Castaway Dreams

by Darlene Marshall

  "You mean...pirates?"

  "Try not to sound so excited. I assure you, the pirates found in these waters are scum who bear little resemblance to Byron's corsair."

  "Tomorrow we will explore more of the island," he said, ending the talk of piracy. He'd earlier scouted out a suitable spot for them to use as a temporary privy, and he banked the coals while Miss Farnham went off into the bushes. She paused inside the hut on her return, then stood watching him work. There was enough light from the moon for him to see without stumbling about. He didn't want to light the candles in the cabin until it was necessary.

  "Dr. Murray? May I ask a favor of you?"

  He paused and looked at her, waiting.

  "Would you please brush my hair?" Her voice caught, but she went on, looking down at the brush in her hands. "I know I should do it for myself, but when I try to raise my arms they hurt."

  "You are not used to physical labor, Miss Farnham," he said gently. "I am not surprised your arms ache. And you were swimming ashore, too. It is perfectly appropriate for you to ask for assistance."

  She came over and sat facing the coals, sitting cross-legged on the ground and Alex knelt behind her. Daphne's hair fell in a mass down her back that suddenly made him itch to plunge his hands into it and soothe whatever aches she had. The evening was still but for the sound of night birds hunting their own supper, the tropical paradise lush with the smell of the surrounding plants and their cedar hut.

  He gritted his teeth and took the brush, starting first with the snarls at the bottom, patiently working his way through the tangles. His own arms ached from his pounding in the surf, but he was not about to tell her that because she might tell him to stop. He did not want to stop. He'd thought about doing this again since that first night when she'd asked him to help her, to teach her how to braid her hair.

  There was a great deal he'd like to teach Miss Daphne Farnham, none of it good for his peace of mind. He experienced again the feel of her silken tresses sifting between his fingers, the curls that wrapped themselves around his hands like living vines. She'd rinsed herself in the pool earlier, washing the salt out of her hair and letting it dry in the warm air. He'd caught himself watching her as her hair dried, the locks lightening to their vibrant golden shade, flowing across her neck and down the torn arm of her dress.

  "Would you like me to braid it for you to sleep tonight?"

  "I usually prefer my hair unbound, but that might be best, Doctor."

  Was it his imagination, or was her voice lower, huskier than earlier? Whether it was his imagination or not, his unruly body responded to the aural cues. If he spread his legs and pulled her back, her rounded bottom would be snug against him, cradling the erection straining at the front of his ragged trousers.

  Sweat broke out on his forehead as he tried to wrench his thoughts away from that direction. His efforts were defeated when he said, "Do you have a ribbon?" and Miss Farnham reached forward on the ground to fetch it, which brought her rump up, perfectly positioned for what he was imagining at this very moment would be the ideal ending to this long, arduous day.

  She trusts you. You cannot betray her trust.

  That helped. Some. Not much. Especially when she looked at him over her shoulder, and he could see the gleam of her bare skin through the rent in her bodice, but he was pleased his hand was not shaking when she gave him the ribbon and she sat back on her heels, waiting for him to braid her hair.

  He managed to separate the locks, braided them and tied off the end with her multi-colored ribbons, still wet from being rinsed in the fresh water.

  "There. You are ready now, Miss Farnham. It is time for bed."

  Chapter 10

  The word "bed" hung between them in the night air, and Daphne pushed herself to her feet before looking at Dr. Murray. All she could think about what a surprisingly attractive companion the doctor was, not as old and decrepit as she'd suspected.

  But he could still be grumpy and irritable, so she might survive this experience without embarrassing herself.

  "Where will you sleep, Doctor?"

  "There is no bedding, Miss Farnham. We only have the one room of the cabin. Tomorrow we may be able to work out something more comfortable, but tonight we will share that space. I cut some banana leaves earlier, and we can sleep on top of them."

  She must have looked quizzical, because he added, "If we sleep on the bare ground it will drain warmth from our bodies. The leaves provide insulation and padding."

