The Day Before Forever (29 page)

It was the yellow dog I had seen earlier.

“What are you doing, buddy?” I whispered.

I didn't think Juana would hear as she had looked so tired. She was fast asleep by that point.

“What? You want this leg? Be my guest.” I wiggled it just above the dog's head to see if he would jump up on his hind legs so I could reach his head to pet him.

The dog's eyes trailed the piece of meat, but he didn't budge.

“Well, fine. Have it your way.”

He was probably tired after a long day, just like the rest of us.

I held the leg directly in front of the dog, and he started
pulling the meat off the leg and munching on the bone. I couldn't look. The gnawing sounds were enough.

When the dog stopped, I looked down. It was a clean bone, albeit with some scratches. The dog's tail was wagging ever so slowly.

“Good job. Good job, buddy.”

I carefully got out of my hammock to place the bone in the wooden bowl and put that back on the chest.

I turned around, hoping to scratch the dog behind his ears, but he was gone. At least one of us had enjoyed his meal tonight.

I crawled back onto the hammock.

The dog had saved me from having to eat the animal leg, though, so I was beyond thankful, even though I was still hungry. My gratitude—not the killer, not immortality, not time travel—was the last thing I thought of as I drifted off to sleep.

My eyes shot open to the feeling of hands around my neck. They were gripping so hard. Strangling. And it was Juana's eyes I was staring into.

“Juana . . .” I managed to choke out.

So this was how I was going to go. Strangled by the killer.

My arms flailed, but they couldn't reach anything. Without much air, my mind was going foggy. Something wasn't quite right about this scene, but I couldn't figure it out. I was too terrified to think coherently. It was a mass panic.

Think, Rebecca.

But all I could think of was
Why?
Why was she doing this?

I looked up at her, as if I could see the answer in her face.

Even in the dark of the night, I could see that her eyes looked
glazed. Her body was shaking . . . and it wasn't from the strength of strangling me.

“Juana,” I gurgled.

I thought I saw a flicker of recognition beneath her eyes.

“Juana!” I said, as loud as I could. I mustered the last bit of energy I had left and kicked blindly at her stomach.

All of a sudden, the hands stopped.

They were still around my neck, but all the strength had gone out of them. They were slack, resting against my collarbone.

“I-I'm so sorry,” Juana muttered. She took her hands off me and turned away before I could see her expression.

She climbed back into her hammock without another word.

NINETEEN

I WOKE UP
to the sound of Juana rummaging around the tent. That was the problem with sharing a small space with someone—whether that was Juana or Henley—they always managed to wake you up even if they were trying to be quiet.

“Good. You've finally woken up,” Juana said as I rolled over in the hammock to face her. There was no sign on her face of what had happened last night.

Maybe she didn't remember . . . or maybe she was pretending.

“You overslept. Everyone's done with breakfast. I left some for you, but it's getting cold.”

I stared blankly at her, the sleep still in my eyes. Best not to mention it.

“Get up. Get dressed. That's what I mean,” she said.

I got up from the hammock, practically sliding out, and went over to the chest where I had put my dress. I noticed that
the bone was gone, but the wooden dish was still there.

“Damn it, dog.” I had wanted Juana to see the cleaned-off bone to show I appreciated her taking care of me. Now it looked like I had taken the whole leg, bone and all, and disposed of it somewhere. She was going to hate me.

I pulled the dress over the top of my head and looked at Juana.

She had frozen in place, looking at me with a slack jaw. I suddenly realized it was probably down to my swearing. I shouldn't have said “damn.” It was too strong. Much too strong. What did they say in this time? God's teeth? I needed to transition back to an acceptable level of swearing for the sixteenth century.

“The dog took the leftovers?” Juana said, once she had recovered from her shock.

“There wasn't much left,” I said. I didn't mention the fact that there wasn't much left because the dog had eaten everything the night before. “Only the bone, really.”

“We can't leave leftovers around camp like that. Might attract wild animals,” Juana said. “But the old dog should still be close around here somewhere. She's much too aged and feeble to have dragged a large bone very far.”

“So it's a she? I'd thought it was a he,” I said.

Juana started lifting tent flaps and looking behind some of the chests. “Do you know your dogs well?”

“Not really. I never had one. I wanted one when I was younger, though.”

“Our family had a dog named Alegria. It means happiness. She had puppies one day. My sisters and I couldn't bear to give them away, so we grew up always having a pack of dogs at our
feet.”

