Burned (2 page)

An hour later, they were both leaning forward as the van passed the small sign that read Salani Village and within minutes was crunching down a gravel road to the Salani Surf Camp.

A short, blond man who spoke with a kiwi, or New Zealand, accent appeared out of the dark as Tagiilima unloaded the luggage and surfboards. He wore a wrinkled and faded aloha shirt and a lavalava. Hiding shyly at his side was a small young girl with a tangled mop of curly light brown hair who was wearing an oversized T-shirt. Bethany guessed that she'd climbed out of bed to check out the new guests.

“Talafoa! Welcome, welcome! I'm Clint, your host. This is my daughter Maggie. Let me show you to your
fale
s.”

Bethany glanced at her mom.

“Like a house,” her mom, Cheri, whispered.

Clint guided the family to several large bungalows perched ten feet in the air.

“You can leave your boards underneath. They are perfectly safe. Hardly any Samoans surf, so they would be of no interest to a thief,” Clint explained. Then he added with a crooked smile, “'Sides, if the village chief caught anyone stealing from a guest at this camp, he would smack the living daylights out of them.”

“Nice,” Bethany whispered to Tim, and he shot her a grin.

“The fales don't have bathrooms,” Clint continued. “We have a large bathhouse with toilets and showers. All meals are served in our dining room. I know you came in late, so we will serve breakfast until nine thirty. Oh, and I am afraid that there will be no surfing tomorrow. It's Sunday, and local village custom says we can't operate our boats or encourage surfing on Sundays.”

What?!
Bethany glanced at her brothers who appeared to be having as hard a time understanding Clint's words as she was. Their parents had taught them to honor God — that he came first above everything else — but going surfing after church was the norm for three kids that had grown up in Hawaii. And surfing, after all, wasn't anything like working
.

“Actually, we were hoping to go to church in the morning,” Bethany's dad said, unfazed by Clint's words as he stored his board underneath one of the fales. “Is there one we can visit nearby?”

“Sure,” Clint said with such a look of surprise that it made Bethany wonder if it was the first time he'd been asked that question by visiting surfers. Or maybe it was the fact that none of them were freaking out over the bomb he had just dropped on them.
Bet those surfers I saw at the airport wouldn't
take the news so well
, she thought with a sniff.

She noticed Tagiilima smiling her way with that big open grin of his and grinned back in spite of herself.

Clint caught the exchange. “Ah, such a smile! And she hasn't even heard the
good
news yet, has she Maggie?”

Bethany was given her own fale to stay in, being the “unmarried girl” of their party. Samoan tradition, Clint told them.

Cool tradition
, she thought with a huge grin as she threw her bag on one of the beds and glanced around her new little house. Even kind of Treasure Islandish with its thatched roof, small desk, and two chairs. The floor was covered with a thick, woven mat and from the ceiling a rusty fan wobbled violently. It was perfect!

The screen door slapped behind her as she hurried out to the balcony. It was too dark to see anything, but she could hear the sound of the winds raking the palm branches. She closed her eyes and listened for the ocean, but for some reason the three surfers popped into her mind out of the blue. Then a funny thing happened. She suddenly felt urged to pray. Bethany took a deep breath, glanced up into the night sky, and prayed:

I don't know what this is all about, but I feel like
I should say let this trip be about your plans — not
mine, God.

All things work together for good for those who serve the Lord. She didn't know a lot about God's plans, but she was beginning to learn that much.

Bethany remembered a time when she had dodged God's urging and had almost missed having her pal Jenna in her life because of it. A wry smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she quickly added,
And please remind me that I
prayed this — I've been known to forget everything
when there's an awesome wave calling my name.

Under the same Samoan sky Liam MacLeod studied the blanket of stars in the sky with little interest and definitely no intention of praying. He had made sure that their surfboard bags were safe before he settled down on the curb in front of the airport. But that was all he was going to do. Tucking his hands behind his head as he leaned against his backpack, he wondered how long it would take his cousins to straighten out the mess they'd gotten him into.

