by L. J. Wilson
A hum of nerves wove through Evie, her eyes darting around the cool metal clad hallway. On the opposite side of the door, her nerves eased, pleased to see a bed and bath, though there was barely enough space to turn around. Sebastian apologized for the small simple room. Evie didn’t answer, reassured by the close quarters. He said the trip would take six days—he’d prefer it if she stayed mostly in the cabin. “It’s safer. What goes down up on deck… well, let’s just say it’s not a cruise ship.”
“Cruise ship?” she asked.
In the early morning hours, Sebastian did take her up on deck, when most of the crew was still sleeping. Awed by the vastness of the ship, Evie marveled at its smallness compared to the ocean. She admired the way Sebastian fit so comfortably into every aspect of his seaworthy existence. He’d been out of his element in Good Hope—or so this proved—his confidence apparent on board. On the ship’s deck, Evie turned away from him and looked east into a rising sun. The air was chilly and fresh until an acidy aroma intruded. She turned. In the drugstore, a place filled with bottles of medicine Evie could not name, Sebastian had bought several items, including cigarettes. He stood at the rail, pursing a smoldering stem between his lips. Evie frowned but said nothing. A moment later he tossed the cigarette overboard and cleared his throat. “Compared to what you’re doing, quitting shouldn’t be all that tough.”
Another day passed and the glassy ocean turned rough, sloshing them about like a toy boat in a tub. Romanticism turned queasy. Everything, in addition to Sebastian’s eyes, went a little green. Lying in the bed, the only quick movement Evie made was darting to the closet-size commode—a space where a person couldn’t even fall on her knees to reach the toilet. But Evie was quick to recover, adjusting to the rough ocean. Sebastian said he was impressed by her sturdy sea legs.
“But I thought you liked the jeans?” she said, pointing to the pair that had been draped over a chair for two days. He seemed to find her remark funny, though she wasn’t sure why.
“Feeling better?” he said the following morning.
“Much. Thank you.” Evie had opened the port window, and the fresh, salt air blew back her hair. She was on her knees on the bed, staring, still amazed by how the ocean met the sky the way it did the land. She was grateful for the chance to see it and angry that it’d been kept from her. But as Sebastian cozied up next to her, brushing his stubbly face against Evie’s smooth cheek, those emotions ebbed. His powers of persuasion were like a potion. He embraced her shoulders, kissing one. Evie’s glance cut sideways. The contrast of his strong hands on the delicate fabric of her nightgown was mesmerizing.
While on their Philadelphia shopping spree, the saleswoman had brought the nightgown into the fitting room. “Honey, if you’re going traveling with him, I might suggest this…” Evie had only touched the silky, white fabric, not trying it on until the first night on the ship. Sebastian had come into the room carrying a tray of sandwiches and soup. He’d sloshed the soup everywhere as he shoved it onto a table.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
“What?” she’d said, panicked by what sounded like disapproval. He’d stared as though he couldn’t comprehend the Evie in front him. “The woman in the store said you’d like it.” He hadn’t said much else, but an hour later Evie knew the saleslady had been correct.
She closed her eyes now, facing the sea breeze and basking in Sebastian’s touch—something she’d begun to look for in her sleep. Her mind drifted between him and the open air, Evie sure it was the most perfect state of being. The nightgown had a delicate elastic yoke, mimicking something like what Evie would have liked on a wedding dress. He nudged it down, exposing her shoulder. She liked the way the garment obeyed, giving Sebastian what he wanted and she needed. As the days had gone by, his touch grew surer—a sense of permanence. He pushed the gown lower, exposing her top half. Evie saw the sun on her breasts and felt the wind against her skin. With nothing but sea for miles, she hardly minded the exposed view. “Do you want…” she began.
“Just don’t move.” His voice was husky, a tone she understood. The fact that she wore no underwear only boosted his motivation. Her glance caught a glimpse of his T-shirt flying off, his solid erection pressing against her. She moved her legs apart. Sebastian reached around, his fingertips floating down her belly, touching Evie in a way that seemed like a second language to him. She tensed at the contact, gripping her hands around the rail that anchored the bed to the wall. “I have to confess,” he said, his words a hot, penetrating whisper. “Sometimes I think about fucking you. Just fucking you.” She widened her eyes then closed them, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “I had to tell you,” he said, his hardness beckoning. “Do you think that’s awful of me, Evie?”
