Miss Farnham herself was looking far from the ideal of English womanhood she'd been a few days back. Despite their best efforts, her nose was peeling. Her hair hung in roughly braided lanks in need of a good scrubbing, and there were patches of sweat darkening her salt-stained and faded dress.
He didn't need a mirror to show him he wasn't in any better shape. His face itched constantly from the beard growing in, and even his toughened skin burned. He could smell himself, though Miss Farnham had been too polite to remark on it, and the dog either didn't care or enjoyed the effluvia.
And yet, despite all these travails, Daphne Farnham's eyes were bright, her face full of belief he would keep them safe.
She had no way of knowing just how scared he was.
"What are you thinking about, Doctor?"
"The tide is carrying us to that island. We must prepare for a rough landing."
"What do you mean?"
He looked around at their scant supplies.
"My medical chest will float. I will attach lines to it, and if we capsize, grab onto it. Hold on to it and kick to shore. I can try to assist you, but we could be separated by the surf. As long as you have the chest and keep kicking, you will make it to the beach."
"What about Pompom?"
"He can take his chances in the surf."
"No." Her spine straightened and her jaw tightened. He saw a resolution in her gaze that had not been there before.
"I will not leave my Pompom to take his chances, Doctor. I will wrap him up inside my shawl, up at my shoulder. If my head is above water, his will be also."
"He is a liability, Miss Farnham, and the extra fabric will weigh you down. You cannot concentrate on saving yourself if you try to save the dog."
"Pompom comes with me, Dr. Murray."
"I could throw him over the side now," Alexander said quietly.
"Only if you are prepared to see me follow right behind him."
She said this just as quietly, just as firmly. The giggling girl who stared at him worshipfully was gone, and the woman whose unwavering blue gaze reflected the water around them was a different person, one who would risk everything for a companion--even an animal companion.
For a brief moment he wondered what it would be like if Miss Farnham cared about him as much as she cared for that animal. A short time ago he would not have thought her capable of such depth of feeling and commitment, but he'd gotten to know Daphne Farnham better through their adventure. She would not back down on this, and there was no way he could follow through on his threat without knocking her unconscious.
The hours dragged on, the two of them not speaking any more than necessary. Alexander tipped the last of the water from the butt into the flask, giving it to Daphne to drink.
"Do not share it with your dog."
She ignored him, but only gave the dog a splash from her hand. Then she took a swallow, and passed the flask back to him.
"You drink it, Miss Farnham," he rasped through lips cracked and stinging from the salt spray.
"If you do not drink some yourself, Doctor, you will not have enough strength to do what you need to do. We are in this together--all three of us."
He took the flask from her and tipped his head back. The water tasted like scum from being stored for so long and from the heat of the water butt.
They lay back in the boat beneath their canvas cover, conserving their energy. The dog rested atop Miss Farnham's stomach, and her hand periodically would stroke the animal, soothing him.
Alexander lifted his head to check that they were still drifting in toward the island, but sometime after midday he saw what he'd feared.
"What is it?" Miss Farnham propped herself up on an elbow, shading her eyes and gazing toward their destination, shimmering now on the horizon like a green mirage. They were close enough that he could see hills rising out of the tree line, but there was still no smoke, no sign of humans, no hope of rescue.
"The tide is turning. I am going to row and bring us closer."
"How can I help? Can I row also?"
He shook his head.
"If you have never done it before, it will slow us down. We can be more effective if I row. Give me your night rail."
Without questioning why, Miss Farnham passed him the delicate fabric, wincing when he grabbed it at the neck and tore it straight down the middle.
"Now I could use your assistance. Wrap the cloth around my hands, each piece, and tie it off."
Miss Farnham put the dog down and it lay there, silently watching them, then closed its eyes. She sat across from him and took Alexander's hand in hers. Her hand was browned now, the knuckles skinned, the once smoothly manicured nails broken and ragged. Her head bent over as she began her task and Alex's other hand rose up and rested on her head for a moment, the hair sunwarmed beneath his fingers.
