by Bess McBride
“No, of course not,” Mrs. Simpson continued to whisper, though her voice carried.
Daniel drew in a heavy sigh and took the material from me.
“I would have given up my shirt,” he said in a low voice meant only for my ears. He brushed sand from my feet before carefully wrapping them.
“You’ll need it,” I said thickly. The sensation of Daniel’s hands on my feet transported me away from the people surrounding us and onto a tropical island all our own. I closed my eyes and imagined his hands on my face, around my waist, over my heart.
“There,” he said in a husky voice. He cleared his throat and stood quickly.
Brought swiftly back to reality, I jerked my eyes open and looked up at Daniel.
“Stay off your feet, Mrs. Wollam. Ask Frederick if you need anything.
“Come, Thomas,” he said briskly. They walked away, and I stared after them. I didn’t want to let Daniel out of my sight. For all I knew, the island was inhabited by headhunters or tribes who still engaged in human sacrifice or—”
“Daniel!” I shrieked, scrambling to my feet but falling back in pain.
He pivoted and hurried back to my side.
“What is it? Is it your feet? Please stay off of them.” He bent over me. When he would have straightened, I clutched at his arm.
“Please be careful. You don’t know what’s out there.”
“Yes, of course, Maggie,” he said. He threw the others a quick glance before running his fingers lightly across my jawline.
“I will only be gone a few hours at the most, I promise.”
“Okay. Good. Don’t call me Mrs. Wollam. So formal. It confuses me. Yes, go. I’m sorry,” I murmured.
“No need to be sorry. I am flattered that you’re worried about me. About us.” He nodded toward Thomas, who waited for him some distance away.
“Maggie,” Daniel whispered before walking away. I followed their progress wistfully until they disappeared from sight.
By now Frederick had a roaring fire going with the help of dried coconut husks and palm leaves. At that moment, he was busily paring open the top of several coconuts. He offered them to us to drink.
Mrs. Darymple and I took the water gratefully and drank it.
“Oh, no. No, I do not think I want to drink that,” Mrs. Simpson said fretfully.
“Nonsense, Agatha! Drink,” Mrs. Darymple ordered. “You must keep up your strength. We do not know if the island has any fresh water.”
Mrs. Simpson reluctantly took the coconut Frederick offered her and sipped from it with a pinched face. I didn’t know if she didn’t like it or had decided she wasn’t going to like it. Either way, she didn’t drink much and set it aside.
“I’m sure one of them will find a fresh-water source,” I said. “If not, we can collect rainwater somehow.” I looked over my shoulder at the thick vegetation behind us.
“Perhaps this island is inhabited,” Mrs. Darymple offered.
“Inhabited?” Mrs. Simpson said. “By whom? What if the island is inhabited by savages who eat people? I have heard of them.”
“Agatha, dear, please stop spouting such nonsense,” Mrs. Darymple said dryly.
I cleared my throat and looked away with burning cheeks. I feared the same thing myself, but I wasn’t about to tell the ladies that.
“It’s not nonsense.” She sniffed. “I have heard of cannibalism in these islands.”
“What islands, dear? We do not even know where we are!”
“The boys and I won’t let anything happen to you, Mrs. Simpson. Be assured of that!” Frederick said.
“See, Agatha? We have four men to see after us,” Mrs. Darymple said. She followed that with a sigh. “I wonder how that very pleasant man, Mr. Asher, fared.”
I wondered about all the passengers. Would more wash up on shore? Alive? I didn’t want to think about the alternative.
“Frederick, will they send a search party out once they discover the ship went down?” I asked. Of course, there was no chance that we’d be discovered by satellites, or even airplanes—not in the mid-nineteenth century.
“It could be a week or more before anyone notices that the Vigilance failed to arrive in Tahiti, Mrs. Wollam. While other ships in the region might search for signs of the Vigilance, I do not think the owners of the shipping company will send out an organized search party of other ships. We do not know where we are. The company can have no idea where we are.”
“I wonder if we should keep the fire going anyway, in case a ship passes by,” I said. “They might be able see the smoke.”
