Angel's Baby

by Pamela Browning

  Toward dinnertime, right after she finished cleaning the bedroom closet, the wind rose. She went outside to see if Stuart had returned, but his sailboat wasn’t at the dock. That was when she saw the bank of angry-looking clouds piling up in the western sky, where earlier there had been only a shimmering silver band on the horizon.

  Not that she was particularly worried. Stuart, old salt that he was, could be counted on to keep an eye on the weather.

  As she went back in the house, she noticed that the air was even more humid than usual, and she had a hard time pulling it into her lungs. And the baby wasn’t even big enough to push against her diaphragm yet; imagine how hard it would be to breathe when it was.

  She decided to look for Caloosa. When she stepped back outside, she noticed that no birds were singing. There was no sign at all of the angry pair of mockingbirds who nested in the banyan tree.

  “Caloosa?” she called, but the cat didn’t come, nor did she answer.

  Angel went back in the house and busied herself folding clothes, all the while keeping an ear tuned to the rising wind.

  * * *

  STUART ANCHORED near a tiny key that served as a tern rookery and waited, watching the birds.

  He had visited rookeries in the Bahamas, and he knew that the terns laid their eggs directly on the sand around this time of year. The rookery should be a whirlwind of birds alighting and taking flight, but there was little activity going on at the moment. It puzzled him. The birds on the beach were huddled on the sand, alert and vigilant.

  He couldn’t make himself think about the birds. Angel is going to have my baby, he told himself. It was what he had wanted. He buried his face in his hands, trying to think. She hadn’t actually said that he had to leave Halos Island. Maybe she’d let him stay until the baby was born. At least he ought to see his own baby before he headed to the South Seas.

  Should he ask her if it would be possible for him to stay until the baby was born? No, it would be better if Angel suggested it. Would she? Or should he tell her that he was going to stay whether she liked it or not?

  The boat rocked on increasingly deeper swells as he lost himself in thought, contemplating his next action. When, after a long while, he looked up, he caught his breath.

  The clouds in the distance were an odd grayish green, billowing high in the sky. Looks like trouble, Stuart thought. He abruptly hauled anchor and started back toward Halos Island, hoping he could make it before the storm struck.

  * * *

  THE FIRST DROPS OF RAIN hit as Angel was closing the windows. She wished Stuart had already bought that shortwave radio he’d been promising; she would have liked to talk to somebody, anybody, and check on storm warnings.

  She went outside again, her eyes straining for any sign of approaching sails. She saw nothing.

  She walked around the house calling to Caloosa, here and there pulling aside the shrubbery to see if the cat was sleeping somewhere. She was really beginning to be worried about her.

  Angel stopped looking for Caloosa when she realized that the swiftly rising wind was beginning to strip leaves from the gumbo-limbo trees. Let Caloosa get wet, Angel told herself. See if I care. But she did care and she didn’t stop looking for Caloosa until she was totally drenched by the rain.

  As she dried herself off with a towel inside the kitchen door, she began to hope that Stuart had sailed all the way to Key West. That way, at least, he would be safe from the storm.

  * * *

  ANGEL’S WINGS dipped into a trough, and when she came up, Stuart could no longer see the rookery key.

  The seas were high, but not so high that he couldn’t manage. It was exhilarating to be sailing into the teeth of the storm, and Stuart threw his head back, letting the rain hit him full in the face. As long as he could see, he didn’t mind it.

  He wasn’t concerned about the boat’s being able to hold up in this kind of weather. He had bought her because she was such a sturdy little craft, full of spunk. She’d make it back to Halos Island all right, after which he’d treat himself to a good stiff drink.

  The wind blew steadily, grew vicious. He thought he had Halos Island in sight when visibility fell to a hundred feet or so. He hung on to the tiller and swore under his breath. The downpour was now torrential.

