Island Fire

by Bobbi Smith

  Setting aside the small bundle of bedclothes she'd brought along for Espri, Mildred settled in, anxiously awaiting a sign of progress in the young woman's recovery.

  Chapter 20

  Mitch was holding her and kissing her, and she was arching against him in ecstatic need . . . wanting him . . . loving him . . .

  "Mitch . . ." Espri stirred slightly, whispering the name of her love.

  Mildred, who'd been sitting close by the bed, quickly came to her side and gently touched her hand. "Espri? Can you hear me?"

  Distantly, Espri was aware of someone calling her name, but she didn't want to awake. She wanted to keep dreaming of Mitch. She loved him so, and in her dream, he loved her.

  "Espri!" The voice was more persistent, penetrating the safe warmth of her fantasy, dragging her back to the present.

  Though she fought against it, clinging with all her might to the last wispy shreds of her mind's vivid illusion, the grimness of reality intruded. She shuddered and took a deep breath before opening her eyes. Blinking against the light that assailed her, she closed her eyes again for an instant and lay still, trying to collect her thoughts. It had been so peaceful in her dream . . .

  "Mitch?" she finally asked, hoping to find that he was there and that her dream hadn't been a fantasy.

  "No, it's Mildred."

  "He's not here . . ." Espri's tone was sad as she opened her eyes to find her friend hovering worriedly over her.

  "He was, but he wanted to wait up on deck."

  "Wait? For what?" Espri was momentarily confused. Nothing seemed right . . . and why was she in bed?

  "For you to awaken. You had a serious fall and—"

  "Oh, God." It all came back to her then and panic swept through her. "My baby . . ." Espri looked up at Mildred, wildly. "I remember now. I lost my balance on the steps . . . and I was bleeding. Mildred . . . did I lose my baby?"

  Mildred had not wanted to be the one to tell her of the lost child, but she had no choice. "Yes." She nodded solemnly, her eyes downcast.

  Dry sobs wracked Espri as she curled on her side and clutched at her stomach. "Not my baby . . ."

  "I'm sorry." The older woman couldn't stop her own tears as she witnessed Espri's grief.

  "No . . ." She groaned. "The baby was all I had."

  Mildred sat down beside her and gathered her in her arms, hugging her tightly. "Nonsense," Mildred scolded lovingly. "You have your husband."

  Espri lay back when her friend released her, her emotions numb. Dry-eyed, she looked at Mildred and said very calmly, "That's where you're wrong. You see, I don't have my husband."

  Mildred was shocked by Espri's statement, but she quickly discounted her words. "Of course you do. Mitch was here and I could see how upset he was."

  "No," Espri said dispassionately. "He really doesn't care." Espri had no doubt that Mitch was upset, but not for the reason Mildred thought. Mitch had no feeling for her; he'd made that perfectly clear when he'd sent her from him without a word of comfort after her ordeal with the sailors. He had told her he was withdrawing his protection of her, and judging from his anger, she was certain he had meant it. Their marriage had been difficult enough, but now, without the baby to bind them, Espri felt there was little hope for their future.

  "You'll see for yourself. I'll go get him for you. I know he's worried."

  Espri didn't bother to answer as the older woman left the room.

  From his position on the foredeck, Mitch stared emotionlessly at the pink- and gold-streaked Eastern horizon. He had been hoping that the advent of a new day would give him a better perspective on everything that had happened, but the dawn only served to reveal his loss more clearly.

  He rested his forearms on the rail, his broad shoulders slumped in weary defeat. He knew he would have to face Espri as soon as she awoke, and for the first time in his life, he was truly afraid. He loved her. No one had ever meant as much to him as she did; yet he felt helpless to salvage any part of their relationship. Espri had made it clear from the beginning that she didn't want him, and now that she'd miscarried, he had nothing with which to hold her. Steeling himself against their upcoming encounter, he awaited Mildred's summons.

  "Mitch . . ." Mildred's soft call broke through his introspective thoughts and he wheeled about anxiously.

  "She's conscious?" He strode hurriedly across the deck toward her.

