Everlasting Quotes

“Life just changes. Like a stormy headwind, Camille thought. First blowing the sails in one direction and then, without warning at all, shifting course.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“You weren’t supposed to choose me,” he said.
Behind them, Ira approached, stunned and speechless for what must have been the first time in his life. He helped lift Samuel, whose cheeks had blanched as well. Camille prodded Oscar’s arms and stomach and face. It was truly him. The unbearable grief over losing him flipped inside out. Her joy ran so deep and strong she thought she might burst from it.
“The night the Christina went down, you rowed to me,” she answered, her throat knotted as she thought of her father. She forced it down. “This time, I must have needed to row to you.”
Oscar kissed her, his lips still cold but filled with life. She leaned into him and hung on as though he might disappear. Ira let out a playful high-pitched whistle. Samuel coughed. Oscar and Camille reluctantly pulled apart and blushed.
“Holy gallnipper,” Ira said. Camille grinned, not minding in the least that he was using that annoying turn of phrase again. “I can’t believe that little rock…I mean you were dead, mate. Dead as this bloke right here.” Ira kicked McGreenery in the leg. Oscar nodded, rubbing his hand over the fading red mark, as if to feel for himself that the deadly wound was gone.
“I was in the dory,” he whispered. Ira cocked his head.
“Say again?”
Camille lifted her ear from his chest, where she’d wanted to listen to the smooth rhythm of his heart. She looked up at him before hearing its strong beat.
“The dory?”
Oscar nodded again, eyebrows creased.
“I heard your voice. At the cave,” he said to Camille. “This force kept pulling me backward, away from you, like I was being sucked into the ground.”
So this was how it had felt for him to die. She remembered the way he’d looked right through her and how it had chilled her to the marrow. Her own brush with death had been different, and somehow better, if death could even be measured in levels of bad or good. The image of her father had drawn her to safety, making her forget her yearning for air. He had been there for her, but she hadn’t been able to do the same for him. All this time, all this trouble, and all she’d wanted was to bring him back, make him proud of the lengths to which she’d gone for him. In the end, she’d failed him miserably.
“And then you were gone. Your voice faded, and I was in the dory, adrift in the Tasman, the dawn after the Christina went down,” Oscar continued.
Samuel and Ira glanced at each other with marked expressions of doubt and confusion.
“But I wasn’t alone.” He gently pulled Camille away from him and gripped her arms. “Your father was with me. He was sitting there, smiling. It all seemed so real. I could taste the salt air, and…and I remember touching the water, and it was cold. It wasn’t like in a dream, when you can’t do those things.”
Camille sucked in a deep breath, trying to inflate her crushing lungs. Oscar had seen him, too. She’d give anything to see her father again, to hear his voice, to feel at home by just being in his presence. At least, that’s what she’d once believed. But Camille hadn’t been willing to give up Oscar. Did that mean she loved her father less? Never. She could never love her fatherless. So then why hadn’t her heart chosen him?
"Did he say anything?" she asked, anxious to know yet afraid to hear.
"It's all jumbled," Oscar said, again shaking his head and rubbing his chest. "I remember him saying a few things. Bits and pieces."
Camille looked to Ira and Samuel. Their parted mouths and bugged eyes hung on Oscar's every word. Oscar squinted at the ground and seemed to be working hard to piece together what her father had said on the other side.
"I'm still here to guide her?" he said, questioning his own memory. "It doesn't make any sense, I'm sorry."
She shook her head, eyes tearing up again. It had been real. He really had come to her in the black water of the underground pool.
"No, don't be sorry," she said, tears spilling. "It does make sense. It makes sense to me.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“Oscar’s breath warmed the back of her head, his lips brushing against her hair, loosened from a braid. He drew a lock away from her neck and kissed the skin just beneath her earlobe, against the throb of her quickening pulse. Like the blackness outside the dome of lamplight, there seemed to be nothing more in the world than his lips, his touch, and the flood of heat consuming her.
With a gentle nudge, Oscar turned her toward him. He looked at her the way he had in the Grampains meadow-as if she was the most fascinating woman he’d ever seen. Under his gaze she felt fascinating, too. Capivating…wanted. He traced her jaw with his lips, kissing the angle of her neck ever so tenderly, as though he weren’t certain she wanted him, too. Camille closed the inch of space left between them, her body pressing against his. The muscles in his chest and arms tightened. He was wanted, and she needed to show him how much. No one was there to watch, no one to judge, or tell her the lips caressing her were unworthy of tasting her skin.
With those very thoughts, Oscar’s grip loosened. His lips retreated.
“This isn’t right,” he whispered, catching his breath.
