Castaway Dreams

by Darlene Marshall

  Except at night. They slept together and shared their warmth, curled like spoons with his arm around her waist. She sometimes heard him repeating mathematical formulae as part of his ritual to fall asleep. When she asked him if he did this every night, he said he only did it when he was sleeping next to her, which Daphne thought strange. Maybe she was distracting Dr. Murray from remembering all the important things he needed to remember.

  Their days began with eggs from the many bird nests scattered about the island, and if there wasn't pepper to put on them, there was salt from distilled sea water. Dr. Murray rigged a piece of shiny tin from the flotsam washed ashore and showed her how evaporation would leave salt crystals behind. He explained the process to her, patiently answering her questions, as if she were a student in university and not a fluff-head.

  After breakfast there was wood-gathering and food-gathering, and as they explored their island together they discovered more of its treasures. Their little hut was decorated with flowers sitting in gourd vases, and seashells arranged outside the door. If they were gone when the woodcutters returned, they would be astounded at the changes. Daphne's greatest found treasure was smooth bits of colorful seaglass. She kept them in a flat shell and thought them as lovely as any jewels she'd ever worn.

  They also discovered more of the bounty of their little Eden. A sweet bay tree and a patch of fennel seasoned their food, and Daphne took a hand at cooking. Dr. Murray used her one shoe that washed ashore to construct a sling, bringing down some ducks, of all things. That night they feasted on duck, which while gamier than the birds she was used to eating at home, were still a welcome change from fish.

  "I wish we could net some ducks," Dr. Murray said as he passed her another piece of the succulent meat, roasted over their fire and seasoned with wild garlic and parsley. "We'd have a regular supply of meat and eggs."

  "I was astounded when you brought down that bird, Dr. Murray."

  "Frankly, I was astounded myself, Miss Farnham. It has been many years since I've hunted with a sling. It's good to know my skills haven't atrophied."

  "Atro...?"

  "Atrophied," he said. "A new word for you? It means a wasting away or decline, usually used in relation to a body part."

  "Oh!" She couldn't help it, she looked down at that area of her body that had not been used in a long while. "Am I going to be atrophied?"

  He saw where she glanced and the color rose in his face.

  "That is not a concern for you, Miss Farnham. Stop obsessing over...stop obsessing."

  "You will make sure I do not become atrophied?"

  "Have some more duck."

  Well! If Dr. Murray was not going to see to it that she did not become atrophied, she might need to take matters into her own hands. So to speak.

  He looked at her suspiciously when she giggled, but she concentrated on finishing the duck, which was excellent. Between the three of them, for of course Pompom had his share, they made short work of the fowl.

  "I am glad we did not have to eat one of the beautiful island birds, Dr. Murray."

  "I am sure this duck was thought beautiful by other ducks, but I agree with you, Miss Farnham. I wonder..." his voice trailed off as he thought. It was coming on toward dusk now, and Daphne was glad their chores were done for the day and they had this time to relax together.

  "What do you wonder?"

  "I wonder if I could rig a snare and capture a duck or two. Then we could build a pen for them and keep them caged for our use."

  "That would be useful. It is too bad chickens do not migrate, because then we could have fresh chickens."

  She smiled as she thought about flocks of Derbyshire Redcaps winging through the air to their little island. Daphne's arms ached and her back hurt and her hands were blistered and her feet were sore, but she would not trade these moments for all the gold in her father's vaults.

  As long as she did not atrophy, it would all be wonderful.

  "We explored most of the coast near our beach," Dr. Murray was saying now. "If our chores are done early tomorrow, Miss Farnham, I would like to expand our exploration of the island. We can take some food and water with us and set out while it's still early. Those gourds you gathered are helpful."

  He picked up one of gourds from the calabash tree growing near the beach and turned it over in his hands while Daphne basked in his praise. When it was dried out and carved it would make a utensil that had any number of uses. If they had fat or oil to burn it could be a lamp, or a container for food, or a means of carrying live coals for fire-starting.

