Sea Fire (37 page)

“Cathy,” Jon groaned, agony tearing at his chest as he felt that she was on the very verge of death. “Cathy, darling, please don’t leave me! Cathy, I need you. Cray needs you. The baby needs you. Please don’t leave us, Cathy. Cathy, I love you!”

She was oblivious to his words, her breath seeming to barely move her ribs. Jon bowed his head over her still form, his tears dropping onto her white face.

“Please, God,” he prayed over and over again. “Let her live. Please!”

He could feel heat rising from her body in radiant bursts, heat which threatened to kill her. If he could just bring down her fever a little bit. . . . He raised his head, thinking hard, and cool salt spray, borne on the light wind, hit him in the face.

The sea! Nearly her killer, perhaps it could be turned into her salvation! Before the thought was even completed, Jon was straightening, unwrapping the blanket from about her, stripping her of the
thin petticoat. He would dip her bodily in the sea!

Not even bothering to divest himself of his breeches, Jon picked Cathy up in his arms and carefully rolled over the side of the gig with her, holding her tightly as the waves closed over their heads. He kept one hand clamped over her nose and mouth in case she should try to inhale, and kicked strongly for the surface. When their heads were above the water, he turned over onto his back, letting her limp body rest against his chest as he treaded water. He stayed close to the side of the boat, moving just enough to keep the two of them afloat.

It was nearly dawn by the time he hauled first her and then himself back aboard. He shivered convulsively, but paid no heed to his own discomfort. Instead he knelt beside Cathy’s pale, naked body, his hands moving over her first with dread and then with hope. She had been so still against him in the water that he had begun to fear that the shock had killed her. But now he saw that she was still breathing, her breasts rising and falling rhythmically as she drew in air. And her skin was cool to the touch. . . . Dear God, he might have done the trick! She might live! The thought was intoxicating. Jon wanted to laugh, to cry, to sing hosannas aloud from sheer relief. But, he cautioned himself, nothing was a certainty yet, and if he did not want her to come down with pneumonia on top of everything else he had better get her dry, and out of the night air.

He wiped the moisture from her body with her petticoat, using it to towel her hair and then wrapping it turban-fashion around her head. Finally he wrapped her and the baby carefully in the blanket and lay down beside her, taking her wool-shrouded shape in his arms. She sighed, settling against him, and Jon’s arms tightened protectively around her. She seemed to be sleeping. . . .

Jon pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, noting that the skin felt cool to the touch.

“Thank you, God,”
he murmured as he closed his eyes, and then he, too, slept.

When he awoke, it was to the reedy sound of Virginia crying. It was broad daylight, but the sky was clouded over. Rain later, Jon prophesied with a grimace, but for now at least the cloud cover would serve to keep the sun off Cathy. He turned to look at her, still lying cradled in his arms. Her eyes were closed, and her skin was very pale, but it was cool to the touch, and her breathing was deep and regular. She looked to be sleeping, a natural, healing sleep. She needed it. He would not disturb her, not even for Virginia. The child would have to make do with him until her mother awoke.

Carefully he put Cathy aside, pillowing her head on a fold of the blanket. She sighed, turning over to snuggle on her side, one hand beneath her head. Long, golden strands of hair, having freed themselves from the turban in the night, fanned out from her head. Jon, looking at her, felt a wave of love so intense as to make him feel physically weak. Whatever she was, whatever she had done, he loved her. The rest of his life would have to be worked around that fact.

Virginia’s cries had subsided to watery hiccups by the time Jon picked her up. He held her awkwardly, looking down with mixed emotions at the squirming bundle in his arms. On the one hand, she was Cathy’s daughter, and possibly his own. But then again, she could just as possibly be Harold’s, and she had certainly nearly cost her mother her life. A surge of resentment died as he watched her wave her tiny fists and kick her little feet, to be replaced by pity, and a sense of protectiveness. She was so tiny, so completely at his mercy. What could he do but be kind to her?