Camille stared at him, her hurt and disappointment plain on her face.
“You’re engaged, Camille.” He looked around the room. His eyes rested on the bed. “I shouldn’t be here.”
All of a sudden, Camille completely and fully detested Randall. Good, sweet, well-meaning Randall infuriated her with his mere existence, with his big sapphire ring and his marriage proposal and his bright, wealthy future as the savior of Rowen & Company. She didn’t want any of it if it meant she couldn’t have Oscar’s kisses, the return of his hands, and his body pressed close to her own.
“I want you here,” she said, the words unable to express the desires stampeding her mind.
Oscar licked his lips but stepped toward the doorway. “I can’t. If you’re going to marry Randall-“
Camille hushed him. “No, don’t. Please, don’t.” She didn’t want to hear Randall’s name coming from Oscar’s lips, not when she so desperately wanted to kiss them.
“He’s not here. And you are, and…what if you stayed?” she asked, unable to believe the words had come from her mouth. He lost the tense hold of his shoulders and stared at her with disbelief.
“Nothing improper, of course,” she added quickly. “What if you just stayed until…until I fell asleep?”
Citrus and cloves charged through her sense with their dizzying effect as Oscar stepped back inside the room.
He tilted his head and looked sideways at her. “Just until you fall asleep?”
She nodded, her throat too tight with nerves to speak.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“Do you recall where the lamps were?” Camille whispered. In the dark, in someone else’s home, whispering seemed more appropriate. A clunk off to her right and the screech of table legs skittering across the floor made her cringe.
“I don’t remember that being there,” Oscar said.
“I’m glad we don’t break into houses for a living. We’re appalling at it,” Camille said, laughing as the room brightened.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“No one charged you with being my savior,” Camille’s voice shook, the confrontation not something she really wanted.
“No one had to charge me with it. I made the decision on my own the night the Christina went down.” Oscar sealed his lips as if he’d let something slip he hadn’t intended.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, her boots slipping once on the moss. He avoided her by looking out at the stream. He took a few moments to answer, and when he did he still didn’t meet her stare.
“Do you remember when you woke up on the Londoner? When you asked me if I’d seen your father?”
Camille nodded, and hoped their argument was over. “You said you didn’t see him.”
He shook his head. “I lied. I did see him in the water. He was trying to stay above the surface after I got ahold of the dory.”
It was as though freezing shocks of ocean water were striking Camille in the face all over again. She jumped from the rock, the hem of her skirt nearly tripping her.
“Did you row to him? Did you try and save him?”
He shook his head again. “No.”
“Why not?” she screeched. “Oscar, how could you not help him?” She couldn’t blink. She couldn’t do anything but stare at him in disbelief. He’d abandoned her father, the man who had given him everything.
“Because I spotted you,” he answered, hardly loud enough for her to hear. “I saw you in the waves and I chose to row to you.”
She loosened her fists, stunned.
Oscar sat down on the rock, the toes of his scuffed leather boots buried in the dry layer of pine needles.
“I tried to go back for him,” he said, kicking at the needles, “but by the time I pulled you out of the water and looked back, he was gone.”
She couldn’t move, could barely breathe. If she’d only held on to her father’s hand. Oscar would have been able to save them both.
“If there had just been a way to get to the both of you,” he said.
Camille sat on the rock beside him, laying a tentative hand on his arm. “You’re the most capable man I know, Oscar. If there had been a way, you’d have found it.”
She pressed her hand against his solid arm, the flaxen hairs covering his skin coarse against her fingertips. She wanted to soothe him more, reassure him like he always did her.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“She was brave, wasn’t she? Look what she’d done. She hadn’t run back to the safety of San Francisco, but toward something dangerous and unknown. And Oscar had gone with her. He was it, the man she wanted to be with, and not just in sporadic or imagined trysts, Camille slowed her crawling as it dawned on her. She loved him. She loved Oscar Kildare. She loved him enough to give up everything she’d ever known.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“Oscar pushed a strand of her loose raven hair behind her ear, and Camille knew she hadn’t completely failed. The man she loved, and who loved her, was alive when, under all normal circumstance, he shouldn’t be. How could that be seen as failure?
“You know, and I know.” Oscar paused to take a breath. “William would never have approved of us being together.”
He held his eyes level with hers, as if trying to detect any flicker of doubt or apprehension in her.
“We won’t be tying bait bags for a living, will we?” she asked, willing to give up her wealth, her good name, but never her dignity.
Oscar laughed. “No bait bags.”
“Well, of that my father would at least approve. And even if he didn’t,” she said with a sly grin, “I do.”
She rose to the tips of her toes and kissed him.