  "If I climbed I could gather more gourds, and some fruit also."

  He looked at her sternly.

  "There will be no climbing."

  Daphne stopped smiling and straightened her sore back, because she had been thinking about this all day.

  "I am not sure I should have to always do what you tell me to do, or not to do, Dr. Murray. I know you are a natural philosopher and learned, but in America they let men vote equally, the stupid ones as well as the clever. Not that I am stupid, I am just not as learned as you are. While we are here on this island, just the two of us, we should be voting as equals, don't you think?"

  He looked at her in astonishment, setting down the gourd.

  "I am amazed, Miss Farnham, that a properly brought-up Englishwoman would take the riff-raff in America as her model for appropriate behavior. No, this is not a situation calling for some anarchic form of democracy. Your vote is not equal to mine.

  "Our situation here is akin to being aboard ship where there is a commander. I am he. You are the loyal crew which offers advice and opinions when called upon to do so. Do not argue, you know you must acknowledge that I have more skill, experience and authority than you do."

  "Not when it comes to climbing. If there was any climbing to be done, I'd be in charge."

  "Miss Farnham, if there was an occasion where one needed to know which ribbon to use to trim a bodice, you would be in charge. Otherwise, I think not."

  "I am in charge of the garden because you do not know a turnip from a tulip, Dr. Murray."

  He thought about this for a moment and nodded, once. Grudgingly, she thought.

  "You are in charge of the garden, that is correct."

  "That is why I would also be in charge of climbing, because I climb and you do not."

  "There will be no climbing," he stated again.

  "But if there was climbing, I would be in charge."

  "This is a ridiculous conversation," he said, rising to his feet.

  Hah! She knew his ways now. When she was right, or when she disturbed him, Dr. Murray would run away. But she let him go without argument, feeling vindicated, for she knew she'd be the climber if it was ever needed.

  After another night wondering whether she was in danger of atrophying, Daphne set out with Dr. Murray. She scratched at an insect bite through a new hole in her dress.

  "Don't scratch, you will make it worse."

  "The hole in my dress? I fear this garment is beyond redemption, Dr. Murray."

  "Actually, I meant the bite. If you scratch it could become infected."

  Daphne looked at her arms, bare, brown, and sporting a few bites. The insects here were not as fierce as in Jamaica but they were still annoying, and without cloth to protect her skin they had ample opportunity to feast on her.

  "We need to figure out what to do about clothing ourselves, Dr. Murray, or soon we will truly be like Adam and Eve."

  The thought tickled her, both of them naked in Paradise save for a few strategically placed banana leaves. She knew the reality would not be pleasant, especially with the seasons turning to winter.

  "I have been thinking about that, Miss Farnham, but I have no answers. There aren't any large animals we can skin and weaving plants into garments is beyond my skill."

  "You made our hats."

  "That covers the extent of my expertise in that area."

  Daphne thought about this as she traipsed behind Dr. Murr
ay on a narrow, barely marked path. The overgrown foliage alongside showed the lack of human activity, but a path down to the other side of the island gave Dr. Murray concerns he shared with Daphne when they paused at a rivulet of water trickling down from the hills. It allowed them to refresh themselves and refill their gourds, and Dr. Murray tore a strip of cloth off of Daphne's much abused shift to mark the spot.

  "It could be why this path is here. I do not know. To date, we've seen no sign of life other than our absent woodcutters."

  "The path continues, Doctor. Maybe there is something on the other side of the island the woodcutters needed? Some particular plants?"

  Dr. Murray studied the ferns and fresh water while the dog lapped at a puddle at the base of a chinchona tree. He took his knife and carved off some of the bark, putting it in his coat pocket.

  "Chinchona is used to treat fever, Miss Farnham. It's a good idea to gather Peruvian Bark while I can. It also makes me think that you could be correct about there being something on the other side of the island the woodcutters want. Native and slave crews have their own healers, and there could be herbs or plants for healing they want to access."

  They set off again as the path wound down from the hills, back to the shoreline. It ended at a patch of sand, which made no sense at all to Daphne.

