Oceanswept (13 page)

I
deciphered my surroundings the best I could in the deepening twilight. A broad white beach stretched down the length of the island as far as I could see. Towards the interior of the island, the sand bled into a forest of palms and ferns obscured with ominous shadows.

Not wanting to sleep on the sand, I climbed into the jollyboat and curled up in the bottom, giving myself up to exhaustion.

Soft raindrops woke me in the night. Annoyed, I crammed the tar-covered hat on my head. Its brim was full of water that splashed down the back of my neck. I shivered, grumbling under my breath. Inspiration struck and I placed the empty canteen on a bench to catch the fresh rain.

Exhausted though I was, it was too much to ask to sleep through the strengthening storm. Brilliant flashes of lightning danced around me, the accompanying thunder rattled my chest. The wind lashed at the surrounding trees, and waves pounded the beach, battering the jollyboat. I worried that the tide would carry me away. Begrudgingly, I uncurled myself and hopped out onto the sand. I pulled the boat a bit farther onto the rain-soaked beach, then dragged the rope towards the forest. I fought my nerves as I stared into the black abyss of a jungle.

Quickly, I knotted the long rope around the slender trunk of a palm, hoping it would hold. I dashed back to my boat and huddled inside.

My stomach rumbled with hunger.

The canvas bag was lying in a shallow puddle at the boat’s bottom, soaking wet. I groaned. The hardtack was ruined, a soggy mess. I pulled out one of the strips of dried beef. Though the seasonings had been rinsed off, it was edible

I tried not to think of what would happen after the beef was gone. I imagined myself marching placidly through the jungle and finding bunches of wild fruit and nuts growing on low-hanging branches that would sustain me like royalty.

It was a naïve notion. I was a stranger in the Caribbean. Even if food were that easy to find, would I even recognize it? I hoped so. My life depended on it.

I pushed away my thoughts of food and replaced them with thoughts of Nicholas. I replayed our last kiss again and again. Losing myself in romantic reverie, I imagined how our courtship would blossom under more traditional circumstances.

I imagined myself back in England, preparing for a night at the theatre. I would wear my favorite ball gown—a dress of dusty lilac silk that made my alabaster skin glow. My cinnamon hair could be styled fashionably on top of my head with intricate braids and cascading ringlets, elegant yet soft. A string of pearls, white gloves, and kid-leather shoes. The butler would announce Nicholas’s arrival. I would glide effortlessly down the stairs, masking my enthusiasm with a wistful smile. Nicholas would be waiting for me in the grand foyer, a dashing smile softening the angles of his face. Barefoot and wearing his canvas breeches and flowing cotton shirt, he would…he would....

Wait.

That was not right.

I changed the image in my mind. Nicholas would be waiting for me in the foyer, wearing…a silken suit and a white wig? A long coat and leggings?

I could not picture it at all, try as I might. He simply looked absurd in any civilized clothing I could imagine.

Annoyed at this disruption in my fantasy, I let him remain in his sailor’s garb and continued with my dream. Nicholas would be waiting for me in the grand foyer, a dashing smile making my blood rush. Barefoot and wearing his canvas breeches and flowing cotton shirt, he would rush to meet me halfway up the stairs, entwining an arm around my waist and kissing me longingly without a word passing between us. I smiled, heart fluttering at the thought.

No, that was wrong too.

Nicholas would wait for me to descend the stairs, all the while admiring my beautiful gown. As I approached him, he would casually reach for my hand, pull me within inches of his face and stare directly into my eyes.

No…Nicholas was not behaving himself. I thought back upon other outings I’d had where an impeccably dressed gentleman met me in the foyer with a hat under his arm, bowed graciously, complimented my gown, and exchanged pleasantries while offering me his arm. It was a familiar script. I knew it well. So why couldn’t I put Nicholas into that role?

* * * * *

The storm subsided, though a lazy rain still dribbled down. The sun broke through the clouds in another magical sunrise, splashing the fractured sky with crimson and gold.

With the dawn breaking, I had enough light to explore my surroundings better. I stumbled out of the jollyboat stiffly. My legs trembled underneath me. More than likely they were tired and overworked, but I wondered if I had spent so much time on the sea that I had lost my
land
legs. I smirked at the thought.

I checked the canteen I had left on the bench. An inch of water sloshed in the bottom. Not much, but it was something. I set it back on the bench, hoping to catch a few more droplets.

I scanned the beach deciding which direction to explore first. To my right, the beach faded steeply into a short hill that jutted into the ocean, limiting my view of the coast. To my left, untouched sand extended as far as I could see. I picked up my skirts and walked in that direction.