“Oy, lovebirds!” Ira shouted from the ground. He and Samuel had reached the base and now looked into the sunlight, shielding their eyes with the planes of their hands. “Should I build a campfire and start sending smoke signals? Here we are, beasties! Come have lunch!”
Oscar’s familiar sarcasm slipped back into place. “No smoke signals needed, Ira, the shouting will do just fine.”
He released his arms from around her waist, and Camille reluctantly let him go, too. He descended the first boulder. “I’ll go first, in case you slip.”
Oscar’s eyes came level with Camille’s ratty wool stockings. He looked up at her, his dimples as irresistible as the first time she’d seen them.
“Well, at least it’s an improvement from bare feet,” he said.
Camille wiggled her toes, laughing. She started down the mound of boulders toward the world that lay ahead, her footing sure and steady.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“It’s already midmorning, and we’ve got beasts to outrun, holes to avoid, and whopper spiders to squish before we make it back to the Lady Kate.”
Camille picked up the map. Oscar took Camille’s arm and helped her up the first boulder.
“Well, aren’t we a sorry-lookin’ lot?” Ira bellowed as they limped up the cascade, each one nursing injuries. As they climbed, their huffing and puffing and grunts of pain were both amusing and disheartening.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“Is it Randall?” Oscar sounded out the name with care, as if testing dangerous waters. Camille closed her eyes and turned her face away from him, not wanting to have to see him when she said what she needed to say.
“I have a duty, Oscar, just like my mother did. She failed at hers and look what happened; she destroyed so much. My father asked me not to say anything, but if I don’t marry Randall…I’m sorry, Oscar, I just have to.”
Camille tried to edge by him, but Oscar held her back with his arm.
“Do you think I’m a fool, Camille? Don’t try to blame marrying Randall on some duty you think you have.”
She parted her lips to insist he was wrong. He cut her off.
“If this is how you really feel, then you had no right to ask me to stay with you that night. You gave me a taste of what being with you might be like, and now you’re asking me to walk away. Who do you think you are?”
Camille shook her head. He wasn’t listening. He had no idea how difficult it was for her, too, to have that one taste, that single moment of pure bliss to feed off of for the rest of her life.
“I don’t have a choice-“
He slammed his fist against the pantry shelf behind her.
“I don’t have a bank vault filled with money, or ten suits hanging in my closet to choose from each morning. I know I couldn’t give you all the things he could, but I can give you something he’ll never be able to. I love you, Camille,” he said, his mouth so close to hers his breath moistened her lips. “I love you. Not your last name or your pretty face or all the business opportunities you could bring me.” He laid his palm just beneath her neck, his thumb caressing the skin above where her heart lay. “Just you.”
She stared at him, unblinking, unable to breathe, let alone speak. Oscar’s arm fell away.
“You do have a choice, Camille. Or should I already be calling you Mrs. Jackson?”
He stormed from the pantry, Camille on his heels. Promise or no promise to her father, she had to tell Oscar everything.
“Please, Oscar, wait, if you’ll just listen-“
The companionway steps rattled, and Ira bounded into the galley. Oscar scooped up his shirt and shoved his arms inside the sleeves as Ira kicked out a bench at the table and sat down.
“I’ve never been so friggin’ tried in my life,” Ira said, grabbing a mug for coffee. “And I once played a game of poker that lasted two days.
Camille ignored him, Oscar’s anger still stinging. She’d created a massive mass. Ira peered at her, then at Oscar.
“Why’re you two all red in the face?” he asked. Then his cheeks drew up and his teeth glistened. Oscar caught him before he could speak.
“Save it, Ira,” he said, quickly glancing at Camille. She couldn’t plead with him to listen to her explain with Ira there. Oscar buttoned his shirt and left the galley. Ira directed his wily grin toward her.
“Save it, Ira,” she echoed, and resumed scrubbing the floor.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“I’m sorry,” she said, wishing she could say something more meaningful.
“I’m not. If he’d been a good uncle, I’d have stayed in Boston. Never would have found my way to San Francisco,” he said.
Camille knew where the rest of his story led and grinned.
“And you never would have rescued my father from a pickpocket,” she added.
He started to laugh, a quiet, almost personal chuckle, like he was thinking about some funny memory. Camille caught the bug of laughter and wanted to join in.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Your father didn’t need a rescuer. He caught the pickpocket himself,” Oscar answered, a hand on his abdomen from all his laughter. “And then he invited him inside for dinner.”
Her smile fell flat. She stared at him, trying to comprehend what he’d just said.
“You?” she asked, dumbfounded. “You were the pickpocket?”
Oscar nodded, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah. I wasn’t very good at it.”
