Summer of Lost and Found (20 page)

“Nell?” he turned around, looking scared. His hair waved wildly in the wind and the loose sleeves of his white work shirt billowed with the gusts, like sails.

“We're too far from shore! And we only have one oar.” I clutched at the sides of the skiff. “How are we going to get back? In these waves, and in bad weather?” I looked out at the whitecaps. I'm an okay swimmer, but honestly I never go in over my head in the ocean. If the boat capsized, if we fell in—I couldn't finish the thought.

“I know it's frightening, Nell. But I've been in seas far rougher than these. I've spent
days
in storms, when everyone on board was sick and terrified. The water is shallow here, and there are other islands all around. Put on the life vest, please. You should wear it. I think we will be safe—but I don't want you to be so afraid. I won't be upset if you want to paddle back.”

“I—I don't know.” I did not find the possibility that we might not make it back to Roanoke and would have to take refuge on a random mini island in the middle of the sound very reassuring. What if we drifted through an inlet and went out into the ocean? I snapped on the jacket.

“'Tis an adventure?” Ambrose smiled, but it was wobbly with fear. I tried to repeat his words in my head, like a mantra.
Adventure, adventure, adventure.
I hadn't wanted a boring summer, right?
Adventure, adventure, adventure.
Well, I definitely didn't have one anymore.

Time passed most slow after Governor White left Roanoke. The hope brought by Virginia's birth—and Margery Harvie's new babe—we ne'er again found. We were hungry—so hungry. As the weather turned brisk, the remaining riches of the island shriveled. What little stores of food we held ran out. There were grapes on the vine, but with the days e'er colder, we knew not how much longer they might sustain us all.

The planters and assistants argued about what our colony ought to do. Some did want to abandon our homes and venture fifty miles into the main. Mayhap we could find our way to the Chesapeake. Some argued we ought to join the Croatoan in their village, if they would be e'er so merciful to allow us. Yet more thought we should sail the pinnace from the safety of this hidden isle, to flag a passing English ship for supplies. Of course, we were all afeard that we might encounter a Spanish vessel instead, and England's hiding spot would be found.

Young George, Thomas, and I still wandered the isle, looking always for goodly things to eat. Perhaps we would stumble upon some morsels, and the threat of starvation would fade. My mother worried e'ry time we ventured from the village—fearing revenge for the innocents our men had slain. What if our enemies returned? But even as my belly cried for food, I sought to be as brave as my father. “Yea, in time, we shall find our way,” said he. “Hope, my lad.” I closed my eyes and imagined our colony bustling with life. It would be thanks to those in our company, and our struggles.

But hither we shall struggle no longer. Days ago, I returned from the forest to learn that our colony seeks a new home. First, some men of the company shall make their way to the Chesapeake. As I write, they leave on the morrow, in the pinnace. It shall take many trips for them to carry all our possessions away. A second group, with the women and children, shall wait on the island. We shall hide ourselves well—a passing Spanish ship may have seen smoke from our fires. If threatened, we shall flee to Croatoan.

My brave father is needed aboard the pinnace. But my mother and I, we shall stay.

This morn we watched Father and the other men load the pinnace with as many supplies as it could bear, so much that the wood near bulged. My mother shed nary a tear before they departed. But she clasped my father's hand so tightly, the signet ring near branded her palm.

A hug from my father most gruff. “Good cheer, I promise I shall come back for thou, my son,” he did say to me. “Not the last words thou hear from me shall these ones be.” Then he swung himself on board and set to work, manning the pinnace sails. Mother and I stood on the shore, among the weeds and marshes, and watched as the ship floated toward points unknown. The weather mourned with us, dark clouds above a roiling sea and bleak grayness blanketing the sun.

As I write, we wait for him hither. And nothing shall move us until he returns.

