Saving Miss Everly

by Britton, Sally

  His words were as good as a dare. Hope popped the fruit into her mouth and bit down. The fruit burst in her mouth, at first sweet and tart. Hope couldn’t help but hum in appreciation and reached for another, the juice in her mouth immediately making her grateful for something other than dried meat and fish.

  When she pressed the next berry to her lips, however, she winced. “Oh.” The fruit had deceived her—bitter followed the sweetness on her tongue.

  Doctor Morgan walked by her, too excited to stop, though he was muttering to himself. “What a find. Prevents sunstroke, heals burns. Absolutely marvelous.”

  Hope turned a glare onto Alejandro, whose dark eyes glittered with amusement. “That was an underhanded trick, señor.”

  “Sí. Perhaps.” He plucked a handful of the grape-like objects and held them out to her. “Not everyone tastes the bitterness. My father told me it was good luck if you did. I think he tried to make me feel better when I could not enjoy them as my brother did. But if you cook the berries, the bitterness is gone. Here.” He gestured for her to open her basket, which she did somewhat distrustfully. “It is good for you, too.”

  “Of course it is,” Hope said darkly. The way his eyes lightened made her wonder if he smiled beneath his beard. “Are there many more such helpful fruits on the island?”

  Alejandro gestured to the path. “Many. But I will not surprise you like that again. Do you see that tree, over there? They call it jaboncillo. In English, soapberry. The berries are red when they are ripe, but if you peel them, you could use them as you would any soap.”

  “Fascinating, and likely useful, but I would prefer something that tastes like fruit.” A breeze caused Hope’s hair to lift and stir before her face. She pushed it back somewhat impatiently.

  “They taste like lemonade.” He studied the tree a moment. “But I do not see any ripe just yet. Qué lástima. A shame.” He turned his attention back to her, and Hope cocked her head to one side. He snapped his fingers. “I think I have something.” Alejandro whistled for the attention of the others. “Miss Everly wishes to sample a different fruit. Come, to the beach.”

  Hope followed, her basket tucked against her hip, and as they traveled down to the shore, the path opened enough for her to walk next to Alejandro. “How many of the wrong sorts of fruit did you eat?”

  “More than you will, Miss Everly.” He lifted a branch above their heads and gestured for her to go first. From behind, she could hear the doctor and Mr. Thorne speaking about the bark, roots, and fruit they had already gathered.

  Alejandro came under the branch with her, leaving the gentlemen behind to clear their own path. “Next you will have sea grapes. They are very good. Then we will find edible roots. Many of them are edible, there is a particular kind which reminds me of potatoes, but they are richer. There is tamarind, or something like it. Wild onions.”

  He almost sounded cheerful as he listed off the fruits and seeds he had found during his time on the island. Considering how miserable he had seemed from the moment the others had come ashore, Hope hadn’t expected to see any sign of good humor in him.

  Anyone in his circumstances was entitled to feel grumpy. Had he experienced even one moment of actual happiness while alone on this island? It had been presumptuous of her, of course, to think he felt anything toward her other than gratitude for no longer being alone. The sooner she accepted that, the better.

  Near the shore, with the waves crashing against the sand, he showed the group his sea grapes. Hope gathered plenty before she started looking back, out over the water. There were no storm clouds on the horizon today. It would be perhaps the first time anyone might brave the ocean to come looking for their party. By now the people of St. Kitt’s had to realize something horrible had happened. Would her eyes catch the sight of a sail above the waves?

  Without meaning to, Hope started walking to the water’s edge. She stopped at the line in the sand where the waves had ceased their approach and shaded her eyes. The loud shushing of wind and water filled her ears, the waves collapsing against each other in heavy crashes. Water danced up, nearly to her toes.

  She saw nothing but water, and birds flying overhead. Nothing in any direction she looked.

  When Alejandro joined her, she did not glance at him. The vast water before her took up too much of her attention, too much of her hope. Somewhere out there, people were looking for her. They had to be. How else would she ever make it home again? Grace was on the other side of the ocean. And the rest of her family. Silas, Esther, Isaac, Jacob. They were all there, not even aware of her predicament. What would they say when they learned she had washed up on a tropical island where a real Robinson Crusoe lived? They would hardly believe it.