She stopped and gazed into his eyes. Two lines were furrowing between her brows, and he moved his hand down, smoothing them with his thumb.
"No fretting, Miss Farnham. You will give yourself wrinkles. What a fashion disaster that would be."
"I did not think you cared for fashion, Doctor."
"I do not. You, however, are in my care, Miss Farnham, and a wrinkle would distress you."
She favored him with one of her brilliant smiles, and he did not tell her that it brought out lines at the corners of her eyes. Or that he found those lines...endearing was not the right word, was it? Why would the sight of Miss Farnham looking more like a real woman and less like a porcelain fashion doll gladden his heart?
Why would the sight of her smiling at him tempt Alexander to lean forward and put his lips on hers?
He did not have long to ponder this conundrum, for her glance shifted.
"The seagulls are more distant, Doctor. We must hurry."
Daphne bent to her task and finished wrapping his hands, tearing the end of the cloth to make a knot. She switched places with him and Alexander removed his coat, rolled up his sleeves and grasped the oars.
"You sit at the tiller and keep me on course, Miss Farnham."
"Aye, aye, Captain," she said cheekily, taking her place with her dog in her lap.
She watched while he rowed, sometimes directing him to starboard, or to larboard, to keep them aimed for the beach that he could see when he glanced over his shoulder. As they drew closer Miss Farnham took her shawl and made a sling, putting the animal inside it, his head at her shoulder.
Alexander's shoulders burned, the overworked muscles protesting each sweep of the oars, but he kept up a steady rhythm until he could hear the pounding of the surf over the pounding of the blood in his ears.
"We are almost there!" Miss Farnham called out, "Not too much farther now, Do--"
The crash of the boat hitting the reef ended her sentence on a scream. Alexander whipped around and grabbed Daphne's skirt just as her momentum was about to pitch her over the side, dashing her onto the sharp coral. He yanked her back and the cloth tore, but he still managed to pull her in, holding her tight as the boat shuddered from the impact.
Water poured in through the gashed hull.
The dog was barking, but stopped at a sharp command from its mistress. Alexander looked at the two of them watching him for direction on what to do next. There was no choice.
"Look there, Miss Farnham--that beach ahead. Keep kicking your legs and you will make it."
He did not mention sharks, or rays, or riptides, or any of the other disasters that could occur in the short span of distance between the boat and shore. He had to concentrate on her landing in one piece and the faster she could swim there, the sooner that would happen.
She looked at him, her eyes wide, but only said, "Yes, Dr. Murray."
"Remember," he said in a gentler voice, "the chest will keep you afloat."
The chest was already floating in the seawater rushing in. In a moment she'd be stepping up and out of the boat as it sank lower.
"Go now, Daphne."
She seemed startled by his
use of her name, and then she startled him by impulsively leaning forward and hugging him, earning a protesting yip from the dog squished between them.
"I will see you ashore, Doctor."
"Yes. Yes, you will, Miss Farnham."
Alexander went over the side, watching as Daphne grabbed hold of the lines, holding onto the chest, her dog watching him from over her shoulder.
"Kick now, Daphne, kick for shore."
Alex grabbed hold of the water butt floating empty beside him, and staying behind Daphne, occasionally calling out encouragement to her. She was fine initially, but her strength began to flag.
"Kick, Daphne, kick, blast you!"
Where cajoling was failing, his rough exhortation gave her a boost.
"Now, hold the chest! Let it carry you through the surf!" he called hoarsely, his voice almost gone. He'd swallowed too much water yelling and trying to keep her moving, and he saw black flashes at the edge of his vision.
If he could help her through the surf, she would be safe on land. That was all that mattered.
She was too far ahead to hear him now, and he strained to watch, his grip slipping on the wet wood of the water butt. He watched, his heart in his throat as the surf tossed her and the chest, but then he blinked water out of his stinging eyes.