He laid her along his knee, amused to find her blue eyes open and seeming to regard him. He smiled, and she watched him gravely. He frowned, and her expression didn’t change. He thought, she looks like Cathy, and felt the first faint wave of affection for this small scrap of humanity. Then, as he gently joggled his
knee up and down for her entertainment, his eyes widened. A trickle of moisture seeped through what was left of his breeches. For a moment he stared down at Virginia, stupefied.

“By damn, she’s wet on me!” he thought, and began to laugh.

By the time he had rather gingerly cleaned Virginia up, and taken another dip in the sea to rid himself of lingering traces of her presence, the little girl was crying again. She was hungry, Jon knew, but there was nothing he could do about that. He tried to ignore the pitiful wails, setting himself to rowing as hard as he could for where he guessed the nearest land to be. But the child’s cries battered at him ceaselessly. Finally he could stand it no longer. Getting up, he moved carefully to where Virginia lay, and picked her up. She stared up at him balefully, her little face crimson with temper. Jon, thinking of Cathy in a tantrum, had to grin. Unless he was very much mistaken, this one was going to be a chip off the old block!

Doing his best not to wake Cathy, he gently pulled the blanket aside and set Virginia to her breast, holding the child while she nursed. Cathy stirred, and smiled, her hand coming up to cradle the baby’s head before falling weakly back. Her eyes fluttered, and then were still. Jon realized with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach that she still had a long, long way to go before she was well again.

Late that afternoon the rain started. It was just a gentle drizzle, not a downpour, but it soon soaked through the shirt-canopy to fall on Cathy’s face in tiny silvery droplets. Soon he saw that she was shivering. Cursing, he stopped rowing and crossed to lie beside her, drawing her into his arms and wrapping the blanket around the three of them. His body shielded Cathy and Virginia from the rain, and his body heat warmed them. That he himself was growing cold, and wet, he disregarded.

As he lay there,
his arms wrapped around the one person who meant more to him than he had ever thought another human being could, Jon nearly gave way to despair. Unless they reached land soon, they would die. The food was gone, and catching fish was a very iffy business. He himself was growing used to constant hunger pangs, but in her weakened state Jon was afraid that lack of food could kill Cathy. If her milk dried up, as he had seen signs of it doing, then Virginia would die, too. And this constant exposure to the weather—first baking sun, then rain. Next, with his luck, it would snow. He couldn’t believe that God had saved Cathy from the fever only to let her die now!

Jon was making another deal with God when a sound rolled to him over the swelling waves. At first he couldn’t believe his ears, but then he sat up with a yelp of joy. The sound startled Virginia, who began to whimper, but Jon paid her no mind; instead, his eyes strained frantically to see through the mist surrounding them. Because what he thought he heard were breakers. And breakers meant land ahead.

fourteen

E
ver afterward, Cathy had only the vaguest recollections of the days immediately following Virginia’s birth. Of the impressions that did stay with her, it was hard to separate dreams from reality. Had Jon really cried, bending over her, when she had lain so sick in the bottom of the boat? Had he told her that he loved her and needed her, and prayed to a God she hadn’t known he believed in when he had thought she might die? She wasn’t sure. But if those were dreams, they were lovely ones, and she clung to them. Remembering them, as she struggled to regain her strength, heartened her. Her smiles at Jon were slow and sweet, and tenderness shone from her eyes whenever they touched him.

She distinctly remembered him carrying her and Virginia ashore through rolling waves, then going back for the boat. He had worked hard to make a shelter to get them out of the rain, using the upended boat as one side and a sandy cliff as the other. It was this shelter in which she was lying now. They had been on the island for perhaps five days, and she was able to sit up without his help, and to nurse Virginia. Poor baby, she was thin from her ordeal, but we’ll soon fix that, Cathy thought, looking over to
where the little girl lay sleeping not far away. Cathy knew that she had grown thin herself. But after the porpoise-shape she had sported for what seemed like years, it was a welcome change.