Juana lifted the tent flap at the front and laughed when she found the guilty-looking dog with the bone between her paws.

I petted the dog and she rolled over, exposing her stomach to be rubbed.

“There you are. We've been looking all over for you.” Juana took the bone in one hand and grabbed the dog by the scruff of her neck. “We need to get you back to José.”

“José?” I followed Juana and the dog out of the tent.

“Her owner.”

“Oh.” I felt a slight twinge of sadness. For some reason, I had thought it was the camp's dog and belonged to everyone. Foolish of me. Besides, she had an owner. I shouldn't have cared that much.

“José!” Juana barreled into one of the tents with the dog.

I stood by the opening, taking care not to enter.

A man had hopped out of his hammock. He raked his hair back and looked disdainfully at both the dog and Juana. The dog looked guilty, as if she knew this was all about her.

Juana said a few things in Spanish and led the dog over to the man.

He didn't look that pleased to have her back. He stroked his beard and said a few words. He took a few steps toward the dog. I thought he was going to pet her, but instead he kicked the dog and sent her flying a few steps.

My heart was in my throat, and I automatically lurched forward. I quickly stopped myself.

What was I supposed to do? I couldn't help the dog. I
shouldn't
,
at least. I had to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

But the man had seen my sudden move. He pointed at me and said a few words to Juana. Then he looked toward the dog again.

Juana said something back then tried to get me to leave with her.

“No, what did he say?” I said, not moving.

“He doesn't like you.”

“That much I can gather. But why kick the dog? I thought it was his,” I said.

“She was supposed to be a hunting dog. One that would also get the rats on board the ship. But she's past her prime. Look at her.”

The dog was now lying by the back of the tent, her head on the ground and her tail tucked between her legs. She tilted her head, as if she wanted to lift it, but finding it too heavy she just let it drag on the ground.

“José says it's only a matter of time before she goes. Until then, she's only another thing to feed.”

I looked hard at José. “So he's waiting for her to die.”

Juana shook her head. “Conditions are harsh out here. No place for an old dog that can't be useful anymore. He'll probably put her down. Her portion of food could go to the men,” Juana said.

“It's not fair.”

“No, it's not, but what ever is?”

“I want her,” I said.

I hadn't thought before I said that. It wasn't inconspicuous, but in that moment, I couldn't stand by and let it happen.

Juana put a hand on my arm. “The dog's not yours to want.”

“Tell him,” I said. “Tell him I want her. I'll take her off his hands.”

Juana hesitated before translating my words.

José looked at me with new interest. He didn't say anything that needed translating. He simply gave me one nod.

He moved to get the dog, but I moved faster than him.

I walked to the back of the tent and scooped up the dog in my arms. She wasn't that little. She was quite heavy actually, and my shoulders hurt under the strain of picking her up, but I didn't care. I walked straight out of that tent with her.

I think Juana might have said something to José as I left, but she quickly followed me back to our tent.

“You don't have the slightest idea what you're going to do with that dog, do you?” Juana said as I put the dog down in the middle of our tent.

“I don't,” I admitted.

Juana didn't chastise me, though. “You think you're similar to her, don't you?”

“Perhaps,” I said, rubbing the dog's stomach. “It's just not fair that she shouldn't be given a chance like the rest of us.”

“You don't want to be thrown out when you're not useful.”

It wasn't much of a question.

“Stay here.” Juana excused herself and walked out.

“It's just you and me again, buddy,” I said.

The dog seemed to understand. She looked up directly at me with her belly up.

“Yeah, I don't know what we're going to do with you either.”

The dog cocked her head.

“You don't have to be a hunting dog or a rat catcher to be
useful, though. I'll take you the way you are, if you'll take me the way I am.” I scratched her chin.

She seemed to like that. Her tail feebly flopped from side to side.

“Neither of us are the way we would like to be. We've changed. I know that.”

Juana came in with two wooden bowls. She handed one to me and put the other in front of the dog. They both had a stew-like substance in them. I was hungry, and I knew I didn't want to ask what the food was before I ate it . . . probably not even after I ate it.

There was no spoon, so I ate by putting the bowl to my lips, tipping and sucking.

“It's cold, isn't it?” Juana said. “And runny. We have to add wine to stretch out the daily provisions.” I knew it was her way of apologizing for the food.