  "If they wanted a pleasant place to swim, why come all the way down here? The water is fine where we landed."

  Dr. Murray was looking around them, studying the hills and the rocks at the shore. He looked out to sea, his hand shading his eyes, then turned and studied the hills again.

  "If a boat put in here for water they would not find much from that freshet where we stopped. But it is a possibility."

  He scanned the hills again, and the shoreline, and then stopped, staring at where the rocks and the sea met to the west.

  "Look over there, Miss Farnham. What does that look like to you?"

  Daphne followed where he pointed. The surgeon's hands were browner from their exposure. He would need to wear gloves when they returned to England if he wanted his hands to look like a gentleman's. Maybe some nice tan kid ones, she thought as she scanned the area, until she saw what he'd spotted.

  "Is that a hole in the rocks, Dr. Murray?"

  "I am thinking it is indeed a hole, Miss Farnham. One that leads to a cave."

  He looked at the area, and the surrounding plants and rocks.

  "It is above the waterline. If it is a cave, it could be used to store..." his voice trailed off. "Any number of things."

  Daphne clapped her hands together, which made Pompom cock his head and watch her.

  "Do you think there is pirate treasure there?"

  Dr. Murray stopped, looked at her, and raised an eyebrow.

  "You dwell too much on pirates, Miss Farnham. Please rein in your imagination."

  "Pirates are interesting," Daphne grumbled.

  "Only to people who have no dealings with them."

  He looked up at the sky.

  "We have plenty of daylight left. Let's find out for ourselves if that is a cave."

  "And if it has treasure!"

  He sighed, but trooped off and Daphne and Pompom followed. At the rocks Daphne put Pompom in the shade with a command to "Stay!" Dr. Murray was impressed when the dog obeyed her.

  "Pompom is the world's cleverest puppy, Dr. Murray."

  "I would not go that far, Miss Farnham. I daresay you never saw a collie herding sheep."

  "Pompom could herd sheep if he wanted to," she said loyally.

  He turned and cocked an eyebrow at her.

  "Maybe one small sheep." She paused. "Why is there one sheep and two sheep? Why aren't there flocks of sheeps?"

  "I will not be able to sleep tonight for pondering that question, Miss Farnham."

  She grinned at his retreating back, for Daphne knew now when Dr. Murray was jesting. At least, she thought she knew. A catbird sitting in a twisted cedar gave its distinctive cry when their passage disturbed it, stirring up some bluebirds who took flight. All else was quiet though, no other human or animal marking their progress up to where Dr. Murray had spotted the opening in the rocks.

  Daphne stumbled over a stone, but before she could fall, a strong hand had her, holding her, supporting her arm. Dr. Murray was watching her with concern in his eyes.

  "I am pushing you too hard, Miss Farnham. You stay here and rest in the shade."

  "I will not." Daphne said indignantly, pulling her arm back even though it felt good to have Dr. Murray support her. "Did you not say I am the loyal crew in this adventure? How would it be if I let you go off by yourself without your crew to help you?"

  He looked at her a moment, then his chin dipped in acknowledgment.

  "I did say that, Miss Farnham. But a good commander also knows when the, ehm, men are being pushed too hard. I will not think less of you if you stay here."

  "No," Daphne said firmly. "I am with you, Dr. Murray."

  He looked at her again, then simply turned and continued climbing. Daphne straightened her back and followed behind.

  The path terminated at the narrow cave mouth, only about the width of Dr. Murray's shoulders, but he could squeeze in sideways and Daphne had no trouble at all following him. He straightened up, careful of his head, and let out a low whistle. Daphne was speechless.

  Someone was indeed using the cave to store goods. They couldn't see more than few feet in front of them into the dry cave, but they could see it was filled with parcels and bales and casks.

  "It is treasure," Daphne whispered.

  "Maybe," Dr. Murray said. "Stand to your left there, Miss Farnham, to let in maximum light. Good."

  She followed his instruction and he began checking the casks and boxes they could see, while Daphne's eye was caught by three large and long parcels on the cave floor, tied with stout cord.

