“If you use a hammer and nails to make a board fit, won’t you be putting more holes in the boat?” Ellen asked.
She’d been his shadow since he had eaten breakfast and then came out here to measure the hole, the boards, the hole again. He had one chance to get it right.
“I will seal them with the tar.”
“I will hold them,” Ann called as she ran forward then got in the boat to hold a board in place.
“I have got the other.” Ruth joined her sister and now both pieces of wood were exactly where they needed to be. Rhys stood back to examine if there were any openings or if they fit as if they belonged there.
He had to get this right.
Ellen came to stand next to him, mimicked his stance and tilt of his chin.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“What are you thinking?” Rhys countered.
“I think they fit.”
“I do too.”
He then stepped closer to look for any gaps, which there were none.
It was perfect.
“It sure has taken you a long time,” she said.
“I wanted to get it right,” Rhys defended himself to the six-year-old.
“But all day?”
The child was right. He had been procrastinating because he was afraid that if he got this wrong he would not only ruin the new wood, but the boat, and then they would have no means of escape.
“Mr. McNaught. Please come quickly. Tempest has been hurt,” Margaret cried as she ran from the direction of the hut.
His heart nearly stopped. “Where is she? What happened?”
“She slipped picking berries and cut her hand.”
His pulse slowed at the explanation. A cut hand was not as bad as a broken ankle or being bitten by a snake.
“It looks really bad with lots of blood.”
“I will go see if I can help.” He turned and looked at the children and pointed. “Do not touch the saw, hammer, nails…any of it. Come away from the boat. You cannot be there without me.” The last thing he needed was for them to do more damage.
Of all the foolish things Tempest could have done was grasp onto a vine without looking when she started to fall. Had she, she would have just fallen instead of the gradual slip to the ground while thorns from an Apple-liana dug through her palm, leaving one behind.
Nicoll had run for fresh water to boil so that she could wash her palm and while Tempest looked for something to wrap her hand in, Margaret had run for Rhys. Tempest had called her back because this was not so dire a situation that he had to be pulled from fixing the boat, but her younger sister had ignored her.
Once he sees that it is merely a cut, he will return to work. Of that she was certain, and she would apologize for his being disturbed.
“I will put some water on to boil right away,” Nicoll announced as she entered.
Tempest took a towel and then sat on a bench to really look at her hand. It hurt, as one would expect after something had torn through it, but she had not been expecting a gash in her palm. Not the full length or width of it, but long enough that it would prove to be difficult in the coming days.
“What did you go and do?” Rhys asked from the entry. “The way Margaret came yelling, I was certain you had managed to cut off a limb.”
“Hardly. At the worst I will have a scar,” Tempest answered. “Would you by chance have tweezers?”