“As could other persons who might be on the island,” Mrs. Simpson said darkly.
“Oh dear, Agatha,” Mrs. Darymple began. “You utter those words in such an ominous voice. If there other are people on the island, they might be very friendly, welcoming sorts who wish only to help us.”
“From your lips,” Mrs. Simpson said.
“We shall see when the men return,” Mrs. Darymple said. “In the meantime, my dress is quite dry and the fire is making me sleepy. I might just rest for a bit. I am quite exhausted.”
“I shall join you,” Mrs. Simpson said. “I do so wish I had a blanket though.”
“We shall have to make do for now, Agatha.”
The ladies lay down, and I eyed a few palm fronds nearby. I suspected I could make some sort of basket from the stiffest leaves, but could I weave some bedding for the women?
Frederick busied himself with more coconuts, and I rose and hobbled over to collect a few fronds. To my dismay, my feet hurt far more than when I had first reached the beach, and I suspected they were swelling. Despite what I had said to Daniel, I too hoped they wouldn’t get infected. It didn’t matter if I was in the nineteenth century or the twenty-first century—I had no access to antibiotics.
Frederick came to my rescue when he saw me trying to reach palm leaves, and he helped me pull down various textures.
I spent the next hour weaving some of the softer leaves together, and when I’d managed a square of about five feet by five feet, I got Frederick to help me lay it gently over the ladies. It didn’t mold cozily to their forms like a blanket, but I hoped it would at least keep the sea breezes off their bodies while they slept. And if nothing else, they could use it as a mat to sleep on in the future.
I settled myself again and watched the turquoise lagoon as the ladies slept. Even Frederick, having husked about a dozen coconuts, dozed, but I fought to keep my eyes open. I didn’t know what would happen if I fell asleep, but I wasn’t ready to return to the future. I couldn’t possibly leave Daniel at that moment, never to know how his life would turn out.
Daniel and Thomas were the first to return, and I jumped up when I saw them but fell back again when pain shot through my feet. If anything, my feet hurt even worse than they had just a few hours prior. I gritted my teeth, smiled and pretended that I chose to sit and watch their approach along the beach.
They returned alone, with all their body parts intact, thankfully, but with no signs that they had encountered civilization. They carried nothing with them and looked hot and tired when they threw themselves down beside me.
Frederick awakened and handed them each a coconut to drink.
“What did you find?” I asked.
“Nothing. The island is small in circumference, only about five miles at its widest point as far as I can see. We were prevented from circumnavigating the entire coast by a sheer cliff at one point. I assume James and Samuel will have encountered the same obstacle if they traveled that far.”
“So you didn’t see anyone else? The island is uninhabited?”
“It would appear so. Are you well?” Daniel asked. “Did anything happen while we were gone?”
“No, nothing,” I said. “As you can see, Samuel and James haven’t returned yet. The ladies have been sleeping.”
At my words, Mrs. Darymple sat up, staring down at the woven mat I had made.
“What is this?”
�
��Mrs. Wollam made it,” Frederick said. “To protect you from the wind.”
“How very clever,” Mrs. Darymple said, fingering the weaving.
I blushed.
“You will have to teach me your techniques so that Mrs. Simpson and I can weave some mats and perhaps some baskets. From what I heard of your conversation, Dr. Hawthorne, we are going to need to fend for ourselves, is that true? We are quite alone?”
“Yes, I believe that is the case. We must find a fresh-water supply, perhaps further inland. The boys can fashion some fishing implements. We will build some shelters. Those will be our first priorities.”
I stared at my feet, wondering how I was going to be able to help. Daniel must have read my mind.
“How are your feet? Let me have a look at them.”
Daniel knelt in front of me and carefully unwrapped my bandages, which partially stuck to the clotting blood on my wounds. His gentle touch swelled my heart. I felt no pain when he explored my injuries, though in reality, I knew that they hurt.
“My poor dear,” Mrs. Darymple said. “Your feet look absolutely dreadful!”
