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Nantucket whaleship. After a week of recovery, he had asked the
captain to deliver him to Fénua in exchange for whatever labor the captain
deemed appropriate. Just as he had on Destiny’s Hope , he endured tricks
and pranks from the other men, but his good humor saved him, and at last he
earned their respect. While this captain had no use for Jonah’s preaching, he
was a fair man who kept his word. He promised to sail to the Fénuan Islands after filling his hold with whale oil.
    The whaling grounds of the South Pacific held an abundant
harvest ready for the picking. Jonah always despised the stink of the whaling
industry, perhaps even despised the whalers themselves. God surely wanted to
purge this unchristian weakness from him. In these several months, he had
learned to respect their hard, bloody work, if not to enjoy it. What a
hypocrite he had been, for he had always enjoyed the products of their labors.
    Early this morning, the ship had come upon a large pod of
whales, and every man had sprung to his post. In a crew of eight men, Jonah
rowed one of the small boats that approached a whale while the harpooner stood
at the bow and plunged a harpoon into the hapless beast. Sometimes the victim
struggled, even to the point of dragging the boat for miles on a “Nantucket sleigh ride” before succumbing. Other times, the harpoon struck deep into the
heart, and all the crew had to do was haul the dead beast back to the ship to
be cut apart and rendered down into oil. Despite the blood and stink of the
business, Jonah knew he would appreciate smokeless whale oil lanterns and
candles much more for all the trouble it took to harvest them.
    Another whale product pleased Jonah particularly: pieces of
bone that could be carved into various objects. With borrowed knife, pen, and
ink, he had made a pretty scrimshaw necklace for Leah. He could hardly wait to
put it around her lovely neck.
    “Whale ho!” the harpooner called.
    Jonah’s heart leapt with happiness. With only a few more
whales, every cask in every corner of the whaleship would be filled, and the
captain would sail for Fénua. . .and Leah.

Chapter Eight
     
    Leah sat on the dais surrounded by flowers and dozens of well-behaved,
sweet-faced children and their mothers. Above her a leafy canopy stretched out
on woven vines to protect her from the sun. Beyond this little house and
sizable village lay the thick, lush,  green forests, shining beaches, blue ocean,
and, in the distance, her volcano.
    Her father had told her that when she was born, the volcano
erupted for the first time in the memories—and even the legends—of the most
ancient villagers. The year Leah’s parents brought her back here, the mountain
had once again spewed forth white hot lava, but no time in between those two
visits. When once again steam began to ascend skyward from their holy place,
the people knew their flaming-haired friends would return. No wonder they
welcomed her as Pede, their legendary fire goddess.
    With great difficulty, she persuaded old Chief Fénua and
the village priest that she was indeed human, not a god. At least she hoped they
no longer regarded her as such. Captain Swain had laughed when she explained
the islanders’ behavior, but he had irreverently expressed his agreement with
their original view of her.
    Thoughts of Swain made her heart ache. He had proclaimed
his love and begged once more that she would sail away with him. His
declaration did not surprise her, for his attentions increased after Jonah’s death,
and she at last understood all those intense looks he had given her. The
sincerity of his devotion, however inappropriate, caused her to view herself differently.
No longer a servant, she felt worthy of love, despite Jonah’s bewildering
treatment. But she could not love Swain, at least not so soon after losing the
man she had loved since childhood.
    Poor Jonah was gone forever, and now so was Swain. After
Gladys gave birth to a healthy baby boy—aided by