By the fourth and last night, they were exhausted. They’d slept little in the course of their explorations, and in the daylight between those nights they’d spent all their time hard at work, fulfilling their promises to Vancouver.
Paul had told the captain he’d have a galley filled to the rafters with venison, but perhaps Paul’s penchant for boasting had gotten the best of him. Having grown up in the city, he’d never seen a deer outside of Phoenix Park. Even when he’d hunted with James in New Zealand, he’d had Mr. Manby’s superb sporting skills to help him out. Applied to the expensive double-barreled gun Manby owned, these talents had made the master’s mate responsible for most of the game they’d shot, not Paul.
Eventually Paul had to admit that either he was a lousier sportsman than he’d thought, or there were no deer on the island to be found—seals hauled out on every beach, but no deer. All they had to show for their efforts were clams, crabs, and crows. In the mornings, Ravenna dug the clams and dove off the island’s beaches for crabs while Paul shot the crows.
In between these chores, they managed to find time to look for woolly mammoth bones as Ravenna had hoped. She was ecstatic when she found a section of tusk, petrified and about two feet in length, high in the cliff behind the island. She lugged it back to their canvas tent, enshrined it with wild roses at the head of their bed. Paul didn’t understand, but he didn’t say so.
In the afternoons they spent the time fulfilling their other promise to Vancouver. They made sketches. Together, they sat on the bluff copying the features of the coastline, and while Paul made jokes about whatever came to mind, she documented the occasion by drawing his portrait.
“That’s me, is it?” he asked, leaning into her shoulder.
She nodded, and his mouth wrinkled in a smile. “Well I don’t think m’nose is that big,” he said.
“It’s not,” and she giggled, glanced down at his trousers, “but maybe I’m just showing what the rest of you is like. You know what they say, about men’s noses and their—”
“And their what?” He gazed at her expectantly, and she blushed just thinking about it—how that velvety-soft, rock-solid part of him had filled her hand with exquisite heat.
But Paul was shaking his head. “Sweetheart, you’ve barely seen mine, let alone anyone else’s.” And leaning close, he brushed her lips with a kiss. “Although I must admit, I’m flattered you think of me as such.”