“I know. They do look awful, don’t they?” I confirmed. “I’m afraid they feel as bad as they look.”
“I found something that I think will help,” Daniel said as he reached into a pocket of his trousers and withdrew a bundled handkerchief. He opened it to reveal a handful of broad green leaves on stalks.
“Leaves from a breadfruit tree,” he said. “The sap is known for its healing properties.” He squeezed the severed end of each stalk and allowed a thick milky liquid to drip over the soles of my feet before carefully massaging the sap into my wounds. A soothing coolness began to spread over the cuts, and I smiled.
“It does feel better!”
“Good,” he said. He looked up. “Ah! Samuel and James have returned. What do they have in their hands?”
Samuel and James approached from the west side of the island, carrying armfuls of what appeared to be small bananas, little red-and-green apple-pear-like fruits and branches of some sort of red berries. Clearly we would be eating a lot of fruit in the near future.
Daniel, Frederick and Thomas rose to relieve them of their burdens.
“Well done, boys!” Daniel said.
By now, Mrs. Simpson had awakened and sat up. I heard Mrs. Darymple explaining my version of a blanket to her. Frederick commandeered the fruit and began preparing a meal with the ingredients at hand.
Activity picked up as the men moved toward the tree line, discussing various woods and how best to fashion some fishing gear. Mrs. Darymple and Mrs. Simpson disappeared into another part of the jungle for a hygienic visit. I watched the activity around me feeling a bit helpless, given my injured feet. For all that I had come from the twenty-first century, I seemed to have no advanced knowledge that could help those of us stranded on an island in the South Pacific.
Chapter Seven
The men built four A-line huts just inside the tree line with loose timber and palm fronds. Given the size of the shelters, Daniel had decided that they could hold only two people comfortably, a choice that pleased me to no end. I really didn’t want to share a hut with the ladies. I didn’t really know them, nor they me. They most certainly didn’t know that I had traveled through time.
I no longer believed that I was dreaming. It just didn’t make sense. The catalyst for the time travel appeared to be sleep, and it had been natural to assume that my visits to the nineteenth century were nothing more than dreams, but I had slept since then on the skiff. And I hadn’t traveled back to the twenty-first century.
No, as fantastical as it seemed, I had traveled in time, and I didn’t know why. Perhaps I would never know why, or how.
I was interrupted from my reverie by the return of the ladies.
“Do show us how to weave these palms, Mrs. Wollam,” Mrs. Darymple said.
“Maggie, please.”
“Maggie then,” she agreed. I didn’t ask Mrs. Darymple for her first name because I doubted I would ever use it. I felt certain the ladies would always be Mrs. Darymple and Mrs. Simpson to me.
After a cursory lesson in palm-frond weaving, the ladies and I made matting for the sloped roofs of the A-frames as well as wall coverings and flooring. Additionally, we wove a few more blanket-style coverings from the softer palm leaves I had found.
Frederick kept the fire stoked, and by evening we had the beginnings of a small village. At some point in the afternoon, James and Samuel, armed with empty coconut shells, had ventured inland to find a fresh-water source. They discovered a nearby waterfall and pool and returned with as much water as they could carry.
Daniel and Thomas had tried their hand at fishing with a makeshift spear, and while they afforded us some humor, they were unsuccessful that time.
“Do not worry, Thomas,” Daniel said, patting the boy on the shoulder. “We will ultimately succeed.”
I smiled, but I was allergic to seafood, so their success at fishing didn’t affect me. I had faith that Daniel would see to the health of the group and their diet. As for me, I had been wondering what I was going to eat while on the island. I would have to find some nuts for protein. Thankfully, there appeared to be fruit in abundance and apparently a fresh-water source. I supposed I should be grateful I hadn’t gone on a cruise to Scandinavia.
The sun set on that first night sooner than we expected. The older ladies moved into their hut with the blanket I made them and settled in.
From my painfully slow but necessary retreat into the foliage behind our little encampment, I could hear them talking.
“I would love a cup of tea,” I heard Mrs. Simpson saying. “And a change of clothing.”
