A Mother's Courage

by Maggie Hope

‘Jealous of you?’ he repeated. ‘A man who got his land by trading guns to the warring hill tribes, may God forgive you for it!’

  Eleanor heard Mary’s gasp by her side and glanced at her quickly. The girl’s face was chalk white, her eyes closed for a moment.

  ‘Stop him,’ she said urgently and briefly Eleanor wasn’t sure if she meant Francis or Morgan. ‘Stop him, Eleanor, don’t let him say anything worse, you don’t know what Morgan can do if he gets angry.’ From behind them, Francis William was roused by the noise and began to whimper in terror. And suddenly Prue rushed past them out on to the verandah and confronted the men, stamping her feet, her face red and her hair falling down over her face.

  ‘Shut up!’ she said in a thunderous whisper. ‘Shut up the both of you! Don’t you know you’re frightening the bairns? By, I bet there’ll be nightmares the night for them both, and then none of us’ll get any sleep.’

  Francis stood looking at her, hardly knowing what she was saying, and in the sudden silence he heard the murmuring of people and saw there was a crowd of natives gathered in front of the mission house, looking at him, their expressions grave. Gradually the rage died from his eyes, the flush from his face.

  ‘I’m sorry, Prue,’ he said, his voice tight and controlled. ‘I’ll be in shortly to see the children. I’m sorry if I frightened them.’

  ‘Hmm!’ Morgan grinned. ‘Of course, you mustn’t frighten the children. Not that you stand any chance of frightening anyone else, certainly not a man.’ He stepped closer to Francis and thrust his face forward menacingly. ‘But if I hear you repeating lies like that again, by God, I’ll teach you to be frightened of me, damn me if I don’t.’ Contemptuously he pushed past Francis and strode into the bedroom and grabbed Mary by the arm.

  ‘Morgan, don’t, you’re hurting me,’ she said as he pulled her after him, out on to the verandah and down the steps.

  ‘Leave my sister alone!’ Prue shouted, running after them.

  ‘I’ll do what I like with my own wife,’ answered Morgan. ‘Now we’re going home, the tide’s on the turn.’ He paused and looked down at Prue, who had caught up with them. ‘Don’t you ever come near my plantation, do you hear? If you do, I swear I’ll have you whipped off the property for the whore you are.’

  He turned to continue his path down to the jetty but found his way barred by a group of Fijian warriors, scowling ferociously and fingering the throwing clubs they all carried at their waists.

  ‘Let me through, you black bastards,’ he growled, ‘or I swear I’ll clear a path myself. How do you fancy a little present of lead?’ Out of his waistcoat pocket he drew a derringer and by the way he handled it showed he was willing to fire it into the group.

  ‘Let him through, it’s all right, come now, we are Christians, men of peace.’

  Francis had come up behind Morgan and Mary. The men looked at him, uncertain, but in the end, the tension left them and they stood aside, though their hands did not leave their clubs until Morgan and Mary were on the deck of his boat and casting off. They growled in their own language to each other for a while but then disappeared back into their huts.

  Francis took the arm of Prue, who was trembling with reaction, and walked back to the mission house, looking white and strained. ‘You see, my dear,’ he said to Eleanor, ‘how easily they can revert to savagery; there is much to be done in the community yet.’

  Eleanor was holding the still-sobbing Francis William, while John was clinging to her skirts. ‘Hush now, pets,’ she said. ‘Hush. The nasty man has gone now, Daddy sent him away. Everything is all right now.’

  She surrendered the baby to Prue and caught John up in her arms, holding him tight. The two women sat down on the swing and rocked the children gently while Francis sat beside them, staring out to sea as Morgan’s boat got smaller and smaller until it became a speck on the horizon and then was gone altogether. Everything was quiet; the compound had returned to its afternoon’s slumbers.

  ‘Well, I think I’ll have to alter my sermon for tomorrow in light of what has occurred,’ Francis said at last, rising to his feet and going inside.