  Stuart couldn’t see a thing. He usually had a pretty good sense of direction, but it was possible that he had been blown off course. He reached for a life jacket, which he had removed earlier when he’d anchored at the rookery. As he pulled the life jacket toward him, the boat flailed and lurched, and the life jacket slipped over the gunwales to be lost in the raging sea.

  Then, almost as if in answer to a prayer, the curtain of rain parted and he saw Halos Island, with its distinctive bungalow on the rise above the dock. That was when he heard a sail rip in the wind.

  * * *

  STUART HADN’T COME BACK.

  Angel paced from one end of the little bungalow to the other, listening as the wind tore the shingles off the roof one by one. She hadn’t realized what the steady whap! whap! was about until she looked out the window and saw the shingles flying past.

  These were gale winds, if she wasn’t mistaken. The winds bent the small trees almost double and hurtled palm fronds through the air. Bolts of lightning split the sky, and thunder crashed until the floor of the house shook. Angel had never experienced a storm like it.

  When the wind tore the overhang from above the back stoop and tossed it into one of the banyan trees, she began to know the true meaning of terror.

  Where was Caloosa? And where, oh, where, was Stuart?

  * * *

  STUART TRIED to hang on to the boat when it capsized, but he was tossed away from it by the surging sea. Through the cascading rain, he saw the hull of the boat pitch skyward, and then he saw nothing. He tried to orient himself, and after struggling against the water, he decided to let it buoy him up so that he could save his strength.

  He was borne swiftly along on the crashing waves, and when he reached the peak of one, a flash of blue-white lightning illuminated Halos Island. Now at least he knew in which direction to swim.

  If he could keep his wits about him, perhaps he could reach it. He struck out, glad to have a goal in sight. He heard a crash; the boat was breaking up on the coral reef. Well, he couldn’t do anything about that, and he could always buy another boat.

  He was making real progress when a piece of flotsam struck him on the shoulder; he flinched and cried out.

  The pain was terrible, and there was no one to hear his cry.

  * * *

  ANGEL HUDDLED in the kitchen, paralyzed with fear as she listened to parts of the house being ripped away. The screen on the front porch was one of the first things to go, and after that a large loose branch rammed through the kitchen window. She ran to find dry rags to mop up the water, and she found a large piece of cardboard that she taped over the hole. It didn’t help much; within minutes the cardboard was soaked through, but at least no more debris came flying in.

  For the first time, she realized that she might die. And the baby—Stuart’s baby? It would die, too.

  Suddenly she knew that she would fight to live. She would do anything she had to do to survive, and not only for herself, but for the child that she carried within her.

  The wind howled around the bungalow, and Angel ran to get a pot to shove under a leak in the roof. She wished Stuart were there, but surely he was safe in Key West.

  And when he came back, she had to be here waiting for him. “Please let me live,” she prayed. “Please.”

  The rain gushed through the hole in the roof, which was now so big that she could see outside. She ran to get another bucket, her heart sinking with each step.

  She had to get through this. She had to!

  * * *

  STUART GRABBED HOLD of the large piece of debris, which looked like part of the hull of Angel’s Wings. He didn’t care what it was as long as it would float. Thank goodness for the lightning, which p
rovided some illumination. He could still see the island, and he was making progress. At least he was a strong swimmer.

  If only the life jacket hadn’t gone over the side of the boat! Never mind that he had once been a collegiate swim champion; the life jacket sure would have been a big help. Maybe if he kept an eye out for it, it would float past and he could snag it.

  He wondered how Angel was faring. He wondered if she worried about him out in this storm. He wondered if she even cared that he hadn’t come back.

  All his wondering only underscored his desire to get back to her. Now, at the height of this storm and with his survival uncertain, it seemed to him that during the past weeks he had found heaven on earth on Halos Island with Angel, and he wasn’t about to give it up. He kicked with great determination, thinking about how good it felt to hold Angel in his arms. He didn’t think he could bear to die without holding her again.

  And the next time he held her, dammit, he was going to tell her what he should have told her weeks ago. He was going to tell her how much he loved her.