While the language would take some getting used to, she couldn’t deny a desire the rough words evoked. “I think,” she said, placing her hand over his, the one kneading her breast, “sometimes it may be best that way.”
“Damn, another thing we agree on.” His actions took her breath away. And it was a different Sebastian that drove himself into her with unapologetic force. There were no sweet sentiments, his touch coarser as it ran the length of her back, his teeth nipping at her shoulder. Evie was awed by the brusque behavior—using words she wouldn’t ordinarily say, asking for more, not less. Sebastian accommodated and the reward was ultimately Evie’s. She came before him, a wicked combination of rough touch and edgy language, things she reminded herself to ask him about later. As he reached a shuddering climax, Evie was the one left empowered and pleased. The second after he came, ragged and breathless, an even gentler Sebastian returned to her and softly kissed the shoulder he’d nipped. “Thank God, for you, Evie.”
She smiled, which he could not see, thinking perhaps he’d learned through curious means, something about heavenly gratitude.
1979
South America
The ship had been a safe harbor for Evie and Sebastian—a respite from reality. On Saturday morning land appeared, small on the horizon, and growing thoughts of Ezra began to edge into Evie’s mind. On the bed lay her clothing choices. Sebastian watched as she wrung her hands, vexing over them, fingering one of the skirts she hadn’t put on since leaving Good Hope.
“Everything else will be a big enough shock,” he said. “If it helps, I don’t care what you’re wearing when you tell him.” He didn’t wait for her answer but left the cabin, a nudge to Evie that she needed to decide for herself.
A short time later she stood on the deck, smoothing the front of a simple, brown blouse. It went well with a hip-length cloth coat that the saleswoman had called a “safari jacket,” supposedly a popular fashion statement. Sebastian had taken a more practical view, insisting it would be good protection where they were going. Evie had wanted to put on the A-line skirt, different as it was from the bulky gathered skirts she’d worn for years. But that seemed counterintuitive to the terrain Sebastian had described.
Docking the massive freighter was a lengthy orchestrated event. Evie watched as the last of the ship’s lines were secured and men on shore and off scurried about, tending to various tasks. She squinted at palm trees and noticed moist warm air that differed greatly from Good Hope’s climate. The more distant landscape was veiled in green-covered mountains, and Evie grasped Sebastian’s point about the terrain. The jeans she’d chosen were not only figure-hugging but now practical. Evie folded and unfolded her arms, her steps fidgety and nervous. Sebastian waited near the gangway. Her jumpy insides calmed as he locked his arms around her.
“Ready to do this?”
“As I’ll ever be. How far did you say Ezra was?”
“A few hours south. This way.” He tugged her by the hand, heading down the ramp. “Hopefully not a long enough ride for you to change your mind.”
She stopped and Sebastian looked back. “Not hardly.” She pulled in front of him.
“Evie, wait.” She turned. Sebastian dropped his leather duffel bag to the ground. “Bette
r do this now.” He unzipped the duffel bag and withdrew a yellow envelope. “Listen to me—carefully.” The serious look on his face put one on hers. “It’s an extreme precaution—but a necessary one. If anything happens to me… if you find yourself alone here, open this. There are three letters inside. One is for you. The others will get you out of here. You’ll need them. Don’t hesitate. Just do what it says, exactly what it says.”
“Bash, I don’t want to—”
“Evie.” His tone quieted her objection. “This place is full of more evil than you’ve ever been warned of, it’s dangerous. Please. Just do it. Promise me, if you have to, you’ll follow the instructions.”
She nodded, tucking the envelope into her satchel of belongings.
“Good,” he said, gathering their bags and her hand.
For as comfortable as he was on the ship—and despite his warning—the foreign place suited Sebastian. Evie was amazed at the number of people he knew in the dock area, many approaching, calling him “Bash,” expressing their obvious delight at his return. The fear he’d instilled in her ebbed. Most people looked curiously at her, and after the second or third acquaintance she noticed that Sebastian offered no explanation about his new companion. Even more telling, not a single person asked.