  ‘Yes,’ said Eleanor. She shifted the boy’s weight in her arms, easing him to a more comfortable position, and looked down at his face, so like Francis’s. The savage is in all of us, not just the natives, she reflected.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘We are to go to Bau next month, there is a conference,’ Francis announced one morning in October. The ship carrying the post had come in on the early morning tide and there was a sheaf of business letters for Francis but none from home and she had thought there might be one from Fanny. Yet England and her family seemed so remote this last year or two, and not just geographically.

  At first, Eleanor didn’t take in what he had said; she was gazing out to the horizon where the sea shimmered blue and silver and to one side the dark-forested hills rose into the sky. The missionary ship rode at anchor in the bay and bright orange and red parakeets flashed from tree to tree, calling raucously to one another while smaller blue and yellow birds sat close together in the branches.

  The nesting season, thought Eleanor dreamily, and put a hand on her own stomach though she wasn’t far enough on in her pregnancy to show or even to feel any difference.

  ‘Perhaps this one will be a girl,’ she said and Francis looked at her over his letter, a little uncomfortable. He would never get used to the way she talked so openly about expecting a child; it wasn’t usual to mention them before they were actually born, not in polite society.

  ‘Did you hear what I said, Eleanor?’ he asked. ‘I was talking about the meeting next month, well, it is actually only two weeks away, the first week in November.’

  ‘Yes, of course, how long will you be away this time?’

  ‘Us, Eleanor, us. We are both to go, all the ladies are meeting there too, there is to be a discussion on the role of the women in the church, especially the Fijians.’

  ‘Francis, I can’t go to Bau, I can’t go anywhere, not when the children are so small,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘Of course you can, what’s to stop you? You have Prue, she looks after them very well, she’s devoted to them. I never thought she would turn out so well considering—’ He caught Eleanor’s expression and pulled himself up. ‘Well, she looks after them well, which is to her credit. And Matthew will be here, the house and the chapel will be left in good hands, very capable hands.’

  ‘I don’t know …’

  ‘We must go, Eleanor, and unless you intend trailing the children with us, you will have to trust Prue and Matthew to look after them.’

  Eleanor regarded him thoughtfully. Francis was evidently determined she should go with him and it might not be a bad idea, now she thought properly about it. After all, she had not been away from Viwa since Francis was transferred there and she had never been to Bau. It was the most important of the islands, she remembered, for King Thakembau lived there, the king of Fiji, even if the title was self-bestowed and in dispute. It would be interesting to see the king at least. He had been a Christian since 1847, they said, though there were rumours that his conversion was the result of convenience rather than conviction.

  ‘Are you sure the boys will be safe, Francis?’ she asked, wavering as she got used to the idea of leaving the children with Prue.

  ‘Of course I am, the Lord will protect them,’ he replied crisply. ‘Besides, our people here would never let anything happen to them.’

  Eleanor smiled, remembering how the men of the village had gathered, ready to defend Francis against Morgan West. It was true, the boys would be safe enough from intruders with such protectors.

  ‘There hasn’t been a raiding party anywhere near here in years, anyway,’ Francis went on, which was a mistake, for Eleanor felt a twinge of fear – she hadn’t thought of a raiding party. The warriors from the hills looked so fierce, she would hate to think she might ever meet a tribe on the warpath. Not, as Francis had just said, that it was very likely, she tol
d herself firmly. That was the sort of thing that had happened when their predecessors had first come to the islands; nowadays the Christian communities were well-established and the people round about more civilised.

  ‘Very well, Francis,’ she said, her mind made up.

  It was with mixed feelings that Eleanor stood beside Francis on the deck of the John Wesley and waved to Prue and the children, and their surrounding crowd of villagers. On the one hand there was the excitement of her first trip away for ages, even if it was just to the neighbouring island of Bau. But John’s face began to crumple as he realised they were going without him and Eleanor felt like stopping the boat and insisting they took her back.

  ‘Be a good boy and look after your little brother until we get back!’ called Francis and he took hold of her hand and held it tightly against his side, well aware of her feelings. And already the ship was making good progress, the sails filling with the late spring winds and the tide running with them.

