What had he done?
Ben tried to follow the uncertain line of logic that had brought him to this. There had been so many opportunities to end it, to prevent himself from ever reaching such a ridiculous point. He'd had the gun in his hand, his own immediate doubts, and Charles' disdain, minutes before, all chances to fix things and get out of the mess he had created. Yet there he was, stuck and wondering what to do next, sitting in his tent with his arms stiffly crossed.
The baby squirmed in her rough brown blankets on the cot where he had left her. Reaching for the lantern above his head, Ben jumped up and leaned over her so the wan yellow light shone on one reaching arm and a round cheek. She was asleep, just fidgeting.
His lips thinned to a line, and he watched her for just a moment longer before returning to his seat. She was a remarkably calm infant, he thought. And apparently she was now his.
But he didn't know what, exactly, had happened to make him steal her. He had visited the Frenchwoman's tent to kill, prepared to murder for the first time, but the mission had left his mind the moment he heard the child's cries. He only remembered thinking, This is no place for a baby.
She was a miracle, really. The child had been born in the wilderness and survived weeks in the care of an erratic and ill-prepared mother; perhaps the Island had kept her safe until he could arrive to take her away from such a miserable life.
As though he had something better to offer her.
Ethan had told him Charles and the others would disapprove of the whole situation. On the hike back to camp, the teen had suggested "putting it out of its misery," perhaps by leaving the baby in the jungle somewhere. Get rid of part of his failure, be able to return with some dignity.
But Ben had felt the tiny form writhing against him, noted the blue shade of the child's eyes, realized how much possibility existed within her. It was then—not before, when he had thought about killing—that he knew the meaning of holding a life in his hands. And the idea of destroying it had appalled him.
Someone passed outside his tent, and Ben stiffened, his eyes following the shadows crawling across the canvas. The camp was settling outside, fires doused and groups retiring to their beds, one by one. Soon, he and the Frenchwoman on the beach would be among the few conscious inhabitants of the Island.
Ben wondered, briefly, whether Charles would allow her to go on living there. At any rate, she was more likely to make some sort of life for herself, now that she had only her own survival to consider.
There, that was it. By taking the baby, Ben reasoned, he had given both mother and child a better chance at survival. Even though neither of them was meant to have survived at all.
He seized at this rational filament of thought and looked toward the child again. Drawing a quick, decisive breath, he pushed himself from his stool and sat instead on the cot near her feet. One of her minuscule hands had curled into a weak fist. Her lips were pink and delicate as flower petals. Remarkable, he thought, how existence began in so fragile a form.
Somewhere in the camp, someone piled dishes loudly into a washbasin. The child stirred at the noise and gave a single, plaintive cry.
"I'm here, baby," Ben told her quietly.
Ben had never quite comprehended love, though he imagined it felt like a sort of possession, softer on the edges. He had recognized it in the Frenchwoman's face that night. He wondered, had his own mother even had the chance to feel that for him? Had she ever looked at him with that same fierce affection, fought with that same doomed urgency to stay with him until the end?
Of course he didn't know. But he was beginning to understand why any parent would.
Ben carefully slid his hands underneath the baby's head and back and lifted her into the crook of one arm. She half-opened her eyes but made no sound, and he stared down at her.
She needed him.
"Ben?"
Ben straightened and found Richard standing at the tent entrance. His dark features were thrown into deep shadow. Beyond him, palm branches swayed in the night breeze. He had come alone.
"Yes, Richard?" Ben answered. The baby squirmed suddenly in his arms, and her grasp found the dangling end of his scarf. He gently pried her hand away.
Richard ducked inside. He regarded the pair on the cot for a moment before glancing over the rest of the small tent. "It's almost time for you to head back, Ben."
Ben nodded. "Yes, I know," he said.
"Do you know what you're going to do with her?" Richard said. He dipped his head toward the baby.
"I have no idea what you mean, Richard." He had no plan. He hadn't planned any of this.
"Ben," Richard said, with a cool mix of amusement and frustration, "you can't go marching into the barracks holding a baby. They'll wonder where she came from. They'll ask questions."
Ben looked at him evenly. "Maybe this time I don't go back to the barracks."
Richard shook his head, expressionless. "We both know that can't happen yet."
Ben held the man's gaze for a long, unblinking moment, then shrugged, letting one corner of his mouth tip. "She'll have to stay here, then. I'll come back and forth as often as I can."
"And that's how you plan to raise her?" Richard said. The lamplight glinted in his eyes.
"It appears that's my only option, Richard, unless you have a better idea," Ben said. His attention fell to the child once more. She grabbed for one of his fingers and began pulling it toward her open mouth, but he slipped free. His hands were dirty.
"I'll find someone to take her for now, the night at least," Richard said, watching them. "But Charles wants you and Ethan back to the barracks before midnight."
"All right. Thank you, Richard," Ben said. "Just a few minutes."
Richard turned before leaving the tent. "What's her name?"
Ben smoothed the baby's blanket. The Frenchwoman had cried out in all the anguish of a mother losing the one thing that mattered, from the depths of a desperate love that Ben wanted to understand and have returned to him in kind. She had said her name as he took her—
"Alex," Ben murmured. "I'll call her Alex."