Castaway Dreams (16 page)

"I am glad I am not one of them," she said with complete honesty.

"I can understand why you feel that way. However, while we are here we must imitate the working classes."

"I am being useful, then?"

The fire seemed to be going on its own, so he stood and joined her in gathering firewood.

"Yes, Miss Farnham. You are being most useful. If I were here alone on the island I would need to work twice as hard to fetch enough wood to keep the fire going."

"Imagine that," Daphne murmured. "I am useful."

The thought put a spring in her step. After two more trips, Alexander pronounced himself satisfied.

"Tomorrow we will build that lean-to, a shelter for firewood. As the seasons change it will turn cooler and there will be rainstorms, so having a dry wood supply becomes more important than ever."

"But what about supper?" Daphne said, her hand pressed over her stomach.

"Were you able to find anything useful in the garden?"

"Corn, and some yams and beans. Tomorrow I will look again."

"Tomorrow we will also search out fruit and other plants growing here. Palms contain an edible core we can extract. Tonight we will put the yams in the fire to roast, and save the other vegetables for later."

He showed her how to cover the yams and put them at the edge of the firepit. Then hoisting the earthenware kettle onto his shoulder, he followed her down to the ocean. Alexander filled the kettle about a third full of seawater and carried it back to the fire, Daphne trailing behind.

"How do you know all these things, Doctor? How to build a fire and how to cook?"

"I was raised on a farm, Miss Farnham, and we did not have servants to do things for us."

"Us? You had a large family?"

"No. Just my mother and myself."

"But what about your father?"

"I had no father, Miss Farnham."

She sat back on her heels and looked at him. "That is sad, Dr. Murray."

"I learned to live with it, Miss Farnham. Now, we need to heat this water."

The pot sat atop the trivet, and when he was satisfied it would not tip into the fire, he rose to his feet. Daphne was quiet, and when she stood she was weaving on her feet.

"Hunger is making you light-headed, Miss Farnham. You sit here and--"

"Can you use my assistance?"

She was watching him steadily, and while he could have brushed her off, she deserved an honest answer.

"Yes. I could use your assistance. And I will need your valise."

He took his sharpened stick and the valise and they walked back down to the beach. The sun was closer to the horizon. He needed to move quickly so they wouldn't be stumbling around in the dark. The last thing he needed was for one of them to twist an ankle or break a leg.

"See those holes?" He pointed to the sand. "Those are crab holes. Just as the fish are more active at sunrise and sunset, the crabs will come out looking for food. We will catch our supper here."

"We will?"

"Do not worry, you won't have to eat them raw. That's what the boiling water is for. Your task is to hold the valise."

"You are putting live crabs in my valise?"

"How hungry are you, Miss Farnham?"

"That is a good point, Dr. Murray," she acknowledged, and dutifully followed behind him.

The blue crabs were wily, but they were no match for two hungry and determined humans. There was some inevitable shrieking when one of the crabs made a dash for freedom from the open valise, but Daphne grabbed it with a fierce expression on her face and tossed it back in with its sisters. Hunger could spur people to amazing feats.

He carried the bag back up to the fire, and while Daphne winced and looked away when he dumped the live crabs in the pot, she did not protest.

"Please keep an eye on them, Miss Farnham. I'm going down to the beach for more water."

"What if they try to escape?"

He handed her his stick.

"Bash their little heads, Miss Farnham. They'll behave."

She looked at him skeptically, but took the stick. Pompom sniffed all around the valise, then flopped down next to her, eyeing the pot with his head on his paws.

Alex returned and added water to the pot, careful not to let it fall below a boil. Eventually, after some whining (the dog) and grumbling (Miss Farnham), he pronounced the crabs ready for consumption. He extracted the crabs by using his stick to flip them into the air.

"Catch them, Daphne! Quick, before the dog grabs them!"

Holding the valise open, Miss Farnham dashed about, catching the manna as it fell from the heavens. The dog barked and she laughed and Alexander felt almost lighthearted.

He put it down to hunger.

