“It’s not books, Ginny. All day I’ve thought—I can’t stop thinking of him!” Lilly said, suddenly cross. “Hasn’t anyone ever looked into your eyes with passion and promised everything?”
Virginia’s stern expression softened before she said, “This man, then. Is he someone you met in England?”
“I haven’t met him at all. He’s from my dream, as I said...” Lilly licked her full lips. “He hasn’t found me, but when he does we shall return to his castle and live happily ever after.”
Virginia frowned. She had met such a man—at least a man who promised passion and a home only to deliver a few brief moments of pleasure, years of waiting, neglect and spinsterhood—wait for me, Q.M.
Still, such a lofty ideal was better than a weak flame like Phillip Holmes. Or was it? The governess no longer knew.
“My goodness, but you prattle. Here we are surrounded by vicious predators,” Virginia said, clicking her tongue. “I’ll keep a closer eye on your reading material when we are back in civilization.” She glanced around at the jungle. “Romance has no place in the wild.”
Lurking fear remained a constant goad to the castaways, and so despite the heat and their meager rations, they managed to finish the day with the basics of the camp set up. Indeed, Van Resen was certain that barring any animal attacks, they might even survive.
He had found a source of fresh water nearby that could be reached via an old trail where a spring burbled in a jumble of stones not far past the jungle perimeter.
They’d discovered the path atop the ridge behind the yurt after being led to it by a species of sweet berries that grew in thick bushes all around it.
The scientist was overjoyed to recognize the plants and deem the fruit safe to eat. Their first indigenous food source had been located—and right on their doorstep!
Van Resen looked around the clearing, impressed with the results of their second day of hard work, and he was cheered—until his eyes fell upon the dark moringa.
The castaways had asked him about the strange trees, and he merely told them to avoid the shadowed grove until it could be safely explored.
Of course it was an unnecessary warning. No one dared approach the trees that had the unique property of drawing the eye while repulsing the mind. Despite the sunlight that flooded the clearing, the bright rays failed to penetrate the murk shifting between those greasy gray trunks.
An unmistakable stink of decay drifted about the grove and kept the castaways at a distance and in time they avoided the wood altogether, so unsettling were the shadows that it threw.
Van Resen encouraged their reluctance for he shared an instinctive aversion to the moringa and the threatening aura radiating from it. The scientist knew the mystery would eat at him until he had an answer, but first he had other duties.
He was needed as each of them was, and each had much to do if they were all to survive. The scientist’s hands ached from use, and their many blisters stung and throbbed, but his spirits were high despite the toil and dangers that loomed.
He would postpone his investigation of the moringa wood for without him, it would be left to Jacob, old Mr. Quarrie, Phillip Holmes and the women to continue until some impossible rescue came for them.
They might not be able to live without him.
The day wore down, and Van Resen watched as Lilly’s daydreaming was finally taken by the young Englishman to be rejection, and so his interest shifted to Miss Virginia James.
The scientist chuckled to watch this lovely woman be cast as the second choice in Holmes’ pathetic romance for she was too proud to see the fickle shift as anything but the insult it was.
Yet, Van Resen had to wonder if Holmes was responding to the change in environment. Were the man’s actions somehow indicative of his inner sense that they would not be rescued and therefore, Miss James’ value as a mate had improved, despite the fact she had no financial prospects at home? True, Lilly would inherit a fortune, but that would only occur if they returned to civilization. In the wild it had no value...
Van Resen found the notion fascinating; Miss James did not.
So the young man’s attempt at flattery fell flat and he was instantly rebuffed by the practical beauty. His sudden shift left him looking uncouth and grasping, and the governess delivered a burning gaze that promised a public flaying should he dare continue his pursuit.
Lilly was exhausted by day’s end as they all were, and after a spare dinner they began settling down for the night.
The castaways gathered by the fireplace where a low flame lit their faces—and there they remarked upon the peculiar items and incongruous additions made by the yurt’s former occupant. Their introspection was undoubtedly prompted as they ruminated over a busy day that had started with his funeral.
Earlier, while delivering fuel to the fireplace, the scientist had emptied out a box that was in place and used by the previous owner to store wood. When Van Resen removed some old blocks he found several printed items hidden beneath them.
These they now passed around in the lamplight.
Van Resen held up a folded piece of yellowed paper. “A most unusual place for a library. Unless the former tenant only used the books for lighting fires.”
“Illustrated newspapers,” said Jacob, opening a broadsheet. “The New-York Tribune 1892...far from home.”
“And long in the past!” Mr. Quarrie remarked squinting as he shuffled a handful of paper relics. “Pages from the Daily Irish Independent dated 1890, and a section for clothing or fashion advertisement from an unknown publication. Several folded and partial pages with stories in French.”
Mrs. Quarrie reached over her husband’s arm to flip through the pile. “There, Clive, something you’ll like. The Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News, and books there for me: Dickens’ illustrated A Christmas Carol, terribly water-damaged...” She opened the book. “But readable!”
Van
