The Immortelles (8 page)

Damita saw sailors moving around the deck, holding on to the ropes they'd tied for safety. She walked out to talk to one of them, but when she looked up, her heart seemed to stop. Coming toward the ship was a monstrous wave. It seemed to be taller than the top of the mast, and Damita could not move.

A voice called her name. As she turned, a hand gripped her arm. “Damita, what are you doing up here?”

Recognizing Yancy Devereaux, she cried, “What's going to happen?”

Devereaux did not answer but shook his head. He was also watching the wave, but just before it struck he grabbed her and held her tight, pulling her down to the deck.

The sea picked up the ship and tossed it into the air, and Damita was on her back. Over Yancy's shoulder she could see the mountainous wave break. It snapped off two of the masts and continued to roll the ship.

“We're going over!” Yancy shouted in her ear. “Hang on to me. Don't turn loose. Can you swim?”

“No!”

Afterward, Damita was never able to remember the sequence of events that took place. She knew only that another massive wave broke over the ship, and then there was a whirling in her head. She realized that the ship had turned upside down, and then she felt water envelope her. She fought Yancy's hold but had the presence of mind to hold her breath. Under the water, she could not hear the shrieking of the wind, but she heard the breaking noises of the ship as it disintegrated. Her lungs began to burn, and fear was a physical thing that filled her completely. She was vaguely aware of Yancy's grip.

When Damita could stand the burning in her lungs no longer, she expelled the air and then automatically breathed in cold water. It brought a pain she had not imagined possible. Noise and cold and water—and then her head was out. She began coughing violently, and a voice cried, “Hold on!”

While only half-conscious, Damita grabbed Yancy. The waves lifted them high and then slapped her in the face so that more water went into her nose, and she coughed and gagged. Yancy turned her so that her back was to him, and his arm was around her chest. She clung to it and tried to cry out, but the water and wind covered every other sound.

Damita grew feeble and conscious only of the roar of the wind and the force of the water that seemed to beat at her like a club. She cried out,
“ma tante!”
but then could just struggle weakly to keep her head above the water.

Something hard struck her leg, and she felt Yancy's arm tighten. Her eyes were full of saltwater, and she could see nothing. She felt herself being pulled, and the back of her legs dragged across something rough, and then she was thrown down so that the back of her head struck a hard, wooden surface. The blow ignited a thousand pinpoints of light in her mind. She rolled over.

“All right, don't fight it anymore.”

Hearing Yancy's voice, Damita opened her eyes. At first, all she could see was the leaden gray and black of the sky and the waves that surrounded her, still frothy white and lashing the air. She felt a wooden plank beneath her.

Damita lifted her head. She looked around wearily. Yancy was lying beside her, one arm over her back. The murky light limited her vision, but she could see that whatever they were floating on was some sort of wooden surface some ten feet or more square. It rose and fell violently with the waves, and once she started to slide off, but Yancy's hands caught her and pulled her back. “We're not far from shore,” he yelled. “If we can fight out this storm, it'll carry us in.”

Damita's mind cleared then, and she saw that Yancy's hair was plastered to his skull, his eyes were half shut, and his lips were a white line. “Where's the ship, Yancy?”

“She went down at once.”

Damita could not speak. The passage of time meant nothing, and she had no way of telling how long they clung to their precarious island, bobbing up and down and spinning at the mercy of the waves. Once Yancy yelled, “If this thing doesn't turn over, we're all right. I can hear the breakers.”

Damita's hands ached from the pressure of holding on to the board. She could see something far off that looked dimly like a dark line of coast. “Is that the shore?”

“Yes. When we hit, this thing will probably turn over. If it does, don't fight me. I'll pull you in.”

“All right.” Damita was too exhausted to suggest any other plan. The only firm object in the universe to the young woman at that moment was Yancy's arm around her, like iron pressing her down, holding her steady. She laid her cheek against the rough surface of the board and waited. The roar became louder, and they seemed to move faster.

“Here it comes.”

