between the hill tribes, the natives here were Christians, of course they were, wasn’t the chief converted years ago? And Matthew was in charge of the mission house and he was a fighter if ever there was one. He was a famous warrior. Of course the tribesmen would not attack the house.
Eleanor entered the Fijian village and the children came running up to her, laughing and crying out for the barley sugar she carried in her basket. Soon she was the centre of a group of women, dispensing medicine for the runny noses of the children and ipecacuanha for their coughs, which they had caught once again from a new wave of white settlers.
A little later, when she walked back to the mission house, her basket empty, there was no sign of the two warriors, barely a mark on the ground where their fire had been. She was becoming far too fanciful, she told herself; if they had been there to do any harm to the Christian community they would have been much more stealthy about it.
Francis was home when she arrived there and to her surprise they had visitors. Eleanor thought at first it was Mr and M
rs Langham, or even the Calverts or one of the newer missionaries who often came to consult with Francis on circuit business. But no Englishman spoke in just those drawling tones, that lazy, almost affected way. No, it had to be Morgan.
In spite of herself, Eleanor patted her hair into place and dusted down the front of her gown. Then as she got nearer to the steps of the balcony she forgot all about how she looked, for sitting in the bamboo chair was Mary.
‘Mary!’ she cried and broke into a run for the last few steps. Oh, it was ages since she had seen Mary, not since that wedding on the beach at Lakeba when Mary had sailed away with Morgan and never once been back to see her, not even when Prue had come back.
‘By, it’s grand to see you, as good as a tonic it is an’ all,’ said Mary as the two women embraced, both of them so obviously pleased to see the other.
Morgan smiled a superior smile at Francis. ‘Women!’ he said. ‘They are uncommon glad to see each other, aren’t they?’
‘They’ve been friends a long time,’ Francis said stiffly. Secretly he was thinking that he rarely got so enthusiastic a welcome when he came home – why, Eleanor hadn’t even spoken to him yet.
‘Have you seen Prue?’ Eleanor was saying. She looked around, surprised Mary’s sister wasn’t there, when it had been so long since they had met.
‘She’s seeing to the children,’ said Mary. ‘They are having a nap.’ She looked a little puzzled; she and Prue had once been so close, yet now, when they had been apart for so long, there was a distance between them that Mary couldn’t understand. Prue had greeted her pleasantly enough but her attention was all on the baby, Francis William.
After the first excitement of seeing Mary, Eleanor was becoming aware of tensions between the group, not just Francis and Morgan but between Morgan and Mary. She rather belatedly kissed Francis in greeting and sat down beside him on the swing.
‘I’ll see to dinner in a minute or two,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry we just have fish and breadfruit, if I’d known you were coming …’
‘I’ll come and help you,’ said Mary, rising to her feet. Eleanor looked doubtfully at her gown, slim-waisted and low cut so that her breasts swelled above the blue silk, and the skirt wide and sweeping. Eleanor was suddenly conscious of the contrast between the richness of Mary’s dress and the cheap cotton of her own. Well, she thought, Morgan must be doing well while Francis’s stipend was only enough for the family to live on.
Mary saw her glance. ‘I’ll just borrow an apron,’ she added.
‘Once a servant, always a servant,’ said Morgan, his voice so low that Mary didn’t hear it. Which was just as well, thought Eleanor, giving him a hard stare.
Prue was in the kitchen, or rather at the back door, broiling fish and rice for the children’s meal, with John playing in the dust, absorbed in a private game of his own that involved skipping and jumping over stones. He looked up at Mary curiously for a moment but then returned to his game.
‘He’s forgotten me,’ said Mary.
‘It is a long time,’ answered Eleanor.
‘You haven’t been to see me before now,’ said Prue, not looking up from her cooking.
‘It was … difficult to get away.’ Mary watched her sister for a minute or two, silently. ‘We want you to come back with us, Prue, your place is with me.’
Prue looked up in surprise. ‘Eeh, I can’t do that,’ she replied. ‘I’m all right here, I’m fine, aren’t I, Mrs Tait?’
‘Well, if Mary—’
‘I have to look after the bairns. My little Billy and little John here, they depend on me.’ Prue was quite composed, simply pointing out what she thought were the facts.
Eleanor and Mary exchanged a glance. ‘I could manage, you know,’ said Eleanor. ‘There are plenty of women in the congregation and they would be well able to help out with the children, you know what the Fijians are like, they love children.’
‘I think you should come back with me, Prue, you won’t have to do anything, you’ll like it.’
Prue didn’t answer for a while as she was occupied in dishing out the children’s meals, setting John’s on the kitchen table and bringing him in and washing his hands before placing him before it and giving him his spoon. She sat Francis William on her lap and began feeding him, skilfully evading his attempts to grab the spoon for himself.
‘Howay, Billy boy, eat it all up for Prue,’ she crooned.
