Summer Island - A Prince in Peril

14 - The Tide

It took over an hour to unload the horses, transfer the supplies over the ledge and make their way down to the cove. The idea of relaxing had seemed impossible the night before when Tia suggested it. Now, looking around at their haven, each of them knew it would be hard not to do just that. Even Peter seemed like a different person. Of course, much of that had to do with the fact that he was wearing old jeans and a Red Sox tee shirt.

"There's enough food here to last us a week," said Dinora, lugging another satchel to where Peter had created temporary shelves and a little kitchen area.

"I guess Miss Witherspoon wanted to make sure we had enough to eat," he replied in his clipped British accent.

He and Dinora looked up as they heard Seymour emerging from the tunnel, followed by Zoë. Simultaneously, they dumped their final load of provisions next to Mario and Greta, who were preparing some food. They hadn't eaten since dinner the previous night. Even then, they were too distressed to do more than pick at the delicious meal Tia had made.

"Were the horses secured?" Mario asked.

Seymour had taken awhile to tie up the horses, unsure of himself. After the fifth try he had finally done it. "They're set. Watered and everything. I put their saddles back on after I rubbed them down, just in case."

"Food's ready," announced Greta with a self-conscious flourish.

They all turned to see her posing next to her creation with a proud expression on her dust-covered face. Along with Tia's bread and a wheel of cheddar cheese from the dairy, Greta had laid out half a salami; small, tart plums from the overgrown orchard behind the house; and a container of creamy milk, still cold from being packed in ice. "I figured we should drink this first, since it won't last for very long."

"Sounds wonderful," Peter exclaimed. "I am positively famished."

The others quickly joined him, except for Seymour, who went to wash up from the horses. "Peter, did Tia pack a bucket?" he called.

"Yes. I put it underneath the big basket."

Seymour retrieved it, and along with a few other items he found in the supplies, was able to fashion a crude water-catchment system. "It'll take forever," he explained later, between mouthfuls of food, "but if we keep it going, we can use it for bathing, washing dishes, everything."

He looked at his friends, who hardly spoke as they cut off slabs of cheese and salami, took bites of plums, poured milk and passed the bread back and forth. Although they didn't seem particularly interested at the moment, he knew they'd be very appreciative when they wanted to bathe.

The children devoured their breakfast quickly. Afterward, they could barely keep their eyes open.

"I say we finish unpacking and set up later," suggested Zoë.

No one argued. They took blankets and found warm spots on the sand. Within minutes they had fallen fast asleep.

Perhaps three or four hours had passed when Greta woke. Her whole body ached from the lack of sleep, the worry and the long ride that morning. She yawned, stretched and made her way over to the water Seymour had stored. He too was there, changing pails. Now he had added something new to his contraption, which diverted extra water off to a handmade pool of sorts.

She washed her face and took a long drink. "Seymour, it's ingenious. Thank you."

"My pleasure. How are you feeling?"

"Stiff."

"Best idea is probably a swim. It'll help you work your muscles out. If you want I can look in the first aid kit for some medicine."