patched-together raft was nothing like the colossus of the Princess, which, despite the spectacular way it had failed them, still seemed magnificent and stylish, a triumph of oceangoing vessels, in her memory.
“You don’t think much of it,” he replied, still smiling. “Like you don’t think much of me.”
“I never said—”
“That’s all right. I know, it is not impressive like the ships you’re accustomed to. But you know, the people who populated the Hawaiian islands, they came by ships not much larger than this, carved from a single tree, across a greater distance than we sailed on the Princess. All the way from the antipodes—without engines, or a crew of hundreds, on seas that were surely rougher than what we experienced. They knew the currents, and their ships, and the weather, and they survived the crossing.”
“But there’s no one here now,” Vida said in a small voice.
“No, I don’t think so. Though what’s on the other side of the island, beyond the ridge, we don’t know. If this place had inhabitants they’d have made themselves known to us by now, for better or worse. But I’ve seen signs that plants were cultivated here by humans—there are trees that grow giant yams. Those must have been transplanted. They aren’t native to this part of the world. Someone brought those here from far away. Not white men.”
“How do you know?”
“White men usually leave more signs of themselves, for one thing. And, particularly in the wild, they live by the gun.”
She shivered at the thought of such distances, of people who would trust their lives to the sea. “Where are they now?” she asked. “The people who brought the yams here.”
“Who knows. Maybe they continued to the larger islands we now call the territory of Hawaii to join their kin. Maybe they were lost, like us, and just stayed here a time to regain their strength.”
She nodded. She wanted him to tell her how a person came to know such things, but did not want to betray her ignorance.
“Come on, we had better go back—Fitzhugh will be wondering where you are.”
For a moment she thought Sal was going to offer her his arm, but there was none of that. He just passed close enough to her that she felt invited to walk alongside him as they made their way back to camp.
Through the evening—during the lighting of the fire and the cooking of dinner and the appearance of the moon over the waves—Fitzhugh was busy and Vida watched him. Her earlier tranquility was gone. She had become a little obsessed with how to strike up a conversation with him, how to test what Camilla had said. Then he was there at her side, with an attentive heat that reminded her why his company was sought by so many.
“Miss Hazzard,” he began very formally. “Would you do me the honor of going on a walk together?”
He offered her his hand, as though this were the salon of a grand house and he was about to take her for a turn around the formal gardens. Vida—wary of seeming eager—tilted her head, ignored his hand, and said, “If you wish it, Mr. Farrar.”
“I do wish it.”
“All right.”
She walked in the way she had practiced as a younger girl—shoulders square, head high, little steps that made her skirt sway in a feminine way. She did not look at him, yet she felt his presence, how he fixated on the ocean and chewed on what he wanted to say.
“Yes,” she said at last. “What is it?”
“I wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being so kind to Camilla. She needs a friend now.”
“We all do,” Vida said.
“Yes,” Fitzhugh said. “Yes, that’s true.”
“Anyway, I wasn’t being kind. I needed her help. That and—I like her.”
Until that moment, Vida had maintained the cool command that was her customary manner on courtly rambles through the Golden Gate Park; but the knife of envy twisted in her side at this reminder of Camilla’s special importance to Fitz.
“I admire you, you know. How strong you are.”
They had moved far enough from the fire that the sound of its crackling was overwhelmed by the gentle waves washing against the sand. The moon was bright as silver; it was almost as bright as the sun. He didn’t say anything for a long time, and Vida’s curiosity got the better of her. She glanced his way. His mouth was bent, and his eyes reflected the glitter of the moon.
“Are you laughing at me?” she demanded, more surprised than angry.
“Not