

### Voices Beckon

### Part One

By

Linda Lee Graham
Voices Beckon is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Apart from well-known historical figures, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by Linda Lee Graham

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or review—without permission in writing from its publisher, Repository Press, LLC.

eBook ISBN 9781301813322

Published by Repository Press, LLC at Smashwords

Published by Repository Press LLC

PO Box 72792

Phoenix, Arizona 85050

Linda@LindaLeeGraham.com

Cover design by Jennifer Quinlan at Historical Editorial

Cover image: (ship) © Jeff Wickham

For my mother, who did all the hard work:

how it might have been

CONTENTS

Part One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Cast of Characters

Glossary of Eighteenth-Century Vocabulary

About the Author

Map

Also by Linda Lee Graham:

Voices Whisper

Voices Echo

### PART ONE

Set in the late eighteenth century, _Voices Beckon_ spans seven years in the lives of three young Britons who form an unwavering bond of friendship, love, and loyalty while on a life-changing voyage to a new nation. Rich in historical detail, this sweeping romance chronicles their coming of age against the vivid backdrop of the emerging United States of America.

THIS NOVELLA IS THE FIRST OF THREE PARTS OF THE FULL LENGTH NOVEL, VOICES BECKON

1

River Avon, Bristol

November 1783

ELISABETH LONGED TO RETURN HOME, and it had been only days since they'd left it—two days, nine hours, and heaven knows how many minutes, every one of them biting cold. She stood beside the trunks, her foot tapping a quick rhythm beneath her skirts, and shut her eyes against the chaos of the quay. Faith, it would be months now, _months_ , before she would know if Rhee, her best friend, had managed to snare William's attention at church on Sunday. They'd had a foolproof plan worked out; it couldn't have failed. Well, unless he—

"Elisabeth!"

Her father. Finally. Opening her eyes, she noted his grim expression and deduced it wasn't the first time he'd called. In the midst of this mayhem, it was a wonder she'd heard him. Pushing back the hood of her cloak, she smiled.

He looked so handsome. She'd finally convinced him to forgo wearing a wig, and his new hat hid his thinning hairline quite nicely. The cut of his coat flattered his tall, slim frame, and the garment hung without a hint of strain about his shoulders. His shoes were spotless, their silver buckles gleaming, and the ornate black clocked stockings displayed beneath his coat stretched taut to his breeches. He was practically in full dress to board a ship, for mercy's sake.

Thin lips pressed tight, he clutched a fistful of papers in one hand and gestured impatiently with the other. "We're to board, Elisabeth. Pay close mind, now. You wouldn't want to get lost in this rabble, would you?"

"No, of course I wouldn't, Papa."

Grabbing her elbow, he led her toward the longboat, his grip tight. His stride was purposeful and sure, and others, less sure, moved out of his way.

"What of our luggage, Papa?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the pile they'd abandoned.

"It's taken care of. You needn't concern yourself. Put your hood up. The wind is rising; I can't have you taking ill."

"Mr. Hale!" A crew member called out, motioning them forward. Her father raised his handful of papers to acknowledge him.

She pulled her hood up and turned again, feeling as if she were watched. Two men, members of the crew she hoped, were loading their trunks onto a cart. Neither paid her the least mind. Her father tugged, and she followed him onto the wharf. The man who had called reached for her with large, bony hands, guiding her into the boat that would transport them to the _Industry_.

She wished she had thought to grab a bit of Bristol sand. She may never return; it would have been nice to have a small piece of some part of Britain. She looked back at the city, saying a silent goodbye.

There! That man slumped against the side of that warehouse, his thumbs hooked in the waist of his breeches—he was the one staring.

No, not quite a man; he probably wasn't much older than she. But he was as big or bigger than most men. Even slouched, she could see that he was tall, his shoulders broad, and his chest wide. He didn't glance away when he saw her turn; he met her gaze directly.

A lock of dark hair escaped his cap and hung low over his brow. If his meager possessions were anything to judge by, he was likely one of those her father had named 'rabble,' one of those traveling in steerage. Or perhaps he was merely boarding one of the ships sailing to Ireland and didn't need to carry much. She was too far to make out the details of his features, but his bearing intrigued her. He conveyed confidence; he certainly hadn't lowered his eyes when she'd noticed him watching her. Not arrogance. Not a challenge. Merely curiosity?