Jon had gone out to find food, and Cathy did not expect him back for some time. They had been fortunate enough to be washed up on an island lush with tropical vegetation, including fruit trees. After the diet of jerky that had sustained her for nearly ten days, Cathy was ready to gorge herself on bananas and mangos, oranges and papayas. But Jon insisted that she needed protein if she was going to get well, and Cathy wasn’t up to arguing with him. Besides, he was probably right, and she meekly ate what fish he managed to spear, and the birds’ eggs he found and boiled for her. Virginia too benefited from this improved diet, and it did Cathy’s heart good to see her daughter beginning to thrive as she should. Thanks to Jon, they were surviving very well, Cathy thought with a surge of pride.

He had issued strict orders that she was not to move around, and so far Cathy had followed these to the letter. But now, looking at the sun pouring in through the V-shaped opening at the front of the crude shelter, she was conscious of a desire to have a look around outside.

“I must be feeling better,” Cathy thought humorously, “if I’m starting to get curious about where we are.” Just a few days ago she hadn’t even much cared whether or not she was alive.

Jon would have a fit, she knew, if he should return and catch her, but Cathy thought that was unlikely. He had only been gone about three-quarters of an hour, and at the rate he caught fish, fetching supper should take him quite a while.

Thus reassuring herself, Cathy crawled to the door of the shelter, which was not tall enough to permit her to stand upright. As she reached the entrance, the bright sun bouncing off the sparkling white sand momentarily blinded her. She shut her eyes, opening
them only gradually so that they could adjust to the dazzling light. Finally she could look upon the scene before her without pain, and she stared, entranced.

They had come ashore on a small, semicircular beach surrounding a deep blue bay. White-capped waves whispered gently as they brushed the shore perhaps thirty yards away. Behind her the beach rose in sandy white cliffs, and it was against one of these that Jon had propped the boat to form the basis of their hut. She saw now that he had covered it with branches and other vegetation to keep out the rain and heat alike. No wonder the inside had been shadowy and cool, Cathy thought, and marveled at Jon’s resourcefulness before returning to her contemplation of the scene. Down by the water’s edge gulls ran to and fro, playing a kind of game with the lapping ocean. Occasionally one would wheel into the air, calling raucously to its fellows. Further out in the water, tall pink flamingos waded, their long bills dipping quickly in and out of the sea as they searched for food. The air was sweet with the scent of wild-growing fruit and immense tropical flowers, and Cathy breathed deeply of it. From her vantage point, the whole world looked dazzlingly clean, as if it had just been freshly bathed.

Speaking of bathing, Cathy thought, emerging from the shelter and getting rather shakily to her feet, she could use a bath herself. The white petticoat that was the only item of clothing left to her was filthy, and her skin wasn’t in much better shape. Even her hair felt unclean. She risked a quick look around, checking for any signs of Jon’s presence. There were none. It was a safe bet that he had gone into the steamy tropical forest that led back inland from the crest of the cliffs to the freshwater pool he had told her about. There were fish in that pool, said Jon, who would find it a trifle harder to escape than their saltwater brothers. Cathy’s lips twitched. Catching their supper had become a point of honor with him, and like a small boy he
was almost shamefaced if he had to return to her side with only fruit and eggs.

With a quick glance back inside the shelter to assure herself that Virginia was still peacefully asleep, Cathy made her way rather slowly down to the water’s edge. She was still not as strong as she could be, she discovered. In fact, her knees had a distinct tendency to shake. But that was only to be expected after so many days of inactivity, and the best way to get over it was to make use of the lazy muscles.

Feeling slightly guilty as she thought of what Jon’s reaction would be if he could see what she was doing, Cathy waded into the bay. She stopped when the water sloshed just above her knees, deciding it was wisest not to go too far until she was stronger. Sitting, enjoying the luxurious feel of the cool water lapping around her breasts, she scooped up handfuls of sand to use as soap. Not bothering to remove the petticoat, she washed it as well as her skin, and finally worked the sand into her hair. Not the most pleasant of soaps, perhaps, but certainly effective! Leaning back in the water to let the waves wash away the last of the sand, Cathy felt wonderfully clean.