Saving Miss Everly

by Britton, Sally

  The three women said nothing. Irene leaned against the rock and cried softly until she slept. Mrs. Morgan drifted off as well, exhausted by her injury and ordeal.

  Hope wondered what Grace would have done in the unique situation but could think of nothing with surety.

  * * *

  The sun crept out of the sea with Alejandro the only person on the island watching for it. He had climbed atop the stones making up his shelter, determined to keep an eye on the horizon as well as on his guests. Outside of the hut, the men slept around the fire he’d brought to life with the banked coals from inside, where the women slept. After he brought up fresh water in his bucket, allowing everyone a drink while he learned their names, he’d withdrawn. For a short time, the men below him had discussed what might be done about their situation. But, as Alejandro suspected, they fell asleep without deciding upon much. The women had been awake longer, judging by the sniffles and low murmur of voices he heard drifting up with the smoke. They slept through the late afternoon, into the night.

  He did not see Miss Everly again that night. Somehow, he already missed her.

  With his eyes first on the stars, and then the sky turning from black, to gray, to yellow and blue, Alejandro formed a plan on his own. After more than a year on the island, he understood the necessary things for survival, the subjects he must discuss with them, the lessons he must teach the English and their three sailors.

  He worried least about the seamen. They were obviously familiar with the islands, given their accents and coloring. Even if they had never lived alone on an island before, they would recognize the dangers and respect the delicate balance of living close to nature. But the Englishmen posed a potential difficulty.

  Rising with the sun, Alejandro pulled his worn, tattered shirt over his head. He couldn’t remember exactly when he’d given up wearing it, but given the mixed company he now kept, it would be wise to attempt to appear more civilized.

  Alejandro climbed down from his perch and went in search of his bucket. Everyone would doubtless wish for fresh water when they rose again. He would need to boil it. Though his body had long since accepted the water of the island, the newcomers weren’t prepared for it.

  Alejandro took the empty bucket, which someone had thoughtfully put beside the fire, and started down the hill toward the beach and his well.

  He hadn’t gone far, however, when he noticed someone ahead of him on his well-worn path to the beach. Miss Everly. He checked to make certain he’d tucked in his shirt correctly, though there was nothing he could do about the long tear in one of his sleeves.

  How strange, to actually concern himself over dress when she had been with him all the day before when he was half-naked.

  Holding her dress up with one hand, her bare feet picking the smoothest portions of ground to step upon, her concentration on the path was such that she did not hear him approaching behind her.

  “Buenos días, Miss Everly,” he said at no more than five paces behind her.

  She jumped and twirled around, releasing her skirt in the process. “Alejandro.” Her face flushed, and she clasped her hands before her. “Good morning.” She smiled up at him, almost expectantly, as though they were the oldest of friends.

  He could not let that continue.

  “You should not wander from the others.” He took in the tangle of her hair, hanging loosely over her shoulders, the dirt and sand clinging to the fabric of her dress. How did she appear so beautiful to him still? “It is not safe.”

  “I know.” She shifted, lowering her blue-eyed gaze to the ground between them. “But no one was awake, and I had—I had to step into the trees a moment.” He caught her blush darkening before she turned away, gesturing in the direction of the beach. “And then I thought I might go down to the water and wash. I feel dreadfully dirty.”

  Alejandro looked from the smudges on her gown up to the streak of soot on her face. “Did you tend the fire last night, Señorita?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t sleep.” The dark circles beneath her eyes, the tense worry in her expression, made it all too easy for him to recall his first hours on the island. “Mrs. Morgan hardly slept either until a short time ago. Irene, my friend, cried through most of her dreams.”

  He ought to send her back up the hill and tell her to wash later, with her friend. But she had already passed a long night of worry, and if the others slept on she likely could do no more than sit in silence with her thoughts. “Very well. Come. But remain close to me.”

