into the sort of person who could go anywhere.”
“I understand exactly what you mean.”
She had almost forgotten the others when the eldest boy reappeared, this time with a board upon which was piled fish cooked in blackened banana leaves.
Their familiarity held at about that level through the eating of the fish, the serving of a third course—empty coconut shells filled with a sweet yam mash—and the to-ing and fro-ing of the children, who were gay in their performance of butler and waiter.
“Time for the show,” Fitzhugh said when the empty coconut bowls were removed, and Vida smiled, and glanced at the hammered gold of the sunset on the water. This was indeed magnificent, and she thought that was the entirety of the show he meant. But then she heard the harmonizing voices of the children, and Fitzhugh offered his hand.
She felt the thickening of emotion in her throat at the sound of the music. She had almost forgotten what music was. How it played in the body and lifted the spirit. Music moved them, as it was apt to do, moved her and Fitzhugh into each other’s arms, so that they began to dance, not exactly as they had on the Princess, but close enough to make Vida’s heart skip. The skin of her face was warm, she felt a giddy rush; she was so close to getting that which she had sought.
“This is nice,” she said.
“I’m enjoying myself immensely.” He smiled at her, but his brow knit together. “Are you sad?”
Her chin quivered in puzzlement. She was rather ecstatic—for Fitzhugh had done what a man always did when he became serious about courting. He had arranged everything, and then kept his gaze steady upon her. And yet. And yet her lungs were so peculiarly light and heavy at once.
“What is it?” Fitzhugh asked.
“I’m not sad exactly. . . .” She let him see how difficult it was for her to smile, and was gratified to feel how his grip drew her in at this show of emotion. “It’s not because this isn’t lovely. It is! That’s not even the word, really—it’s so much more than lovely, it’s beautiful, it hurts my eyes to see something so beautiful. And yet at the same time . . .”
“At the same time?”
“Is this life?” she whispered. Of course she knew that she ought to have expressed her fears for those loved ones she’d been separated from when the ship sank. But this was not precisely the source of her melancholy. “When I boarded that ship, it was with the goal of getting close to you. My parents said I had better, because of the spectacle I’d made with you that night in San Francisco. But I didn’t picture getting to know you here. And now we are here, and it is beautiful. I just thought—I thought somebody would have come for us by now. And if no one has come for us—does that mean no one will?”
“I understand you perfectly.” He knelt, and she had that strange flash of panic that she’d had when previous beaux sank down on a knee in proposal. But the panic passed quickly. He was gathering his strength to pick her up at the waist and twirl her around. “How wonderful you are!” he said with sudden energy, and she heard how the crowd of watchers exclaimed over his proclamation. “Come,” he said, placing her back on the sand and taking up her hand. “I want to show you something.”
When they reached the height of the rocks the others parted for them, their expressions happy and knowing. As Fitzhugh led Vida up the beach the others followed at a respectful distance, and all the while his hold on her hand was loose but firm.
“‘Is this life?’” he repeated. “How well you said that. It is life, of course. But you must know it is not all of life, not our life.”
How handsome he was! Vida gazed at his face and thought that if this life was theirs together, then that face was hers to look at forever. She had to turn away so he wouldn’t see how she beamed. The press of his hand, the light of his eyes, were all so delightful that she stopped paying attention as they walked on.
“Don’t you want to be alone?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He pulled her by the hand, and they darted away from their audience, through the trees, into the jungle. In a few moments she found herself back