The coastline curved smoothly and I followed along the driest sand I could find. Tiny crabs scuttled across my path in jerky movements. They matched the color of the sand exactly and it took me a moment to realize that the sand itself was not moving. I faintly wondered if the creatures were edible.

I walked until I could no longer see the jollyboat. That was far enough.

I walked back to the boat.

The air was thick with moisture. The heat of the sun did nothing to dry my limp, clammy dress. My head ached and my sore body still shivered from the dampness that encompassed me.

Once back at the boat, my energy was expended. I settled my reluctant muscles between two benches and drifted off to sleep.

I
weaved my way through the large crates, barrels, and bins at the dockyard in England. Some were being loaded onto ships while others were being distributed to vendors. Peddlers called to me, trying to entice me with colorful birds, bolts of luxurious fabrics, baskets of exotic spices, and piles of tropical fruits. I ignored them all. I was searching among these crates, searching for something I had not yet found. Beyond the docks, dozens of moored ships gently swayed in the breeze, their countless masts looked like an army of javelins piercing the sky.

As I meandered through the shipping goods, I finally found what I was looking for. Arranged on the dock in neat rows was a traveling zoo. A barker called for patrons to visit, “Only three shillings!” he shouted.

I dropped three coins in his hand and crossed into the zoo. A cage of monkeys. Oversized rodents. Two zebras. These distractions held no interest for me. I kept my meandering pace without stopping to take in the sights. I briefly paused at a caged tiger. Its eyes were glazed, and its fur was matted. It panted as if in boredom. I had expected to be awed. I was disappointed. I continued towards the last cage. I knew it would hold the best animal. The closer I got, the more whispers from the crowd I could hear.

“The fiercest of the fierce!” a small boy exclaimed.

“I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“So majestic.”

“How frightening!” a woman shrieked with excitement.

All crowds vanished as I finally stood before the rusty, tarnished cage and looked at the wild creature within.

It was Nicholas.

He stood in the center of the cage, his eyes fixed on nothing. Forlorn. I wondered what was so majestic and fierce about him. I could not get him to look my way, could not make him behave as he would have in the wild. I was angry. Disappointed.

Then his eyes locked on mine. They were the color of the morning sky. They were wide with shock, shimmering with pain.

A small wet, spot of blood appeared in the center of his abdomen and spread. He clutched at his stomach, his hands turning glossy and red. He looked at me
, horrified.

I held a long, thin rapier dripping with his blood
.

I startled awake.

My breathing was shallow and my head spun.

I shook the image out of my head.

It was just my mind reliving the horrors on board the ship. It did not mean anything.

It was not prophetic.

It was just a dream.

Just a dream.

I rubbed my eyes and shifted uncomfortably in the jollyboat.

By the look of the sun’s position, I guessed it to be late afternoon. The air was as sticky as ever.

My head pounded. My throat was raw. My hand shook noticeably as I reached for a canteen. I took a sip of water, hoping to soothe my throat, but swallowing only exacerbated its pain.

I tried to pull myself out of the boat, but failed. My limbs were weak. I sank down, trembling.

I needed something to eat. I cautiously counted the strips of dried beef. Four. Could I survive on one a day? Would the water last that long? I was down to the last canteen. Plus the small amount of rain I caught, which was hardly worth counting. That would give me four days. Then what?

I ate my ration of meat slowly as if the more time I took to eat it, the longer it would sustain me.

It was time to explore the forest, to see if I could find water and food. I turned to look at the tangle of green. Though the sun shone high in the sky, the forest looked dark and foreboding.

I maneuvered myself out of the boat, my skin feeling as if it were on fire. I steadied myself against the boat’s bow while a wave of dizziness clouded my sight.

Slowly, I made my way into the dank jungle.

Though uneasy with the constant whispering of the leaves and the suffocating shadows, I was in awe at its unequaled beauty. I had thought I had seen green before. As a child, I had run freely across rolling hills so green they put emeralds to shame. But this…this was something else entirely.

The soil beneath me was the color of coffee. I placed my bare feet carefully, taking care not to injure them. Each step stirred up the heady scent of damp, decaying leaves. Such a different fragrance than the salted air of the ocean. I inhaled deeply.

Every few moments, I stopped to examine the world unfolding around me. Brilliant pink flowers spilled from vines overhead. My fingers grazed mottled tree trunks as smooth as marble. The canopy overhead was so densely woven that I could scarcely see the sky.

I picked my way through the tangle of trees slowly, certain that a fresh stream or bunch of bananas was just beyond my vision. I could no longer hear the rhythm of the ocean nor could I see the beach. Anxiety bubbled in my chest. I pressed on. There was a water source somewhere. I needed to find it.