Her father could have had him arrested or shooed him away without thinking twice. But he’d invited Oscar inside. He gave him work, food…a real chance.
“Why didn’t he tell me?” she asked, feeling like she’d been duped once again. All the lies her father had woven to cover up his secrets had become so frayed, Camille wondered if she had truly known him at all.
“To give me a clean slate with everyone. Even you.” Oscar moved toward her in cautious, deliberate steps. “We’re alone. We should talk.”
The pantry was cramped and dismal despite the oil lamp, and Camille had a sudden urge to flee.
“About what?” she asked, her ears burning. She still reeled with the knowledge that the pickpocket story hadn’t been real, just like her mother’s story hadn’t been real. Oscar stopped within a few inches from her and reached a hand around her waist.
“About our night together, Camille,” he answered, his dimples forming. “There’s a lot to say.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“Oscar hung his jacket on the back of a chair and undid the first few buttons of his checked shirt. Camille’s fingers trembled as she reached for the lamp on the dresser and twisted the knob, lowering the wick until the light it gave off was that of a small candle’s flame. She sat on the bed, and the other side of the hand-rolled mattress dipped with Oscar’s weight. She didn’t know how to look at him, if she should lie down or just come to her senses and ask him to leave. God, she wasn’t doing any of this right.
“You sleep sitting up?” he asked.
Camille smiled, thankful he’d lightened the moment enough for her to lean back onto one of the pillows. Turning on her side, she saw he’d already taken the same position. They lay without touching, without talking, only looking. His eyes grazed her body, slowly absorbing the pink skin of her neck, the slight curves of her breasts, and the arc of her hip. He didn’t need to lay a finger on her for the breath to stall in her lungs.
He breeched the few inches between them by sliding his hand atop hers, his skin warm and dry while beads of nervous sweat formed hot on her back. Camille reached out and let her fingertip travel along the fullness of his lower lip and down the curve of his chin. With one sweeping movement, Oscar pulled her tight against his chest and kissed her. A sensation kindled between her hips, spreading to every nerve ending in her body. This was it, the fire and heat she’d always yearned for. All these years, and Oscar had been right in front of her the whole time.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“Are you William Rowen?”
Ira checked the space behind him, over each shoulder, then sorted. “Me? Her father? I’m gonna pretend you never said that.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“We probably won’t arrive home in time for your wedding.”
She pictured the wedding gown hanging in her closet. The veil. The shoes. Even the strands of pearls, all laid out awaiting her return. Return. The heavy word weighed on her as Ira continued to snore and Oscar continued to study her in a way that made her feel captivating and beautiful.
Camille stood up, not sure if she’d been inching toward him. His lips had certainly seemed to be getting closer.
“Randall will understand, I’m sure. He’s a very reasonable person,” she said, her voice rapid.
Oscar started to stand. “Where are you going?”
“No, please, sit,” she said. “I…I just need to, um, use the trees.” Camille jiggled her nearly empty canteen to strengthen her excuse. She turned in a circle until she spotted a copse of trees. She had to be somewhere other than hidden in the flowers with Oscar, somewhere she could try and convince herself that Randall might one day be able to look at her with the same intensity Oscar had just displayed.
Oscar sat back down, and Camille trampled the grass on the way to the safety of the trees. Another attack of guilt snuck up on her as she glanced back at Oscar, who was watching her walk away. Camille would miss her own wedding-and she didn’t care one bit.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“Camille heard the rustle of grass. She opened one eye and saw Oscar settling down beside her.
“We can spare a few minutes,” he said. She sat up and cradled her knees in her arms. He plucked a blade of grass and commenced peeling it down the center. They heard the Australian snoring from his spot a few yards away, completely hidden in a blanket of green.
“I guess we can spare more than a few minutes.” Oscar smiled and met her gaze, holding it a moment. She suddenly realized how horrible she must look-her hair, her clothes, her skin.
“Do you miss him?” he asked, not seeming to notice any of those things.
Camille uprooted a purple flower and a white daisy near it. “Of course I do. But I’m hoping with the stone I won’t have to very long.”
“Not your father, Camille. Randall.”
She took a deep breath, shocked she hadn’t thought of her fiancé for so long. How many days had it been? A full week, maybe more.
“Oh. Well…I suppose I do.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow and laughed at her clear lack of conviction.
Camille shrugged. “What? A lot has happened and right now getting back to San Francisco isn’t something I’m concerned about.”
Oscar nodded and chewed on the tip of his blade of grass.
“It’s not that Randall isn’t a perfectly good man,” she said, fiddling with the flowers in her hands. The roots crumbled dirt onto her lap. “He’s kind and caring and handsome and an excellent businessman.”