  ‘There is a qualified doctor at Bau,’ Francis remarked as he combed his beard before the tiny looking glass in the cabin that had been allocated to them. Eleanor was sitting on the bed, rolling on her stockings, but she stopped what she was doing and looked at him in surprise.

  ‘There is? But why haven’t I heard of him before? Just think what a doctor could have done for our little Edward.’

  Francis turned to her. ‘He wasn’t here then. There was one before, Dr Williams, but he had to go back to Australia and we have only just got a replacement for him. I would like you to have him look at you while we’re here.’

  ‘What on earth for? I’m perfectly healthy, there’s no reason at all to bother a doctor.’ She pulled on her boots and bent to fasten the laces, something she would find difficult in the months to come, she told herself. ‘Isn’t that just like life?’ she asked Francis crossly. ‘When we needed a doctor for Edward there was none, now there is.’

  ‘Eleanor, Edward’s death was the will of God,’ Francis said. ‘In any case, there was no time to bring the doctor from Bau, Edward’s death was too quick.’

  She didn’t answer him, merely smoothed down her dress and waited for him to finish getting ready so they could go up on deck, for the ship was entering the bay at Bau. Will of God, my foot, she thought savagely as he opened the door to the short flight of steps that led to the deck. What sort of a God would make an innocent like Edward suffer? But she pushed the thought to the back of her mind, knowing Francis would never understand how she felt.

  The beach at Bau was rather different to the others she knew; for a start there was an imposing structure to one side that Francis said was the king’s canoe house and, by the number of canoes in there, he seemed to own quite a fleet. As the passengers disembarked, native warriors carried an imposing stool to the high water mark and the king himself, surrounded by his courtiers, came and sat upon it, sternly regal and wrapped around in a gown of brightly coloured cloth tied elaborately around his portly figure under the armpits.

  Eleanor kept in the background or at least a few steps behind Francis as she knew was fitting until the formal welcome was over and then followed the party into the church for prayers of thanksgiving.

  The church was also bigger than the one in Viwa, she mused as she looked around surreptitiously during the prayers. And then she fell to wondering how the boys were doing without her; were they missing her? Or were they content to have Prue? She suspected the latter.

  Afterwards, in the cool of the evening, there was a feast on the beach with baked fish, pork, an abundance of the small island chickens, and yams and cassava roots, boiled until tender. There was coconut milk to drink though Eleanor preferred the fresh spring water that the young men brought down from the hills.

  The Reverend Calvert led them in singing the Grace and somehow the Fijians managed to make the old familiar words and tune sound like a Polynesian chant. The sky darkened and the waves lapped on the shore and the whole had a soporific effect on Eleanor.

  Long before the official royal welcome was over, she was having trouble keeping awake. The heat, the long day and the rich food all contributed to her exhaustion and she found herself leaning against Francis as they sat on the sand, uncomfortable and longing for bed.

  ‘It won’t be long now,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Bear up a few moments longer. Mr Calvert will be giving thanks to the king shortly and then we can go to our hut.’

  The long day came to an end at last and as she lay in Francis’s arms on the hard bed in their hut she felt his hands on her swollen breasts. In spite of her exhaustion a quickening in her veins answered him. Francis made love carefully, gently, because of her condition and whether it was because they were so relaxed after the meal or the fact that no child was going to cry and interrupt at the most inconvenient point, Eleanor responded with a sensuousness that surprised him.

  Next day, after much prompting by Francis, Eleanor had an interview with the doctor. She couldn’t help smiling to herself as he felt her abdomen through her clothes, and sounded her chest and peered down her throat. How much easier it must have been for him to examine one of the native women, she mused. Nothing between her body and the stethoscope except perhaps a thin layer of cloth.

  ‘How can you hear anything through my corsets?’ she couldn’t help asking, a question the doctor chose to ignore.

  ‘Mrs Tait is perfectly healthy as far as I can ascertain,’ he reported to Francis.

  ‘I could have told you that myself,’ Eleanor said when they were once more on their own.

