Muddy saw her flinch. She straightened, took a deep breath, and pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d stepped right into that one.
“Look, kid.” Hank barged in front of her. “I’m telling you. This is the way it is, understand? You have to wish us off this island.”
Theodore looked at Hank for a long, drawn-out minute, then his small jaw became as rigid as Hank’s and he was stubbornly silent.
And Muddy had thought camels were stubborn. He shook his head and looked at the baby, a bright and happy little thing with a crop of orange curls. She sat on a rock. She looked at him and grinned from around the two fingers stuck in her mouth.
Muddy waved.
She waved back, then dropped down from the rock and walked toward him. She was about three feet away when she ran out of rope. She tugged on the rope, but it wouldn’t give. She looked at the rope, then said, “Sit!”
Muddy bit back a smile, then looked back at the others. They certainly weren’t what he was used to. He’d never had a family in two thousand years, even if they weren’t in truth quite a family. They were an interesting group.
Theodore stood next to his sister, a quiet and complicated-looking girl named Lydia. The children talked while Hank scowled and paced. Margaret, who had more beauty than Paris’s Helen, stood with her arms stubbornly crossed.
Finally, Margaret cocked her lovely blond head and gave Theodore a direct look. “Well?”
“I don’t want to leave.”
“For Christ’s sake!” Hank bellowed.
Muddy winced.
Margaret jabbed Hank in the ribs with her elbow. “Stop shouting at him. You’ll only make things worse.”
“Things can’t get much worse.”
Theodore stood there, even more straight and determined. He looked at Hank, then at Margaret. “I like it here.”
Hank groaned.
Theodore stepped up to him. “You said deserted islands were the best places.”
“What are you talking about, kid?”
“Remember the riddle?”
Hank looked as if he wanted someone to punch him.
“There are no prisons or orphanages on deserted islands,” Theodore said by rote. “Hank said so.”
Margaret looked as if she were ready to give Hank exactly what he wanted.
“I don’t want to live in an orphanage. They don’t give you any blankets, and Hank said it was cold and as bad as prison,” Theodore spoke in a rush to get out all the words. “Hank has purple marks on his back ’cause they beat him in prison, an’ he said it was ’cause they didn’t have anything better to do. I don’t want anyone to beat me or my sisters.”
Margaret spun around. “Why on earth did you tell him those things?”
“I didn’t tell him.”
“I suppose he imagined it.” Her eyes narrowed in accusation. “Oh, forgive me, I forgot. Five-year-old children always know about prisons and orphanages.”
Hank began to pace in the sand. “He kept asking questions. Hell!” He waved his hand in the air. “I just answered him!”
“Well, you certainly picked a fine time to suddenly become Mr. Honesty.”
“Let me handle this.” Hank elbowed past her. “Oh, yes, I forgot that, too. You’re the man,” she said in a deep and mocking tone.
As Hank walked past her, he said under his breath, “At least you understand your place.”
