Beautiful Wild - Anna Godbersen Page 0,44

a way. It was during the years of my infirmity that I became absolutely fixated on getting to see the world, on making myself strong and able, so that I could go anywhere, everywhere—to all the places I was told I’d never see.”

The fire was throwing off sparks, and so too was her heart. In the hothouse of the social swirl, Fitzhugh had seemed a shining object, desired by all the marriageable girls. Yet unbeknownst to her he had been just like her—a rather imperfect person who by the force of their own imagination and ambition had created a new and more magnificent self.

Just like her, he was determined to go where he pleased, and see all of life.

Fitzhugh gazed out in the direction of the ocean. “Anyway,” he said, “you’re right, we should go back,” and with a gesture of weariness and regret he was on his feet. He offered her a hand so that she, too, could come to standing. “I’m glad we’re friends again.”

“We can’t be enemies,” she said. “Not here.”

“Yes, that’s true,” he said.

As they walked back in the direction of the others he let his fingers linger for a moment at the small of her back, brush down her skirt, and fall away.

Fourteen

The morning after the bonfire, Vida once again fetched Camilla to be her partner in kindling collection. She wasn’t sure why exactly. She didn’t particularly want to talk to the widow, and Fitzhugh’s silly subterfuge didn’t matter now. But the other woman was sitting in the sand staring off at nothing in particular, and Vida felt stabbed with pity. Her sense of charity insisted it would be a good deed to nudge Camilla into some sort of action. Well, that, and—Vida had to admit, to herself, if to no one else—it was satisfying to feel sorry for her rival rather than the other way around.

After the second day of searching the jungle floor for little flammable scraps, it seemed established that they would do this every day, together but in silence, acknowledging each other only when necessary.

Vida had learned to be absorbed in tasks. She had learned to braid her hair with the same intensity that she once used to parse a seating plan. To sift leaves, bark, twigs, for what was truly desiccated and would catch fire easily, with the same attention she’d once scrutinized fabrics for the colors that would most flatter her complexion.

This fixation, however, was not a perfect defense against certain thoughts.

Thoughts were often upon her before she could dodge them.

The worst thoughts concerned Nora and Mother and Father. What might have befallen them on the stormy sea. She also imagined her own grisly death, shuddering to think what might have become of her. Her mind wandered to what her friends were doing in San Francisco. Bill and Whiting, his sister Ellen and cousin Louisa.

She speculated on her appearance. This category of thought was as bothersome as a hungry street dog that would not be dismissed, yelping for attention with:

The wreck of your hair.

The ruin of your face!

The complete ignominy of your dress—is it even worth it to be saved, when the saviors will never forget how hideous you really are?

Whenever Camilla appeared in the running chatter of her mind it was always as “my rival.” But why, thought Vida, should Camilla be her rival, when they had nothing whatsoever to compete for? Yet the word stuck.

Meanwhile, she and Camilla wandered into a part of the forest where the trees were overgrown by a vine that sprouted magnificent pink flowers. Their petals were big, with a texture like crepe paper.

As Vida marveled at these lovely petals, Camilla picked up a conversation that they had had the day before yesterday. Her voice was sharp against the dense and fragrant air. “I know perfectly well why you don’t like me.”

“Who has the energy to like and dislike anything?” Vida crouched to examine a pile of leaves. “The girl I used to be had the privilege of preferences,” she went on snappishly. “Now I am grateful to eat whatever will not poison me, and sleep anywhere I won’t be rained on.”

Camilla made a high, sharp noise through her nose. It was like a laugh, but wasn’t quite. “They were right,” she said. “You are clever.”

Vida glanced up. They? Although Camilla’s face was not as marred by weeping and sunburn as before, she was nonetheless unrecognizable as the beauty Vida had encountered on the top deck of the Princess. Without makeup her features