  The salty breeze stung her eyes. Hope did not realize how it had irritated her until a tear slipped down her cheek.

  “Miss Everly?” Alejandro’s voice was nearly too soft to hear over the waves.

  She looked at him, brushing at the tear. “Yes, Señor Córdoba?” He regarded her beneath his shaggy hair, as mussed by the wind as her own, with a most solemn expression.

  “I will not let anything bad happen to you,” he said quietly. “I promise.”

  A dry laugh that choked off like a sob escaped her. “Thank you.” His sincerity made the promise no less ridiculous. What could befall her that would be worse than being stranded on an island, not knowing when rescue would come?

  It would come. Hope knew it must. It was only a matter of time.

  They rejoined the others and Alejandro took them back into the trees in search of edible food growing beneath the ground. He even climbed a tree to show them where they might find eggs, but admonished the other sailors—the only ones capable of that same physical feat—to always leave more eggs than they took. He added the small brown-shelled eggs to her basket.

  After what seemed like hours poking through bushes and digging between the roots of trees, all the baskets were full. The doctor had even taken off his coat and made a rudimentary bag of sorts from it to carry more barks and leaves he said had medicinal properties that might help all those shipwrecked avoid dysentery. As unpleasant as that thought was, Hope appreciated his practicality.

  When they arrived back at the clearing, Alejandro gathered the firebush berries into his pail, with very little water, and took up a clean stone. He apparently meant to make some sort of mashed concoction from the fruit.

  Irene emerged from the hut when she heard their voices and met Hope’s gaze but did not return her cheerful wave.

  “It is nearly midday,” Irene said, arms pressed tightly against her sides. “Did you find food?”

  Forcing herself to sound cheery, as though she had not noticed Irene’s chilly reception, Hope answered with vivacity. “Yes, a great deal of it.” Hope opened her basket and took out a handful of the sea grapes. “Here. Try these. A lot of it needs to be prepared first. But there are these things like potatoes, and Mr. Thorne caught two crabs. There will be enough to eat.”

  Irene’s bottom lip trembled. “I dare say that is a relief.” She looked to the door of the hut as the doctor entered and stiffened. “Mrs. Morgan has slept nearly the whole of the morning. I have been dreadfully bored.”

  Though she might still be frightened, Irene obviously coped with the feeling much differently than Hope ever would. The irritation in her voice, acting as though the entire experience was an inconvenience rather than an opportunity, made no sense at all.

  Hope placed her basket on the ground. “Would you like to come to the beach with me?” Hope asked, holding out her hands. “I am afraid food gathering was quite a chore. I am covered in soil and sand.”

  “Then going to the beach will hardly help,” Irene bit out. “No, thank you. Perhaps my brother will escort you.” She pointed to where the professor sat beneath the trees and Hope shaded her eyes to peer in that direction.

  “I do not see him.”

  Irene’s hand dropped and she sucked in a harsh breath. “He was there a momen
t ago.”

  With a careless and somewhat relieved smile, Hope gestured to the beach’s path again. “He is likely off exploring. Please come, Irene. Perhaps the water will help cheer you. Sea bathing is all the rage among the ton, after all.”

  “I have no intention of getting so much as a drop of water upon my person.” Irene fisted some of her skirt in one hand. “Go on. Lead the way. I suppose I had better learn where this well is that produces our putrid water.”

  Hope looped her arm through Irene’s, pleased with herself for acting as magnanimously as her sister would have. “It is not all terrible. The walk is lovely. We can discuss how we will share our story when we go home, impressing all the gentlemen with our level heads and capabilities.”

  “As well as our brown skin, chapped hands and feet, and horrid thinness.” Irene issued the most ladylike snort Hope had ever heard. They left the clearing and started down the narrow path to the shore. “No gentleman will be impressed by this nightmare.”

