Castaway Dreams (18 page)

She carried the eggs up to the cabin and deposited them in a cup, then craned her head over her shoulder. If she removed the remaining sleeve from her dress she would be able to move her arms more freely. Since this was one of the dresses Dr. Murray had insisted she wear without his assistance she was able to remove it herself, and taking a knife from his surgical case she snipped the threads at the back of the sleeve, creating a gap under her arm that allowed her to raise her hands over her head.

"That's better," she said to herself, putting the knife back. As she set the tray back in its place she saw a flash of gold, and curiosity pricked at her. She felt around in the pocket where the metal's edge glinted.

It was a framed miniature, a portrait of a young woman. She had the look of a cheerful country girl and Daphne wondered who she was and what her connection was to the doctor. She looked at it a moment longer, then put it back in its pocket, sliding it deep so it would not fall out.

Pompom came in and nudged her leg, and she absently patted him atop his curly head.

"It is a good thing I have you, Pompom. Maybe when we return I will have your portrait painted so I have a miniature of you. Would you like that?"

The dog licked her hand, then wagged his tail and ran out the door. He at least seemed to be in fine spirits over their adventure.

Daphne followed him out into the sunshine. The day was advancing and there was wood to be gathered. Dr. Murray had pointed out the twisted driftwood on the beach as a good starting point, and soon she was dragging limbs up through the brush to their rough campsite, piling them near the firepit. It was work like she had never done before, hot, and hard, and all too soon her arms and hands were aching from the unaccustomed chore, but she kept at it. Dr. Murray would find no reason to say she was slacking and not doing her share.

She sang as she worked, smiling as Pompom danced a few steps alongside her.

"Do you miss those days, sweetie?" she said to him and he wagged his tail. He'd been a sad case when she'd snatched him from that street performer. The blackguard was beating the pup with a leather strap because Pompom limped on sore paws instead of dancing as he was supposed to. The nasty man was set to make a scene, but Daphne's coins--and the sight of the two brawny footmen with her--convinced him to part with his dancing dog.

"Talking to your dog when you are stranded on a deserted island could be viewed as a sign of mental instability," said a voice behind her.

Pompom barked and wagged his tail, and Daphne turned with a smile.

"I talk to Pompom even when I'm in the middle of civilization, Doctor, so that would be a false diagnosis on your part."

He carried her bag, wet and dripping at the bottom.

"Oh dear, should I ask what is in my valise?"

"Supper," he said succinctly.

"You speared some fish?"

He nodded, trying to look modest, but she could tell he was proud of his hunting skill. For a wild moment, she was tempted to pat his tousled head and praise and coo over him as she would over Pompom if he brought her a beetle.

"Here, switch with me," he said. He passed her the valise and took the heavier load of firewood from her arms. Daphne wrinkled her nose at the condition of her bag.

"I do not think I will be putting my clothes in here again."

"A sacrifice for the common good, Miss Farnham."

She hummed to herself as they resumed walking.

"I know that tune," Dr. Murray said, looking at her sideways. "You have an interesting repertoire, Miss Farnham."

Daphne giggled softly.

"I like to sing and I would listen to the sailors singing their--what was it Mr. Lowry called them?"

"Shanties."

"That is correct," she said, smiling at him. "Their shanties. Mr. Lowry said it made the work go easier on the
Magpie
if the men sang while they were at their tasks."

She stopped so abruptly that Dr. Murray nearly ran into her.

"Why did you do tha--Miss Farnham, what is the matter?"

Daphne looked at him.

"They are all dead, aren't they?"

He just looked at her, and did not ask whom she meant.

"Mr. Lowry and Captain Franklin and Mr. Carr and all the sailors--they are all dead," she whispered.

"We cannot know for certain. We survived. They may have survived as well."

"Do you truly think so?"

"I have no evidence one way or the other, so I cannot draw a conclusion. Now, if you are ready to move on, there are fish to prepare."

Once again, his matter-of-fact words braced her in a way that sympathy or platitudes or pretty lies would not.

