meantime, see what you can do for Marianna. She's still in
shock, and if you can't get her to eat, we'll have to start force-feeding
her."
Justin
followed Cajun into the forest. Christina turned to see Marianna still lying
beneath the lifeboat. She had forgotten Marianna.
"Marianna?"
she asked as she came to her side and knelt. Marianna lay perfectly still but
with wide-open eyes that stared blankly ahead. "Marianna, can you hear
me?"
"She's
been like that since the storm," Elsie said, coming alongside Christina.
"The poor girl. I daresay 'twas from seeing her friend die. Katie was her
only friend, like a relation. So sad how many people died..."
The
two fussed over Marianna for some time, trying to get a response but to no
avail. Christina tore off a strip of her petticoat, soaked it in the stream,
and gently washed Marianna's lifeless form, talking sweetly to her all the
while, whether or not Marianna heard. Marianna's lean figure remained limp, the
wide hazel eyes stared straight ahead, seeing nothing or seeing everything. So
lost was Christina in her concern, she failed to notice Elsie had left to join
the gathering by the fire.
"Oh
my, she will get well again, won't she?" Christina asked out loud.
A
deep male voice startled her from behind. "As with all of us, she rests in
God's hands."
Christina
turned to confront Cajun. He stood with his feet apart and his hands on his
hips, an unnatural ease in his towering frame and wisdom in his dark liquid
eyes. She thought again there was something so majestic, even magical about
Cajun, a man who looked part savage, part the genie of her imagination.
"But
surely with care and in time..." She stopped and, not understanding why
she needed his confirmation of her hope, she searched his features. He remained
silent, though, incapable of answering what was not known, incapable of
condescending to lie to ease a woman's concern.
Finding
no answer, she rose to stand next to him. "Is he also not well?" she
asked, looking at a man curled up in a tight ball and still sound asleep under
the lifeboat.
"No,
he is not well."
"Is
there something we might do for him?"
"No,"
Cajun replied as a strange sadness filled his voice. "What must be done
can only be done by Justin."
She
looked at Cajun curiously, waiting for an explanation.
"For
he," Cajun's gaze dropped to the pitiful sight, "is Justin's
curse."
Christina's
eyes shot to the man too, as though to see evidence of this, and when they
returned to ask another question of Cajun, he was gone. She looked back at the
sick man and felt a twinge of apprehension. What did he mean by that? Was this
ill, helpless man Justin's enemy? Had he wronged Justin in some way?
She
shivered and turned to join the gathering, suddenly not wanting an answer to
her questions. A huge pit in the sand had been dug and filled with logs and
branches and sizzling on the logs were a variety of different kinds of fish.
She had had precious few opportunities to taste fish, and had never cared much
for it, though now her mouth watered at the sight. She at once became acutely
conscious of her hunger.
Jacob,
Hanna, Elsie, and two other men, a blond-haired man named Eric and a
dark-featured man with an Arabic name she could not pronounce, all speared
pieces of the fish with twigs, plopping it sizzling into their mouths. Cajun,
at her side, handed her a twig and smiled encouragingly.
"Go
on, Christy, it's good," Hanna said.
"What
kind is it," she asked, pointing to a flat piece of whitefish.
"I
don't know," Jacob replied. "Tastes like bass, but it's not. This
here is shrimp," he pointed, "and this is what one finds on a
victor's table—it's called crab. These waters must be rich, for this is just
what had washed up on the beach. No tellin' what we'll get once we set up some
fishin' traps and nets."
It
was absolutely delicious. She would have thought so even if she had not been so
hungry but, because she was, the food was the finest fare she had ever
shock, and if you can't get her to eat, we'll have to start force-feeding
her."
Justin
followed Cajun into the forest. Christina turned to see Marianna still lying
beneath the lifeboat. She had forgotten Marianna.
"Marianna?"
she asked as she came to her side and knelt. Marianna lay perfectly still but
with wide-open eyes that stared blankly ahead. "Marianna, can you hear
me?"
"She's
been like that since the storm," Elsie said, coming alongside Christina.
"The poor girl. I daresay 'twas from seeing her friend die. Katie was her
only friend, like a relation. So sad how many people died..."
The
two fussed over Marianna for some time, trying to get a response but to no
avail. Christina tore off a strip of her petticoat, soaked it in the stream,
and gently washed Marianna's lifeless form, talking sweetly to her all the
while, whether or not Marianna heard. Marianna's lean figure remained limp, the
wide hazel eyes stared straight ahead, seeing nothing or seeing everything. So
lost was Christina in her concern, she failed to notice Elsie had left to join
the gathering by the fire.
"Oh
my, she will get well again, won't she?" Christina asked out loud.
A
deep male voice startled her from behind. "As with all of us, she rests in
God's hands."
Christina
turned to confront Cajun. He stood with his feet apart and his hands on his
hips, an unnatural ease in his towering frame and wisdom in his dark liquid
eyes. She thought again there was something so majestic, even magical about
Cajun, a man who looked part savage, part the genie of her imagination.
"But
surely with care and in time..." She stopped and, not understanding why
she needed his confirmation of her hope, she searched his features. He remained
silent, though, incapable of answering what was not known, incapable of
condescending to lie to ease a woman's concern.
Finding
no answer, she rose to stand next to him. "Is he also not well?" she
asked, looking at a man curled up in a tight ball and still sound asleep under
the lifeboat.
"No,
he is not well."
"Is
there something we might do for him?"
"No,"
Cajun replied as a strange sadness filled his voice. "What must be done
can only be done by Justin."
She
looked at Cajun curiously, waiting for an explanation.
"For
he," Cajun's gaze dropped to the pitiful sight, "is Justin's
curse."
Christina's
eyes shot to the man too, as though to see evidence of this, and when they
returned to ask another question of Cajun, he was gone. She looked back at the
sick man and felt a twinge of apprehension. What did he mean by that? Was this
ill, helpless man Justin's enemy? Had he wronged Justin in some way?
She
shivered and turned to join the gathering, suddenly not wanting an answer to
her questions. A huge pit in the sand had been dug and filled with logs and
branches and sizzling on the logs were a variety of different kinds of fish.
She had had precious few opportunities to taste fish, and had never cared much
for it, though now her mouth watered at the sight. She at once became acutely
conscious of her hunger.
Jacob,
Hanna, Elsie, and two other men, a blond-haired man named Eric and a
dark-featured man with an Arabic name she could not pronounce, all speared
pieces of the fish with twigs, plopping it sizzling into their mouths. Cajun,
at her side, handed her a twig and smiled encouragingly.
"Go
on, Christy, it's good," Hanna said.
"What
kind is it," she asked, pointing to a flat piece of whitefish.
"I
don't know," Jacob replied. "Tastes like bass, but it's not. This
here is shrimp," he pointed, "and this is what one finds on a
victor's table—it's called crab. These waters must be rich, for this is just
what had washed up on the beach. No tellin' what we'll get once we set up some
fishin' traps and nets."
It
was absolutely delicious. She would have thought so even if she had not been so
hungry but, because she was, the food was the finest fare she had ever
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