E
ventually, despite the wild wind and the salt brine stinging my eyes, I spotted a spit of land to our left. The boat pitched back and forth like a bathtub toy. We started to take on water—only enough that it sloshed my ankles, but it still worried me. Ambrose crouched at the bow, exclaiming with each shudder and roll of the boat. I stayed huddled by the stern. At one point, I leaned over the side and heaved my sandwich and scuppernongs into the depths. I hoped barf didn't attract sharks.

“Ambrose,” I said weakly. I cleared my throat and called his name a little louder. He turned and shaded his eyes to look at me.

“Alas, poor Nell! You look green around the gills.” He scooted closer to me.

“Let's try to get over there. I need to be on land again.” I also really,
really
needed to pee, but I was too embarrassed to tell him that.

“Good idea. Try to steer us o'er there.” He gestured to the oar.

I stuck it in the water. Luckily, the wind helped by pushing us in the direction of the land. Couldn't Ambrose try to paddle for once? I was the one who had been puking her guts out. I felt weak and scared. And, I guess, increasingly crankypants. “Can't you take the oar for a while? I'm not feeling well, and I have blisters on my palms.”

“Er, okay,” Ambrose said tentatively, taking it from me. But as I sank back onto the wet bottom of the skiff, I noticed that he barely attempted to move it through the water. The wind did all the work for him.

A few minutes later, the skiff slammed into something hard, sending both of us tumbling from our perches.
Land.
I stepped onto the wet sand with relief, taking a minute to dig my toes in. Then I dragged the boat far up onto the beach. No way did I want to leave it near the waves and watch it drift out to sea without us. I unsnapped the life jacket and left it on a dry spot of sand.

Ambrose scrambled out behind me. “I'll see if there's a place to tie up the skiff.” But there wasn't—if what we were on was an island, it was totally deserted. No trees or anything, just patchy dune grass, sea lavender and sea oats, rocks, and shells surrounded by pebbly caramel-brown sand. At least it was a relatively dry place, where we could wait out the rough weather. But I needed to figure out the logistics of peeing, without any trees or shrubs or anything to hide behind.

I pulled out my phone to see what time it was—my sense of that had skewed, and we could've been at sea for minutes or hours. The roiling sky hid any time clues based on the sun. But my phone must've gotten wet either when I was on the bottom of the skiff or when one of those big waves smacked us. I kept trying to refresh the screen, but it stayed blank. I pressed and depressed the power button repeatedly. Nothing.
This is not good.

No matter how weird or bad or
whatever
 things got, my cell phone meant that Mom was only a call away. Mom
and
Dad, once upon a time, although I wasn't sure whether that held true anymore, even in an emergency. And this was turning into an emergency, fast.

“Do you have a watch?” I asked hopefully.

Ambrose shook his head.

“My phone is dead. I think it got wet or something. Any idea what time it is?”

“It can't be much past midday,” he said. “We were at sea for not very long at all.”

It hadn't
felt
like “not very long at all.” But I had to trust Ambrose on this one. He was, literally now, all I had.

I plopped onto the sand and put my head in my hands.

“Nell, you should have some water.” A worried pause. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head, blinking back tears. I was afraid to open my mouth, afraid that vocalizing how I felt right then would mean that I would start bawling. And when I cry, I look like a red-faced, snotty-nosed baby. Even if I was frustrated with Ambrose, I didn't want him to see me that way. I grabbed my water bottle and took a big swig, even though I still hadn't figured out how to solve the bathroom problem. I nervously tapped my fingers along the bottle's metal sides.

Finally, Ambrose pushed himself up from the ground. “While we're here, let's see if your contraption will find anything.”

I supposed he was right—it would be silly to have gone through all this to sit on the sand and sulk while waiting out a storm. We were out here to find clues, so even if I was wet, scared, and in truly desperate need of a toothbrush or at least a stick of gum, we might as well make the epic trip worth our while. Although I wasn't sure what we could find this far from Roanoke. I had gotten so turned around, I didn't know if we were in the sound, the bay, or even near the inlet to the ocean. “Okay.”