Feeling an odd pressure beneath her stays, she raised a hand and pushed at the sensation. Her father urged her to sit. Dropping to the bench, her gaze stayed locked with the boy's as the crew rowed toward the waiting brig.

DAVID PACED THE QUAY, watching for his uncle. The innkeeper had handed him Uncle John's note first thing that morning, relaying he'd had to take care of some last minute details, that David was to meet him on the quay and board the _Industry_ when he could. The man likely thought he was doing him a favor, letting him sleep, but he could have done without it. He wasn't keen on doing any of this alone.

Besides, if he were going to leave him alone, the night before would've been the time for it. He wouldn't have minded then, not with the prospect of whiling away time with the barmaid at the inn. He smiled, her image a distraction from his worry.

Betsy, her name had been, just here from Bath. An agreeable lass. Pretty, blonde, and plump; she had laughed at everything he'd thought to say and lingered over presenting their meals, hinting she'd still be about after the kitchen closed later that night.

Which hadn't been as pleasing a prospect to Uncle John as it had been to him.

David and his uncle, the Reverend John Wilson, had traveled for close to three weeks now: on foot, by water, and by coach. His uncle had had the worst of it, traveling all the way from Ireland, stopping in Scotland to collect him. And though Ma's lectures had always been delivered by Da in the past, she'd apparently taken advantage of that brief stop to pass the obligation on to her brother. Uncle John had taken the duty to heart many a time over the last three weeks.

As such David had had his hands full with a far less pleasing prospect—steering the conversation from the barmaid and diverting his uncle's attention.

Sailors called down from a nearby ship as they repaired its rigging, mocking him, he supposed; he couldn't make out the words, but he knew well the tone. He ignored them. The early morning fog had lifted, and he had a clear view of the _Industry_. The brig had a tidy look to it; two masts, an uncluttered deck. Tidy was good; meant someone was minding things.

Hands in his pockets, he rolled up off the balls of his feet as he studied the ship. His last day in Britain . . . for how long? Years? A lifetime? He added it to his round of 'lasts.' His last Sunday spent with his family in kirk. Ma's last home-cooked meal with all his favorites. One last tussle with Cousin James . . . tucking his younger brothers in that last night. Then there was that last lecture from Da as they fished a lazy morning away. But Da could write as well as talk, so no, that likely wasn't the last. And that final hour spent with Alice Ennis. He grinned as he thought of her beckoning him into her da's barn. Now that had been a sweet leave-taking, for sure.

As the quay filled with more travelers, he moved to stand alongside a warehouse, keeping in view of the ship, watching as the crew directed the loading of the cargo. He wished his uncle would come; it had to be getting close to boarding time. What in God's name could be keeping him?

Then he had seen her.

She was standing alone next to a large heap of baggage, framed by the passel of gulls screaming and diving at the leavings of the fish trade on the sand behind her. Well dressed, her dark cloak was tied with bright blue ribbons, a color he thought might match her eyes; though why that thought should occur to him, he didn't know. Bonny lass, a slight smile played around the corners of her lips, alternating with a grimace of impatience as she looked about. She seemed out of place, standing there alone, though he thought her family must be near, given the number of trunks she guarded. He wished his were, but they'd had a hard enough time scraping money together for _his_ passage, much less the others.

He watched her smile as a man called out, and his mouth curved in a grin of anticipation. Elisabeth, the man had called her, was boarding the transport for the cabin passengers of the _Industry._

She turned as she boarded, sensing his appraisal, and met his gaze. He thought briefly of looking elsewhere; he'd been taught better than to stare. But he didn't.

And then he couldn't. He felt her gaze as it shot straight down to his boots, then meandered back up to scurry to and fro across his back and his shoulders, before it darted down to his fingertips. He flexed his fingers, staring at her, watching the longboat as it shoved off.

Had he just imagined that?

He narrowed his gaze, puzzled. He must have.