‘His name is Francis William, Prue, how many times do I have to tell you?’ demanded Eleanor, exasperated. She seized the fish that Matthew had cleaned and laid under a fly mesh earlier. Where was he? she thought irritably, and set to with the griddle and cooking oil. She could make the meal stretch to an extra two if she did extra yam.
‘Prue, I really think you should come back with me,’ said Mary, frowning as she looked from her sister to Eleanor.
‘Well, I’m not,’ declared Prue, giving Mary a straight stare. ‘You have no babbies, have you? Nor likely to have, I reckon.’
‘Prue! Why shouldn’t I have a baby?’
‘You haven’t up to now. Why, I fell wrong right from the beginning when I got wed. And I’d have had another soon enough after little Jackie if it hadn’t been that my Jack was poorly. I’m telling you, I might come to see you when the lads grow up a bit, but now I need to be here, can’t you see that? Any road, Mrs Tait will soon have another, you wait and see.’
Eleanor started. She was late in her courses and suspected she might be having another but she’d told nobody, not even Francis.
‘But Prue—’ began Mary, but she was wasting her breath as she soon saw. Prue had finished feeding Francis William and was getting to her feet to take the children into the bedroom for their mid-afternoon naps.
‘If they sleep during the heat of the day they can stay up a little while in the cool of the evening. I’ll see you before you go, Mary,’ she said and Eleanor and Mary were left on their own in the hot kitchen.
‘You see how she is,’ said Eleanor as she deftly turned fish on the hot griddle and fat spattered and sizzled on the hot iron. ‘Sometimes I begin to wonder if there’s been a mistake and Prue’s their real mother, not me.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Mary tied an apron over her gown and began to set the trays with plates and cutlery. ‘I didn’t know she’d lost her own baby as well as her man. Likely she’s still mourning, that’ll be the trouble, she’ll get over it.’
Eleanor brought the platter of fish to the table and began to serve the meal. Then she sighed and paused for a moment.
‘Look, Mary,’ she said. ‘Some of it was my fault, I wanted Prue to stay and help me when she first came and I’m not denying that she is very good with the boys and I’d miss her help if she went with you. But maybe she should go with you, for her own sake.’
They went through to the verandah with the food and the four of them settled down to the meal. Prue did not eat with them even though Eleanor suggested she should; she took her plate and went back to the kitchen.
The sun beat down on the roof and the heat was rising from the dried mud of the compound in shimmering waves, but they were used to it after their years in the tropics and the dinner would have passed off pleasantly enough were it not for the stilted way Francis spoke to Morgan and the cool tones of his answers. Eleanor watched them; they were so different yet both so good-looking, Francis with his clear, guileless brown eyes and strong features, and Morgan, fair-haired and blue-eyed with those striking dark eyebrows. What was it about him that made every woman’s pulse jump in her veins?
‘I’ll just go and see if I can persuade Prue to come back with us after all,’ said Mary when the meal was over and they were sitting over a pot of black Indian tea, sweetened liberally with sugar.
‘For Lordie’s sake, Mary,’ drawled Morgan, ‘can’t you leave well alone? I don’t think it’s a good idea at all.’
Mary, who was already on her feet, flushed and bit her lip. ‘Morgan, you said she could come and stay with us, you know you did,
isn’t that why we came?’ She looked close to tears. Eleanor stared at her in surprise; what on earth was the matter with her? She had never been a girl to cry easily, she was spirited enough to fight for what she wanted.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, you’re not going to cause a scene, are you?’ he exclaimed. ‘If you are I think we’d better go back to the boat and wait for the tide to turn, we don’t want to embarrass the Reverend and Mrs Tait, do we? Go on then, have a word with the chit, though God knows why you want to after the dance she’s led you one time and another.’
Mary ran into the house and Eleanor followed; one look at Francis’s face had convinced her he was about to explode.
‘Don’t worry, Mary, it’s all right, really it is, I don’t mind having Prue, I trust her with the children—’
Eleanor stopped speaking and held her breath as a great roar came from outside and the women looked at each other, startled.
‘You come into my house and dare to take the Lord’s name in vain like that?’ Francis shouted, his voice trembling with rage. ‘You eat my food and accept my hospitality and—’
‘Land’s sake, Francis,’ came Morgan’s drawl, his voice hardly raised at all. ‘What bloody hypocrites you Methodists are, you do nothing but interfere in a man’s business, always meddling. Mealy-mouthed, you all are, the curse of the men here trying to make an honest living. But to get at me over a few words that mean nothing, who the hell do you think you are?’
‘An honest, God-fearing man, that’s what I am!’ Francis snorted. ‘Which patently you are not. How did you manage to get rich so quickly? Answer me that.’
‘Ah, jealous of me, are you? I thought it was something like that,’ sneered Morgan.
‘Jealous of you?’ Francis was fairly bouncing with rage, he was striding up and down the wooden floor of the balcony. Just inside the bedroom the women could feel the floor vibrating with the force of his footsteps.