A Ship Through Time

by Bess McBride

  I wanted to call out but dared not. If Kaihau and his men had discovered us, I didn’t want to escalate the situation. Perhaps they hadn’t heard the men. I threw a glance in the women’s direction. By now they lay back on the beach resting. I didn’t call out to them.

  Just as I turned around to search the foliage again, a creature burst out of the brush and ran around the perimeter of the pool. A boar! A dark-gray hairy pig. Devoid of tusks, the little pig looked terrified as it ran away and disappeared into the brush.

  I stared in the direction in which it had disappeared and raised a hand to my throat. My heart pounded, and I breathed deeply to try to slow the pace. A glance toward the still-supine Mrs. Darymple and Mrs. Simpson indicated that they had heard and seen nothing.

  Shaking, I dropped down to my back and stared into the blue sky. I wanted to tell someone about the pig and hoped that I wouldn’t. I didn’t want the men to hunt the little thing. Having finally seen one, my fears were allayed.

  Or had it been a juvenile?

  I shook my head, closed my eyes and tried to relax but couldn’t. Now alert to any noise from the brush, I fretted that Kaihau or the French might find us. And what implications that held for us. For me.

  I felt more than saw a shadow blot out the warm sun, and I thrust myself up into a sitting position. Daniel stood over me, sweat pouring down his brow. He looked over his shoulder toward the women and then dropped to his knees at my side.

  “Maggie, the boys and I have finished building the huts and are in desperate need of a bath. Do you think you could join the ladies in the huts so that we could bathe here in the pool? Fortunately, we found some bananas, coconuts and other tropical fruits nearby, so you could eat while we bathe.”

  “Sure!” I said, my face as red as Daniel’s. “I’m hoping you guys will do the same for us later? I don’t know about Mrs. Darymple and Mrs. Simpson, but I could use a bath as well.”

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “In fact, the men and I should double back to the beach and see if anyone pursues us. We can gather more food along the way.”

  I pulled my feet from the water. They felt considerably better, as if the pool had some magical healing property, although I wasn’t sure I imagined things, so beautiful was the oasis.

  “I will find some more sap to soothe your feet,” Daniel said, examining them. “They look better though. Are you in pain?”

  “No, not when I’m sitting. They’re still sore, but I’m on the mend.” I smiled and put my hand in his as he helped me rise. I cinched my robe closed, wishing that I still had my flowered dress. Better yet, a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

  Daniel helped me back to the tree line where the men and Thomas had built four huts again in the same A-line configuration. The men were busily collecting palm fronds and dropping them in a pile while snacking on bananas. I suspected the ladies and I would be making mats and “blankets” again.

  Daniel settled me just outside one of the huts with a pile of fruit. Frederick had worked his magic on some coconuts, leaving us with the water to drink and husks containing shredded coconut meat.

  “I will just go get the ladies,” Daniel said.

  I nodded, hungrily peeling a banana and stuffing a few of the tart red berries in my mouth at the same time. Within minutes, Mrs. Darymple and Mrs. Simpson arrived and sat down beside me to share the food.

  “So the men are to bathe,” Mrs. Darymple said. “Dr. Hawthorne said that when they are done, they will return to the beach to reconnoiter and that we could bathe while they were gone.”

  I heard the sound of men talking and the splash of water.

  “Yes, I know I need a bath,” I said. “Though I’m not sure what I could use for soap.”

  “I am most certainly not going to disrobe around men,” Mrs. Simpson said. “Not even to bathe. I will just wash my hands and face.”

  “As Dr. Hawthorne said, Agatha, they will leave so that we may enjoy privacy.”

  “No, I simply could not bathe so openly in public. I could not.”

  “You will soon become unbearable, Agatha, if you do not bathe.”

  “Additionally, I do not like the notion that the men are leaving us to fend for ourselves,” Mrs. Simpson muttered. “I think they must stay here to protect us. Did we not just flee from real or imagined pursuers?”

  I turned to look at the older woman, picking at her banana with a pinched expression.

  “They’re quite real, Mrs. Simpson, I assure you. I’m not sure either the Polynesians or the French will pursue us...me rather, but I was kidnapped and traded.”