Daphne gave one more weak laugh and flopped down in the sand next to him.

Alexander passed her one of the cheap dishes from the cabin, using a broad leaf as his own plate. The dog tried to climb into his lap when he sat, but Daphne grabbed him and held him 'round his shoulders.

"Very soon now, Pompom," she assured him, giving him a kiss atop his head.

Alexander laid a crab out on the leaf, cracking it open. It wasn't the most efficient method, but it did expose the succulent white flesh, steaming in the dusk. He piled hot pieces atop her plate, and then cracked some open for himself.

"This could use some melted butter," she said wistfully, passing a bite to Pompom. "But it's tasty, Doctor. And the yams are sweet. This is an excellent supper."

"Better than raw fish?"

"Isn't everything?" She shuddered. "I hope I never, ever eat raw fish again."

"But now that you have, Miss Farnham, do you not feel better for it?" He sucked some crab meat out of a claw while she looked at him quizzically. "You survived a shipwreck at sea and learned to adapt to changing circumstances. I daresay there are few young ladies of your acquaintance who would be able to claim such a breadth of experience."

"Oh! I am having an adventure! Maybe when I return home I will write a book about it."

"You would not be the first castaway to use the experience for gain. My own countryman, Alexander Selkirk, was one such individual. Some say he was the true Robinson Crusoe."

"You don't think it is a silly notion, someone like me wanting to write a book?"

"I admit, I would be astounded if you wrote a treatise on the circulatory system, Miss Farnham, but you could write a book about something you know about--fashion, hats? Maybe the care and feeding of small yapping dogs?"

"You are being harsh on poor Pompom, Doctor. He, too, is part of our adventure."

"Exactly. You could write a book about a young lady and her brave little dog, castaway on an island."

"Is there a surgeon full of gravitas in this book?"

"That would add nothing to the story. Fierce savages threatening to cook and eat the lady and her doggy might be a better way to go."

The sun was gone now, only the diffused light of dusk lingering. Daphne looked over her shoulder and inched closer to Alexander. Her eyes were large in the reflected firelight.

"Do you think there are cannibals here, Doctor?" she whispered.

Alexander lowered his own voice and said, "If there are, Miss Farnham, I have no doubt your dog will dispatch them."

She looked at him a moment, blinked her lushly lashed eyes, then looked at Pompom.

"I wish I had your faith, Dr. Murray."

He was tempted to string her along further, but did not want to have to deal with the consequences if Miss Farnham heard a noise during the night and became hysterical.

"No, Miss Farnham, there are no savages on these islands. However," and he looked at her to make sure she was paying attention, "there are dangers. These scattered islands are used by all sorts of desperadoes. Some are simple smugglers trying to avoid tariffs, but others can be of a much nastier sort."

"You mean...pirates?"

"Try not to sound so excited. I assure you, the pirates found in these waters are scum who bear little resemblance to Byron's corsair."

"Tomorrow we will explore more of the island," he said, ending the talk of piracy. He'd earlier scouted out a suitable spot for them to use as a temporary privy, and he banked the coals while Miss Farnham went off into the bushes. She paused inside the hut on her return, then stood watching him work. There was enough light from the moon for him to see without stumbling about. He didn't want to light the candles in the cabin until it was necessary.

"Dr. Murray? May I ask a favor of you?"

He paused and looked at her, waiting.

"Would you please brush my hair?" Her voice caught, but she went on, looking down at the brush in her hands. "I know I should do it for myself, but when I try to raise my arms they hurt."

"You are not used to physical labor, Miss Farnham," he said gently. "I am not surprised your arms ache. And you were swimming ashore, too. It is perfectly appropriate for you to ask for assistance."

She came over and sat facing the coals, sitting cross-legged on the ground and Alex knelt behind her. Daphne's hair fell in a mass down her back that suddenly made him itch to plunge his hands into it and soothe whatever aches she had. The evening was still but for the sound of night birds hunting their own supper, the tropical paradise lush with the smell of the surrounding plants and their cedar hut.