  “Oh, thank you.” The relief in those two words gentled his thoughts toward her still more. She fell in step with him, her feet on the well-trodden dirt and grass, while he walked just off to one side. “Why are you up so early? Looking after all of us must have exhausted you.”

  It struck him as strange that it was so easy to speak with her. The evening before, he had struggled with the conversation. Hadn’t wanted to speak to the others. It had been so long since he’d talked to anyone besides himself and God. Before his unfortunate fate brought him to the island, he’d spent any number of hours charming beautiful women. The American women in particular had found his accent charming.

  “Everyone will be thirsty again. Your ordeal took a great deal of strength, as you know, and the only way to get it back is to eat and drink.”

  “Yes, of course.” Miss Everly pushed her hair over her shoulder and lifted her face to the cool morning breeze. “I am grateful you helped me yesterday. As I said, there is a reason we met.” They had come to the well.

  “You should go wash,” he told her, his tone gruffer than he meant for it to sound. “I will wait here in case you have need of help.” Then he turned away from her, pulling the full bucket up again.

  The woman took a step back, and he caught her confusion from the corner of his eye. “Of course. Thank you.” She walked away, her feet barely making a sound in the sandy dirt as she went over the hill toward the beach.

  Alejandro thought through his plan again, or tried to. The strict list of rules he had prepared for the new castaways marched through his mind, but the blue eyes of the woman he’d found on the beach continued to encroach upon his thoughts. Miss Everly’s beauty was impossible for him to deny, the connection he had felt the day before even more so. He still felt it, was pulled to her by it.

  Regardless of whatever attraction she held, Miss Everly was not for him. If the newcomers were trapped on the island with him, then his attention must necessarily fall elsewhere. When Miss Everly crested the hill again, her step somewhat lighter, Alejandro hardened his expression and acknowledged her with nothing more than a nod before beginning the climb back up to his shelter.

  The young woman remained unaffected by his manner. Indeed, she kept a one-sided conversation going quite effortlessly.

  “I cannot imagine what it has been like for you, all alone in this place for so long. I hope we will not be a great burden for you. But you must be happy to have company at last, and I doubt it will take long for people to come looking for us, and then you will be rescued, too. Saved from this place.” She barely paused for breath, and though he wanted to ignore her, she made it quite difficult to do so.

  He’d been in the silence too long, he well knew. Having someone else fill it, and with a voice that lilted and swayed so the words were like a song, gave ease to his heart.

  “Nearly all my life I’ve wanted to be part of an adventure. I never imagined it would be Robinson Crusoe’s story that I fell into. Though I will be grateful to have this over and done, I am nearly as grateful it happened at all. How else would anyone have found you here? But now there are several of us and things will turn out all right.”

  It pained him to know how wrong she was. Miss Everly would learn, soon enough, and without much help from him, that the island was not lovely nor something out of a novel. He didn’t stop her prattle, though. He took in every word, storing them up in his memory for later, for when she stopped being so hopeful and recognized the harsh reality of their situat
ion. For when she forgot the connection they had shared, and the way her hand fit perfectly within his.

  They were castaways upon an empty island, with only well water for drink and what the island provided for food. No amount of conversation or hope changed those facts. The island had claimed them all in life, and the island would keep their bones long after they had turned to dust.

  8

  When Hope left the canopy of trees walking at Alejandro’s side, she saw that the others had at last begun to awaken. Albert stood near the fire, speaking with Irene, who appeared rather angry. The sailors were at the edge of the clearing, the two who were uninjured, gathering wood and brush. The doctor was missing, most likely sitting with his wife.

  “The water?” Hope asked Alejandro, glancing at his bucket.

  He answered with a brusque tone. “It must be boiled first, to make certain it is clean.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, bent his head slightly, then walked with greater speed to the fire, leaving her behind.

  Hope watched him go, studying the way he moved with interest. She’d never seen a man walk like that before. At home, everyone carried themselves stiffly, as though a rod ran from the base of their necks straight down their spine, holding them upright and unbending. The sailors she’d watched when they came across the ocean moved rapidly, almost jerkily, as though perpetually in a hurry to get from one task to the next.