  He gestured and she entered the cabin and she heard him vigorously shaking the banana leaves before he brought them into the cabin and arranged them on the floor.

  Daphne gingerly lowered herself to the leaves and lay on her side, her head pillowed on her arm. Pompom curled up at her stomach, snuggling next to her for comfort as much as warmth, and she put her other arm around him, holding him close. He sighed and licked her hand. She did not look at Dr. Murray, who stepped out one final time.

  A bird screeched and she jumped, but she heard a gruff voice coming out of the darkness.

  "That is only a petrel, Miss Farnham. You will become used to their night calls soon enough."

  Then he was behind her, not positioning himself against her body like he had on the boat, but lying alongside her. She could not see him behind her, but suspected he was lying on his back.

  "Are you going to be able to sleep like that, Dr. Murray?"

  "I am a surgeon, Miss Farnham. I can fall asleep anytime, anywhere."

  "Really?" She rolled over to look at him.

  That was a mistake. Her eyes were adjusted to the faint light coming in through the doorway. He lay on his bare back on the leaves, his hands beneath his head as he looked up at the roof. The position brought into detail the corded muscles of his arms and his finely defined chest with its light brushing of hair. She'd noticed earlier that the hair on his chest was a blend of silver and rust, like the hair atop his head.

  Old, he's old, far too old for you, her mind told her, but her body sent her a different message.

  "Oh dear, I just knew this would be a problem." She moaned, flopping onto her own back. She couldn't look at him. Pompom grumbled at the disturbance then, settled back down.

  "What is your problem, Miss Farnham?"

  "It is not you, Dr. Murray, it is me. I do not know if I can sleep next to you like this!"

  "I promise not to ravish you in your sleep, Miss Farnham. I can control my appetites."

  "You do not understand! It is my appetites I am worried about."

  She rolled over on her side, propping herself up on her arm.

  "You see, this is what I was trying to explain earlier! When you were an old man I could sleep next to you without worries. But now that I see how you really are, it gives me disturbing thoughts and I may want to act on those thoughts, Dr. Murray, and then where would we be?"

  He did not say anything for a long time, then he cleared his throat.

  "Disturbing thoughts, Miss Farnham?"

  "I am not worried about you making advances on me, Doctor. I know you are a scholar and a natural philosopher. You have gravitas. You would never, ever give in to your base passions. But I am only a woman, Doctor, and one who..." How could she best phrase this? "One who has a passionate temperament, and when I see you, looking like you do, lying here next to me, I worry that I will do something that will give you a disgust of me and my base desires."

  He cleared his throat again.

  "So you are saying it is up to me to ensure that you do not ravish me in my sleep?"

  "Exactly! You must be strong for both of us, Doctor, for I cannot assure you that I can control myself."

  "Miss Farnham..." He stopped, and said something beneath his breath she couldn't hear.

  "I was afraid this would happen," Daphne said sadly. "You are disgusted with me now. I will understand if you want to sleep somewhere else."

  "I do not wish to sleep elsewhere. I am not disgusted with you, Miss Farnham. Far from it. Your frank h
onesty is exactly what we need in a situation like this."

  "It is?"

  "Of course. Now that I understand you are not attracted to me in any fashion other than at a base, physical level I am prepared to repel any untoward advances you may make to me."

  "That's a relief," Daphne said, feeling lighter in her mind and much more at ease. "I will do my best to control myself, Dr. Murray, and you just...just be yourself."

  She rolled over on her side, cradling the sleeping dog next to her again.

  "Good night, Doctor."

  She couldn't be sure, but she thought he said something beneath his breath again. Her eyes were drifting shut when she heard him say, "Good night, Miss Farnham."

  "And Pompom, too?"

  "Go to sleep, Miss Farnham."

  Daphne awoke the next morning to the cries and twitters of the island's bird population. Pompom had already awakened and slipped out the open doorway to take care of his needs, and she heard him out there barking at a bird or two.