  “I have no doubt about the veracity of your story, Mrs. Wollam,” Mrs. Darymple said. “Agatha is not herself, I think.”

  “It all sounds so farfetched,” Mrs. Simpson said in a querulous voice.

  “It felt farfetched,” I said, eating some coconut. I didn’t take offense, but I worried about Mrs. Simpson’s state of mind. She didn’t seem resilient enough to handle the stresses we would likely endure for the foreseeable future. Frankly, I didn’t think I was resilient enough.

  “I do not know what would suffice for a soap, Mrs. Wollam, but I think I might try to crush the petals of some of these flowers and use the fragrance to at least scent my hair.” Mrs. Darymple raised a hand to her silver hair, no longer in a tidy coif but hanging down her back.

  “No, I simply cannot bathe with men nearby,” Mrs. Simpson reiterated again, as if she had been arguing silently with herself. “I cannot.”

  “You must do as you please, Agatha,” Mrs. Darymple said.

  Off and on, I’d been listening to the sound of the men speaking in low tones, some masculine laughs, the splashing of water. Within a short while, a freshly washed and dazzlingly handsome Daniel appeared at the opening to the hut. He smoothed back his now curly wet dark hair and smiled.

  “We will leave now. I wonder if I should leave one of the men to watch over you while we are gone. He could wait here at the huts to allow you some privacy?”

  “No, certainly not!” Mrs. Simpson said.

  “Now, Agatha, you said you were not going to bathe anyway.”

  “I actually think that would be a good idea, Daniel,” I said. “I really do. If he promises not to look while we bathe?”

  “Whom do you trust?” Daniel said with a broad grin, seeming somewhat happier now that he had washed off the salt water and sweat of the previous few days. I hoped we would figure out the logistics of how to wash our clothing without a spare change.

  “Frederick?” Daniel offered. “He is the most sensible, I think.”

  “Yes, Frederick will do nicely. A very sensible boy,” Mrs. Darymple said. “I have eaten enough and look forward to a nice bath.” She rose.

  Mrs. Simpson and I stood up as well and stepped out of the tent.

  The men, waiting on Daniel, sported shinier clean faces and wet hair. They all looked happier for having bathed, and they smelled much better. Even somber Thomas grinned. From the sounds I’d heard, they had enjoyed playing in the pool.

  Mrs. Darymple moved over to a bush of brilliant-pink flowers and picked a few, crushing them in her fingers. A sweet scent permeated the air, and she turned and smiled.

  “Perfume for our bath,” she said.

  Daniel, speaking to Frederick, turned and smiled.

  “Indeed. The blossom smells lovely. We will leave you now. Frederick will stay here inside one of the huts.”

  Daniel looked at me as if he wanted to say something but closed his mouth. He allowed his hand to brush mine before turning and leading Samuel, James and Thomas from the camp.

  “I will just be inside here, ladies,” Frederick said, pointing to a hut.

  Mrs. Darymple and I turned to walk to the beach, and Mrs. Simpson fell in behind.

  “I will not bathe, but I will await you on the beach,” Mrs. Simpson said.

  “Of course, Agatha,” Mrs. Darymple said, slipping an arm around my waist. “Let me help you, dear.”

  I apprecia
ted her support but did not lean on her overly much, given her age. For all her mental toughness, she was a frail woman, and I worried about her.

  “Thank you.”

  We made our way to the beach, where Mrs. Simpson sat down on the sand, hunching her shoulders and turning her back to us as Mrs. Darymple and I undressed. It took me only a second to get out of my bathrobe. Mrs. Darymple required assistance unbuttoning her dress and unlacing her corset.

  “Well, have you entered the water yet?” Mrs. Simpson asked in her typical querulous voice. “I have averted my eyes so long that my neck pains me.”

  “Agatha, for goodness’ sake. You have en dishabille before. In fact, you have assisted me in undressing. There is no need to affect such modesty. Truly.” Mrs. Darymple threw me a wry grin, and shed of her clothing, she boldly waded into the cool water.

  Pale to the point of luminescence, her skin was flawless for a woman her age. She immersed herself in the pool, dunking her head and emerging from the water like a silver-haired mermaid.