Oscar continued to nod.
“And he’ll make a fine husband, I’m sure,” she added, knowing he really was all those things. If only all of them combined could make up for what she didn’t feel while with him.
“I’m sure,” Oscar repeated. Had he been mocking her? She thought she had caught a trace of sarcasm. All this talk about Randall had her itching.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just wondered if you missed home,” Oscar answered and threw the mangled blade of grass behind him.
“Do you?” she asked, ashamed to her Oscar know how little she desired to return. He thought for a moment, tugging up another switch of grass and rolling it between his fingers.
“No,” he answered with stark certainty. “I have everything I’d miss right here.”
Every inch of Camille’s body smoldered under Oscar’s gentle, and so very forward, gaze. He’d miss her. She looked into his gray-blue eyes, rimmed by thick, honey-colored lashes-had they always been so full? The bridge of his nose crooked to the left slightly, perhaps broken in a fight after he’d moved from her father’s carriage house to a small apartment along the San Francisco harbor front. She’d never noticed the charming imperfection before.
She watched as his eyes traveled over her own features, touching on the wound by her temple and settling on the heart-shaped fullness of her lips.
Oscar held his piercing stare. “We probably won’t arrive home in time for your wedding.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“Their voices echoed over the stream and along the edge of the trees. She saw the tail end of a smile on Oscar’s lips.
“I thought you didn’t like to sing,” she said. He’d always remained silent while the crew sang their sea chanteys.
“I don’t,” Oscar said. “But you have a pretty voice.”
His compliment shaped a bashful smile onto her lips. She was glad for the firelight, already casting a reddish glow to her skin.
“And what ‘bout me, mate?” Ira asked.
“Couldn’t say. I was trying to block it out,” Oscar replied.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“I’ll need a deposit, of course. I think that’s where your ring comes in handy.” Ira extended his open hand toward Camille. She took off the sapphire and slapped it into his palm.
“And McGreenery?” Oscar asked. Ira nodded and threw his hat back on. He pulled it tight and grinned from ear to ear.
“Leave him to me, mates. I’ll meet you at the blacksmith’s in town tomorrow morning, eight o’clock sharp.”
Oscar took a step closer, towering over Ira. “If you’re not there, I’ll find you. And you don’t want me to have to find you.”
Ira cleared his throat and pulled the brim of his hat. “Then I better not oversleep.”
He swiveled on his heel with the same lighthearted air Camille had loved about her father and strolled back down the road. The similarity to her father ended there.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“He combed a hand through his tousled brown hair, and Camille noticed how handsome he was. Beneath the dirt and insincerity, anyway.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“At the sound of her uncle’s voice coming from the back door, Jay threw Violet off his lap.
Violet giggled as she hit the cushions on the back of the couch.
“What are you doing?” she complained. “It’s just Uncle Stephen.”
Jay sat up. “I know, but ever since the Homecoming Dance, I feel like he’s always watching us. I just don’t want him to think we’re doing anything we shouldn’t be.”
The Homecoming Dance. It had been almost three months since that night, but the memories still made Violet shudder.
Not a day went by that she wasn’t grateful Jay was still alive. Grateful the bullet from the killer’s gun had only grazed his shoulder, despite the fact that the man-one of her uncle’s own officers-had been aiming directly for Jay’s heart.
If her uncle hadn’t shown up at the dance when he did, firing the fatal shot that took the killer down, neither she nor Jay would have made it out of there alive.
Jay had always liked her uncle before then, but now it was something closer to worship.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“Still, a thrill raced through her when she thought about the one thing she would have. Camille wrapped her arms around Oscar’s waist and held him, breathing in his distinctive scent. It was such a small detail about him. She wanted to discover all the small details about him, and now she could.
“Don’t ever die again,” Camille whispered, pressing her cheek against the hard muscle of his shoulder.
“I’ll give staying alive my best shot. On one condition.” He lifted her chin up to look him in the eye. “Choose me.”
Choice. She’d always had it, but strangely a life without the soft padding of money and reputation made her feel as though she had more freedom than ever. She could do whatever she wanted to do, be whoever she wanted to be. And the only person she wanted to find her way with was Oscar.
“I already have,” she whispered, running her hands up his arms and over his broad shoulders.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“If you’re going to shoot me, do it. Do you think I’m afraid of you?” Camille asked. No bullet could hurt worse than the thought of her father drowning, or the sight of Oscar gurgling for air as he lay in a pool of his own blood. She stared into the barrel of the rifle. “You’re a coward. Heartless and cruel, and the devil won’t even want you.”