  "Dr. Murray! I recognize this name. It is a mill near Manchester."

  He joined her and they dragged the parcel closer to the cave entrance, into the sunlight. Dr. Murray pulled out his knife, slitting the cords on the package, and what spilled out was a bolt of fabric in a deep ruby shade.

  "It's wool!" Daphne said with glee, caressing the tight weave of the fabric. She paused and fingered the cloth. "Not ordinary wool, but a fabric called 'the union,' mixing wool and silk together. It was all the rage in the dress shops a year or two back. I wonder how it ended up here?"

  She noticed Dr. Murray had not said anything, and looked up at him. He was looking at the other items in the cave.

  "Spirits, goods from Europe and England, that looks like sacks of coffee beans over there and casks of molasses. My guess is it was placed here by someone who made off with it from other owners, or is planning on smuggling it in to the islands or back to Europe without tariffs being collected."

  "Pirates and smugglers?"

  "Let us hope not," he said sternly. "You read too much bad literature, Miss Farnham. There is nothing pleasant or exciting about an encounter with pirates or smugglers. Whoever they are, they will come back for this."

  "Our signal fire..." Daphne said, as the realization of what they might attract sank in.

  "Exactly. We need to return to our camp, and be prepared."

  "We need this cloth also. We can use it to make ourselves clothing, or wrap in it at night. We can figure out how to pay the owners for it later, can't we?"

  He hesitated, then said, "You are correct, Miss Farnham, but right now we should return while there's still plenty of light."

  "Let's check the other bolts, Doctor, to see what's here."

  He pulled another parcel into the light and cut through the wrapping.

  "Oh, Dr. Murray!"

  Daphne was struck speechless as she knelt down next to the bolt of cloth, her hand reaching out to caress the rich satin that glowed like the deepest blush of dawn, that edge of pink shading toward salmon that rose over the island in the morning. Her roughened fingers snagged the delicate gold threads shot through the fabric and sh
e snatched her hand back, curling it in a fist in her lap, afraid to damage the fine material. It was so lovely. So unsuited to gathering onions from the garden.

  The cave was silent, and then a warm hand rested on the back of her neck as she sat there, staring at the treasure.

  "We will take this one with us today."

  She turned around. He was looking not at the satin, but at her.

  "Why? It will not keep us warm like the wool. It is pink satin for a ball gown. It is not useful."

  She tried to laugh, but it did not sound right and hurt her throat.

  "We will need the wool also, but we will take this one now. It is silk, is it not?"

  "Yes. Silk satin. Nothing takes color like silk does."

  "Silk is a strong fiber," he said. "Remember your hairnet? This fabric could be quite useful. And it will make a practical garment, strong, yet cool in the summer heat."

  "Practical?"

  "Unless you see some dark brown silk that would hide bloodstains, this is our best option."

  "I'll ruin it," she said, not looking at him, but down at her callused hands. She blinked her eyes, because her vision had gone blurred.

  "Nonsense," he said briskly, and she heard him move behind her. "It will suit your purposes well, Miss Farnham. Come along now, we must leave here."

  He gave her his hand to help her up from the floor, holding tight to hers, work-roughened skin and all. She thought he might have given it a squeeze, but that was likely just her imagination.

  * * * *

  Alexander rewrapped the bundle and hoisted the cloth onto his shoulder, taking one last look around the cave.

  "We can return for the wool. We know it's here when we need it."

  "That is true," Daphne Farnham said, glancing over her shoulder at him. Her step was light, and her normal good nature was restored. For a moment there he had been tempted to take her in his arms when he saw her distress over her rags, her work-roughened hands, things he did not think about, but that were upsetting to her.

  "I feel better knowing we will not be reduced to wearing leaves or lizard skins or anything disgusting like that while we are here," Daphne said, plucking at the rags of her dress. "Now all I need to do is figure out how to make a garment out of a bolt of cloth. Without shears or needles and thread or seamstresses or a dressmaker's form."