  “It cannot last long.” Reassuring Irene came more easily than reassuring herself had. “It is an adventure. You may fill your entire diary with this singular experience and speak of it to your grandchildren someday.”

  Though Irene continued to stubbornly disagree with any positive point Hope attempted, Hope’s mood lightened considerably. Grace would be so proud of her when she heard the whole story.

  13

  The third day, Alejandro organized the men into teams for fishing and tending the fire. Everyone but the belligerent idiota Carlsbury took up their tasks without complaint. Doctor Morgan stayed close to his wife, who was brought out to lay in the shade to rest. Based on the way the man looked after her, there was more to her ailment than bruised ribs. The woman herself spoke to Alejandro with great comportment, thanking him for all his help.

  Alejandro gave himself the task of seeing to the things he had pulled up from the storm. He dried out the seaweed by laying it out on the rocks of his shelter. Most of the grasses the storm pulled up were edible. He tore some of the sail into strips, too, despite the sharp glares Carlsbury gave him.

  The cloth was beyond saving, if the man had hoped to create a sailed raft. He had started speaking of the possibility of building a small boat shortly after dawn.

  Once, Alejandro had considered the same. But he did not know how far from course he had blown, and he was not a man of the sea. While he might follow the Northern Star or the Southern Cross as well as any boy versed in basic astronomy, he knew not which direction land and help might lie.

  The sailors had listened to Carlbury’s idea for a time, but as none of them were quick to agree with him, they likely faced the same trouble as Alejandro. That, or they were reluctant to risk themselves when help might still come for them.

  He wound a long strip of cloth around his hand, contemplating the best use for it. Given the number of people under his care, it might be best to reserve the cloth for bandages and repairs to important tools. The largest section would hang off the rocks behind the shelter, over a steep wall of black rock. The sail would stand out to any boats that might come looking for the stranded English.

  From where he sat on the rocks, Alejandro easily saw the clearing below. Carlbury had disappeared when Madden and Hitchens left to fish. They would be gone until near sundown, free to lay upon the beach away from the English gentleman’s prattle.

  A shrill voice caught his attention and he narrowed his eyes, watching as Carlbury’s sister came storming up the path to the beach. She was shaking out her hands and screeching, punctuating her words with violent trembles of her body. “Disgusting, primitive, cursed island,” she yelled.

  Doctor Morgan stood beside his wife, still beneath the tree.

  Miss Everly came into view, her eyes larger than normal. She spoke soothingly, too softly for Alejandro to hear. He looked down at his work and made a decision, scooping up a thin piece of sailcloth before pinning the rest into place with a rock and climbing down from his perch.

  He approached the women where they stood, the Carlbury girl spinning about, inspecting her skirts.

  “I am certain there are no more,” Miss Everly said, holding her hands out in a placating gesture.

  “Qué les pasó, señoritas? What did you see?” Alejandro asked, stepping up next to the calmer of the two females.

  “A spider,” Miss Everly said quietly, her lips twitching.

  “A monster,” shrieked Miss Carlbury. “A beastly, hairy, awful thing the size of a rat.” She shuddered again and recommenced shaking out her arms.

  Alejandro relaxed. “The larger spiders do less harm than the smaller.”

  The irate woman stopped flicking her skirts and glared at him, as though holding him responsible for the wildlife of the island and its treachery. “Where is my brother?”

  “No sé, señorita. Perhaps he went on a walk.” Alejandro didn’t care where the man went if it meant hearing less of his complaints and superior attitude.

  The woman stomped her foot, growled, and stormed toward the hut. She spent more time inside the stifling little shelter than could possibly be healthy. She paused in the makeshift doorway, turning to glare over her shoulder. “Are you coming, Grace?”

  Raising his eyebrow, Alejandro turned to take in the disappointed frown on Miss Everly’s lovely face. Even sunburnt, her fine features made his heart ache. Had a woman ever been as beautiful as she, or had she put him under some sort of spell when he saw her upon the beach for the first time?

  She shuffled sideways rather than step forward, her indecision written across her face.