  Much more bashful than Mrs. Darymple, I limped as fast as I could into the water, my tender feet unoffended by the soft wet mud in the pool. Like the older woman, I dunked my head to wet my hair.

  “Agatha, you really must come in. The water is absolutely delightful.” Mrs. Darymple offered me a handful of the crushed paste she’d made of the flower petals.

  “Thank you,” I said. As I smoothed some of the paste into my hair and attempted to lather it, I noted Mrs. Simpson had turned around and regarded us with a disapproving stare. Beyond her, at the encampment, I saw no sign of Frederick. If he watched, I was happily unaware.

  “Is the water cold?” Mrs. Simpson finally asked.

  While the petals may not have cleaned my hair as well as I might have wished, the perfume infused the strands with a delicate sweet smell. I rubbed the rest of the paste over my body and dunked my head in the pond once again.

  “Not at all, Agatha,” Mrs. Darymple called out. “Come! You really would feel so much better if you were able to bathe.”

  “If you insist.” Mrs. Simpson looked over her shoulder toward the huts and then back at us.

  “Do you wish assistance with your corset?” Mrs. Darymple said. Her wet hair, streaming down over her shoulders, gleamed like a silver dollar.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Mrs. Darymple, again showing no signs of embarrassment, rose from the water and returned to the beach. She helped Mrs. Simpson undress. Before shedding her gown completely, Mrs. Simpson asked us to turn around. Mrs. Darymple chuckled and returned to the water, and I turned toward the waterfall. Spying a ledge just below the fall, I kicked out and swam toward it.

  As I approached, the water roiled and foamed gently, and I managed to pull myself up on the smooth lava rock ledge tucked behind the waterfall. Hugging my knees to my chest, I sat under the fall and watched the cascade with delight.

  I could not imagine a time in the twenty-first century when I would have sat under a tropical waterfall, naked, in the open.

  “Is there room for one more?”

  Mrs. Darymple reached the ledge, and I extended a hand to help her climb onto the rock.

  “Agatha prefers to bathe alone,” she said.

  The sheet of falling water prevented us from seeing Mrs. Simpson, so she had her wish.

  We sat there companionably, wet though comfortably warm, given the tropical temperatures.

  “I need to wash out my things,” Mrs. Darymple said. “They are infused with the scent of dried salt water.”

  “I’m not sure how fast they would dry,” I said. “It’s very humid here.”

  “Yes, it might take some time. I suppose I would have to hide in a hut until the clothing was sufficiently dry. Just one of many inconveniences we must face, I am afraid.”

  I nodded.

  “I keep trying to think of ways to cope, how to manage, to improvise, but this will be a learning experience for us all. Luckily, my robe is fairly clean.”

  “Yes, I did notice your change of attire, but I have had no time to query you. What happened to your other gown? And what material is your robe made of?”

  “Terry cloth?” Since Daniel hadn’t been familiar with the term, I assumed Mrs. Darymple wasn’t either. I stiffened, hoping she wouldn’t ask more.

  “Now tell me exactly what happened. Were you taken from your hut? How did we not hear you scream? Were you able to scream?”

  “No, I had gone down to the beach to sit for a while, and I wasn’t able to call out. The Polynesians covered my face in something that made me faint. Believe me—I would have screamed if I could have.”

  “And they took you to a village? Did they mistreat you? Other than kidnapping you, of course.”

  “The village is called Leakiki. And no, they didn’t mistreat me. They were really very kind, solicitous of my feet. I was well taken care of by the women, one of whom spoke a little bit of English.”

  “Leakiki,” Mrs. Darymple repeated, as if mulling the word over. “And why precisely did the Polynesians take you? How did the French become involved?”

  I explained the story of Kaihau, Vana and the French. I also told Mrs. Darymple what I had learned from Captain Sebastian, that Vana had gone willingly, and that Daniel doubted such a story.

  “But you trusted this French captain?”

  “Well, I did at the time. I had no choice, at any rate. He was taking me whether I was willing or not.”

  “Yet he locked you in a cabin.”

  “Yes.”

