Beautiful Wild - Anna Godbersen Page 0,40
created in a matter of days. The children had managed to collect several large empty turtle shells which were set up to collect rainwater, as well as many useful bits of detritus that had washed up in the days since the wreck.
Doors, planks, nets, pieces of textile, glass jars, and one fine metal platter.
The women had managed to make so many braids of dried palm fronds that they could braid the braids together. In this way they created mats to be used as flooring in their shelters. Instead of the two small, propped-together shelters—one for females, and one for males—they had managed to construct six houses with thatched roofs in that lightly wooded area separating the jungle and the openness of the beach. These were open on the sides to the breezes, but situated far apart enough that they offered a kind of privacy. The especially delicate ladies had taken to hanging the outermost layers of their skirts from the roofs to serve as walls while they slept. When the wind ruffled those skirts, they filled like beautiful sails.
Each day, a group of men ventured farther into the jungle and returned with the fruits of the trees. Not just coconuts, but wonderful sweet-tasting bulbous things with bright skins and gleaming seeds. There were rumors of game in the hills. But they were not ready yet for that, said Fitzhugh. He and several of the other former crewmembers had escaped the ship with blades on their persons. But they did not have weapons sufficient to protect themselves from—much less hunt—a wild beast.
That was how Fitzhugh phrased it. He said “wild beast” and the little group of people, which he had begun assembling in the morning, gasped at the phrase.
Having regained some of her personal dignity, Vida found herself once again in possession of her incredulity. After Fitzhugh’s morning speech, she followed him to ask what he’d meant.
“Wild beasts?” she demanded.
Fitzhugh looked up from the piece of bone he was whittling. “Don’t worry, Miss Hazzard, you will have something better to eat than tree fruits, soon.”
“That’s not at all what I meant, Mr. Farrar. But I do think it’s cruel to scare everybody.”
“Are you scared?” he asked, rising to his feet, showing her the breadth of his shoulders and the sweet puncture of his dimple and grinning at her in a way that she still found (against her will) sort of pleasing. Only on an aesthetic level, of course. “Don’t worry, we are taking every precaution, and the shelters are well situated in case of attack. . . .”
“That’s not . . . !” Vida protested. But she only knew her desire to protest, and not precisely what it was she was protesting. She ran out of words before she succeeded in making any kind of point.
“Don’t tell anybody. I want it to be a surprise. But we’ll have a celebration tonight. Can you and one other lady with discretion see what you can collect in the way of kindling?”
“For a fire, you mean?”
He only smiled at her.
“Are you trying to call the attention of passing ships?”
Still that evasive and annoyingly handsome smile.
“Have you seen a ship?” she pressed on, her heart lightening and her lips curling into a smile even though she wanted to maintain her antagonism, wanted him to know how much she objected to his exaggerations, his secrecy. But she hadn’t permitted herself such a fantasy—a passing ship, a sudden salvation, a warm bath and glass of lemonade—and now she had. Her mind wrapped around this hopeful vision as surely as a suitor’s grip might grab hold of her delicate wrist. “Have you seen a ship passing close enough to see us?”
“Even better,” he said, and strode off down the beach.
As she watched him half run, half walk toward the water she felt the heat of the sun, which grew hotter with every passing moment. A strong, gentle breeze ruffled her skirts. The day was noisy with the whisper of human hands weaving fibers together and the smacking of planks that had once been part of the Princess as the men separated them into two piles. One for wood that might be used to build structures, and one for pieces too shattered and broken by the rocks and the coral that hemmed in the island.
There was also the mélange of island sounds: the high rhythmic chirps of birds, the smash of a coconut falling from its lofty place, and always, always, the low sizzle of the ocean waves washing