  "Yes." Mildred saw the flare of hope in his eyes and she smiled, more sure than ever that Espri was wrong about Mitch's feelings.

  "Does she know about the baby?" he wondered, looking suddenly haggard.

  "Yes. She asked me pointedly about the child and I didn't want to lie."

  "I understand and I thank you. I was dreading being the one to tell her. How did she take the news?"

  "She wanted your baby very much," was all Mildred would say for she felt it was not her place to tell him of Espri's anguished reaction.

  Mitch nodded, his eyes growing dark with concern. "I wanted our child too." He started past her, tensing in expectation.

  "Mitch?"

  "Yes?"

  "Espri needs you," Mildred declared simply.

  He was tempted to deny her observation, but he didn't want Mildred to know the pitiful state of their marriage. He nodded tightly and then moved off down the steps toward their stateroom.

  The closed door loomed before him and Mitch paused only long enough to school his features into a mask of self-protective, polite detachment before entering the cabin. The brightness of the lamplight revealed Espri unmoving on the bed, her face turned away, her eyes closed. She looked so pale that he feared briefly that she'd once again lapsed into unconsciousness. Only when he closed the door and took a step farther into the room did she stir.

  An unexpected wave of anger swept over Espri as she looked up at Mitch; though he looked tired, he displayed no signs of grief or remorse. In fact, he seemed calm and unaffected by it all.

  His heart lurched as his eyes met hers, taking in her darkly shadowed, wary expression. She was awake, but little color had returned to her face and the bruise on her cheek still stood out. Mitch came forward with calculated slowness.

  "Espri . . ." His voice was gruff and deep.

  "Hello, Mitch."

  He drew the chair Mildred had been using nearer and sat down. Despite his seeming control, he was on edge.

  "I'm sorry about the baby," he said abruptly, then silently cursed himself for blurting it out.

  "Are you really?" Espri retorted in disbelief, her tone brittle, her eyes flashing anger.

  Her words were like a physical blow, and though outwardly Mitch appeared unmoved, inwardly he flinched at her accusation. "Yes, I am."

  "Forgive me, but I find that difficult to believe."

  Mitch blanched under her attack. "I understand, but it is the truth, Espri. In fact, I was on my way to you when I found you at the foot of the stairs."

  She felt his protestations bordered on the absurd. Surely, it was his guilt speaking, and that annoyed her. "Please, spare me any apologies," she told him contemptuously. "I've known from the beginning how you felt about our situation. As you will recall, you have never hesitated to tell me exactly how you felt about our marriage."

  "That was true in the beginning, but—"

  She cut him off. "I don't want to hear it. My life is a shambles, and you think a few comforting words are going to help? I told you I didn't want to come along. If you'd listened and left me behind, my child would still be alive!"

  "Our child would still be alive," he countered, but she only shrugged and looked away, blinking back tears.

  "It doesn't matter now," Espri said quietly, all of her energy expended on her burst of fury.

  "It does matter. We are still man and wife."

  Her eyes narrowed as she regarded him. "Have you ever really considered us as such?"

  Her barbed comment hurt, but he knew it was justified. He had not wanted this marriage in the beginning, but now . . .

  "E
spri," he began haltingly, his eyes searching hers for some indication of her feelings, "neither of us wanted this union, but we are married and it's up to us to make the best of it." He paused. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but he knew this was not the time. He would have to wait. "I intend to try," he assured her.

  Espri's thoughts were bitter. Why had it taken the death of their unborn child for him to realize that their marriage was worth the effort it took to make it work? Suddenly exhausted, she drew a shuddering breath before saying woodenly, "I think I'll rest now."

  "Think about what I've said, Espri." Mitch reached out to take her hand, but she withdrew from his touch. Refusing to admit defeat, he smiled tenderly at her as he stood up. "I'll be back."

  Espri stared dully at the closed cabin door. She had wanted Mitch for so long, had prayed that he would come to want their marriage, but now she couldn't help but wonder if he'd said these things only because he felt responsible for her accident. Too exhausted to think on it more, she sighed and nestled deeper into the softness of the bed, drifting off into a deep dreamless sleep.