  * * *

  ANGEL SCRAMBLED to gather her research notes together and stuff them inside plastic bags. Years of work could be lost if they got wet, and she felt sick at the thought.

  Her hands trembled as she worked, and she could hardly think. If only Stuart were here, there would be two of them to fight this storm. If only... But she couldn’t start thinking that Stuart belonged here. He didn’t.

  What if Stuart hadn’t gone to Key West at all? What if he was out there in the storm?

  I can’t think about that, she told herself as she threw plastic bags into the drawers of her desk. Water began to pour out of the ceiling above her, and she struggled to push the desk out of its way. It was too much effort, and she collapsed onto a chair, breathing hard, listening to what remained of the house rattling and groaning around her.

  I have to be careful, she thought. I don’t want to lose this baby.

  * * *

  THE SEA cast Stuart into a twilit place; it smelled of seaweed.

  When he opened his eyes, he was still clutching the piece of the sailboat’s hull. Slowly he unclenched his fingers and sat up.

  The caves, he thought. I’m in the caves on the north side of Halos Island.

  His shoulder hurt like hell. He rubbed it carefully and decided that there was no serious damage. It was only bruised.

  Outside, the sea was rampaging over the beach, and rain lashed in at him from the entrance. Cautiously he looked out. The tide was low, and that meant that he could stay in the caves until it started rising. It might be long enough for the storm to abate.

  But he couldn’t stay away from Angel. She was alone in the bungalow, and the storm was ferocious. He feared for her.

  It didn’t matter that the wind was howling or that he might be swept into the sea or struck by a wind-driven tree branch. What mattered was that he had to reach Angel. And her baby. Their baby. He had lost everything once, and he wasn’t about to let it happen again, not while he had a breath left in his body.

  He stumbled out of the cave, right into the teeth of the storm.

  * * *

  EVERY MUSCLE in Angel’s body ached with the effort of pulling mattresses and couch cushions to stuff in the broken windows; every fingernail was broken. But she was losing the battle. The furniture was soaked, her belongings and Stuart’s were tossed around inside the bungalow, and she didn’t think that its flimsy construction was going to hold together much longer.

  She paused to consider her options. Should she flee the house before it was torn apart and she was crushed by a falling wall or beam? Or should she hunker down in a protected corner, hoping for the best?

  The door to the porch flew open, sending lamps and pictures crashing to the floor, and she ran to close it. And that was when she saw the figure staggering up the path. As she watched, the man was thrown to his knees by the wind, but that didn’t stop her from recognizing him.

  “Stuart! Oh, Stuart!” Heedless of the wind-lashed rain and the bolts of lightning that were now almost constant, she ran outside.

  “Angel,” he gasped, clasping her against him. The wind was so fierce that it almost tore their clothes away, and she knew that they had to get to shelter immediately. She put her arms around him and steadied him so that together they were braced against the wind, and they made it to the house. Inside, it was a shambles, but she didn’t care. They were alive!

  “I thought you weren’t coming back,” Angel said, burying her face against Stuart’s chest.

  “The boat capsized and broke up on the reef. When I was afraid I wouldn’t make it, I thought of you here alone, and I knew I had to get back to tell you...to tell you...” He stopped talking. “I don’t know of any way to say this except to come out and say it,” he said.

  Her heart stopped. She thought he was going to tell her that he had decided to leave the island.

  “Angel, I had to come back so I could tell you that I love you,” he said. “I’ve loved you almost from the moment we met. I wanted to tell you long ago, but I thought you’d make me leave, and—”

  “Make you leave?” she said unbelievingly. “I loved you so much, and I thought you’d want to leave if...if...”

  Her words were lost in the crash of the wind tearing the roof from its anchors. The roof flew off into the storm, and the rain beat upon them so furiously that they found it almost impossible to breathe.

  Stuart was exhausted; he could hardly stand. Angel quickly tried to think of what to do, where to go, and she thought of the old brick icehouse. It wasn’t big, but it would afford some shelter.

