He drew closer, blinked. Vines grew wildlyover an edifice and cloaked its existence. “I can’t believe this.It is a miracle you saw this place, Alexandra.”
She tipped-up on her toes. Never would heforget the rapture lighting her face, the triumph in her eyes, andthe satisfaction in her smile. He crossed the distance betweenthem, picked her up and twirled her around, a prisoner to the joyemanating from her soul.
They had shelter.
He put her down and she blushed. How helonged to sample her full, moist lips. No. That would be crossing aline he didn’t want to cross.
She cleared her throat. “No one has livedhere for a long time.”
“Must be fifteen years of growth, but hardto tell, things grow faster in the tropics.” He pulled the knifefrom his belt, slashed through the tangle blocking the entry whileAlexandra yanked the loosened creepers, tossing them in a growingpile. Nicholas grabbed a black pod and sniffed. “Must be vanillabean.” He held it to her nose.
“Heavenly. I can cook with this,” she saiddelighted. “If I had milk, I could make a pudding.”
An entry emerged flanked by hand-hued corallimestone blocks. Nick lifted the handle. The door stuck. He put ashoulder to it, and shoved. Dust colored the air and settled on hishead. He entered the dark interior. “Civilization.”
Alexandra followed, then crossed the room toopen a window shutter. “We need to remove more vines to let in thelight.”
Nicholas went outside and removed the growtharound the windows. She pushed and he pulled. The shutter fell off.“That will have to be fixed.”
He worked his way around the house, cuttingthe vines, releasing the windows from their prison. Fresh air andsunshine spread into the domicile, chasing away years of mustygloom. He passed a lean-to he’d explore later.
With the added light, he surveyed theinterior. Tools hung on the walls. Machetes. Drills, hammers. Twoflint lock dueling pistols ornately engraved. Two muskets. Numerousbarrels were stacked in the corner. He cranked open lids. He siftedhis hands through five barrels of wheat berries, one moldy and fourgood, worthy to be ground into flour for bread. A barrel filledwith cones of sugar and one of salt. They were like childrenexperiencing a million Christmases and drunk with joy.
“Whoever occupied this dwelling, did so forthe long haul.” He took one of the muskets off the wall. “A BrownBess, range eighty yards. I’ll take down one of those wild pigsthat roam. The gun is a little rusty but filing it down with sand,I can return it to its original condition. Not much use unless wehave gunpowder.” He checked the powder horn on the wall andgrimaced. “The contents are trifling.”
A bed filled one corner covered with quilts.He saw where her gaze was riveted, the way her hands twistedtogether. She caught him staring at her, cleared her throat.
He took a breath, satisfied with herembarrassment, and appraised her sudden attention to the cottage’scontents. Was she more innocent than he had presumed?
She ran her finger through the dust across atable, and then pointed to objects. How he relished her delightover benches, chairs, iron pots, copper pans, knives, forks, a teakettle, a tea set decorated with roses and violets, pewter platesand tankards, forks and knives, box of beeswax candles, a compass,books, seeds, even a Bible.
She held up a silver chess set. “Will youteach me how to play?”
He laughed. “Adversaries claim I’m brutal. Iplay to win.”
“Then I shall find you a wonderful tutor,”she laughed.
She dusted a clock on the shelf. “Will youwind it?”
Nick turned the key. The clock startedticking.
“Oh, you are wonderful.” Alexandra clappedher hands together as if he had parted the Red Sea.
She held up the quilt to the window. Lightpoured through moth eaten holes. “I will wash and mend this and itwill be good as new.”
When her back was turned, Nick tugged canvasfrom beneath the bed, inspecting its condition. Good enough to useas a hammock. He kicked the canvas back under, preferring not tosay anything about the sleeping arrangements, the devil in himchoosing to draw out her discomfiture.
“We will clean this out. Here is a broom.Start sweeping,” Alexandra ordered, her face lit with pureresolve.
Nicholas stared at the broom she’d placed inhis hands, as foreign as any object he’d ever observed.
He handed it back to her and she stamped herdainty foot. “We have to start somewhere.”
“I’ll look under the lean-to.”
When he crossed the threshold, he heard hermumble, “typical man,” as he headed to the rear of the house. Heshoved open the door of the lean-to, assessed the contents,shovels, hoes, pick-axes, three iron crows, a wheelbarrow, a dozenhatchets, a grindstone for sharpening knives and tools, threebarrels of musket bullets, another fowling piece, kegs ofgunpowder, boards, sword, barrels of nails, two buckets, ascrew-jack, adze, ropes, crocks, a couple of empty barrels, goodfor storing rainwater. In the rafters, he had discovered a sealedwooden box full of reams of muslin, linen, and cotton. He returnedto Alexandra.
“Good news, we have a hogshead of rum.”