The clouds began to disperse, the strengthening breeze chasing them about. Grabbing his bags, he joined in the push to the loading queue, the worry dissipating as he moved forward, the excitement growing as he listened to the chorus of voices around him.

A man ahead struggled to keep three boys within arm's reach. Not brothers, they were nothing alike, and they addressed the man as "Mister," not "Da." The man was of middling age, his kindly round face surrounded by a full head of sandy hair beneath his tricorn hat, hair he wore loose and wild about his shoulders. Possibly their guardian.

The tallest boy, the one they called Liam, appeared his age. Grinning when he caught David's eye, he pointed down the river.

"How long do you suppose afore we get to Philly? Sean here says a fortnight," Liam said, tousling the youngest boy's curly red hair. The boy grinned at Liam, his round, freckled face alight at the touch. "Rob says it'll be three to four times that. There's a ha'penny banking on it, for them that's closest."

"For _the one_ closest, Liam. Mind your grammar," the man said absently, his attention on the untidy heap of papers he held.

"Aye, Mr. Oliver," Liam said obediently, winking at David. "Well, what d'ye say, mate?"

"It'll be at least eight weeks, I'm thinking, being as it's winter. Mayhap longer, if we hit more than a bit of weather," David said. "And ye, your wager?"

"Nay. Canna risk what I dinna have, and I dinna have a bawbee to spare. But I don't mind risking what these two have," Liam said, slapping the back of each of his companions.

The one named Rob rolled his eyes and turned toward the water. David noticed he had a pronounced limp in his walk, evident each time they took a few steps forward. He appeared to be the oldest of all three, a sturdy and serious lad.

"Where's your family, young man?" Mr. Oliver asked, peering at him over his spectacles, seeming to notice him for the first time. "You best stay close to them in this crowd if you don't want to risk crossing on your own."

"I'm not with my family, sir. Well, that is, just my uncle. He's to meet me here, Reverend Wilson he is. He had some last minute things to take care of. I'm to board so he doesna have to waste time finding me. I have all my tickets and letters," David said, patting his jacket with confidence.

"Aye, well, he can follow us, canna he, Mr. O, just in case that hawker up there gives him trouble?" Liam said, canting his head toward the man incessantly shouting, "All aboard, have your tickets ready or step out of the way."

"I suppose," Mr. Oliver said, his gaze sweeping the crowd for anyone resembling a reverend searching for a boy, clearly not relishing the prospect of another charge.

David also scanned the crowd. It was easy enough to spot his uncle, his height being the one thing they shared, though of course his collar set him off as well. The resemblance ended there, his uncle being fair of skin and hair, his features rounded and pleasant, always friendly and approachable, reminiscent of his mother. David's coloring was dark; his own features with more of an edge to them, at times appearing brooding and unapproachable, reminiscent of his father.

What would he do if his uncle didn't show by the time he reached the transport? Board as Uncle John had instructed?

With an effort David returned his attention to Liam. It was hard not to like the lad straight away; he was alive with an excitement that was contagious. Almost as tall as David himself, he was of slighter build, with jet black hair that brought to mind tales of the sleek coats of the  silkies off Orkney. His dark blue eyes were bright with intelligence.

"Rob and I are going to help Mr. Oliver set up a school in the states. As soon as he heard the war was done he just upped and decided to leave and start over, didna ye, Mr. O? Ye can do just about anything you want in Philly with an education, says Mr. O. Sean here will be going on toward Pittsburg, to meet up with his brother and help him on his farm, maybe end up with a farm of his own. Land's free for the taking I hear, if ye can work it. Are ye aiming to stay on in Philly?" He paused for a breath, then introduced himself. "Liam Brock," he said.

"David Graham," David responded. "I'm to apprentice to printers Hall and Sellers in Philadelphia. Mr. Hall's da knew my kin at the University in Edinburgh." As they were pushed forward he turned to scan the crowd again. Finally! He closed his eyes in a quick prayer of thanks, then grinned broadly.

"Uncle John! Uncle John, over here," he called, waving his hand high above his head.

John Wilson hurried forward with a small trunk, his brow furrowed with concern.

