Those first few days together were something of an adjustment period for me, as now . . . for the first time in my life . . . I had someone who needed me, and I seemed to move more slowly, for some reason, in everything I did.
It came time, I felt, to go back to that ship. I had no idea how long the two of us would be stranded on the island, so it would be wise, I knew, to provide for our long-term needs as much as this opportunity would allow.
Again using paper cut-outs, I communicated to the little girl the importance of returning to the ship and taking the things we might need.
Perhaps remembering the fun she enjoyed with the goats, she readily accepted this endeavor as another adventure . . . and we headed out.
When we reached the spot we saw that the raft was still moored to a tree and the rope ladder was still hanging down the side of the ship. We rafted out to the ship and climbed up, over, and onto its deck. We then went through the entire ship . . . deliberately . . . and decided what we wanted to take.
From the cabins we took a nice windowed bookcase, a beautifully crafted wood dresser, a large sturdy trunk, a world globe, game boards, books, clothes, shoes, pistols and sabers, towels, blankets, pillows, soaps, lanterns, lantern oil, matches, a clock, pocket watches, writing paper, pens, ink, and wine skins. We took all the money we found . . . which was a heavy load indeed. From the galley we took more matches, a few utensils, a large pot, a skillet, tomatoes, olives, cheese, large sausages of salt pork and corned beef, flour, bread, and lard. From the work storage area we took a large quantity of sail cloth, rope, trawling nets, carpentry tools, sewing tools, shovels, and pick axes. There was a plentiful supply of gunpowder on board, but, other than testing the pistols and cannons, I hadn’t fired a shot in three years, so we brought only one small keg of powder ashore. From the cargo area we took oranges, lemons, raspberries, and peaches.
We dropped all the booty off on the shore directly inland from the wreckage. The whole salvage job took us two days. We returned the raft to its original mooring and then began the long chore of carrying all our new possessions to the cottage. It was on the afternoon of the third day . . . the third day of our hauling efforts . . . that we brought the last of the loot into the cabin. It had been hard work, especially for the little girl, but she had been “game” the whole time . . . never leaving my side and never wanting to rest if I was not resting.
Once we were settled in with our new belongings I grabbed a hammock and hooked it up on the front porch. I motioned for the little girl to “get aboard” and she was soon rocking back and forth. She loved it . . . both being pushed by me and rocking on her own power . . . and her laughter and squeals of delight went on . . . without a break . . . for more than an hour, when I gestured that, well, we should stop.
That night, as the little girl slept, I noticed that a change of some sort had begun to come over me. I couldn’t pin it down exactly, but I felt . . .
older. I didn’t feel physically older or wiser, but . . . this girl. My acceptance of the responsibility for this girl’s welfare . . . at the sacrifice of my own interests . . . made me feel like . . . I had grown. That was it. I felt larger.
And I decided that I liked it . . . that it was good for me.
I glanced over at the sleeping child and, moved by the current of some vague sentiments, I decided to make her . . . a doll.
I dug the sewing tools out of the trunk and, using sail cloth for the body, I carefully cut out a shape that would make a doll that was about a foot and a half in height. For the stuffing I took the softest piece of clothing I could find . . . a flannel night shirt . . . and shredded it. I made the doll’s dress identical to the dress the little girl wore, and the hair was made up of strands from a rope I had untwisted. And finally I used an ink pen to draw the face . . . a smiling countenance that I hoped would be pleasing to the little girl.
Once it was completed I laid the doll next to the sleeping girl, and then I too went to bed.
The next morning I was awakened by what I believed was a finger poking me in the shoulder. When I opened my eyes, what did I see, but the face of a doll . . . a mere two inches from my nose . . . staring right back at me. I flinched, and the little girl laughed. Then, hugging her new playmate, she danced around the room. “She is pleased.” I said to myself.
It came time, I felt, to give the little girl a name, so we sat there . . . the three of us . . . and considered the merits of quite a few candidates.
Eventually we decided on the name . . . Rachel. But our work was not yet finished. She now insisted that we give her doll a name, and so, using the same procedure, we bandied some choices about and finally settled on . . .
Dolly. And all was right with the world.
That night, as Rachel slept . . . with Dolly safely tucked inside her arm . . . I stood and watched her for a minute or two, and thought of how she would likely expect to find another present when she wakes up in the morning. “I know I would.” I chuckled. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell her about Christmas.”