But she was no longer humming as they reached the cabin. Daphne set down her valise and straightened her back, rubbing it at the base.

"How are you going to cook the fish, Doctor? Are you going to boil it like you did the crabs?"

"We might do that at some point and make a fish stew, but I have a different thought for tonight. Are you up to some more labor?"

She knew what she wanted to say, but she also knew what the right answer was.

"Yes, if you need me, I can work."

He didn't say anything but looked at her with approval, and Daphne realized that for this man she was willing to push herself to do more than she would have thought herself capable of just a few short weeks back. Dr. Murray did not expect people to work harder than he did, but he had no patience with those who did not give their all.

"We need some flat rocks, about so big," he demonstrated the size. "Slightly smaller or larger is acceptable."

"How many?"

He looked at the firepit, then back at her.

"Half a dozen, maybe eight if they are small. Down by the pool would be a good place to start looking."

Daphne was about to head out when she paused and turned on her heel.

"Do not clean and prepare the fish until I return, Doctor," she said. "I cannot always depend on you to feed and take care of me--not that you aren't dependable--but I need to know how to do things for myself. What if I am shipwrecked again someday? People may look to me, Daphne Farnham, to lead them and show them what to do!"

"You expect to be shipwrecked again?"

"I did not expect to be shipwrecked at all! But I am, so now I want to learn. You cannot let one bad experience stop you from learning and trying new things, Doctor."

Really, she would expect a natural philosopher to know that. Sometimes she worried the doctor wasn't as intelligent as he thought he was, but he managed to muddle along with her assistance.

He was looking at her now in that strange manner, like she was a species of butterfly he'd never encountered before, but then he said, "If that is what you want, then I will gather the rocks with you and show you what to do."

He looked at the firepit and their wood supply and added, "I also want some green wood to make smoke. It is our best hope of rescue if passing ships see it."

The idea of rescue excited Daphne, but it also made her feel a little sad. Of course she did not want to spend the rest of her life stuck on this rock with only Pompom and dour Dr. Murray for company, even though Pompom was a great deal of fun and amused her with his antics.

But if she was rescued she would go back to being Miss Daphne Farnham, young lady of fashion. It would be lovely to see what the latest trends from Paris were and set the fashion tone for others to follow, but it would also be lovely to know how to lead a band of shipwrecked castaways if she found herself in this situation again.

"I want to know how to start the fire, and boil an egg, and clean the fish, and you said you would make palmetto hats," she told her two-legged companion as they walked down to the pool.

"That is a lot to learn, Miss Farnham."

"Necessary to learn, I think," she mused. "Either I will use it if I am shipwrecked and people naturally turn to me because I know the most, or I will use it in my book when I write about our experiences here."

"You mean to make yourself the heroine who saves the day?"

"Think about it from a literary point of view, Doctor. Would people rather read about a beautiful, passionate and brave young lady, or someone who has no sense of humor, no fashion sense, and no finer emotions or sensibility?"

"I am not without sensibility."

"I was not talking about you, Dr. Murray. I was speaking in generalities. I read novels, and what makes them interesting is when people do not do the expected thing."

"Novels are a foolish waste of time for foolish people. Their time would be better spent reading improving material."

Daphne nodded her head at his statement.

"You make my point for me, Doctor. I enjoy reading gothic novels. You do not. Therefore I know better than you what the reading public wants, and I am prepared to give it to them. If you were writing this story, it would be a dry recitation of facts that would act as a sleeping draught."

He stopped abruptly.

"My writing does not put people to sleep."

"Oh dear, I have insulted you, haven't I?" She stopped and patted his arm. "I am certain the other natural philosophers find your work just riveting, Dr. Murray."

She moved ahead to the rocks, humming again. What an interesting day this was turning out to be!

Dr. Murray rather grumpily showed her the right sort of rocks and since they were both gathering them up, it only took one trip to bring them back to the cabin. He arranged them in the pit and then built up a sandy area next to them before stoking the fire around the rocks.