Damita grew tense, and then she felt the plank begin to turn. “Let go!” Yancy yelled. She released her grasp, and he plucked her up and pulled her off to one side. As the board turned over, it struck her left foot, but she had no time to think of that pain, for her head had gone underwater again. She held her breath as best she could. She remembered that Yancy had said not to fight, and it took all of her strength to keep from grabbing at him. He turned her around as if she were a child, his arm went around her chest, and just as she could hold her breath no longer, they both rose above the surface. He did not speak, but she could feel his powerful strokes.

Finally, he yelled, “My feet hit bottom. We're all right.” He stood up, his chest above the waves.

Damita's feet touched sand, and she cried out, “I feel it!” She waded out as he half-carried her. The wind tore at them as it raced across the beach. Damita trembled from the cold.

Yancy leaned forward and said in her ear, “We've got to get out of this wind. Let's make for those trees.”

The two pressed against the wind and hurried across the beach to a line of trees. As soon as they stepped
inside their comforting cover, the wind seemed to mitigate, but Damita was shaking so violently she could hardly stand. Yancy held her and said, “Come on. We'll try to find some shelter. There must be something.”

The two stumbled along through the trees, Yancy's left arm supporting Damita. She would have fallen more than once, but he pulled her up, saying, “Come on. We can make it. You're doing fine.”

Fatigue came then like a blow, and Damita did not think she could lift her feet another step, but Yancy kept pulling her forward. He finally stopped. “Look, here's a road. There's got to be something down it. Come on.” The sound of the crashing breakers grew fainter. A hundred yards later, Yancy said, “Look, there's something there.”

Damita could see only the vague shadow of a tall vertical object. “What is that?”

“It's an old chimney. There was a house here, but it's burned.” Then he cried out, “A barn! We can at least get out of the wind.”

Damita felt new strength. The barn was small, but at least it had a roof. When they had reached it, Yancy opened the door and looked inside. It was practically pitch black. A couple of small holes in the walls of the old structure admitted only faint, grayish light. Yancy said, “Stand here a minute. Let me feel my way around.”

Shaking as she never had in her life, Damita waited. She rubbed her arms together, but her fingers were numb with the cold. The coat she wore was, of course, soaked, and she felt encased in an icy embrace.

“Here, we're in luck.”

“What is it?”

“There's a lot of old hay here, and we can get under it. It'll help some. First, take off your clothes and wring them out. They'll never dry out like that.”

“Take off my clothes?”

“Yes. I'm going to do the same.” Yancy walked a few steps away, faced the opposite wall, and began removing his shirt.

Damita hesitated only an instant, then she pulled off the coat and quickly stripped down to her undergarments. She wrung out her dress, but the coat was too heavy. She put on her clothes, so cold and clammy that she shuddered beneath them.

“Are you dressed?”

“Yes.”

“Here, come over here.”

“I couldn't wring the water out of this coat.”

“Let me try.” Yancy did his best with the sopping garment. “Here, lie down.” Damita felt her way past him, and when her feet crunched on the old hay underfoot, she lay down, and he joined her. “Pull all the straw you can over yourself.” Damita grabbed handfuls and threw them over her legs and torso. The smell was rank and chaff got into Damita's nose and made her sneeze. “We'll put your coat over the top of the straw,” Yancy said.

“I've got to get warm,” she whispered. “I'm so cold.”

Yancy put his arms around her and drew her to him. They were face-to-face, and Damita felt a faint heat in his body. Terror was still in her, and as his arms went around her, she put her arms around his neck greedily to absorb some of his warmth. She felt him reaching back, pulling more straw over them, and finally she felt the first small indications of her body temperature rising.

“I didn't think we were going to make it,” she whispered.

“Neither did I.” The two of them listened to the wind as it whistled through the cracks of the barn. Both of them were thinking of the ship.

As Damita's shaking began to subside, Yancy said, “You're getting better. We're going to live.”

“Do you think anyone else is alive?” she whispered.

Yancy answered, “I doubt it, Damita. She went down too quick. It's a miracle that we lived.”

