Lost Castaway

An excerpt from Lost Castaway

The sun woke her—the hot breath of the tropical sun on her back. She awoke as if from a dream, the events of the night flashing thru her mind like an awful nightmare: terrible storm, the drunken purser who tore at her nightgown, the call to the lifeboats, the purser's ruthless act of throwing her overboard....

Marguerite brushed the sand from her face and tried to rise, but her body ached. What island was this? What tropical paradise had she washed ashore on? This was the haven she had been seeking—nothing but sand, sun, and solitude. It suddenly all seemed a terrible joke.

She was naked. Her body was scratched and bruised, but not badly injured. She wondered if there were other survivors, perhaps some who had come ashore with clothes and food.

Marguerite walked along the shore, scanning the horizon for boats, scanning the beach for people. But there was none. She was alone.

No. There in the distance was a lifeboat on the beach. Thank God! There was some other soul with whom to share her tragedy. She rushed down the shore, but—all too aware of her nakedness—went into the water to swim closer. Her muscles ached, but she swam on.

But as she neared the boat, the young woman paused to watch from the water. The figures were all men—most of them sailors—and among them, shouting orders as tho he were the ranking crewman, he stood.

The ship's purser.