As they moved from the busy port into a parking area, the mood that accompanied his friendly greetings dissolved. Sebastian’s grip grew firmer, never letting go of Evie’s hand, the same way his eyes never released the distant perimeter. At a glance, he remained relaxed, but Evie sensed a wariness that wasn’t present in Good Hope or aboard the freighter. A man with darker skin than she’d ever seen led them to a large boxy vehicle. “Sam says this one.” He handed Sebastian a set of keys. “He also said to tell you that if you wreck another Jeep, it’s coming out of your hide.”
“Maybe remind Sam that one mangled, government-issued vehicle is a small price to pay for a couple dozen live Marines.”
They shook hands, the dark man’s face going somber. “He knows this, Bash… He knows.” The man reached beneath the back of his earth-colored jacket and handed Sebastian a gun. Evie couldn’t stifle a gasp. She knew rifles—every home in Good Hope hunted game. The solid, black handgun was so small in comparison but looked far more menacing. The man’s expression turned skeptical. “Since you’re here,” he said to Evie, “I assume it means you’re as jungle savvy and capable as him.”
Sebastian tucked the gun into a belt holster that Evie hadn’t noticed. “Let’s just say if I’m in need of a prayer, she’s my best bet.”
The man laughed. “Right. Because he’d be a fool to bring you here otherwise.”
Between the gun and foreshadowing, Evie’s insides fluttered. And to think a shop in Philadelphia was overwhelming… But she was there because she’d demanded it, and Evie cocked her chin at the Jeep. “It’s fine with me if you drive.”
Sebastian smirked at the bold, albeit needless, remark.
“No worries, Edwardo,” Sebastian said. “If she proves to be as land worthy as she is seaworthy, I’ll be running to keep up with her.”
No one said anything else as they departed. Miles down a road that slipped from civilization to a barely there path, Sebastian finally spoke. “Starting to wish you’d never left Good Hope?”
A bump jarred Evie from the seat, her head hitting the canvas roof. She grasped the purpose of the handrail. “Probably not near as much as you wish you hadn’t brought me in the first place.”
Sebastian steered the Jeep to an abrupt halt. Then he reached, yanking Evie into a ferocious kiss. He pulled away just as fast, and Evie brushed her fingertips over her stinging lips, wanting more.
“If we weren’t on the edge of a jungle filled with land pirates, unpredictable native tribes, rapists of varying degrees, I’d fuck you again, right here, right now.” He sucked in a breath and drove back onto the path. “So don’t ask me about me wanting you here again. One thing has nothing to do with the other.”
Evie tucked a sweaty thatch of hair behind her ear. She said nothing as the sun faded to shadow and the road narrowed even more. Sebastian didn’t look her way again. His gaze was fully engaged, like a hawk scanning for prey. The rest of the ride was rough but uneventful. An hour later thick brush and a bare bone road receded. It delivered them to a village—rows of shacks lined a landscape more isolated than Good Hope, certainly more uncivilized. A few beat up cars moved through the streets. Chickens ran in between them, moving faster than any vehicle.
But the village wasn’t completely foreign, looking something like the pictures she’d seen in mission magazines. Now that Evie had a glimpse of the outside world, she tried to connect it in her head—how being in this pin-size spot served God and the greater good. It seemed the places between Good Hope and Philadelphia alone housed enough infidels to keep one busy. Why here? And then it made sense, Sebastian’s explanation of the guns and money and drugs motivating Duncan Kane’s trips, not missionary work.
A bearded man emerged from a clapboard structure. Evie squinted. Even with facial hair, his thin frame and fair appearance was like a fingerprint on her mind. Her husband looked terribly out of place among the dark-skinned people, though many approached, talking to him. He moved along like Ezra, serene and chatty.
“So here we are,” Sebastian said. “Otava. Also known as the fucking middle of nowhere.”
She glanced disapprovingly.
“Well, it is,” he said to the coarse description. The two sat in silence fifty yards away from Ezra, the weight of what Evie was about to do sinking in. “I knew this would be hard.”
