“I will try not to,” she smiled.
“Would you like some coconut milk?” she asked after she realized that he was the only one without something to drink.
“I am thirsty but not for that.”
“You do not like coconut milk?”
“Only when I am terribly thirsty and there is nothing else.”
“I am afraid that is all we have, besides water.”
“Water will do,” he answered, just as Margaret reached under the table and retrieved a bottle of rum.
“Where did you get that?” Tempest demanded.
“You left it out last night.”
She couldn’t remember what he had done with the bottle and she had not much cared.
“I thank you for the offer, but I will drink water tonight.” His eyes held Tempest’s. He conceded to her to exhibit proper behavior in front of the children.
Except, where had he been last night when she had drunk too much?
It did not matter, she decided. Those were extenuating circumstances not to be repeated.
The rest of the evening passed pleasantly with her younger sisters pestering him with questions about the boat and if they could venture into the forest if they promised not to be seen by the French, or was there anywhere that they could wade into the sea where they would not be seen. He had promised to find them such a place.
They then told stories, and he shared some of his adventures from when he was a boy living in Antigua, and how he would own his own boat one day and ferry people from island to island.
“You will come visit us will you not?” Ruth asked.
His eyes met Tempest’s. “Yes. I plan on doing so.”
When dinner was complete, she walked him to the door and onto the terrasse.
“Thank you for dinner.”
“You are welcome at any time. You always have been, especially since this is your home.”
“It is yours and I should have given it up immediately but I was a bit out of sorts.”
“A bit?” she laughed. “I likely would have been too.”
“Well, then, goodnight, Tempest.”
“Goodnight, Rhys.”
As he walked away, she shut the door and turned to find her sisters staring at her, arms crossed in front of them ready to demand answers. She just wasn’t certain what she should tell them or how much she should confess.
Sixteen
Rhys had poured the tar into the cast iron cookpot that had been left in the hut, and hung it over an open fire. While it melted, he nailed the pieces of wood together then affixed it to the boat. All the while, the four youngest sisters sat on a log and watched and pestered him with questions.
“Do you love Tempest?” Ellen asked.
He could, but that was not how he answered. “I hardly know your sister.”
“You carried her the other night. That was being familiar,” Ann insisted.