  “Follow me!” she screamed close to his ear. He nodded, and she kept a tight grip on him as she led him out the back door of the bungalow. Once they were outside, it was impossible to remain upright, and she dropped to her knees. Stuart followed, and she lowered her head against the wind and rain and began to crawl.

  The storm had reached its full fury, battering at them, tearing at them as they made their way across a clearing littered with tree limbs and coconuts and shingles torn from the house. Angel’s hands groped ahead of her, sometimes gripping mud, sometimes debris. Before long her palms were scraped and bleeding and she couldn’t see a thing. She knew she was headed in the direction only by instinct.

  When she reached the icehouse door, she and Stuart combined their strength to force it open against the wind and fell into the moldy, dark space within. It was a welcome shelter—for her, for Stuart, and for their baby.

  The wind slammed the door behind them, and, gasping, they wrapped their arms around each other in the tiny space, thankful to be alive. They had to sit with their knees drawn up; it was impossible to stretch out in the limited space. With her fingers, Angel felt Stuart’s face, the fine nose, the full lips. She couldn’t see him, it was too dark. Outside, the wind and rain ravaged the island, but they would be all right.

  “I was so worried about you,” Angel said, tears mixing with the rain on her cheeks.

  His hands found her head and positioned it in the dark. She felt his breath upon her cheek. “I never want to leave you,” he said. “Never.”

  “I don’t fit into your life, Stuart,” she said.

  “What life? I didn’t have much of a life left when I came here, Angel. The only life I want is the one I share with you. Here, on Halos Island.” And then his lips found hers, salty and wet, and he kissed her so passionately that when it was over, she was gasping for breath.

  “Hold me tight, Stuart. Never let me go,” she said. She tried to get comfortable, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “You’re hurt,” she said, feeling him flinch.

  “Only a bruise. Put your head where it was. I want you close to me,” he said.

  She felt laughter rising in her throat. “As if we could be anything but close in this tiny place.”

  “Good thing you’re only a couple of months pregnant. Otherwise we’d never fit,” he said.

  She grew su
ddenly still. “Are you happy about the baby, Stuart?”

  “I’m overjoyed. It’s what we both wanted.”

  “I didn’t know if you’d still want... I mean, I was worried that you wouldn’t...”

  His mouth was close to her ear. “I love you, and I love our baby. Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”

  Angel was beginning to feel slightly hysterical, and she’d have given anything at the moment for a guava. Unfortunately, the guavas had probably all been ruined by the storm. But she shouldn’t be thinking of guavas; Stuart deserved an answer.

  “What was more important, Stuart? To tell you I was pregnant, or to try to make something of our relationship? I had to give us a chance. I wanted you to love me, and I was afraid that I’d lose you before I even knew what it was like to be loved by a man as wonderful as you.” Now she was grateful for the darkness and glad that he couldn’t see her face. It was frightening to open herself up to a man in this way. A few months ago, she could never have imagined it.

  His arms tightened around her.

  “I should have known. I saw the symptoms, knew what they meant. Maybe I didn’t want to know. If I’d admitted to myself that you were already pregnant, I would have had to face leaving you.”

  “Then you’re not angry? You’ll forgive me for keeping it a secret?” she asked anxiously.

  “How can I be angry when we’re going to have a baby? I can hardly believe it! We’re pregnant!” His voice was filled with awe.

  “I feel as if I should ask you to marry me,” he said after a while.

  “We’re already married,” she reminded him happily.

  “Do you think it will last?” he said.

  “I don’t know. But we’ve got the rest of our lives to find out,” she said.

  “The rest of our lives is not nearly long enough,” he told her, and she lifted her lips to his for a kiss.

  Epilogue

  Eight Months Later

  “She looks like an Elizabeth,” said Stuart, looking critically at the baby he held in his arms.

  “Her name is Elizabeth Stuart Adams,” Angel said. “And with her eyes turning a bright, sparkling blue, it’s easy to see that she’s every bit a member of your family.”