  “That does not sound like the action of an honorable man.”

  “No, I guess not. It was all so confusing. I thought we would sail away and I would never see Daniel or you all again.”

  “It is so fortunate that Frederick saw you taken and followed you.”

  I nodded.

  “About the robe though. How did you come into possession of such a thing? Is this French cloth?”

  I had almost begun to relax but stiffened at Mrs. Darymple’s words.

  Just then we heard a scream. Mrs. Simpson!

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mrs. Darymple and I scrambled off the rock ledge and slipped into the water, emerging out from under the waterfall.

  Mrs. Simpson huddled in the water, facing us and shrieking. I looked beyond her to where Daniel, Samuel, James and Thomas stood uncertainly, having apparently just returned to camp and unaware that we still bathed.

  Daniel rounded up the men and shepherded them toward the huts. He returned, looked at me and pointed to the still-screaming Mrs. Simpson and put a finger to his lips before disappearing again. I understood that he wanted us to calm Mrs. Simpson down.

  Mrs. Darymple and I swam toward Mrs. Simpson. Cowering in the water with thin arms covering her chest, she continued to shriek.

  “Mrs. Simpson,” I said, patting her shoulder. “Please don’t scream. The sound carries, and you could give us away.”

  “Agatha, stop this noise at once!” Mrs. Darymple ordered.

  Mrs. Simpson quieted.

  “I had no warning,” she chattered, seemingly now cold. “They did not announce their presence. For all I knew, they could have been islanders come to kidnap us.”

  “Well, they weren’t. And the men appear to be as embarrassed as we are,” Mrs. Darymple said.

  The three of us huddled neck deep in the water, looking toward the huts.

  “Daniel is a doctor,” I said finally. “I doubt he hasn’t seen a naked female before.”

  “Really, Mrs. Wollam, you say the most extraordinary things!” Mrs. Simpson retorted. She threw a narrow-eyed look over her shoulder toward the huts.

  “She is probably right, Agatha. Shall we brave prying eyes and gather our clothing?”

  “No, I cannot. I simply cannot.”

  “Well then, dear, you will simply have to stay in the pool, though you look chilled. I think I will have a nap, and I will check on you when I awaken.”

  “No! I cannot stay in here alon
e. If you insist, I will step out. Mrs. Wollam, since you are the most familiar with Dr. Hawthorne, who appears to be our de facto leader, do you think you could ask him to ensure that the men do not attempt to peek?”

  “Agatha! How ridiculous!” Mrs. Darymple snapped.

  “No, that’s fine,” I said. “I’ll just throw my robe on and return to the huts. I’ll keep an eye on them myself, Mrs. Simpson.”

  “Thank you,” she said, lifting her chin in an attempt to look dignified.

  I climbed out of the pool and grabbed my robe, absolutely certain that Daniel was keeping an eye on the men. My feet felt better, my hair and skin lightly scented and moisturized if not clean. I limped up to the huts and found the men huddled just outside the last two huts, eating some of the fruit. They had returned with something that looked like breadfruit. As I had expected, the men all had their backs to the pool, though the huts and trees also blocked any view.

  Daniel looked up at me, a red stain coloring his cheeks. I smiled, realizing that he was embarrassed.

  “Mrs. Simpson sent me up here to ensure that you all don’t peek while she and Mrs. Darymple dress. You’re back sooner than I expected. Is that breadfruit?”

  “Yes,” Daniel said. “I gathered some leaves for your feet and the fruit for food. But I think it must be cooked to be palatable.” He looked up at the trees overhead. “I am undecided about setting a fire just yet. I do not want to give away our position or that we are alive.”

  I sat down next to him.

  “What did you find? Was anyone at the beach? Any evidence they had been there?”

  “No, we saw nothing, although I have no way of knowing if they came and left. I could no longer see the outrigger canoe and wonder if it swept out to sea or whether they collected it.”

  “Do you mean the Polynesians?”

  “Or the French.”

  “So you don’t think we ought to set fires anytime soon? That’s going to make cooking kind of hard.”

  “I continue to believe that someone will search for us, even if at sea. Smoke could be seen from a passing boat. I think we must wait.”