  A few days later, when they were leaving the island to return to Viwa, she thought of what a lovely week they had had, almost a holiday in spite of the meetings both she and Francis had had to attend.

  ‘It was as good as a tonic,’ she said to him and he glanced around to make sure they were not overlooked and put his arm around her and kissed her on the mouth.

  ‘The nights were the best,’ he whispered and she looked at him in surprise; it was so unlike him. He had certainly never referred in daylight before to what was between them when they were in bed together.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, smiling up at him. It was true, they had been closer somehow during this time without the children and she didn’t even feel guilty about thinking it.

  ‘There you are, Francis,’ a voice said behind them and he hurriedly dropped his arm as he recognised it as Mr Calvert’s. ‘I wanted a word with you if your good lady doesn’t mind,’ the superintendent minister continued.

  ‘Not at all,’ murmured Eleanor but she doubted if they heard her; they were already walking away along the deck, their heads close together as they conferred about something or other. She sighed and turned back to her contemplation of the sea. There was always Francis’s work to come between them, she thought. Yet she was proud of him there and she had noticed at this conference how his opinion was sought after and listened to, realising that his standing in the community was much improved since last she had been among a gathering of his peers. Oh yes, it was all very satisfying, as was the way the other wives had listened to her opinions too.

  She did not feel quite so pleased when Francis came back to her and said he was getting off the ship at one of the offshore islands, as Mr Calvert had asked him to attend to some business for him.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you, Eleanor?’

  ‘It would make no difference if I did, would it?’

  Francis looked at her uncertainly. ‘I won’t be too long,’ he added. ‘Only a day or so.’

  ‘Oh, go on. No, of course I don’t mind,’ she replied.

  But when she landed at the jetty at Viwa from a ship that was turning straight round to go back out to sea and there was no welcoming crowd standing on the beach, no canoes in the bay, no women bathing at their end of the beach, she had second thoughts.

  Disbelieving, she walked to the end of the jetty and stepped down on to the firm sand. It wasn’t that there were no signs of life; there were thin columns of smoke rising from t
he cooking stoves behind the huts. Perhaps the women were preparing a meal and the men all out on the sea. Round the other side of the headland, perhaps, after a run of fish one of them had seen?

  ‘Matthew?’ she called. ‘Hello, where is everyone?’

  She turned back to the jetty hastily, sensing there was something wrong, there had to be, she would stop the ship, but it was already sailing out of the bay, helped by the stiff breeze that filled the sails, and no matter how she waved her hands and called, it did not turn back. Oh yes, someone saw her, one of the missionaries’ wives – she could tell by the black-gowned form and the white arm that was lifted to wave back to her. But whoever it was must have thought she was simply waving goodbye.

  A wave of relief swept over her the next minute as a large canoe rounded the headland followed by another and then another. She had been right; the men had simply been out fishing, and were bringing in their boats loaded with the catch. No, it had been a turtle hunt, and a successful one she could tell; the men were singing their triumph.

  Feeling not quite so alone, Eleanor hurried to the mission house and ran up the steps.

  ‘Prue? Prue, where are you? Matthew?’

  The bamboo chair was overturned. John’s wooden railway engine, which Francis had carved for him only last Christmas, was lying on its side, the wagon it normally pulled squashed into splinters beside it.

  ‘Matthew? Matthew, where are you?’ Eleanor was almost screaming now as she ran through the house to the yard, back into the bedrooms, round and into the living room. ‘Francis William!’ she cried. Oh God, dear God, don’t let anything have happened to the babies! ‘Where are they, where are they?’ The dread within her was growing and beginning to overwhelm her – she couldn’t see properly, that was the trouble, they were there, they must be there, where could they have gone?

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘Mrs? Mrs Tait?’

  Eleanor swung round as she heard a woman’s voice, hope springing in her, for hadn’t the women disappeared along with Prue and Matthew and the children? If the women were back then perhaps they were all on their way, they’d just been out together somewhere, maybe higher up the stream, looking for clearer, cooler water.