Her wary gaze met his.
“But if being here suddenly makes it seem more like impossible… if you can’t go through with it…”
“What?” she said, shrugging at Sebastian. “You’re going to tell Ezra you ferried me from Good Hope to here for a conjugal visit?”
“Uh, yeah. I guess not.”
Ezra spotted their vehicle, one that clearly didn’t belong. He hesitated, as if assessing before starting toward it. Grasping the handle, Evie thrust the door open, feet landing steady on the dirt. She moved forward and Ezra stopped completely. Sebastian’s door slammed, the three of them positioned just so. It made for a precarious triangle. But instead of surging toward his wife, Ezra held his ground. He didn’t move from the point of his sharp angle. While her presence should have been the biggest shock, Evie saw something more in his reaction. Possibly her strange clothes or unbraided hair. She drew closer. His expression didn’t change. Evie didn’t see the expectant joy with which Ezra had returned to Good Hope after months away. Sebastian moved along too but several paces behind.
From a dozen feet away, Evie called out to him. She hesitated, waiting. There was no reply. “Ezra,” she said again. She moved faster. Sebastian was close, but not quite beside her. The second she was within arm’s length of Ezra, he reached out and delivered a powerful, head-snapping slap. It knocked Evie off her feet, a dirt-covered hand rushing to her stinging cheek.
She heard “Jesus Christ…” as Sebastian shouted the words, shoving Ezra and picking Evie up in one fluid motion. “Are you as fucking twisted as your old man?”
Propped to her feet, Evie couldn’t gain her bearings—the raging sun from above, the pulsing heat from the slap. Teary-eyed, she blinked at Ezra, his sunburned face surrounding pools of blue eyes. She’d never considered that he’d do such a thing. All the years they’d been friends… But he wasn’t a friend. He was her husband, and she guessed the slap clarified what he knew. Evie touched her mouth. It was the second time in a week her fingertips came away bloody. “Ezra…” she whispered. For what it was worth, he appeared equally shocked by his action. Villagers had stopped, a circle growing around them.
Ezra’s glare moved to Sebastian. “Get your hands off of her.”
“Why? So you can take another swing?”
“Because she’s my wife. What she’s done…” He eyed the onlookers and came closer. “It’s between Evie a
nd me. My father was right about everything. If I’d used a firmer hand, taken control from the start, she might not be standing before me, the shameful, damned woman she is. This is what I get for letting her think freely. Letting her influence the way a marriage should be handled.”
Clearly, the Reverend had gotten to his son before Evie could. While the facts were bad, while she’d been unfaithful to her husband, Evie could predict the version of things that had been filtered into his head. “Ezra, listen to me. Whatever your father’s told you, it’s not the way it happened…. Not exactly.”
He snickered. “Are you going to stand here and tell me you’ve not crawled into his bed like a common slut—like the whores I’ve seen on the streets here and in Philadelphia?”
“Shut your mouth before I shut it for you,” Sebastian said. “And I swear to you, Brother, it’ll be a hell of a lot more than a slap.”
“I knew in my gut. My father should have never allowed you sanctuary in Good Hope.”
“Too bad your gut didn’t have the balls to ask why he did it.”
Ezra ignored the remark. “And to think I was only concerned how you might touch a community. I was naïve. I never thought you’d be so immoral as to touch another man’s wife. Does it mean nothing to you that she belongs to me?”
“Do you hear yourself?” Sebastian said, incredulous. “She’s not a possession. Wake up, Brother, she’s not your property.”
“Sebastian,” Evie said, touching the tense muscle of his arm. “It’s all right.”
“The mission’s point of view doesn’t make him right. We all understand there’s a world beyond the Fathers of the Right— unclean, easy lives. Part of thinking for yourself means having the strength not to follow the masses.”
“I’m hardly the masses,” Sebastian said. “And she’s entitled to choose whatever she wants.”
Ezra sucked in a breath. “So do you deny sleeping with him? Letting him touch you like…” He frowned deeply. “You must be so very proud of your choice, Evie. You’ve not only turned your back on everything you’ve been taught but happily spit on our marriage in the process.”