He gritted his teeth and took the brush, starting first with the snarls at the bottom, patiently working his way through the tangles. His own arms ached from his pounding in the surf, but he was not about to tell her that because she might tell him to stop. He did not want to stop. He'd thought about doing this again since that first night when she'd asked him to help her, to teach her how to braid her hair.

There was a great deal he'd like to teach Miss Daphne Farnham, none of it good for his peace of mind. He experienced again the feel of her silken tresses sifting between his fingers, the curls that wrapped themselves around his hands like living vines. She'd rinsed herself in the pool earlier, washing the salt out of her hair and letting it dry in the warm air. He'd caught himself watching her as her hair dried, the locks lightening to their vibrant golden shade, flowing across her neck and down the torn arm of her dress.

"Would you like me to braid it for you to sleep tonight?"

"I usually prefer my hair unbound, but that might be best, Doctor."

Was it his imagination, or was her voice lower, huskier than earlier? Whether it was his imagination or not, his unruly body responded to the aural cues. If he spread his legs and pulled her back, her rounded bottom would be snug against him, cradling the erection straining at the front of his ragged trousers.

Sweat broke out on his forehead as he tried to wrench his thoughts away from that direction. His efforts were defeated when he said, "Do you have a ribbon?" and Miss Farnham reached forward on the ground to fetch it, which brought her rump up, perfectly positioned for what he was imagining at this very moment would be the ideal ending to this long, arduous day.

She trusts you. You cannot betray her trust.

That helped. Some. Not much. Especially when she looked at him over her shoulder, and he could see the gleam of her bare skin through the rent in her bodice, but he was pleased his hand was not shaking when she gave him the ribbon and she sat back on her heels, waiting for him to braid her hair.

He managed to separate the locks, braided them and tied off the end with her multi-colored ribbons, still wet from being rinsed in the fresh water.

"There. You are ready now, Miss Farnham. It is time for bed."

The word "bed" hung between them in the night air, and Daphne pushed herself to her feet before looking at Dr. Murray. All she could think about what a surprisingly attractive companion the doctor was, not as old and decrepit as she'd suspected.

But he could still be grumpy and irritable, so she might survive this experience without embarrassing herself.

"Where will you sleep, Doctor?"

"There is no bedding, Miss Farnham. We only have the one room of the cabin. Tomorrow we may be able to work out something more comfortable, but tonight we will share that space. I cut some banana leaves earlier, and we can sleep on top of them."

She must have looked quizzical, because he added, "If we sleep on the bare ground it will drain warmth from our bodies. The leaves provide insulation and padding."

He gestured and she entered the cabin and she heard him vigorously shaking the banana leaves before he brought them into the cabin and arranged them on the floor.

Daphne gingerly lowered herself to the leaves and lay on her side, her head pillowed on her arm. Pompom curled up at her stomach, snuggling next to her for comfort as much as warmth, and she put her other arm around him, holding him close. He sighed and licked her hand. She did not look at Dr. Murray, who stepped out one final time.

A bird screeched and she jumped, but she heard a gruff voice coming out of the darkness.

"That is only a petrel, Miss Farnham. You will become used to their night calls soon enough."

Then he was behind her, not positioning himself against her body like he had on the boat, but lying alongside her. She could not see him behind her, but suspected he was lying on his back.

"Are you going to be able to sleep like that, Dr. Murray?"

"I am a surgeon, Miss Farnham. I can fall asleep anytime, anywhere."

"Really?" She rolled over to look at him.

That was a mistake. Her eyes were adjusted to the faint light coming in through the doorway. He lay on his bare back on the leaves, his hands beneath his head as he looked up at the roof. The position brought into detail the corded muscles of his arms and his finely defined chest with its light brushing of hair. She'd noticed earlier that the hair on his chest was a blend of silver and rust, like the hair atop his head.

Old, he's old, far too old for you
, her mind told her, but her body sent her a different message.

"Oh dear, I just knew this would be a problem." She moaned, flopping onto her own back. She couldn't look at him. Pompom grumbled at the disturbance then, settled back down.