A single shot and she’d be back with her father and Oscar. She’d have them both. Perhaps that was why Umandu hadn’t worked; her heart hadn’t been able to decide.
McGreenery pressed the cold steel against her throat. He bared his teeth, losing every ounce of composure and calculated grace. Camille threw a glance toward Ira, who finally jammed his knife into the ribs of his opponent. He pulled the blade free in time to see her at the end of McGreenery’s rifle. But instead of running toward her, he stopped and stared. What was he doing?
McGreenery reeled forward. The rifle and stone clattered to the floor. His lips parted. “What-?” he rasped.
Camille stared at him, equally bewildered. A sharp metal spike protruded from his chest and glinted in the single band of sunlight streaming from the dome’s entrance. McGreenery collapsed to his knees and revealed his assailant to her.
Oscar placed a foot on McGreenery’s back and kicked him forward, sliding him off the very spear McGreenery had used to kill him.
“Let’s see how you like it,” Oscar said and tossed the spear aside.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“Didn’t I advise you to forget the stone? Didn’t I tell you it would be mine? Look at everything you’ve lost.” He threw the sack over the ornate teal stone, pulled a cord tight around the sack’s opening, and lifted it from its resting place without placing a single finger on it. “And look at everything I’ve gained.”
His sailors laughed with him. Camille spotted her straggly-beared attacker. A fist-sized bruise from Samuel’s boot discolored his jaw. Camille discreetly scanned the cascade, but didn’t see Ira or Samuel. She returned her stare to McGreenery; only this time, it was she who smiled.
“I remember what you said. But I have the real map, don’t I?” She held it up for him to see as the second wave of sparks, invisible to everyone else, rolled back over the map and erased the riddle. “Samuel copied the diagram for you, but there were things the map wouldn’t show him. Things only the one worthy of the stone could see. And he overlooked something else, something he had no reason to believe was important.”
McGreenery came around the shrine, the sack’s cord cutting so deeply into his flesh, the skin whitened. Camille twirled the map around to show the glowing mark.
“This is the mark of Umandu.” She stepped aside so he could see the amber stone aglow at her heel. Shock drowned McGreenery’s simper. “And you can go to hell.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“So you want to turn around? Give up on the chance of having him back?”
Oscar took a swig of his canteen, then capped it. He held her stare. “I just want you alive.”
Camille glanced toward Ira. He sat far enough away to hear just the murmur of their voices. This was her only opportunity to clean up after the messy scene in the pantry. Where to begin baffled her. The cold manner in which they were now acting made it difficult to believe Oscar had held her so lovingly, her body curled into his. She’d felt his hot breath on her shoulder as he dipped into sleep and out again to bury his nose in her hair or race her scar from the Christina with his finger. Camille had never wanted to leave that bed.
“I don’t love him,” she said with little fanfare. Plain. Simple. The truth. “He’s a decent man, and things would be easier if I did love him. But I want what only you can give me, Oscar.”
She couldn’t imagine feeling warm and safe and loved in Randall’s arms the way she had in Oscar’s. She didn’t know what would happen once her father returned to them or how he’d react. Right then, it didn’t matter.
“Good night, then,” she said when he remained quiet. Camille turned onto her other side, away from the fire. The immediate cold lashed at her. A moment passed before she heard the scrape of his boots on the ground. His footsteps rounded the fire. Without saying a word, he lay down beside her. Oscar pulled her close to him without checking to see if Ira was watching.
He kissed the crown of her head. “Good night, then.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“Holy gallnipper, how long till we hit the magic trail? It’s gloomier than my own funeral I here.”
Camille adjusted the bag’s rope and looked at Ira. “Don’t even joke about that.”
Since the moment they’d entered the forest, she’d felt like something was listening. Like they’d woken some sleeping creature, and now it followed them with silent cunning. The deafening chants had not returned to pierce her eardrums, but danger still felt close.
A few paces ahead of her, Oscar peeled away another cobweb, the octagonal spinning so massive Camille didn’t even want to imagine the size of the spider that had created it.
“Mate, you got a stomach made of iron,” Ira said.
A flash of orange and black swept in front of Camille’s eyes and she felt an odd tug on her dress. She looked down and froze. A spider with a body the size of her first flexed its hairy legs on her skirt. It started to scuttle up. Her scream echoed through the forest as she swiped the spider off. It hit the marshy ground and scampered under a log. Oscar grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him.
“Did it bite you?”
She shook her head, arms and legs stiff with fear.
“I’ve never seen one so bloody big,” Ira said, running past the log as though the spider would leap out at him. Oscar started walking again, his hand on the small of her back. She exhaled with more than one kind of relief. He was at least still concerned for her.
