Page 53 of A Castaway in Cornwall
Soon, every muscle in Alex’s body burned. Every pull on the oar seemed more taxing, every trip up the hill more arduous than the one before. He was paying a price for his days lying flat in bed.
Wearily climbing aboard theKittiwakeand going below for another search of the ship, he found something light in a dark corner. Something that made the pain and exhaustion all worthwhile.
After Laura finished breakfast and started down the corridor, she heard their cook-housekeeper calling to her, sounding none too happy. “Miss Laura!”
Laura turned and made her way to the scullery. “Yes, Wenna?”
The elderly woman pointed to the shelf with a frown on her lined face. “Could I ask’ee to remove yerthingsfrommyscullery? That hat smells fouler than a wet dog.”
“Oh. Sorry. Right away.”
Laura sheepishly gathered the hat and flask. After polishing the flask, she had decided it was indeed silver. But she had been so busy with their houseguest that she had not taken the time to clean the hat properly, and it was now in a sad, odiferous state. She had neglected it too long.
With a sigh, Laura carried the two things out to the icehouse and added them to her collection.
After that, she and Eseld walked out to Trebetherick Point together.
From there, the two watched the salvaging efforts below. The volunteers picked up wrapped bales of some kind as well as wooden pieces of the ship and thick coils of rope.
Laura’s eyes were continually drawn back to Alexander. He worked hard, straining at the oar, climbing into and out of theKittiwake, loading crates and bales, helping the other men hoist the anchors from the depths, and tossing down sails and cordage into the waiting boats.
Each time they brought a load back to the beach, she studied him. His face gleamed with perspiration, and now and again he rested his hands on slim hips to catch his breath or stretch his back. Knowing of the deep cut in his side and the still-healing ankle, she winced in sympathy, thinking of the pain and exhaustion he must be feeling, though he endeavored to conceal it, determined to earn his wages like everyone else. Determined to get home.
By contrast, Tom Parsons paused often to chat with the other men or to lean against the wagon, smoking a cigar.
Just before the men broke for a noon meal, Alexander waved to her, gesturing for her to come to him. Laura hoped he had not injured himself anew.
As she hurried down the slope, she heard Parsons call, “What have’ee there, man? Not skimming fer yerself, I trust.”
Reaching the beach, she saw Alex stride over to the agent, Mr. Hicks, and show him something. From where Laura stood waiting, it looked like some sort of miniature boat.
“May I keep this, sir? My friend made it for his child. I’d like to see it delivered.”
Hicks eyed the thing and nodded.
Parsons grumbled, “Well, mebbe I’ll see what I can find fer myself too.”
“You already did that, Tom,” Hicks retorted. “Night of the wreck.”
Permission granted, Alex turned and walked toward Laura.
“I found it among a pile of shredded timbers,” he said. “Daniel couldn’t find his knapsack when the ship ran aground, so he left it behind. It was still there, in the shadows. I thank God I took one more look.”
Closer now, she saw he held an intricately carved Noah’s ark, with straw marquetry decorating the outside and a few carved animals still contained under its latched roof. “Your friend made this?” she asked in awe.
“Yes. For the unborn child he will never meet. But at least the child can have this, Lord willing. Made by his own father’s hands.”
Seeing the sweat and tears mingling on his face, Laura felt her heart twist. “I will keep it safe.”
“Thank you.” Alexander pressed it into her hands. For a moment his rough, warm fingers framed hers as she held the precious relic of a father’s love.
After a meal of pasties and cider, the gig crews again rowed out to the unfortunateKittiwake, the partially healed cut in Alex’s side crying out with each stroke. But during the interval the wind had intensified, and they discovered that nothing remained of the vessel but the main mast, which had become entangled by the rigging among the rocks and seaweed. This was the last thing they were able to secure.
As Alex climbed back into the gig, his limbs trembled. He wasn’t certain he would be able to make the final trip up the hill to deliver the remaining crates.
At last, they returned to shore, exhausted. Seeing Tom Parsons leaning lazily against one of the wagons, an arrogant smirk on his face while the rest of them toiled, sent anger boiling through Alexander. Unable to restrain himself, he stepped near and challenged, “Is it true? Did you prevent the pilots from coming to theKittiwake’s rescue?”
“What’s it to’ee? You survived.”