"There you are, David. I worried, what with the sail being so close. If I didn't see you, I was in a quandary whether to board or not. I should have arranged it better to assure myself of your whereabouts." He paused, setting the trunk down and hunting for his handkerchief. "What was I going to tell your mother if I ended up in Philadelphia and left you here, or if I should stay and you ended up in Philadelphia on your own?" He took off his hat and wiped his hairline, his blond hair dark with a perspiration born of worry.

"Dinna fash, Uncle. I did what ye told me and here I am. Did ye find what ye were looking for? Did ye—"

"Are ye planning to make introductions, David?" Wilson asked, interrupting his queries. Setting his hat back, he pocketed his linen and studied David's companions.

"Oh, aye, of course." He introduced Mr. Oliver and the others.

"Well, ain't this cozy. This ain't a tea party; are ye boarding or not?" They had reached the front of the queue and the ticket collector. "Plenty behind you want your space if not, so make it quick. Where's your docs? That's not them. You're not getting far with your lodging receipt. Stop wasting these good people's time; there's a windward tide to catch, man."

Mr. Oliver continued to fumble through his paperwork, dropping several pieces in his search for the tickets. Liam reached over and quickly plucked the tickets from amid the scramble of documents, his foot moving atop the fallen papers before the breeze could take them.

"Here they are, ye old sap, and don't forget ye kept us waiting these last three days for the sail."

"Liam, tis better to return discourtesy with courtesy," Mr. Oliver said quietly.

"Right, Mr. O, sorry. Sometimes I get me back up and forget." He bent and retrieved the papers beneath his foot, then took the balance of documents from Oliver, carefully placing them in the case at the man's feet. He nodded toward the waiting barge. "Let's board then, aye?"

David passed the ticket he'd been safeguarding to his uncle, who handed it, along with his own, to the ship's employee. The man motioned them along impatiently, adding "get on with ya man, keep it moving."

THE DECK OF THE _Industry_ was a chaos of passengers milling about and seamen shouting orders. David grabbed his uncle's elbow, steering him to an unoccupied spot along the rail. They stood silently for several moments, watching the pandemonium on the quay.

"Well," Wilson said, sighing and turning. "No looking back, aye? Let's go below and claim a berth, shall we?"

Even midmorning it was dim between-decks, lit only with the weak bit of sunlight streaming through the small open hatch. It took David's eyes a few seconds to adjust.

It looked full, people clamoring about everywhere. The berths were stacked two high on either side of the hold, and four long tables ran the length of the center. A woman was already making use of the slop bucket behind a board serving as a makeshift water closet.

"Uncle," he asked quietly, "will the women bunk here as well, then?"

"We're all in this together son, although we shouldn't have to share a bunk with any women, since we've none traveling with us."

"Share . . . ye mean there'll be more than the two of us in one of these?"

"Aye, David, we'll probably share a berth with two other men, maybe more."

David looked closely at the size of the berths and led his uncle toward the other end of the hold, where not as many people had gathered yet.

Wilson laughed. "It'll fill up over here as well, but aye, this will do." He set his bag on the top berth.

"Won't ye be more comfortable on the lower berth?"

"At first perhaps, but not when the seepage from the sick above makes it way down to those below."

David quickly lifted his own bag, storing it next to his uncle's, hitting his head on the low-lying timbers as he did. "What's in here, Uncle John?" he asked, lifting a trunk to the foot of the berth. "It's heavy."

"It carries our dishware, as well as some provisions. It's mostly oatmeal, but there's also cheese, biscuit, flour, a bit of butter, and some vinegar . . . in case rations are tight."

"I thought all was provided?"

"I heard talk. With the uncertainty of the winds, tis prudent to supplement rations. Now, if ye don't mind, I'll rest a spell. It was a long night spent worrying. Why don't you go on up and watch our departure, while I close my eyes a bit?"

David raced to the deck before his uncle reconsidered, nearly colliding with a young sailor who was carrying the log-line and sand glass.

"Best be making yourself invisible abaft bucko, or Mr. Ritcher will have ye below faster than ye can say 'but suh'," the boy said, placing the items near the wheel. David nodded and moved farther aft. He supposed that was abaft; there were fewer seamen in that direction.