  She was not inclined to move. It was comfortable here, her head pillowed on a strong arm, his other arm wrapped around her and his body spooned against her, keeping her warm. She could feel his soft breath on the back of her neck, and lower down where he was pressing into her from behi--

  "Hah! I knew it!"

  Daphne scrambled to her feet and whirled to face her companion, who blinked at her dazedly. She put her hands on her hips and watched as he rubbed his eyes. He had no right to be looking good this early in the morning, his beard-shadowed jaw and the tousled hair falling across his forehead giving him a decidedly rakish air.

  "Why are you screeching at me?"

  "You, you...you man! You are like the others! Just look at you!"

  She pointed in the direction of what had her screeching.

  "Oh. That."

  "Yes, that! What do you have to say for yourself?"

  "Miss Farnham, that is a perfectly natural state for a man upon awakening. It has nothing to do with you."

  "You are not blaming me for putting you in that state?"

  He thought about it for a moment.

  "No. You may have contributed some to the situation, but I do not blame you."

  He started to rise, but her next words stopped him.

  "It isn't a life-threatening condition?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "I was told when men woke up like that it was something requiring immediate attention or a man could become crippled, or even die!"

  He propped himself up on one arm.

  "Who told you that?"

  "Never mind," she muttered. "It is not important. I am glad you are not going to die, Doctor. And that I don't have to cure it for you."

  He looked down at himself, then looked at her and for a brief moment he did look vaguely hopeful, but Daphne whirled on her foot and hurried out of the cabin, heading to the designated bushes to take care of her own needs.

  When Daphne returned the doctor had gathered up the leaves and put them in the corner.

  "We have a busy day ahead of us, Miss Farnham. It's best we start working."

  Daphne sighed. "Work" was such an unpleasant word. She suspected what the doctor had in mind would turn out to be more exhausting than finding the right hat.

  But they were companions in this adventure, and each experience gave her more to add to the book she was going to write someday, and that thought cheered her up.

  "What do we do first, Doctor?"

  "Each day we will need to gather firewood, fetch water and food to cover our basic needs. If there's time remaining in the day and we're not too tired, we will explore our island."

  "What about rescue?"

  He frowned, thinking.

  "I am of two minds about that, Miss Farnham. Not that I don't want to be rescued, but all sorts of people ply these waters. If we light a signal fire we might attract the wrong ones."

  "But if there is no signal fire no one will know we are here," Daphne said reasonably. "It's a chance we have to take."

  He thought some more, then gave a small nod of agreement.

  "You are correct. We cannot wait on the chance that the plantation workers will return soon. We have leftover yams and vegetables? Let's have them for breakfast, then you can gather firewood and I will fish for us."

  "I saw a pawpaw tree when I was out behind the hut. We can gather those also. This way."

  He followed her outside, Pompom sniffing the ground behind them. The slender tree was heavy with golden yellow fruit, and her mouth watered at the thought of the treat with breakfast.

  Daphne tried to grab the low-hanging fruit, but it was just out of her reach. Dr. Murray had no difficulty plucking down a few for them, and they headed back to the cabin.

  "Do not eat the leftover crab. You can give it to the dog."

  She almost protested that it might make her precious baby ill, but she'd seen some of the things that animal was willing to consume, so she said nothing. If it made him sick, he'd disgorge it soon enough.

  Dr. Murray went down to the pool and refilled their flask while Daphne took the knife he'd left behind and sliced open the pawpaws, exposing the creamy flesh with its black seeds. Her stomach grumbled and she fetched the leftover roasted vegetables while waiting for the doctor.

  When he returned with the water it reminded her of something else she'd seen.

  "There are calabash trees here, too, Doctor. We can use the gourds for containers."

  He looked at her with an odd expression on his face.

  "How do you know all this, Miss Farnham, how to identify the trees and plants?"

  "The house we rented in Jamaica had a garden, and the woman who cooked and cleaned for us tended it. Viola--that was her name--used to go with me to market and she showed me what trees and plants were being used or cultivated. Some of the same ones grow here."

  She busied herself slicing the vegetables.