  “Are you her maid?” Alejandro asked quietly. “Must you go where she wishes at all times?” He knew this was not the case. Knew from the way Miss Everly acted that she and the other lady were equals in station even if Miss Carlbury pretended to be superior.

  Her gaze cut to his, and she shook her head. “No.”

  “Well?” the other woman called, impatience making her already acidic tone more distasteful.

  Miss Everly tipped her chin up, turning to face her friend. “I cannot retire just yet. I am much too warm from our walk to endure the shelter. I will join you once I have cooled.” One would think she spoke of entering a fine house after a walk in the garden rather than a climb uphill in the humidity.

  “Please yourself, then.” With that tart response, the unpleasant young woman disappeared into the darkness of the shelter.

  Alejandro glanced from her point of departure back to Miss Everly, who appeared to rethink her decision. Each time he spoke to her alone, her good cheer and bold smile had fed his curiosity about her, made his heart stir in an alarming manner. But as soon as she was near the Carlburys she shrunk inside herself, becoming coaxing rather than confident.

  “Should I tell her I have found spiders in the hut before?” he asked on a whim, voice lowered.

  Her eyebrows flew up and she turned, her mouth dropping open. “You have?”

  He chuckled. “Once or twice, in the beginning. We are on their island, Miss Everly. They go where they please.”

  She covered her mouth with one hand and looked again to where her friend had gone. “Dear me. Irene does hate spiders. But you have seen none inside the shelter of late?” she asked, tilting her head to the side as she regarded him.

  Alejandro pretended to think on it, but when he caught her lips curving upward he relaxed his stance and shook his head. “She is safe enough. I promise.” Another promise to her. What was it about this woman that inspired that word to slip from his lips with such ease?

  Brushing aside the uncomfortable thought, Alejandro held out the bit of cloth he had brought down from the rocks. “Here. It is not a satin ribbon, but it is the best I could do.”

  Her already pink cheeks reddened as she looked at his pitiful offering. He felt his cheeks warming, too. At home, gifting ribbon to a young lady was a flirtatious thing to do, a way to indicate interest if they were not yet courting. Here, it could only be practical. He had watched Miss E
verly continually struggle to comb through her long hair with her fingers, watched her attempt plaits that only undid themselves after a few moments of movement.

  “It is not pretty,” he said, studying the limp, ivory-colored cloth. “But it will solve your problem.” If she did not wish to accept the ribbon, such as it was, he could understand.

  She put a hand to her hair and raised her eyes to his. “It is rather dreadful, isn’t it?”

  His eyes skimmed her hair from the smooth plane of her forehead down to where it curled about her ear, then cascaded down to her shoulders in rich brown waves. She had braided it, knotted it about itself, pushed it out of the way, and even tucked it into her dress that morning. Still her hair rioted about her, blown by the breeze and teased by twigs and leaves when she passed beneath trees.

  “No. Your hair, it is cabello hermoso. Muy bonita. I only think you wish not to catch it in the trees so often, yes?” He held out his makeshift ribbon again. “Try it. Por favor.”

  “Even at home my hair does not do as I wish.” She forced a smile and held her hand out, accepting the ribbon from him. Alejandro was careful not to brush her skin as he pooled the ribbon in her palm. “My sister, however, has absolutely perfect hair. If she wished it to curl into rosebuds, I think it would.”

  “Which sister?” he asked, watching as she started twisting the dark strands before realizing a gentleman would not stare at a woman dressing her hair. He averted his eyes, then winced. A few hours in the presence of others and he acted as if society’s rules had a place in his life. What was next? Dressing for dinner? Starched cravats and shining leather shoes? He ran his hand through his hair, more wild than Miss Everly’s, and considered the futility of assisting her to keep herself put in order.

  “My twin sister. She and I look rather like a matched set of gloves. Except her hair behaves better.” She pushed her now neatened plait of hair over her shoulder. “Thank you for your gift, Señor Córdoba.” She did not speak her thanks shyly, but strongly, with a bold grin and sparkle in her blue eyes.