"Loose sail!"

Canvas cracked overhead as sails unfurled. The sound sent his blood racing, making it all real. After months of endless talk and ceaseless planning, he was truly sailing to America.

Several sailors dropped from the rigging and raced to the front of the ship, hoisting two of the ship's boats up from the booms and over the larboard side, down to the river to join the three boats secured with tow-lines. Men scrambled over the side, dropping into the waiting boats and manning the oars. Forgetting the admonition to stay out of the way, David went forward to watch. The anchor now up, the tide and the brig's boats began the laborious task of towing them out to sea.

Great limestone walls rose from the thick forests crowding the banks on either side of them, and as they rounded a bend he spotted two deer taking water at the shoreline, their heads rising warily as the ship sailed by. Smaller fishing boats passed by under sail, and farther ahead he caught a glimpse of another ship being towed out to sea. He briefly considered waking his uncle to witness it all, but that would require going back down into that hold. Besides, the man had said he wanted to rest.

By the time the sun was high in the sky, the young sailor who had warned him earlier joined him at the rail. Clad in ill-fitting brown trousers, his coarse linen red-checked shirt tucked haphazardly about his narrow waist, the slight young lad was hatless, his long dark hair tied untidily back. The red scarf he wore around his neck was his only concession against the cold. He was not at all in keeping with David's impressions of what a sailor should be: burly, weathered, and mean-tempered.

"Watch all that did ya? Now you can say you know first-hand why the English be the best seamen in the world. Ain't an easy thing to work a ship down a windward tide, backing and filling the length of it, especially not in a channel as narrow as the Avon Gorge. No matter how skilled the pilot. I heard it done, ain't never seen it afore now."

"I'll have to take ye at your word there," David said, "Seeing as I havena a clue what ye're talking about. Ye're American? Have ye been at sea long?"

The boy laughed. "Yes, I am, and no, I ain't. Could be why I ain't never seen it done! Alex Mannus," he said, holding out a rough, wind-chapped hand.

David shook his hand and introduced himself.

"We're at the Bristol Roads now. Soon as the pilot's paid off, we'll be on our way," Alex said. "See? They're bringing in the boats." He pointed to the sailors hoisting in the ship's boats and securing them, each one nestled inside another.

David noticed one of the crew bearing down on them; a husky, rough looking man with an air of authority. "I think that man behind ye is looking for ye, Alex. He's headed this way, and he doesna know me. First mate, is he?"

Alex turned. "Aye, that's Mr. Ritcher. Don't get on his bad side. I'm off then." He ran the short distance to meet the mate.

"Make sail," the captain bellowed at last.

There was shouting from atop the rigging as more sails unfurled, snapping alive with the power of the wind. A brisk, salty breeze replaced the last of the pungent stench of the river, chasing away the final grey of the sky until all that remained above was a cloudless, brilliant blue. Gulls circled and dived, their screams a chorus of farewells.

Three porpoises kept pace with the ship, sailing into the air from time to time as if to welcome them to their world. The sea was bright with small, white-capped swells, the sky alive with gulls diving now and then to snatch a meal. David savored the breeze, filling his lungs as he took slow, deep breaths.

His hands tightened on the rail as the shoreline slowly receded. What was it Uncle John had said? He crossed the deck and instead faced a horizon full of possibilities, bounded only by the sky.

Aye, no looking back.

2

Celtic Sea

November 1783

BY DAVID'S RECKONING there were close to thirty children onboard. He'd wager each of them had cried out at one time or another throughout the night—and not at the same time, mind you; the bairns had it synchronized so that there was never more than five minutes of silence between outbursts.

And that was after the others had knocked about for an hour or two preparing for bed in the dark. Why that was, he hadn't a clue; all one had to do was take a piss and set aside one's boots. No livestock to see to, no barn to secure.

But things were what they were, and thus he'd spent most of the night tossing and turning, little of it sleeping. Especially when the image of a lass called Elisabeth had come unbidden, filling his mind, crowding his dreams, displacing all lingering remnants of Betsy, the barmaid from Bath.

