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One life had left them; now two had entered. Pim, her face glazed with relief, was already holding their daughter. Sara cut the cord, washed the little boy with a damp cloth, wrapped him in a blanket, and gave him back to Caleb. An unanticipated longing washed over him; how he wished his father were here. For weeks he had kept this feeling at bay. Holding his son in his arms, he could no longer.
Tears poured from his eyes.
* * *
87
They named the girl Kate; the boy was Peter.
Two months had passed. Quickly the joy of the settlers’ arrival had been put aside as everyone turned to the concerns of making the island a home. Hunting parties were organized, food gathered, fishing nets laid, vines harvested and trees felled for the construction of shelters. The island seemed eager to fulfill their needs. Many things were new. Bananas. Coconuts. Huge tusked boars, nasty as hell and not to be messed with but which, when taken, provided bountiful meat. In the jungle, less than a hundred yards from the beach, a mountain stream, descending in a dazzling waterfall, filled a rocky grotto with water so cold and fresh it made their heads pound.
It was Hollis who suggested that the first civic structure should be a school. This seemed sensible; without something to organize their days, the children would run wild as mice. He selected a site, organized a party, and got to work. When Caleb happened to mention that they had very few books, the big man laughed. “Seems to me we’re starting over in more ways than one,” he said. “I guess we’ll just have to write some.”
It did not take long for the memories of their old life to recede. That was, perhaps, the most amazing thing. Everything was new: the food they ate, the air they breathed, the sound of the wind in the palm fronds, the rhythm of days. It was as if a blade had fallen onto their lives, carving it into a time before and a time after. Ghosts were always with them, the people they had lost. Yet everywhere, on the beach and in the jungle, was always the sound of children.
The mantle of leadership had naturally fallen to Lore. At first she’d demurred: What do I know about running a town? Yet the precedent had been set; that she’d been captain was hard to put aside in people’s minds, and she commanded the respect not only of the crew, who had served under her, but of the people she had brought safely to shore. A vote was held; over her objections, which had come to seem only halfhearted, she was elected by acclaim. Some discussion followed as to what her title should be; she opted for “mayor.” She organized a cabinet of sorts: Sara would be in charge of all medical matters; Jenny and Hollis would oversee the school; Rand and Caleb would supervise construction of all the residential structures; Jock, who’d turned out to be a fine shot with a bow, would organize the hunting parties; and so on.
They had yet to investigate much of the island, which was far bigger than it had originally appeared. It was decided that two scouting parties would set out, circling the mountain in opposite directions. Rand led one party, Caleb the other. They returned a week later, reporting that the island, rather than standing alone, was the southernmost of what appeared to be a chain. Two more were visible from the high cliffs of the island’s northern side, with a third, perhaps, lurking in the far distance. They had also found no traces of prior inhabitation. That did not mean it wasn’t there; perhaps one day they would discover evidence that people had been here before. But for now, the island’s unspoiled quality, its wildness and beneficence, spoke in tones of solitude.
It was a hopeful time. Not without cares; there was much to do. But they had begun.
—
For many weeks, Pim had been considering what to do with her book. The work was complete, the words polished. Of course, the story it told went only so far; the end was unknown to her. But she had done all she could.
The decision to bury it, or in some similar manner conceal it, had come upon her slowly, and with some surprise. She had long supposed that eventually she would show it to other people. Yet day by day the idea grew that these writings were not, in fact, for anyone still living but served a grander purpose. She attributed this intuition to the same mysterious influence that had led her to write these pages in the first place, and to write them as she had. One early morning, not long after Caleb’s return from scouting the island, she awoke to a feeling of great calm. Caleb and the children were still asleep. Pim rose quietly, gathered her journal and shoes, and stepped outside.
The first rays of dawn were crawling upward from the horizon. Soon the settlement would awaken, but for now, Pim had the beach to herself. The world had a way of speaking to you if you let it; the trick was learning to hear. She stood for a moment, savoring the quiet, listening for what the world was telling her this morning.
