Samantha climbed back up to the edge of the forest to look for some wood. It took a while to find enough that wasn't soaked from the storm. The bigger problem would be starting the fire. She wished she'd kept the matches she'd found in Mr. Pryde's hut. That would be a lot easier than trying to rub together sticks or bang stones together in the hope of creating a spark.
By the time she returned, she found Mr. Delgado sitting up. He had a white tube in his mouth, the end of it smoldering. A cigarette, she recalled. Her mind also recalled cigarettes were bad for you, often leading to cancer or other terrible diseases. Why would he want that?
"There you are," he said. "I thought you'd gone and left me."
"I wouldn't do that," she said. She gestured with the firewood. "I was going to make a fire."
"That's probably a good idea. Don't want to go running around here at night." He motioned to his left foot. "This looks like a pretty good splint. You in the Girl Scouts or something?"
"I don't think so."
"Oh, right, you have amnesia."
"Amnesia?"
"That's what they call it when you can't remember anything. At least for little girls. For old folks like me they call it dementia."
"You're not old."
"I'm a lot older than you, kid. What are you, fifteen?"
"Twelve. I think."
"Really?" Like the boys on Eternity did, he stared at her chest. "I guess you're not a late bloomer."
She turned away so he wouldn't see her facing turning red. She fumbled with the firewood to get it into a proper pile. Mr. Delgado must have sensed something wrong, as he said, "I didn't mean anything by that, Samantha. Really it's a blessing."
"It doesn't feel like it."
"It will when you get older."
"You mean as old as you?"
He snorted at this. "Not that old. More like when you really are fifteen."
"Oh."
Once she finished arranging the wood, she went to find a few rocks to make a ring around the wood. Mr. Delgado still had his cigarette in his mouth when she came back, though it looked much smaller. He blew out a stream of smoke that prompted Samantha to cough.
"Sorry about this. Bad habit. Don't ever take it up. For one thing it costs a fortune."
"It does?"
"More every year. Damned politicians."
"Politicians," she echoed. The term seemed familiar to her. Politicians were people in charge, like Reverend Crane or Miss Brigham. She finished rolling the rocks in position and then looked for something to light the fire with. Her eyes fell upon Mr. Delgado's cigarette. "How did you light that? Do you have a piece of flint?"