Amanda couldn't sleep. She tossed about, restless and wide-eyed for hours. The heat in the small room she shared with her sisters was stifling; the air stagnant. The sun that afternoon, in the beginning of July, had roasted the land and sea, and now every rock and living thing was giving off heat into the night. Even her sister Ana, sleeping beside her, seemed warmer than normal. She stirred when Amanda felt her forehead, but Ana was fine; she didn't have a fever. Amanda threw aside the blanket covering them, but it didn't help. She stared up at the rafters and underside of the thatched roof above her head, resigned to another sleepless night. Then in the distance, above the barking of a dog and the surf breaking against the reef, she heard the low rumbling of thunder. It came from far out at sea to the north and heralded welcome respite from the heat. Rain would soon drive cool wind toward shore. Amanda listened as the wind and rain approached.

The rustling of the fronds of the coconut trees along the shore and the bushes outside her window announced their arrival. The wind arrived first; the squall followed close behind. A cold damp gust washed into the room and drove out the heat. Amanda closed her eyes with relief. Whipped by the wind, hard rain followed loudly and heavily, splattering against the thatched roof for several minutes. It then stopped abruptly, the cloud containing it wrung dry. Rainwater spilled from the roof for many minutes before slowing to a trickle. To the hypnotic plinking of rainwater dripping into puddles on the ground, Amanda fell asleep.

More than the heat, the heartache of losing Tim Laney, the man she loved, was what kept Amanda awake. Tim was a navy seaman. He sailed away that morning. It was not his choice to leave. He loved Amanda as well, and didn't want to leave her, but his assignment in Guam was at an end. Amanda slept with Tim two nights prior, knowing it was a sin to do so. It was her parting gift, her body the only thing she had worth giving. She expected to be tormented with guilt and shame afterward, but it was love, not lust, that motivated her. She was certain of Tim's love and wanted to be one with him, if not by the laws of God and man, then by their own accord.

Now that Tim was gone, Amanda was haunted by the single night she spent in his arms. She called it to mind again and again, remembering his face, his smile, his kisses, the warmth of his skin against hers. A million stars twinkled in the blue-black sky that night, and silvery moonlight drenched the beach. The ocean was calm. Gentle swells broke against the reef and washed little ripples onto shore. Tim gazed upon her nakedness with reverence. He draped a blanket around her shoulders, as if to shield her from the world and keep her only to himself. The beautiful words from the Bible about a man leaving his father and mother and clinging to his wife echoed in Amanda's mind. So did the warning about not tearing apart what God had joined together.

Tim was six months shy of nineteen when they met. He was far from home, far from his parents and two younger sisters, far from their small farm north of San Diego, California. He didn't want to end up a pain-racked farmer like his father and had lied to get into the navy. He was on his own, a carefree boy out to see the world. Amanda made him feel confident, more sure of himself, a man in command of his own fate. She made him see the world differently, simply because her world was unlike his. He didn't know how deeply he could love someone until he met her.

"Are you all right, my love? Did I hurt you?" Tim whispered after making love to her. He had tried to be gentle. He stroked her hair and kissed her. "I love you, Amanda," he said, gazing steadily into her eyes and hoping she could see in his that he meant it.

"No," Amanda replied and smiled. She had felt some pain, but it was not intolerable, nor did it diminish the sensation of being joined as one. As Tim lay breathless and helpless in her arms, Amanda realized how vulnerable he was at that moment. She recognized the strength of her own body and the power it had over his. She marveled at the balance and wondered whether God had intended it to be so.

Amanda caressed Tim's face. The contrast of her brown hand against his ivory cheek saddened her. Tim kissed her fingers and repeated his desire to marry her, no matter who objected. The impossibility of it caused Amanda more pain than had his body. God had allowed them to fall in love, but the world stood in defiance against them. Neither Amanda's parents nor the United States Navy would sanction a marriage between them. Tim was an American, a member of the new ruling class. He was white. Amanda was not, although some Castilian blood coursed through her veins. Tim belonged to the navy and was subject to its regulations and to the laws of his home state, both of which prohibited interracial marriage. If it was possible, Amanda would have run away with Tim, but where could they go? They wanted desperately to believe they could defy convention, but in those days, there was little hope of it.

The year was 1899. The Spanish-American War had ended the year before. The United States was reveling in triumph over the liberation of Spain's rich colonies in the Caribbean and the Philippines in the Pacific, and puzzling over its acquisition of the nearby lesser known Mariana Islands. Few knew or cared about the resource-poor Marianas, not even the Spanish empire itself, which had controlled the tiny archipelago since the seventeenth century. The Marianas were not relegated to obscurity; they were already there.

While en route to Manila with reinforcements in June 1898, the navy fleet received orders at sea to stop and capture Guam, the largest and most inhabited of the Marianas. The Americans were expecting to find battle-ready Spaniards and half-naked aboriginals. Instead they found apathetic, mixed-race colonial administrators and the indigenous Chamorros civilized by nearly three centuries of Spanish Catholic influence and domination.

There was nothing to remember about the capture of Guam, except that the Spanish governor didn't know his country was at war with the U.S. There was no vengeful attack over the sinking of the USS Maine, no heroic charge up San Juan Hill or lopsided Battle of Manila Bay. There was only a cannon shot mistaken as an arrival salute. The Spanish governor was stunned by the American order to surrender the island and be taken prisoner along with the officials of his administration. That done, the navy sailed on to the Philippines, leaving no one in charge. The absence of authority led to political instability and rivalry. Into the vacuum raced the social elite who jockeyed with low-level ex-government officials. All thought themselves natural ruling successors. The squabbling eventually prompted the navy to station a small contingent on the island until a duly appointed governor arrived to restore order, inaugurate American governance, and exercise authority over Guam, the Chamorros, and a few others of various nationalities. Seaman Tim Laney was in that contingent on temporary assignment.

Although they were as racially prejudiced as the ousted Spanish, the Americans were less concerned about social rank and status. The American navy men were charming and bold, and equally enthusiastic about submitting to their carnal urges and sowing their seeds. In short order, especially as the number of Americans...