After what felt like hours of meandering, a patch of yellow caught my eye. A half-dozen birds were clustered on a gnarled mass that hung from a tree. They flitted about the clump, chirping and hopping, pecking at it and at each other. I looked closer at the clump. It wasn’t a gnarled branch like I thought, but a bouquet of long, brown pods. And the birds were eating them.

As I stood watching the birds feast, I realized the shadows were deepening. It wouldn’t be long before the sun set. I didn’t have much time.

Sizing up the tree, I estimated that it was at least twenty-five feet high. I couldn’t climb it. Not only had I never done such a thing in my entire life, and even if my skirts wouldn’t hinder me, there were no branches within reach.

I looked around the forest floor to see if I could find anything to throw at the clump of food. At the base of the tree, I noticed several pods that had been knocked loose. I picked one up.

With a little effort, I pried the hard pod open with my fingernails.  Nestled inside was soft, reddish flesh surrounding six seeds. I sniffed it. I licked it. The flavor was mild but sweet. Pleasant.

I removed the pits and devoured it.

I ate the insides of three more pods I found on the forest floor.

I looked up again at the birds above, feasting away. I salivated.

I found a moss-covered stone and launched it at the clump of fruit. The stone sailed through the air and missed the target widely, hitting the branches of an adjacent tree on its descent. The birds startled and flew away.

I glanced again at the dark forest behind me, knowing I would not see the beach but still searching for it. Darkness was quickly encroaching.

I would have to return tomorrow.

But how would I ever find this tree again? This tree that would be my salvation?

I needed to leave a marker.

My hands flew to the black ribbon tied in my hair. I removed it and fastened it around the trunk. I stepped back to view my work. The shiny black satin easily blended in with the dark shadows of the jungle. It would be impossible to see. I retrieved the sash and tied my hair with it again.

I scanned myself for any other ideas. There was only one other thing I had—the Wedgwood blue dress. I would be able to recognize that from yards away. The color was bright enough, unusual enough….I searched for a piece of the dress I could easily tear off for a marker.

I futilely tugged at the hem. The silk was too tightly woven. I transferred my efforts to a sleeve. The stitching stretched but nothing gave way. Though I had initially admired the fine workmanship of this dress, I was now cursing it. Any cheaper seaming would have popped by now.

My angst grew along with the shadows of the jungle. I needed to make my way back to the beach while I could still see. Yet, I just as desperately needed to find this tree tomorrow.

My eyes searched the ground, looking for a tool to help me. If only I had brought the damn dirk! I crouched down and fingered several rocks, tossing aside the smooth pebbles. I picked up a thin, flat rock and grazed my thumb over its edge. It was sharp enough to double as a blade. Once I severed just one stitch, I knew the seam would easily unravel.

Taking the sharp-edged stone in my right hand, I awkwardly hacked at my left shoulder. I was too timid, too light-handed. I tried again.

A rustling in the brush not ten feet away from me caught my attention. Apparently it caught the attention of some birds too, for a brightly colored flock took to the sky. I didn’t know what had startled the birds, but if they were leaving, so should I. With one last effort, I pulled my sleeve taut with my left hand, crunched my eyes closed, and slashed violently at the dress with my right hand.

Sharp pain splintered down my shoulder. I opened my eyes to see what I had done. I had effectively ripped half the sleeve off the dress, so that mission was accomplished. I had also managed to score my skin from the top of my shoulder down to the hollow under my arm. Thick blood was already oozing at the cut. I hissed against the pain, angry at myself for this stupid wound. I threw the makeshift knife to the jungle floor. It landed with a wet thud. Working quickly, I yanked off the severed sleeve and mopped up the blood on my shoulder.

My eyes continued to stray to the place the rustling noise came from. Though I saw nothing nor heard nothing more, I knew something was there.

In the little light I had left, I struggled to find a way to attach the sleeve.

A jagged branch stub poked from the tree’s trunk near my waist. Quickly, I speared the sleeve onto the barb and managed to wedge a splinter into my pinky. Sucking on my finger, I hurried towards the beach, glancing over my shoulder one last time at the suspicious spot in the bushes.

I emerged from the jungle just as the golden sun began to cast the world in an amber glow.

At the water’s edge, I gingerly examined my shoulder. The cut was deep and blood throbbed out of it. I sparingly dripped my precious drinking water on my shoulder to rinse away the dirt and blood. I clenched my teeth and grimaced. Not from the pain, but at my own carelessness. I was wasting my drinking water cleaning up after my own stupidity. If I were to die of thirst, I would deserve it.