“Do you know the dog's name?” I asked.

Juana shook her head.

“Oh. Maybe we could ask José later.”

“I mean she doesn't have a name,” Juana said. “We only have one dog. She answers to a whistle. There was no need to name her.”

I looked at the dog rushing to lap up the contents of her bowl. It wasn't right not to have a name that was your own.

“We have to name her.”

“Pick something suitable. Something that fits her,” Juana suggested. “That way, the name will really be
her.
”

I knew what she meant.

The dog was curled up by the now-empty bowl. She shouldn't
have had wine, but I supposed there was no clean water. Still, her tail frailly wagged from side to side, showing her appreciation.

“I want something fiery,” I finally said.

“For her? She isn't exactly what I think of when I think of fiery.”

The dog was fast asleep in the middle of the floor. She seemed to be wheezing a little in her sleep.

“I know, but she could be.”

“You shouldn't name living things with your expectations of them,” Juana said.

“I want to name her something hopeful.”

Juana leaned down to pet the dog while she wheezed on in her sleep. “What about Alma?”

“What does that mean?”

“Soul.”

I looked down on the dog's sleeping form. She had as much soul as we did.

“It's perfect.”

“Rebecca, I have to ask you something. Yesterday . . .”

Juana looked so serious that I thought she had somehow followed me into the woods and seen me disappear in front of her.

“Yesterday, you had said that you'd drunk too much water.” She carefully watched me as she spoke. “I meant to ask if you had found a fresh water source . . . Perhaps a lake?”

I suddenly remembered the moment she was talking about. I had been so desperate to see Henley that I had made up an excuse about needing to empty my bladder in the middle of the woods.

Now Juana thought I had found a source of drinking
water . . . Or was she feeling out what I knew?

“Um . . . no, it was more like a river,” I tried.

“And you're certain that there wasn't a lake around when you were journeying here?” Juana's face felt too close to mine. “Perhaps the river flowed into the lake?”

“Uh, no. No lake.”

She sighed, but was it a sigh of disappointment or a sigh of relief?

Juana definitely knew something. But what was it?

Juana walked a few paces away from me. “I'm . . . I'm going to go to confessional today,” she said. “The men went this morning. They should be done by now. The priest is in the farthest tent across from the fire pit. He's an educated man and speaks English. I suggest you make the time to go today too.”

I told her I would before Juana left for the priest's tent.

I made sure I waited a full five minutes before peeking outside to check that she wasn't anywhere near. With Juana at confessional, this was my time to check the maps that she had hidden from me.

As I walked to the chests in the tent, Alma whined. I guessed she was waking up from her nap.

“I know this isn't exactly the best thing to do, but I
need
to know. She's hiding something.”

I opened the top chests where I had seen Juana put away the maps. I pulled out the rough pieces of paper, careful to maintain their order so she wouldn't know I had been there.

As I had quickly glimpsed before, they were hand-drawn maps of Islamorada. Each page was the island in different detail. Juana must have done them. Closer up, I could see the detail in
certain areas of the coast and the part of the island I assumed we were on now. She must have mapped out the details of the areas the expedition had journeyed through.

But what was she trying to find?
Each of the maps had one
X
. They were all in the same location. It was close to the camp.
What was that?

It crossed my mind that it could just be fresh water that she was after, but if that was the case, there seemed to be closer rivers and small pools of water that would be more convenient to get to from where we were.

Then maybe it was the lake. The Fountain of Youth.
Juana had seemed too interested in the possibility of me finding a lake earlier. If she was after one specific lake—the fountain—then she must have known what its powers were.

She was either trying to turn herself immortal, or was already immortal and was trying to find the fountain for a different reason.

The maps were snatched out of my hands.

“I know exactly what you are.”

My head snapped up. It was Juana.

Juana's face was red, and her body shook as she stashed the maps back into the open chest.

“You're not supposed to be here. Not like this. In this tent or in this world,” she said.

I opened my mouth, but I knew an apology wouldn't suffice. I also knew I didn't want to apologize to a killer.

As Juana moved toward me, I ran out of the tent.

When I burst out into the middle of the camp, heads turned. I slowed my pace to a walk. I couldn't go into the woods to
travel forward in time, though all I wanted was to talk to Henley, because eyes were on me. Instead, I walked toward the tent of the priest. That would have to be my refuge for now.