  Though the night had been long and he was mentally and physically exhausted, Mitch had no desire to sleep. Pain filled him as he strode the deck, and he wondered what he was to do next. He longed to return to the cabin and hold Espri close, to share the burden of their loss, but he was barred from doing so. He vowed to himself, then and there, that he would somehow convince Espri of his love before they reached port.

  When Espri awoke long hours later, Mildred was sitting with her.

  "Well, good afternoon," she said, with a warm smile. "I'm glad to see you've decided to join us again."

  "Have I been sleeping long?"

  "Oh, yes. It's afternoon already, but I must tell you, you look much better. There's even color in your cheeks now." She got up and came to sit on the bed. "How do you feel?"

  "Better," Espri admitted.

  "Good . . . good." Mildred touched her bare arm tenderly. "I was worried last night, but I can see now that the doctor was right. You're going to be just fine." Her relief was obvious. "Do you think you could eat something? I'm certain you could manage to get down some tea."

  "Yes, please." Espri stirred beneath the blanket, testing her bruised muscles and finding them sore.

  "I'll go get it for you right now, and I'll see if I can find Mitch. He was here just a short time ago, checking on you," Mildred told her.

  "He was?" Espri was surprised.

  Mildred nodded as she bustled about the room, picking up a folded garment and bringing it to the bedside. "I've brought you a nightgown. I don't know if you're accustomed to sleeping in one, but since you're to be restricted to bed for a while, I thought you might be more comfortable wearing one."

  "A nightgown?"

  Mildred held up the high-necked, long-sleeved white cotton gown. "Would you like to wear it?"

  "Yes, I think so." Espri's unclad state made her feel exposed and vulnerable.

  Mildred helped her to take care of her needs; then she held the gown so Espri could slip it on. When Espri finally lay back, she had become slightly pale from the exertion.

  "I'm weaker than I thought," she murmured.

  "You've been through a lot, and that's precisely why you're to do nothing but rest," Mildred declared with gentle firmness. "Now, you just take it easy while I fetch you something to eat."

  "Yes, ma'am." Espri smiled faintly at the other woman's motherly concern.

  Mildred went first to the galley to order some food for her patient, and then, while the cook prepared it, she sought out Mitch. She finally located him in her own cabin, deep in conversation with her husband. Pausing in the doorway, she studied him for a moment, noticing how exhausted he looked and realizing that the ordeal had taken a toll on him.

  "They've already received twenty-five lashes each and will be confined for the next four weeks," Captain Clark was saying. "I can't tell you how sorry I am this happened, Mitch."

  "I know," he replied, and then added, "and if you need my help, I'd be more than willing to do whatever I can."

  Clark nodded. "I'll keep that in mind." Glancing up, he saw his wife waiting in the doorway. "Mildred, come in. How's Espri?"

  "She's doing much better. That's why I was looking for Mitch. I thought he'd want to know that she had awakened."

  "Thank you, Mildred," Mitch said quickly. "I'll go to her right now."

  "I'll be bringing her some food, shortly," she told him. "Would you care for anything?"

  "No, I'm not hungry, but thank you."

  She watched him go and then went into her husband's waiting arms. "It's so sad."

  "I know. He's taking it very hard."

  "So is Espri," Mildred confided; then she sighed. "I wish there was something I could do to make it easier for them."

  "You've done everything you can. It's a private matter and something they have to work out for themselves."

  Mildred nodded thoughtfully, and then, remembering a part of the conversation she'd overheard, she asked, "What was it you were saying about some of the men receiving lashes?"

  Her husband held her away from him. "You haven't heard the whole story yet, then?"

  "No. What story?"

  "Espri went on deck late last night and two of the men accosted her."

  "Mitch wasn't with her?"

  "Not at the time. I think he was below with Tommy. Anyway, Mitch heard her scream, and he and Tommy rescued her just in time. She must have fallen on her way back to their cabin."

  "You've seen to the sailors' punishment?"