It was their fault, after all
, he thought, allowing his anger to rush through him like a tidal wave. Getting angry seemed to be the only thing he was good at these days. Besides surfing, of course.

two

Bethany startled awake to her brother Tim banging on the door of the fale.

“Get up! Breakfast time! And Mom said to
hurry
!” he hollered, and she heard the heavy clomp of his feet as he crossed the deck and ran back down the stairs.

So much for privacy
. She groaned, slipped into her shorts and T-shirt, and stumbled outside to the balcony.

In the light of morning, she could see in vivid color what had been muted in darkness last night. The surf camp sat on an outcropping of land with a small river flowing into the sea on one side and a deep saltwater lagoon on the other. She smiled as she finally spotted the ocean with its trail of white water breaking along a reef in the distance.
Man, I
wish it was Monday
! She wanted to check out the waves so bad she could taste it.

The crunch of gravel and the sound of the camp van pulling into the courtyard broke into her thoughts. She turned to check out the new guests.

“No
way
,” she whispered incredulously as three surfers slid out of the van — the same three she had seen at the airport and that had come to mind before she prayed. Too weird. Bethany watched Clint greet them and point the way to their fale, then she saw the youngest of the three stop dead in his tracks.

“Whaddya mean no surfing on Sunday?” he yelled, his voice breaking the stillness over the camp. Bethany cringed.
Okay, this guy's gonna be
trouble
. Clint appeared to be explaining why they couldn't surf, when the young surfer made another comment she couldn't hear.

“Knock it off, Liam!” one of the older boys yelled. Liam gave them a look, abruptly grabbed his board and backpack from Tagiilima, and stomped off. Tagiilima stood stock still, as if stunned. The two older boys spoke with Clint for a few moments and then headed for their fale as well.

What a way to start the morning
, Bethany thought, a weird sinking feeling creeping over her as she headed off toward the dining area to find her family.
Oh, man
. She frowned worriedly.
Everyone's
been so excited about this trip. Just don't let
him cause us any trouble, God.

The dining area had a huge, thatched, palm-frond roof and a bar section where a TV set played nonstop surf movies. Above the bar the surf camp had items such as T-shirts, stickers, and postcards for sale. Smells from the kitchen greeted Bethany as she made a beeline to where her family was sitting, then stopped dead in her tracks.

There sitting at the table with Noah was a young brown-haired girl wearing dark blue shorts and a powder blue T-shirt. It was Malia, one of Bethany's best friends and surfing buddies.

Tim, who was standing at the buffet with a large piece of toast in his mouth, grinned at her.

“Surprise!” Cheri sang out from behind her, and Bethany glanced at her mom then back to her friend with a stunned look on her face.

“Malia?” Bethany sputtered as Malia grinned a big, Cheshire cat kind of grin.

“We thought we would surprise you,” Cheri laughed. “Malia has been planning to join us since we first came up with the idea to surf Samoa.”

Bethany was blown away. Having a good friend to share the adventures of a new place with was more than a wonderful surprise. It rocked! She gave her mom and dad a quick hug, then ran over and hugged Malia.

“Your mom wasn't freaked out about you traveling all this way alone?” Bethany asked as they sat down next to each other.

“Well, a little,” Malia admitted with a grin. “At first she said she didn't think I could do it. But she finally caved when I told her that it was a nonstop flight and there would be someone from the surf camp to meet me when I got off the plane. I mean, I'm
fourteen
— that's old enough to handle a little plane flight by myself!”

Bethany grinned. That's why she liked Malia so much. She had always been the kind of girl that threw herself into a challenge — especially if someone suggested that she might not succeed.
Two
peas, one pod
was how her mom described them.

“I can't wait to show you around this place!”

“Let's eat first. I'm
starving
!” Malia laughed. “Then maybe we can do some surfing?”

“Uh, I guess no one told you — there's no surfing here on Sunday.”