“Yes, I agree with you there, Agatha. Perhaps we can ask one of the men to take some of our clothing to the pool they found to wash out the salt.”
“Our underthings?” Mrs. Simpson asked in a querulous voice. “Not a man surely.”
“Well, I suppose you could wash our clothes then,” Mrs. Darymple responded.
“Mrs. Darymple, how can I wash our things in a pond? I need hot water, a proper bucket and some soap.”
“Agatha, how is it that you do not yet understand our circumstances? Our ship was sunk. We are stranded on an island in the South Pacific. No one is coming to our rescue as far as we know. We have only the clothes on our back and the food we find on the island. We simply must make do!”
“Perhaps that young woman might consent to wash our clothing?” Mrs. Simpson suggested. “Mrs. Wollam? Her vulgar dress suggests she is from the working class. Who is she anyway? Do you know? Dr. Hawthorne seems overly familiar with her, would you not agree?”
I froze, crouched in midstream, holding my breath. My awkward position did nothing to improve the pain in my feet.
“I have no idea who Mrs. Wollam is or where she came from,” Mrs. Darymple responded. “I had not seen her aboard the ship until last night. She may very well be the doctor’s paramour. Who can say? I am quite sure it is not my place to inquire. Nor do I think it should be yours. I like the young woman. She seems very pleasant and has been quite solicitous to us. I do not believe she is a servant of any sort, but you are more than welcome to try and ask her to wash your clothing, Agatha. I would very much enjoy seeing that exchange!”
“Well, I am sure she is a very pleasant woman.” Mrs. Simpson sounded as huffy as Mrs. Darymple intended. “Paramour indeed. How very shocking!”
“If our future lies on this island, Dr. Hawthorne and Mrs. Wollam may be the most fortunate among us. Now get some rest, Agatha. Tomorrow is a new day.”
“Good night,” Mrs. Simpson murmured.
I rose and hobbled back toward the entrance to my A-frame hut. A lone silhouette outlined against the sunset caught my attention. Daniel. I shuffled through the sand to his side.
Fiery-orange, the sun hovered just above the horizon, casting a halo of golden light across the clouds and a dazzling path of sparkling reddish highlights across the darke
ning purple sea. The wind had picked up and whistled through the air.
“Mrs. Darymple thinks I might be your paramour,” I said with a chuckle. “Mrs. Simpson wonders if I’ll wash their clothes for them.”
Daniel turned to me. Even as the sun dropped below the horizon, it illuminated the shock on his face.
“No!”
“Oh, it’s funny!” I reassured him. “Which shocks you more?”
“Both, I am afraid. I must correct Mrs. Darymple’s impression as soon as possible.”
“But not Mrs. Simpson? She believes I’m from the working class because my dress is vulgar.”
“I cannot believe she said such! How very unkind of her. I quite like your gown. No, this will not do. I really must speak to the ladies in the morning.”
“And how do you intend to explain me to them? If I’m not your paramour?”
As much as I wished that were true, I think I enjoyed watching the disapproving muscles twitch in Daniel’s jaw.
“Please, Mrs. Wollam.”
“I thought it was Maggie. Why do you switch to the more formal title? It’s so confusing, and I never know where I stand with you!”
I said more than I meant.
“I apologize...Maggie. Yes, of course I shall call you Maggie in private, but given that the ladies are already suspicious of us, perhaps it is best I refer to you as Mrs. Wollam in public. And you must call me Daniel.”
“I already do. We aren’t quite as formal in the twenty-first century.”
Daniel sighed. “No, I can see that you are not. As to the ladies, I am uncertain what I should say, but I cannot have them think ill of you or assume that you are some sort of washerwoman.”
“To be fair, it was only Mrs. Simpson who thought I might be willing to do the laundry. Mrs. Darymple dared her to even ask.”
“Still, why Mrs. Darymple would simply assume that you were—” Daniel stopped short.
“Your paramour?”
“Must you continue to say that word?”
“Is it really offensive in your time? I don’t even think we use it anymore.”