Standing up made my head spin. I took another sip of water, then reached into my bag to grab the other sandwich. “Are you sure you don't want—” I stopped when I found the bagel, which like everything else in my bag was thoroughly soaked with seawater. “Never mind.” So now we were on a desert island, in a storm, with no means of communication, no food, and limited fresh water. Once again, I found myself in what sounded like the beginning of a survival TV show, and I didn't like it one bit. I sighed and grabbed the metal detector.

Ambrose and I walked side by side along the sand, the waves crashing against our feet and breaking above my calves. Even though it was the height of summer, it was cold out here in the wind and drizzly rain. I couldn't stop shivering. Goose bumps covered my skin. Only my ears were warm, because I had on the detector's headphones. I listened carefully to the
bleep
s and
blip
s of the detector, hoping that I'd hear them accelerate and this whole thing would turn out to be something other than the Stupidest Idea Ever.

I had opened my mouth to suggest we give up when
bleep
 . . .
bleep
 . . .
bleep
turned into
bleep! bleep! bleep!
 Which then turned into
blipblipblipblipblipblipblip!
Eyes wide, I turned to Ambrose.

“We've got something!” we exclaimed at the exact same time. Although Ambrose added a “Zounds!” In spite of myself, I grinned. Maybe the currents and winds of this storm had stirred up the bottom of the sea and found something for us.

“
Onetwothreefourfive
jinx!”

Ambrose tipped his head in a way that said
I'm confused.
“ ‘Jinx'?”

“We said the same thing at the same time.” Maybe saying “jinx” was a New York thing.

Ambrose bounced on his toes. “Let us see what it is!” We waded into the water, the
blip
s intensifying with every wet step. When we were up to our knees, I stopped. The waves and the current were so strong, we were in danger of being knocked out to sea with one big swell. There could be a sharp drop-off from the sloping beach. Who knew how deep it got out there; we could be in over our heads in seconds.

“Wait,” I said. “I don't want to go out any farther.”

“Good idea—keep a lookout on shore.” Ambrose forged ahead, the waves crashing higher onto his thighs. “I see something!” he shouted.

A gust of wind, combined with the sea swirling around my ankles, almost knocked me over. “How can you tell?” I looked down at the foamy water. I could barely see my freezing toes through it. What could Ambrose possibly be seeing? Fish? Seaweed? He didn't even have my goggles.

“Verily, I can feel it. Over there!” The wind carried his voice away from me, and the headphones muffled all sounds. He turned and cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. “I'm going to swim out for a better look.”

I pulled the headphones off my ears. “Ambrose!” Ignoring the huge, dark clouds gathering over our heads, I splashed closer toward him. “Are you crazy? You don't have any equipment. We're in the middle of a storm! There are probably rip currents. You're going to get killed!”

“Nell! Please stay back where it's safe!” There was a longing in his face, a terrible sadness, which rattled me more than the skiff had. I shuddered as I watched him wave good-bye. “I'll be fine, Nell—nothing will hurt me.” Then he dove underneath an incoming wave.

“Ambrose!” I shouted into the howling wind. I backed up a few feet and sank into the sand, burying my head into my crossed arms. The water sucked at my legs from the strong undertow. I felt like when I had realized that my dad was gone—this desperate need to be
not here
. In my room that night, I'd covered my ears and pretended that while I was blocking out all noise, Dad had actually come home. The key had scraped in our lock, he had noisily dropped his laptop bag and kicked off his shoes in the front hall, then he had wandered into the kitchen and slammed the cupboard doors. My mom had probably chided him for it, pointing out that our cupboards were already in rough shape and it wasn't like we had the money to get new ones anytime soon. But maybe their voices had softened and eventually they'd hunkered down in front of the TV, watching one of their boring shows about wealthy British people or real estate in exotic places.