Malia gave Bethany a quit-pulling-my-leg stare.

“It's true! It's part of their culture, but maybe we can go exploring after church?”

“That's cool,” Malia agreed easily, just happy to be with her friend. Bethany grinned.

“But right now we can explore some
food
!”

It was about twenty minutes later that Liam and his cousins strolled into the dining area —just as Bethany and Malia were leaving. The girls noticed Liam pause for a second, his eyes resting on the empty, knotted sleeve of Bethany's shirt for a long moment before he glanced over at Malia. He sneered, then brushed past them with an air of superiority . . . and something else that Bethany couldn't quite put her finger on.

“Not the friendliest person, is he?” Malia said once they were out in the courtyard, crunching down the gravel walkway toward her fale.

“Not exactly,” Bethany agreed slowly, still stinging from the way he had looked at her. She wasn't used to mean, spiteful looks like that, but she tried to shake it off, determined not to let it spoil her trip — or Malia's. He's someone else's problem, she told herself, not ours. She managed to smile then and hooked her arm in Malia's.

“Come on, let's get ready for church.”

A few minutes later the family was assembled in the dining area wearing the only dressy clothes they had tucked away with them: simple skirts and tops for Bethany and Malia, a long floral print dress for her mom, and aloha shirts and shorts for the guys. Everyone's clothes had some creases from the trip, but Clint assured them the Samoans would be happy just to see them there.

It was a short trip down the gravel road into the small Salani village. Bethany, Malia, and her family got their first real glimpse of rural Samoan living: streets made of dirt and crushed coral where chickens and dogs roamed past brightly painted homes with tin roofs. Some of the houses were connected to an outside patio area with a thatched roof. As they walked, her mom told them that the patio areas were the fale of the house and the place where family members would eat, talk, and socialize with neighbors. Bethany noticed large concrete slabs sitting a foot or two off the ground in some of the yards. She glanced at Malia with a quizzical look.

“What are those things?” Bethany asked, turning to her mom.

“Your guess is as good as mine on that,” Cheri said.

“They look like a tomb or flat gravestone,” Bethany's dad said, squinting for a closer look. “See, some have flowers and words carved into them.”

Malia nudged Bethany with a how-spooky-is
that
look, and then they grinned at each other.

Suddenly a steady procession of children and adults began to emerge from the houses. The men were dressed in crisp white shirts, many with ties, and dark solid-colored lavalavas and sandals. Their hair was combed, and each had a fresh-scrubbed look.

The women and girls wore silky dresses of bright white. Some had hats as well.

“We are
way
underdressed,” Malia whispered.

“Well, they don't seem to care, so maybe we shouldn't,” Bethany whispered, noticing the warm, welcoming smiles as they followed the Samoans bound for the quaint little rock church on the corner.

As soon as they stepped inside, a large, smiling man in a tight white shirt called out in heavily accented English. “Talafoa! Welcome!” He shook her parents' hands and gestured to the line forming outside the chapel door. Something about him reminded Bethany of Tagiilima. She glanced around to see if she could spot her new friend, then felt Malia nudge her again.

She turned around to find about a hundred eyes staring at her as the children pointed at her empty sleeve and spoke rapidly to each other in their language. One of the little girls took off in a dead run out of the church.

“Superstah,” Malia whispered teasingly, and Bethany shook her head and grinned. The children's fascination with her missing arm didn't bother her at all. As a matter of fact, she felt nothing but warmth and acceptance from the Samoan people.

The truth was, she hadn't really felt like going to church — she would've preferred to be out exploring with Malia. But the peace that was settling over her after such a nasty encounter with that surfer made her think church wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Bethany and Malia took their seats with the rest of her family and looked around in awe at the beautifully carved wooden pillars scattered throughout the room. In the front of the church were a carved railing, a large table covered with an exotic-looking, lacy white tablecloth, and several big wooden pulpits covered with the same kind of lacy white cloth.