  "I like growing things. It is rewarding to watch them change and brighten your life with color and scent, like flowers, or add to your enjoyment of a meal. And in Jamaica it helped distract me from... Well, it was good to learn new things.

  "There!" She'd arranged the servings neatly on some fresh leaves, making a pattern of the different colors and textures. There was no reason why a meal had to be drab, any more than clothing needed to be drab.

  The doctor was still watching her.

  "I do not think I have ever met anyone like you, Daphne Farnham."

  She paused, suddenly feeling nervous. She wiped her hands on her skirt, looking down at her dirty bare toes.

  "Oh. Is that a good thing?"

  She looked at him through her lashes. He didn't answer and he wasn't smiling, not with his mouth open and his teeth bared, but the expression on his face, in his eyes, made it seem like he was smiling, smiling at her.

  He took his food and sat on the dirt floor, leaning against the wall, leaving her the table and chair. After a moment's hesitation, Daphne took her leaf and joined him, sitting next to him. He raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything.

  "You think we are near Bermuda, Doctor, but I thought Bermuda is an island."

  "Bermuda is a grouping of islands, Miss Farnham, and most people live around St. George or Hamilton. Bermuda is an isolated area but it has its share of traffic from the ocean. We could be on one of the smaller islands. Since we have not seen any smoke rising anywhere else, I suspect we are the only ones here."

  Daphne stopped chewing.

  "What if no one comes here? Will we be stranded here forever?"

  He looked at her sideways.

  "I doubt that will happen. This appears to be a thriving plantation. Someone will come to cut down those trees."

  Daphne looked down at her torn and stained dress.

  "I could be in rags by that point, Doctor."

  "That's possible," he said, chewing thoughtfully. "We might find some goats like Robinson Crusoe did and make ourselves clothes from their skins."

  Daphne
shuddered at the thought. Goatskin dresses sounded hot and scratchy. And smelly.

  "One crisis at a time, Miss Farnham," Dr. Murray said, rising to his feet and brushing off his hands. "Food, water, shelter, fire, these are the essentials."

  He gave her his hand and helped her up, then frowning, turned her hand over. Daphne knew what he saw. The skin was rough and her nails were ragged. They were no longer the hands of a lady.

  "Tonight, take some of the aloe sap and lightly rub it over your hands at bedtime, Miss Farnham. It's not as effective as an emollient cream, but it will help."

  He seemed almost reluctant to release her hand, but he did, saying only, "And be careful of splinters when gathering firewood."

  He turned to leave the cabin, but paused and looked over his shoulder.

  "Come down to the beach with me and gather driftwood there. I will feel better if we stay together until there is time to explore."

  That made sense to Daphne also, so she followed as the doctor fetched his sharpened stick and her much abused valise. Pompom trailed behind them, and did not appear to be suffering ill-effects from his seafood breakfast.

  Breakfast had Daphne thinking, and she stopped walking.

  "Eggs!"

  Dr. Murray turned and looked at her.

  "This island is full of birds, Dr. Murray. Where there are birds there are eggs, correct? If we can locate their nests we can boil eggs for our meals."

  "Excellent suggestion, Miss Farnham."

  "Do you know how to boil an egg, Doctor?"

  He looked at her again.

  "Don't you know how to boil an egg, Miss Farnham?"

  "Why would I?" she said. "I never had to cook a meal for myself until last night."

  "True," he said. "I forget sometimes who you are, Miss Farnham."

  Daphne wished he would forget that all the time. It was much more enjoyable just being the Daphne Farnham who knew how to find a yam in the garden or cut up a pawpaw. Today she wanted to be the Daphne Farnham who caught fish. Although it would be nice to wear shoes again, she thought, as she stopped to remove a thorn from her foot.

  Pompom romped ahead of her down to the shore, pausing to bark at a tern flying low to breakfast from the water. Dr. Murray peered into a grove of mangroves hugging the edge of the land and she joined him there, wading gingerly into the water. The sandy bottom squelched between her toes and she wiggled them, enjoying the feeling on her hot and abused bare feet.