A Change of Plans (20 page)

I passed it to him, wondering if he acted like this during surgery. The image of me as a nurse made me start to laugh, but it turned to a gasp as he poured the still-hot water on my leg. I reflexively tried to jerk away, but his powerful grip held me in place.

Braedon looked at me. “You okay?”

I nodded, clenching my jaw.

He opened up two of the antiseptic wipes, giving his hands a thorough scrub. “Pour the rest of the water over my hands. Slowly.” When the water was gone, he had me squeeze some of the antibiotic ointment onto his finger. He spread it into the oozing cut. “Unless it gets infected, you should have a clean scar. You can consider it a war wound.”

I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Is that an insult or an invitation?”

Before I could respond, he made it an invitation.

When Braedon had finished with my leg, it looked like it could have been done in an emergency room. Unfortunately, it hurt too much for me to help him haul the beast and two live babies back to camp.

CHAPTER 20

***TWENTY MONTHS LATER***

M
Y JAWS
clenched tight, I rowed as fast as I could, blinking against the salty spray, frantic to avoid the rocks. Would the softwood hold up if we hit them? Please, please hold up. I had thought going out for a test run would be bad enough. I never imagined coming back might kill us. Another wave smashed over us, driving the softwood outrigger closer to the narrow gap in the boulders.

With aching muscles, I drove my oar into the ocean, swallowing a sob. No sharks. I wouldn’t think of sharks.

“Lyn!” Braedon roared, tossing his oar aside and throwing himself at me.

We flew over the side and into a wave, which washed us between the crags. Even as my head went underwater, I could hear the crash of shattering wood. Coughing and gasping, we made it to shore, collapsing on the sand.

My shoulder ached where I had broken my collarbone during our first tropical cyclone. Our injuries had delayed us from working on an escape clear into our second monsoon
season. Not again. After giving up on rafts, it had taken us weeks to hollow out a softwood tree. I covered my mouth as tears mixed with the seawater.

The stress had been mounting with every failure. I had often wished our paradisiacal existence lived up to the fantasy, where we only had to walk out the door and pick food off a tree. The reality had us working to near exhaustion.

Slumped over his knees beside me, Braedon suddenly arched his back and let out a roar, the veins in his neck bulging. He raised his clenched fists, slamming them into the sand, the pink scar on his forearm from his cyclone injury turning bright red as the sand flew into the air. It reminded me of him trying to pull me to safety with that mangled mess of an arm. I had vowed then to face my fear of the ocean. Yeah. Look how well that had turned out.

He suddenly twisted to face me, his eyes a little wild, filled with his frustration and fear. I shared his fear ... and the desperation. The monsoons would be here again soon. Braedon grabbed me and pressed his salty lips hard against mine, his hands clutching the back of my neck, pulling me down to the sand.

By the time an incoming wave touched our feet, our frantic emotions were spent. We lay in the sand. I didn’t think I could get up. Lightning flashed in the distance, and another wave tickled my feet. Instinctively, I untangled myself from Braedon and pulled my knees up.

He watched me, his dark brown eyes drained of hope. The image of the barbeque scene in my father’s backyard, the one that had given me the strength to get out on that stupid outrigger in the first place, flashed through my mind.
It had to happen. It had to. I picked up Braedon’s ponytail and ran the wet end across his cheek above his beard. “We can’t give up.”

Brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, Braedon gave me a weak nod. He rose in one fluid movement and pulled me to my feet.

With our arms around each other, we headed toward the lagoon. Braedon pulled aside the curtain of vines, but I turned back toward the water. Against the darkness of the approaching storm, the last of the wreckage of our softwood outrigger—and our dreams—crashed against the rocks.

I rested my head against his shoulder. “Softwood isn’t going to work.”

He exhaled. “We’ll have to use hardwood.”

“But the softwood took weeks to hollow out.”

He turned to face the jungle. “Does it matter how long it takes? You said it. We can’t give up. No matter how long it takes.”

We had barely chosen the tree when they came.

I
HAD JUST
stepped out of the shower into the late afternoon shadow. I paused, thinking I heard voices, and shook my head at the ridiculous thought.

Then a boy’s laugh made me jump. A man called something in a language I couldn’t understand. It reminded me of the pirates, and my blood ran cold.

I wiggled into my clothes and stole toward the lower falls. I needed to warn Braedon, yet I couldn’t resist taking a peek through the cascading vines. When I couldn’t see movement through the filter of leaves, I began to creep out for a better view.

Abruptly a hand grabbed me from the side, and my scream choked off as another hand covered my mouth. I felt a surge of adrenaline until I recognized Braedon. I relaxed and turned to face him.

He had his bow slung over his shoulder along with a quiver of arrows. With a finger held against his lips, he handed me my spear. Nodding in the general direction of the voices, he stole into the jungle. I followed, not sure if I should feel happy or scared. My stomach churned in anticipation.

Peering through the plants, we saw several outrigger canoes on the shore some distance from the opening to the lagoon, perhaps a third of the way to the catamaran. No people. Braedon tapped my arm and indicated we should continue in the direction of the voices.

Still hidden in the jungle foliage, we found them looking at the wreckage of the catamaran. Braedon put a finger to his lips again, and I nodded. We watched.

There were ten Polynesians—six boys, ranging from about fourteen to eighteen years old, and four adult men. They were looking over the catamaran and examining the general area. The boys spoke English.

We stood in the jungle not far from Maria’s grave, where I had put fresh flowers just that morning. When a couple of the boys wandered over to it, I held my breath. Braedon tensed beside me, slowly lifting his bow with a nocked arrow. My heart pounded in alarm. Surely he wouldn’t have to use it.

One of the boys noticed the little wooden cross on Maria’s grave. “Dad! There’s a grave here!”