Tears filled Damita's eyes, and she put her forehead against his chest and began to weep. Memories of Juanita's thousand kindnesses flew through her mind. She could not bear to think of the body down in the cold darkness of the sea. Her own body shook—not from cold, but from her sobs. Yancy held her without speaking. Once he whispered, “I'm sorry about your aunt, but it was quick.”

She stopped crying, and she lay in his arms, trying to regain something that she had lost. He held her without speaking. She felt the warmth of his breath on her face, and she savored the closeness of his body. But then she began to realize that this was a man she was holding, and who was holding her. She felt his hand on her back begin to stroke her, and she lifted her head. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. As he kissed her, she felt a soft, wild, half-giving and half-refusing in her own body. Everything for that moment was unreal: the sinking of the ship, the desperate fight to stay alive, the wind howling outside their cocoon. But his warmth was real, and the touch of his lips on hers was real. She felt that his caress kept loneliness and fear away.

Her mind would not function. It seemed to have become incapable of thought. Yancy's growing passion made a turbulent eddy around them both, and then she knew that he was not alone in his desires. She returned his kiss with a fierceness that shocked her.

At that moment she was helpless and open to his strength. She longed for love and assurance and security and hope, and they all seemed to lie within his arms.

Suddenly, Yancy jerked away and took a deep breath. He slid himself away from her. His withdrawal stunned Damita. “What's the matter?” She tried to pull him back.

He caught her hands in his and did not answer for a moment. When he did, his voice was hoarse. “This is a bad time for you, Damita. You're not yourself.”

Damita could not believe what was happening. She had offered herself to him, and now he was refusing her. She whispered, “Don't you want me?”

“Not like this.” He moved away from her slightly. “You'd hate me, and you'd hate yourself, too, when this was over.” He turned away and said roughly, “Try to sleep. It'll be light soon, and we can walk out of this place.”

Damita felt devastated. He had rejected her, and the thought ran bitterly through her mind.

And then, shame came, burning like a fire in her conscience. She turned over quickly, curling up, her eyes tightly shut. As she lay in the darkness, she could hear his breathing and knew that he was not asleep. She knew she would remember this moment all of her life. She would remember that she had cheapened herself to a man who had pulled away from her. A flash of violent emotion coursed through her—the closest thing to hatred that she had ever felt. Something inside murmured that what he had done was right and she was wrong, but it was only a faint voice. And she writhed silently in shame.

Chapter six

“Do you feel up to walking?”

Damita rose and brushed the straw from her dress and hair. She had slept fitfully and found upon waking that she was still angry at Yancy Devereaux. The memory came flashing back, of how she had clung to him and how he had turned away from her, and it left a bitter taste in her mouth and in her spirit. “Yes,” she said in a steady voice. “I'm all right.”

As Damita stood, Yancy handed her her coat and said, “You'd better wear this. It's still damp, but it'll cut the wind.” She took the coat and slipped into it. When they stepped outside, he glanced at the sky. “We'll try this road. Surely we'll find something.”

“All right.”

Yancy started to speak, then, seeing the adamant look in her eyes, he said merely, “Let's go. There are fresh wagon tracks along here. We ought to find a house somewhere.”

Ten minutes later, they rounded a bend in the road, and Yancy said, “Look, there's a place.”

Damita followed his pointing finger and
saw a house built up on a slight hill. Smoke was rising from the chimney, and she felt a wave of relief. “Someone is there,” she said.

“Yes. Come on.”

The house they approached was two-storied, unpainted, and weathered to a silver gray. A pasture lay beyond it, with several cows and two horses. A large, whitish dog arose from the porch and slowly approached with his head down, baring his teeth. “It's all right, boy,” Yancy said.

Even as he spoke, the door opened and a man stepped out. “Be quiet, Rex,” he said and looked the couple. He was a tall, lanky individual wearing overalls and a gray sweater. His hair was tousled, black and gray, and his skin was tan and leathery-looking. “Hello,” he said. “You folks lost?”