She was on the beach. Not moving.
"Daphne," he whispered, releasing his hold on the wooden barrel and kicking for shore. Just before the blackness overtook him, he had his last vision of her lying there, her hand stretched out to him like a silent supplicant.
Chapter 9
"I am not dead."
The words came out in a cracked whisper, but the act of saying them--and the pain involved in the effort--was empirical evidence Alexander Murray was still among the living.
"Dr. Murray! Are you awake now?"
Alex did not open his eyes, that would take too much effort. Hearing Daphne Farnham's voice eased the tension from his frame, and he lay there, silently thanking whatever powers watched over silly girls and grizzled surgeons.
He heard a repetitive yipping noise and realized the animal, too, had survived. He did not give thanks for that.
A shadow fell over his face and he felt a thump as a body settled nearby. Alex cracked one eye open, blinking at the soreness of its salt-crusted condition, amazed he still had enough water in his body to produce the resulting tearing.
"Are you weeping for joy that we're safe and not drowned?"
"No. Eyes hurt," he rasped. Miss Farnham's voice did not sound nearly as bad as his. "Water?"
"Yes! I found a shallow pool in a rock. Maybe it rained here. Can you walk?"
For a drink of fresh water Alexander would crawl if he had to. Since he preferred to walk under his own power, he sat up. His shirt was in tatters, pieces of linen fluttering like ribbons in the island breeze and his trousers were torn down one leg that he could see. He worked his gummy eyelids open and examined his companion.
Miss Farnham was not in much better shape. Her dress was missing a sleeve, and the other had a huge hole gaping under her arm. Without her stays, what remained of the dress hung oddly. Her hair was a curly bush sticking out in all directions and falling over her eyes. She was sitting on her knees on the sand, bare feet tucked beneath her, watching him with concern.
The only one of them who looked himself was the dog, who sniffed at Alexander's foot.
"Do you need assistance walking, Dr. Murray?"
"Try on my own first. Are you injured, Miss Farnham?"
She tried to look over her shoulder where her sleeve had been attached.
"I am scraped, I think. A slight headache, but the water helped. And I am hungry," she said as her stomach made a noise punctuating the sentence.
"My case, did it survive?"
"Yes!" she said brightly. "It is over under that tree."
She pointed toward a palm and there was his medical chest, and the sight of the familiar box eased something inside of him. Just knowing he had it with him gave him a feeling that he could weather any disaster.
Miss Farnham stood and walked toward the trees.
"Come this way, Doctor, and I will show you the pool."
Alexander pushed himself to his feet, not without effort. The shirt was a loss, but he could use the linen for other purposes, so he pulled it over his head, wincing as the cloth chafed against his own scrapes and abrasions.
The pool was a shallow depression in the rocks, fed by a trickle of water from the hills. It was shaded by the surrounding trees and a heavy growth of ferns, and after he brushed the leaves off the surface Alexander stuck his face directly into the water, letting it soak into his salted pores and his hair as he gulped it down.
He pulled himself back from drinking too much, stopping before he became ill. When he brushed his wet hair back from his forehead, Miss Farnham was staring at him, her mouth agape.
"What?"
"You!" She pointed an accusing finger at him. "You are not old!"
"Were you knocked on the head when you were washed ashore? That statement makes no sense at all."
She ignored that, and was looking at him, at his bare torso, and her red face reflected anger and...something else.
"You are not old," she said again. "Your belly, it is not all wrinkled and saggy, it is..."
"Yes?" Now he was intrigued. He did not know where the conversation was going, but it was a glimpse into the strange workings of Daphne Farnham's mind, and that at least had entertainment value.
"It is firm, and there are muscles, and..." She stopped, flustered and at a loss for words.
"Miss Farnham, I beg you, spare my blushes," Alexander murmured as he wiped his face with his shirt.