  "First thing this morning. They behaved like animals and I won't permit that type of behavior among my crew," he answered sternly.

  "I'm glad, darling." She kissed him quickly. "Now, I must get Espri's food. I'll be back later."

  Mitch had had all morning to think, and he was determined to make every attempt to convince Espri of his sincerity. He knocked softly before entering their cabin, but any anxiety he'd had about her condition was greatly eased when he found her awake and much improved. "Mildred told me that you'd wakened. How are you?"

  "Much better." She was aloof. She had been expecting him and had steeled herself against revealing any emotion.

  "You're looking better," he told her.

  "Thank you."

  "I see Mildred brought you a nightgown," Mitch noted, finding that bit of civilization not to his liking.

  "Yes, it's quite comfortable."

  "She'll be here shortly with your meal." Mitch turned away and went to the washstand, then stripped off his shirt. "I'll just get cleaned up before she comes."

  "Fine." Espri's voice sounded remote, but her gaze followed him about the cabin. She noted how tired he looked and she watched him from beneath lowered lids.

  "In deference to your condition," he began, turning to face her as he dried himself, "I checked with Captain Clark to see if there was some way to rig a hammock in here for my use, but there isn't. If you think my sharing the bed will disturb your rest, I can sleep out on deck."

  "There's no need for that."

  He nodded thoughtfully and then sat down on the edge of the bed, capturing her hand in a warm grip before she had time to pull it away. "There's much that needs to be said between us, Espri."

  "What do you mean?" she countered warily. Though the touch of his hand and his open expression stirred her heart, she hardened herself against any possible deception. Her hurt was too deep.

  "I meant what I said to you last night. I don't want things to be as they were before."

  Caught up by the intensity of his gaze, Espri didn't move as he leaned forward and touched his lips to the bruise that stained her otherwise flawless cheek. "We'll make a new start, you and I."

  Disturbed by the sweet, gentleness of his kiss, she snapped defensively, "Suppose I don't want to?"

  "Then I'll just have to convince you that you do. Our vows were ''til death do us part,'" Mitch said patiently. He was tempted to take her in his
arms and kiss her, but he sensed it was not the time to press her. He was grateful when Mildred's knock gave him an excuse to end the conversation. Shrugging into one of the clean shirts the captain had given him, he buttoned it quickly, and after admitting Mildred, he excused himself and left.

  Espri watched Mitch go, puzzled by this new side of him. His tender devotion had been so convincing that she'd almost believed it. Was there hope for them? Not wanting to be hurt again, she willed herself not to remember the feelings that had surged through her when he'd taken her hand in his. When the sound of Mildred's voice interrupted her thoughts, she looked up quickly.

  "Espri? You look a little flushed. Are you feeling worse?" Mildred's inquiry penetrated her musings as she set a tray laden with food before her.

  "No. I'm just tired, I guess." Espri avoided meeting the other woman's eyes.

  "Well, let's see if you can eat something and get your strength back." Mildred remembered Espri's earlier statements about Mitch and wondered about his haste in leaving. Was there truly trouble between them? She hoped not, for they made such a handsome couple and this was a time when they really needed one another.

  Sunset . . . the hour Mitch had been looking forward to all afternoon. He knew he had to go below and get some sleep, but he wondered if he really could. How in God's name was he going to get any rest, lying in bed next to Espri? Loving her as he did, he knew it was going to be difficult. It was for that reason that he had volunteered to work on the Providence. Mitch reasoned that after a hard day's physical labor, he might be able to fall right asleep as he had during the long months on the Seastorm. Girding himself, he went below, hoping that he would find some way to cope with the enforced intimacy.

  The cabin was bathed in the pale glow of the single hanging lamp when he entered, and Espri appeared to be sleeping. Carefully, he closed the door behind him, then set about getting ready for bed. Quietly, he washed and changed into the comfortable pants he had brought from the island. He wanted to share the bed with her, but, unwilling to disturb her slumber, he extinguished the light and sat on the chair near the foot of the bed. Stretching his long legs out before him, he sought sleep in that awkward position.