  Alejandro’s movements reminded her of a cat. His shoulders rolled slightly as he walked, his head tilted down as though he listened to the world around him rather than trust his eyes alone, and his feet fell lightly on the ground. Yes, where the gentry she knew strutted and posed like well-feathered birds, and sailors ambled about on land as though they were still at sea, Alejandro moved like a stalking feline.

  Despite the warmth of the morning, Hope shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

  Irene caught sight of her and pointed, drawing Albert’s attention, too. With a little wave, Hope called out, “Good morning.” Everyone glanced her direction, even the sailors gathering wood. She approached the crackling fire, where Alejandro had placed the metal pail upon a rock amidst the flames, and walked around to properly greet Irene.

  No sooner had Hope parted her lips to speak, however, than Albert took hold of her arm and pulled her toward the shelter’s entrance.

  “What do you think you are doing?” he asked, his words spoken through gritted teeth. “You cannot go wandering off. It isn’t safe.”

  “I was so worried,” Irene added, her voice tremulous. “What if you were hurt?”

  “I was with Señor Córdoba.” Hope tugged her arm away from Albert, then pushed her loose hair away from her cheek as an excuse for the movement. “I’m certain he wouldn’t let any harm befall me.”

  Albert’s eyes narrowed. “We know nothing about him, Grace. You cannot trust that man, and you cannot behave indecently by traipsing about without an escort. How long were you alone with him yesterday?”

  Although a protest formed in her thoughts, Hope kept it back. Her sister’s Christian name served as reminder enough that she played a part. Grace would be the first to make peace in a difficult situation, rather than stir up disagreements. What would she say, though? How did Grace smooth rough patches in conversation and conflict?

  Usually by paying compliments to the enemy.

  “Not long at all, and Señor Córdoba was a perfect gentleman. How kind of you to worry for me.” Yes, that was the right tact. Hope lowered her chin and forced herself to smile. “I did not mean to cause any alarm. I will be more careful in the future.” Though she could not like them questioning the honor of the man they must all depend upon for help, Hope changed the subject. “How is Mrs. Morgan today?”

  “Poorly, one would imagine,” Irene said, glancing at the shelter. “Sleeping on leaves and stone, with her injury, I cannot think any of this is good for her.”

  Mr. Thorne approached from the trees, joining their small party. “Good morning.” He glanced at each of them, a commiserating sort of grimace appearing on his face. “I see Miss Everly returned to us. What do you suppose we are to do next?”

  Irene simpered up at the gentleman, though he had made it more than clear the day before he held no interest in flirting with her. Really, Hope found it indecent of her friend to try again when the gentleman had been forced to proclaim himself attached to another through expectation if not yet by matrimony. He’d made the pronouncement while walking on the island they had toured with the doctor.

  “We will have to organize a method of attracting rescue, for certain.” Albert adjusted the cuffs of the coat he still wore, though how he managed to keep the still-damp coat on in the morning heat, Hope could not imagine. “Perhaps a fire. A large one.”

  “Surely the sailors will have ideas on that count.” Hope contradicted him without thinking. “I imagine they have lots of stories of what search parties might look for, or what might prove most effective.”

  Mr. Thorne nodded but Albert looked down his nose at her. “Really, Grace. The sailors are not very well educated. I cannot think they would have any better ideas than the most obvious.”

  His continued use of the Christian name he supposed to be hers made Hope’s neck prickle with irritation. Yet she kept her tone civil in her response. “If education is what is most wanted, we must appeal to Doctor Morgan. He is familiar with the area, and a naturalist. He will know what is best.”

  “Most likely,” Mr. Thorne agreed, reaching up to tug at the knot of his cravat. He’d tied it himself, obviously, and with haste. Though he’d seemingly lost his coat, the rest of his attire had been tucked and tied properly. Like Hope, Mr. Thorne was without shoes. His bare feet were nearly as pale as her own.