"Now we wait for the rocks to heat, and tend to the fish. I need about a half dozen large green leaves."

"Banana leaves?"

"Those will do. And some vines to tie them. We are going to wrap the fish in the leaves and cook them on the rocks."

"I know you are learned, Dr. Murray, but how do you know all this?"

"When I visited Bermuda in the past I spent time exploring, looking for plants that could be helpful in my medicine chest. And I have a great curiosity about my surroundings. I also watch the sailors at their tasks, and I learned from them."

"Many in your position would ignore the sailors and servants."

He shrugged.

"Knowledge is knowledge. You are an excellent example of how one can learn from one's surroundings. You paid attention to what your housekeeper was doing in Jamaica, and now you are better prepared for life on our island."

He gave her his clasp knife and she went out to fetch the leaves. There were some small bananas on the tree, nearly ripe, so she cut those to take back to the cabin.

"I think there are some onions growing wild in the garden patch," she said when she stepped into the shade of the cabin. "They would go well with the fish, wouldn't they?"

"More yams, also, if they're there." He nodded.

Daphne stepped back out into the light and winced.

"You mentioned hats, Doctor. Can you make one for me now? The sun is fierce out here."

He stopped what he was doing and walked over to her, turning her head to the light.

"Your nose is quite red, Miss Farnham."

"It will turn brown and peel, won't it?" she fretted.

"Too late now, but the aloe will help. In the meantime, let me take care of the hat for you."

He cut palmetto fronds and after a few false starts remembered how to weave them into a hat. It was not nearly as well made as those offered by the women in the market in Jamaica, but it would keep the sun off her head and face.

When she put it on the corner of his mouth almost turned up in a smile.

"Maybe you will set a new fashion, Miss Farnham."

"A returning fashion, Dr. Murray. In my mother's time palmetto hats were the height of style in London."

The hat smelled green and fresh and provided welcome shade for her eyes as she returned to her chores. It was late and she understood why Dr. Murray warned her the work would be nonstop just to stay fed and have heat and light.

"Now it is time to clean the fish," he said. He gathered the valise, the leaves, the vines and the onions and with her assistance carried it down to the pool, Pompom trotting behind.

At the edge of the water he took his clasp knife and showed her how to split and clean the fish, removing the guts. He did the first one, then let Daphne try her hand at the second. When she was done what she had bore little resemblance to the neat filets laid out by Dr. Murray.

"I destroyed my fish," Daphne said glumly.

"Like anything else, you will improve with practice."

Birds alerted to their task swooped down at them, Pompom's barking keeping them from coming too close.

"Bear in mind that I have been cutting up creatures for many years, Miss Farnham," he said as he cleaned the last fish. "Now we lay the filets out on the leaves, add those onions you found, and wrap them into packages, like so."

He finished by tying them up with the vines, then stood to take them to the cabin until the fire was ready for them.

"If you would, take this trash down to the shore and toss it to the birds."

She gathered the offal into one of the leaves and, followed by a raucous flock of birds, trotted down to the shore. She'd no sooner flung the leaf and its contents toward the water when the birds dived after it, making short work of the mess.

Something shiny glinted at the edge of the surf and when she went to investigate she nearly shouted. More from their boat! One of her shoes, and Dr. Murray's jacket, its buttons gleaming. He would be glad to have it when it dried, and maybe she would not be so distracted by the sight of his muscled body if it was covered.

Daphne tilted her hat forward to shade her eyes and looked out to sea, hoping to spot more of their goods, but the ocean looked empty, and vast. She could now see smudges of land on the horizon, other islands. Were they inhabited?

Even if they were, they couldn't be as nice as her little island. Their island had a house, and a garden, and good food, and water, and Pompom.

It had Dr. Murray.

Humming to herself, she went to share the good news about his coat, but paused. She should tell him about the neighboring islands also. She grinned as she saw in front of her exactly what she needed for more information, and then he would see just how useful she could be!