Pers stuttered a bit and then in a small child's voice said, "I'd like that very much, if you will have me. I would very much like to have a mother again."
"Awww, come here, kid." With that she grabbed Pers, who was a good two feet taller than her, and gave him a bear hug. "Let old Pam be your momma. I'll try my best, but I'll warn you I'm not always too good at it. I'm not sure where all this is going from here but you just stick with me, we'll figure it out together, all right, son?"
Pam could feel Pers shaking. He was weeping now, but she could tell from the vibration that these were good tears, the tears of relief and discovered joy. She joined right in and they stood there for a while, a mother and son, which to Pam's great pride she knew they had become, not by blood but in all the ways that really mattered. After a time Pam stepped gently back from the embrace to look at the bright, lovely youth who had entered her life. She patted him gently on the cheek.
"Don't worry, Pers. I won't tell anybody what a sweet kid you are. They already know anyway. Now, let's go home. I'm so hungry I could eat coconut crab curry, heigh-ho!"
"Yes, ma'am . . . er . . . Mom!" He gave her a snappy salute, his usual grin back in place and grown a size bigger.
Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Last Day Of Camp
It was to be their last day at the beach camp. By evening they intended to dine on the ship and spend the night aboard before sailing with the dawn. The bosun, despite an initial raft of complaints about the many oddities of their new vessel, had deemed her seaworthy and ready to go. Toward the end of their discussion around last night's dinner fire he had began to wax so poetic on the junk's capabilities that Pam suspected he was beginning to fall in love with the thing, and thought that might happen between all sailors and their ships eventually.
After an early breakfast, Pam sat on the porch of her hut, sipping her third cup of coffee. Pers had been drafted by the bosun first thing. She had given him a wave and a wink as he set off for the beach, which made him blush. Looks like I'm a mom again, well good for me. The thought filled her with a deep, comfortable warmth. Pers had come to think of their beach camp as home and she realized so had she. She would miss this funny little bamboo shack and wondered if she would ever come this way again. They had been very lucky to make a safe landing here when the Redbird went down. All in all, they had enjoyed a much higher level of comfort than could be expected, thanks to the island's natural bounty and the many skills of her companions. At times it had felt more like she was on summer holiday than marooned, especially during the heady days that followed her finding of the dodo flock. Those were good times and she wouldn't forget them.
"Maybe someday we can make this a research station and spend some time here again," she said to herself, a habit that she was careful not to let others overhear. "I would like that. Yes, we shall." The sailors had built to last and she thought the buildings could survive a few seasons without human care. Finishing her coffee with a gulp, she went inside and put the coconut-shell cup on a shelf, in place for that possible someday. The tiny room was mostly empty. She had already sent her baggage out to the ship and only a few island gewgaws remained; a shell collection along the window sill and some sketches she had hung on the walls that weren't important enough to take with her.
One piece of art, placed in a prominent place over her cot, was a message to any who might take shelter here in the future, a painting of a dodo with the words "Please do not kill this bird! Bad luck follows those who do!" written in English, German and Swedish. "Can't hurt," she said. Assuming they could read, sailors were by nature superstitious and she had no bones against using a bit of psychological warfare in her cause. In fact, I should probably do that more. She brushed against some of the shell necklaces hanging from a peg beside the window. She and Dore had worn these with their native getup. On a whim she took one and put it on, a bit of beach-camp style to remember the place by. Pam took one last look around, backed out onto the porch, then closed and latched the door shut against the wind. It was time to get going.
She found that Gerbald and the men had already moved the heavy carronade from its log mount and were now loading it onto the pinnace with a complicated affair of poles, ropes, and pulleys. Gerbald seemed to have a knack for that kind of thing, even impressing the sailors who worked with such tools on a daily basis. They had made him the foreman for the task and he was basking in the glory of leadership, one of his few foibles.
"Show off," she teased as she sauntered by the proceedings. Gerbald just grinned, as pleased with a ribbing as he was with any kind of attention. Pam thanked the Lord she had found such a good-natured friend. She knew that he had become expert in deflecting the worst of her moods and usually allowed him to do so with silent gratitude.
Pam wandered up to the kitchen to see if she could help Dore with her cooking things. Not too surprisingly, the incredibly efficient woman was already packed up and had drafted Pers and another sailor, dark-haired Lind, into hauling the boxes and bags down to the pinnace. Pam was given a fairly light basket to carry and returned to the beach. The pinnace had already left on its mission to deliver their special gun to the new vessel, so Pam put her basket down on the pile of goods waiting the next trip and decided to take a walk. She didn't want to go by way of the cemetery. Her good-byes had been said and the pain was still too fresh, so she went the opposite direction, ending up on the high cliff lookout she and Gerbald had sighted the junk from just two days ago. It felt like weeks! Pam sat down with her back against a gnarled, wind tortured tree to watch the proceedings. The job of getting the carronade onto the junk and mounted looked like it was going to take a good long while, so she let herself drift off into a nap.
Chapter Twenty-Nine: An Unexpected Promotion
After an hour of dozing filled with dreams featuring swords and blood and screams of the dying, Pam shook herself awake with a sour taste in her mouth, feeling unrested and anxious. She hurried down to rejoin those at the beach, comforted by their dependable presence.
The bosun approached her with what was plainly deference. He and two of the sailors, Vilfrid and Lind, awaited her on the shore along with Gerbald and Dore. They would make the trip in the Redbird's pinnace, which the sailors would then haul up onto the junk's wide deck. The modest little craft was quite dear to them, having proven its worth time and again. It took her a while to realize it, but the sailors were again being especially polite to her. Of course, they always had been, but there had been some kind of a change since they had captured the Oriental junk.
"The big gun has been mounted on the new ship. Are you ready to board?" the bosun asked.
"Yes, just let me make one last look." Pam scanned their home for these long months, the realization that her stay in this remote place was at an end finally sinking in. A fierce joy filled her. We did it. We are getting out of here. She climbed into the pinnace and was ushered to a seat in the prow. She watched their beach recede until they began to draw in close to the junk. After one last, long, look she turned her back to the shore, ready to begin her journey again.