"You do not understand!" She stamped her bare foot on the ground in frustration. "When you were old Dr. Murray it was different. I could think of you like an...an uncle, or a, I do not know what! But now, it is all changed!"
"I am devastated to be such a disappointment to you. I cannot do anything about my age, Miss Farnham, but if it is any comfort to you, I feel older by the minute. And I feel positively ancient next to you."
"That's not good enough," she muttered. "We must do something about this."
She walked off, still talking to herself.
Alex almost called her to return, but he trusted even Daphne Farnham could not find trouble just a few feet from where he stood. He took advantage of the water in the rock pool to wash himself, and thought about their current situation.
It was amazing how life could put things in perspective. After you have contemplated dying of thirst and exposure in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, a tropical island, deserted or not, is a paradise by comparison. He and Miss Farnham appeared to be whole and relatively unscathed. There were birds here, and birds meant meat and eggs. He would build a fire. There was, most importantly, fresh water.
It could be much, much worse.
Alex hummed a Rabbie Burns melody to himself as he scrubbed his arms at the edge of the pool. When Miss Farnham returned, she stopped and whirled about at the sight of him and presented her back.
"This is terrible," she said, throwing up her hands in the air. "This changes everything! We slept together!"
"We were on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean."
He could see her arms were crossed in front of her, her back stiff.
"Miss Farnham, we are both the victims here of false assumptions."
She did not turn around, but she stopped tapping her bare foot on the ground.
"How so?"
"Think about it. You looked at me, and saw what you wanted to see, and perhaps what you expected to see. An elderly man. You made that assumption based on my white hairs."
"And on your demeanor." She sniffed, giving him a glance over her shoulder.
"I will grant you my demeanor may seem to you to carry a certain gravitas not found with many of your contemporaries. How old are you, anyway? Eighteen?"
Daphne turned around and a smile tugged at
the corners of her mouth.
"I am twenty-five years old, Dr. Murray."
He stopped still.
"You are that old?"
She did not appear offended at his blunt assessment.
"I suppose you were fooled by my appearance, and by my demeanor. I do not have any--what was that word?"
"Gravitas."
"Yes. I am not a grumpy, dowdy, stick-in-the-mud who never smiles. But how does that make us both victims of false impressions?"
"You looked at me and saw a crotchety old man. I looked at you and saw a porcelain-headed fashion doll."
"I can see how you might think that about me, since you are so full of gravitas, Dr. Murray." She flashed her teeth. "But you don't think that now, do you?"
"We need to look for food," he said, looking around the glade where the rock pool was, and glanced up at the sun through the trees. It looked like mid-afternoon from the sun's position. This spot had possibilities.
"We must construct a shelter also--"
"Dr. Murray--"
"I suppose we can make a lean-to out of those palmettos. It won't be very adequate--"
"Dr. Murray!"
"Would you please stop babbling, Miss Farnham, this is important. We need to have shelter, and food. If you will leave me alone, I can construct something for us."
"Oh, very well, Doctor. You stay here in your leaves. Pompom and I will sleep at the cottage."
He stopped talking and felt his head whip around, not a good feeling considering how battered he was from being tossed ashore.
"Cottage?"
"Yes," Daphne said, looking annoyingly smug. "There is a building up there, through those trees. I explored while you were sleeping on the sand."
Alexander tried not to think of the things that could happen to a young woman exploring on her own.
"I had Pompom with me."
"That does not reassure me," Alex said. "Before we trot up there, was there anyone at this house?"
Daphne shook her head, her disarrayed curls bouncing about.
"It looks unoccupied. Come and I will show you."
So Alexander followed her, along a path so narrow he hadn't spotted it earlier. It wound up through the lush foliage and trees, opening up in a clearing where there was indeed a cottage. He stopped just behind Miss Farnham. It was more of a wooden hut, actually, but it looked sturdy for all of that. The land in front of it was cleared, and there were scatterings of wood around the hut that gave him a clue as to its purpose.
Castaway Dreams Page 11