The men closest to them turned and hurried over. Most of the others followed.

“See, Dad?”

The boy’s father knelt down at the grave and touched the little marker.

“Who buried her?” his son asked.

The father touched the fresh flowers and stood abruptly, peering into the jungle and up and down the beach. He backed up with his arms outstretched, forcing the others to move away from the jungle.

As if on cue, Braedon stepped out and raised his bow.

The four men seized the boys, pulling them behind them. The father raised his hands and met Braedon’s eyes, saying in English, “We don’t have weapons.”

“What’s on your waist, then?” Braedon nodded toward the knife on the man’s belt.

An electric thrill crackled through me as I noticed something. I dashed out of the jungle and pushed down Braedon’s bow.

“They’re Boy Scouts.” I pointed at the BSA T-shirt one of the men wore and advanced toward the father with my hand held out. “Are you from American Samoa? I’m Lyn North—”

“Lyn Randolph,” Braedon corrected, following closely behind me.

Smiling, I repeated, “Lyn Randolph. This is my husband, Braedon. We’ve been stranded here for over two years. You’re a God send!”

There was no keeping the boys back then, and everyone began to talk at once. Finally, the father put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Everyone stopped talking. “My name is Moli Tatupu and, yes, we’re from American Samoa.” He glanced at the catamaran and then back at us. “I think I know who you are. You’re those cruise ship people who got taken by pirates a couple years ago.”

“What happened to the others?” I clutched Mr. Tatupu’s arm. “Did they get away? Was anyone else hurt?”

His face became sympathetic. “Yes, they got away, and no, no one else was hurt too bad. They took the pirates’ ship right out from under them in the middle of a storm. The only ones they couldn’t find were the four on the catamaran.” He looked at the boat again and back at us, his eyebrows raised.

Braedon answered the unasked question. “Jimmy was shot in the escape and died a few hours later. Maria died when the catamaran crashed here.”

Anger flashed in Mr. Tatupu’s eyes. “I remember the story well because the captain of this boat was my good friend.”

Braedon’s expression darkened. “I’m sorry for your loss.” An awkward moment passed before he pointed back toward the lagoon. “We’ve got a camp up the beach not far from where you landed. Why don’t we all go back there and get something to eat, and we can talk?”

I could have floated in the air as we strolled up the beach. Mr. Tatupu introduced everyone.

“How is it you came to this island, Mr. Tatupu?” Braedon asked.

“Call me Moli. We’re here on a summer camping and boating trip. The boys need the experience for merit badges.” He chuckled. “Our trip isn’t exactly sanctioned by the organization, so it’s an unofficial extended father/son overnighter.” Moli examined the tall mountain. “My father told me about visiting an island in this area many years ago, so we came looking for it. It’s not near any of the regular shipping routes. That’s probably why it’s been left alone so long.”

Braedon met my eyes. “We could have been stuck here for the rest of our lives.”

Moli nodded. “I think I’m the only one my father told about it. He said he first heard of it from a European. He wanted to build a vacation resort here but got hurt and gave up.”

I grinned at Braedon. “Well, that explains that.”

Moli’s son, Lua, who had been listening as he walked behind us, asked, “Explains what?”

“You’ll see when we get to our camp.” Braedon’s eyes twinkled.

As we approached the lagoon, Braedon and I took the lead. With a host-like manner, Braedon pulled back the hanging foliage and swung his arm out. I went first, ducking under the greenery and walking ahead to our work area by the falls.

The men gave appropriate
oohs
and
ahhs
as they inspected our workmanship. The boys got excited when I pointed out Braedon’s fish trap, which already had two fish in it. Isaac Patu and his son Etano were especially impressed with the shower.

Etano looked around and noted, “You wouldn’t have very good protection in here from the weather.”

Smirking, Braedon and I said together, “We have a tree house.”

“Where?” asked Lua, lifting his head from where he checked the fish trap.

I pointed to the pathway leading to the plateau, and the younger boys darted for it.

Lua, who stayed to hike up the hill with us, said, “This must be the explanation you mentioned. Did you build the tree house?”

“Yes and no.” Braedon explained what we had found. “We had to do repairs, but it saved us a lot of work.”

“But we did build the tree house,” I said, “more than once.”

When we reached the top of the plateau, one of the younger boys called back to ask if they could look inside.

Moli looked at me, and I nodded. He yelled to them, “You can go up but don’t touch anything.” He then turned to us. “You two have done pretty good here. I hope you understand we don’t have room to take you back with us. We’ll inform the authorities you’re here and have someone come and pick you up.”

My heart sank, and I clutched Braedon’s arm. He remained silent, his face expressionless, but he couldn’t hide the disappointment in his eyes.

Lua, the oldest of the boys and nearly eighteen, had stayed with us. “Sure we could, Dad. We’ve used up half our food. They could use that space.”

The fathers shuffled, uncomfortable; it was clear they didn’t want to take us. I couldn’t blame them.

“I don’t know, Lua.” Moli didn’t look at us.

Lua turned and faced his father. “If I was lost from my family for two years and people came who could take me home right away, I’d want to go with them too.”

Hope surged through me, and I blinked back tears as I mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him. He grinned.

Isaac grunted. “We can talk about it, Moli.”

I squeezed Braedon’s hand as he led the way to our working area. Giving him a kiss, I held his gaze for an intense moment before we gathered food for dinner. We had to convince them to take us.

As I gathered more fruit, my hands shook and my stomach roiled. I told myself it didn’t matter what they decided. We were getting off the island soon, one way or another. But we had to go with them now. I couldn’t shake the feeling that if
they left without us, no one else would ever come again. They had to take us with them. They just had to.

When everyone returned to the fire, the Scouts added their portion and we shared an excellent meal. In spite of the stress of not knowing what they would decide, it turned into a banquet.