As they started to pick up their pace, another black critter swung down from a nearby tree. Camille say it flying toward them, but her warning shout was too slow. The spider landed on Oscar’s shoulder, fat and furry and swift as its legs darted up his neck.
Oscar shouted an obscenity as he whacked the giant from his skin. Camille heard it thud against the leafy forest floor. Unfazed, the spider quickly sprang to its finger-length legs and darted toward her boot. Her shrieks echoed again as it leaped onto her hem. With his foot, Ira knocked the spider back to the ground, and before it could bounce back up, Oscar smashed it with a stick. The squashed giant oozed yellow-and-green blood onto the marshy ground. Camille gagged and tasted her breakfast oats in the back of her mouth.
“What in all wrath are those monsters?” Ira panted as he twisted around, looking for more.
Camille looked up to the trees to try and spot any others that might be descending from glossy webbing. Terror paralyzed her as her eyes landed on a colony of glistening webs in the treetops. An endless number of black dots massed above their heads, dangling from tree limbs. Oscar and Ira followed her horrified stare.
“Run,” Oscar whispered. Camille sprinted forward, her skin and scalp tingling with imaginary spider legs. The bag of provisions slammed against her back, tugging at her neck, but she didn’t care. They didn’t slow down until the gigantic spiderwebs grew sparse and the squawk of birds took over.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“What am I thinking, to be going after this stone? You were right. It can’t be real. How can it possib;y work?”
Oscar stepped up behind her, close enough for her back to feel his warmth. Close enough to sense the moment his hands would touch her. They traveled down her neck and rested on her shoulders.
“You saw the map,” he said softly. “There has to be something powerful about the stone. I don’t know if it’ll bring William back, but what else do we have to lose?”
His warm hands slipped down her arms, thoughtfully, as if anticipating her flinching away. He’d never touched her so brazenly before. He took her hips in his palms and leaned her back, against him. She went willingly. His chest and stomach felt solid and sure, yet comfortable, too. Camille took a shallow breath, remembering how before the wreck, she’d wondered what Oscar was to her. Not a friend, not an acquaintance, but somewhere in between. Like two people just waiting for the right circumstances, the right moment, to begin. This moment, these circumstances, felt right.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“Let’s get some sleep,” he whispered. “Before dawn we’ll see what we can gather up.”
His eyes rested on her forehead, on the new bruises and gashes from the Juggernaut blast.
“You look awful,” he said.
Camille narrowed her eyes to slits. She grabbed the lamp from his hands. “Thank you very much.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, following her as she climbed the narrow stairwell.
“You look just as whipped,” she said over her shoulder. Camille already felt like a load of dung-her head throbbed, her limbs ached, and the rope marks around her wrists burned. She didn’t need to be told she looked dreadful, too.
“The bruises, Camille. Your injuries look awful, not you,” he said. She walked down the hallway in self-conscious silence.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“It’s all right, I got off the ship okay. I’m alive,” he said again. But his voice sounded different now. “I said I’m alive, Camille. Open your eyes and look at me.”
Camille’s heart shriveled as her eyelids fluttered open and she saw the ceiling of Monty’s shack.
“Camille?” Oscar leaned over her, his calloused hand on her cheek. “Thank God. You’ve been delirious for nearly an hour.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks as the truth stung her with renewed vigor. Her father wasn’t alive. He was truly gone. It had been nothing but a hallucination.
“Why are you crying? Does something hurt?” Oscar asked, lightly prodding her arms and then checking her head. She was lying on a cot in front of the blazing stove, blankets covering her. They were scratchy and too heavy. She tried to push them away.
“No.” Oscar blocked her arms. “Don’t do that.”
“Why?” she asked, her throat dry and sore.
Oscar looked apprehensive as he tucked the blankets tightly around her arms and neck. “Your clothes were soaked. You were shivering and flush with fever.”
“Had to take ‘em off, love,” Ira said, coming to the foot of the cot. “You gave us quite a scare. That lump on the back of your head worked you over something nasty.”
Camille stared at Ira, then Oscar. The crushed hope of her father being alive withered under the heat of embarrassment.
“You…you removed my dress?” she whispered. Oscar backed away from her, as if he’d just slid his hand over an open flame.
“No, no, I didn’t.”
She looked to Ira.
“Much as I’d been honored, the Irish bastard wouldn’t hear of it. Quite the prude.”
Frustrated and head still piercing with pain, Camille felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “Well, then, who?”
“Nothin’ I ain’t seen before, woman,” Monty grumbled from his seat at the table as he sprinkled tobacco into a pipe.