  Movement made Hope turn to see Doctor Morgan emerge from the stick and stone structure. His forehead puckered in concern, he caught Hope’s eye and heaved a sigh before joining them. “Miss Everly. It is good to have you among us again.”

  Hope’s cheeks warmed, but she lifted her chin rather than apologize again. She had only been gone from their sight a quarter of an hour, perhaps a few minutes more, but as they had all been sleeping when she left they could not know it had even been that long. Though Grace would admonish Hope to consider the feelings of others, Hope rather wished they would stop worrying over a grown woman perfectly capable of walking to and from the beach without incident.

  “How is your wife, Doctor?” Mr. Thorne asked, all politeness.

  “Tolerably well, considering her situation.” Doctor Morgan rubbed at his cheeks, which were coarse with black and gray stubble. “With rest and time to heal, I believe she will recover. There do not seem to be any internal injuries. The ribs are merely bruised. Not broken.”

  Mr. Gibson, the professor from Oxford, had kept his seat near the fire until Doctor Morgan appeared. The older gentleman came to stand next to the doctor, putting his hand on his friend’s shoulder. Hope looked about, at each member of their party, and the last of her temper cooled. Not a single person standing with her appeared confident in their situation. No one smiled. The surrounding air hung heavily, each man with drooping shoulders and dark circles under everyone’s eyes.

  “It is time we decide our course of action,” the doctor said after the measured silence. “Come, we must gather the other men and speak with Señor Córdoba.” Hope turned, prepared to join the men in their plans, when Albert touched her elbow again.

  “Perhaps the ladies would do better to join your wife, Doctor?”

  Irene started to nod, but Hope had no wish to be left out of any discussion involving their rescue. Appealing to Albert would not help, as he seemed determined to put her out of the way. She addressed Doctor Morgan instead.

  “I cannot think I will be at peace until I know that there are firm plans, Doctor. I did not sleep last night, worrying over these dreadful circumstances. If you will allow me to listen, I am certain it will help me to recover my serenity.” It wasn’t exactly what Grace woul
d say, or do, but Grace had never been stranded on an island with a group of men intent on leaving her out of important decisions.

  Mr. Thorne surprised her by adding to her request. “If they wish to hear it, Mr. Carlbury, I think we must allow it. The ladies are less likely to have hysterics if they understand the situation in full.”

  “I agree,” the professor said, somewhat impatiently. “Come, come. Enough dithering.”

  “Miss Everly, how old are you?” the doctor asked, tucking his hands behind his back and regarding her with narrowed eyes.

  “Four and twenty, sir,” she answered, tilting her chin upward.

  A tired smile appeared, though it did not quite lighten the doctor’s expression. “Ah. You see, Mr. Carlbury, Miss Everly has reached her majority. I think it best we allow her to make her own decisions, given the circumstances.”

  The victory, small as it was, gave Hope a feeling of accomplishment, but she refrained from casting a smug look in Albert’s direction. The bossy gentleman had no say, and she must be gracious in her triumph. With her hand on the doctor’s arm, she walked with him to the fire.

  Alejandro had been tending to the ashes and coals, banking the fire carefully while keeping watch over the pail of water. When he saw the group shift in his direction he came to his feet. The sailors returned, too, with arms full of sticks and dead foliage. They put their burdens down and then stood, arms crossed, everyone waiting for decisions and plans.

  “Señor Córdoba, I must again offer our sincerest thanks for all of your assistance. The shelter you provided for the ladies, and your hospitality extended to all of us, has been a tremendous blessing.”

  The way Señor Córdoba regarded them, completely relaxed, the confident tilt of his head, intrigued Hope. Had the man stood before Parliament, she imagined he would hold himself with the same self-assured posture. Had he always stood that way, or had his time on the island influenced his character? The day before, with her, he had been all gentle solicitude.