Camille gasped and pressed her lips together. She caught sight of her dress hanging on a rack by the fire.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“Whiskey?” Camille cried as she stood on a wharf in Port Adelaide harbor. “You brought us onto a whiskey cargo ship?”
Ira spread out his arms. “And rum, love. Don’t forget the rum.”
The high tide slowly swallowed the wharf pilings, and the Juggernaut, a whiskey runner, was in the final process of loading.
“Listen,” Ira said to both Oscar and Camille, who looked at their escort with doubt. “There couldn’t be a better cargo to ride with than whiskey and rum. You think if there were pots and pans and spoons in there, the captain would take her full chisel to Talladay? People pay a pretty price for liquor, mates, and the ones delivering it make out like bandits.”
The Juggernaut wasn’t worth the ten crowns it cost Monty to secure a spot aboard. The schooner didn’t look seaworthy with its chipped paint, barnacle-covered hull, sloppy lines, and patched canvas sail.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“Do you think he even knows?” Oscar whispered.
Ira sat with a plunk on the couch. “Knows what?”
“You’ve obviously never had the privilege of meeting Stuart McGreenery,” Camille said.
Ira snorted. “I’d certainly like to meet the bastard now, that’s for sure.”
The ceiling above their heads creaked with the weight of Samuel’s steps. A door opened and closed lightly.
“From the looks of it”-Camille searched Oscar’s face for affirmation-“you’ve just met his son.”
Ira scooted to the edge of the couch cushion. “Holy gallnipper! You mean that McGreenery bloke and your mum pulled the wool over your father’s eyes a time or two way back?”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“A gunshot punctured the air and spooked the birds on tree limbs above. She drew her hand back as the flutter of wings beat out the echoing shot.
“Let’s hope he didn’t shoot himself in the foot,” Oscar said, his darkened expression brightening. The humor relieved her, and she got up to gather sticks for the campfire. She crouched and scooped a few dry limbs into the cradle of her arms.
“Why me?” She said it before she could stop herself.
“What?” Oscar asked.
“My father and you were like father and son. Your loyalty’s always been to him first. Why would you row to me?”
All the times she’d felt the rise of her skin under the palm of his hand, the rapid pace of her heart, the breath lost from her lungs. She’d hoped her touch had left warmth lingering in him, too. She’d imagined her scent intoxicated him, drew him to her, even though it was selfish and senseless.
Ira broke into the clearing before Oscar could answer.
“I was this close!” he shouted, holding his thumb and index finger an inch apart. “Nicked her with that shot, I did.”
Oscar smirked and shook his head, visibly relieved to move away from Camille’s question.
“Doesn’t matter none. We got pike. See this one?” Ira made sure Camille was looking. “Caught this one with my bare hands.”
“He’s lying,” Oscar said, building the fire. “He’s got fingers made of sweet butter.”
Ira shrugged. “All right, I’ll let her think you caught ‘em all if that’s what your ego needs.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting

“Aware her appearance was nothing short of scandalous, Camille bounded over branches and fallen pine needles to the shield of her horse. Ira’s whistle pierced the air.
“You should’a warned us you weren’t dressed, love. Though I’m not entirely sorry to see you in your unwhisperables.”
She grabbed the blanket from the back of her horse and wrapped herself in it. Oscar appeared from around the bend, four pike speared on a stick. She watched him stride through the water just behind Ira. The muscle of his pale chest, stomach, and arms was enough to make her forget her clothing was still yards away near the water’s edge. Camille faced the forest as he and Ira approached the shallows. She listened to them slosh out of the water and counted off a minute as they pulled on their trousers and shirts.
“Finished. Your innocence won’t be spoiled if you look now,” Ira called.
She turned and saw Oscar had come up to the other side of her horse. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his eyes; they met hers, lowered to the blanket she held tight around her chest, and then focused on the horse’s stringy black mane. He held her dress over the saddle, half looking at her, half trying to be gentlemanly. But when she thanked him and tried to take it, he held on.
“What is it?” he asked, then released the dress. Camille tightened the blanket around her chest. “You look frightened. Did something happen?”
She hadn’t realized she’d looked upset.
“It’s nothing. A deer just startled me, that’s all.” She nodded toward the woods.
He backed up from the horse, his eyes lifting to her bare shoulders and then away.
Ira grabbed the rifle from his horse and sprang for the trees. “When? Which way did it go?”
“Ira Beam, you are not going to shoot an innocent animal,” she said, shaking out her dress.
The Australian leaped into the forest. “I’ll meet you upriver!” he shouted, and then he was gone, his noisy tear into the woods enough to scatter tree ants, let alone any remaining game.”
― Angie Frazier, Everlasting