Opening his eyes slowly, he glanced over. Alone. They'd been fortunate; they had only one other, a man from Galloway, sharing their berth. He stretched out across the full width and length of the berth, pointing his toes and raising his arms above his head in an effort to ease the tightness in his body. His hands slammed into the rafters. Grunting, he readjusted his stretch, lengthening it until he could feel his muscles calling out their thanks. Rolling off the side of the berth, he pulled on his boots and made his way to the bucket that served as the privy.

Someone had thought to hang a blanket for privacy, nice touch. Nicer still if someone had thought to empty the bucket before it was so full it splashed over each time the ship rolled. He grabbed the pail and hauled it up the ladder, emptying it over the side of the ship. Replacing it, he looked for something resembling a wash basin. He'd like to splash some water on his face and hands; he wasn't waking easy today.

A boy was studying him, one he recognized from the inn in Bristol, one of the Germans the place had been full of. "Good morning, lad. Have ye seen any water?" He pantomimed splashing his face and washing his hands.

The boy grimaced.

"Don't care for washing, then?" David said, laughing. The boy rattled off something and pointed to a woman packing away the remains of breakfast. She looked up and smiled, signaling David to wait. Bringing over her small tub, she offered it with a towel.

"Thank ye, Frau—" He looked at her, and she supplied her last name, or so he thought. "Thank ye, Frau Kiefer. Much obliged."

He gulped down the oatcake his uncle had left him on the berth, shaking his head in disbelief at the small amount of water in the cup. Really? He tossed it down in one swallow, then scowled. Foul tasting stuff anyway.

At least he could hold out some hope for supper. He grinned, recalling the stroke of luck they'd had last night when a woman had approached them on deck, timidly offering an exchange of services.

"Reverend," she had said. "Begging your pardon, sir, but—well—it's just I seen you and your boy—I was wondering. Well, d'ye suppose I might take on the cooking for ye, in exchange for your boy taking on the burden of the heavier work the captain be asking of us?" Her hand had gone up nervously as she made her request, shielding a side of her face. She'd been beautiful once, still was on the side unscarred by burns.

Wilson had smiled gratefully. "Aye, I'd welcome such an exchange. Neither my nephew nor I have much experience with the stove. Thank you, madam. I'm Reverend Wilson; this is my nephew, David. And you are?"

"Mary, sir. Mary Andrews. These be my two boys, Adam and Samuel. My husband, he's in America, a year it be now. He thought it too risky to take us, without his having work first, that is. But he's sent for us now, I'm glad to say. It's been hard without him."

"We'll be glad to help ye, Mrs. Andrews. I've two brothers at home. You look to be the age of one of them, Adam," David had said. "And I don't mind taking the meals to and fro the fire once ye have them set. Gives me reason to be on deck, makes it more of a fair exchange."

"Och no. I'll have your meals hot and ready." Thanking them, she had led her boys away, Adam peering back shyly at David from the shelter of her skirts.

"Thanks be . . . huh, Uncle?"

Wilson had smiled. "Aye, David, the Lord provides. And do cart the pots. She doesn't need to be hauling and watching two small lads shipside on her own. Poor lass; looks like she's already experienced her share of mishaps 'round the fire."

But it was a long while until supper. He headed up on deck to search out Liam and his friends, spotting them gathered below the mainmast, a lass among them as well.

Liam called out to him. "David, are ye up for a game of hazard? Come meet Elisabeth. Her pa's not taking the sea well; she's up for a bit of fresh air from tending him."

David stilled as the girl turned to greet him. She was the one he'd seen quayside yesterday.

He could now see her eyes were indeed blue, a startling sapphire blue, flecked with dark specks of indigo. Her flawless skin was creamy white, unmarred by smallpox, touched with just a bit of color along the fine line of the bones above her cheeks. Hair was escaping her cap in the breeze and curling in wisps about her face, some of it caught in the corner of her mouth. Her mouth . . . full pink lips tilting up in a perfect bow. His hand rose to touch her face, to pull back the hair, to test the softness of her skin.

Don't.

He couldn't recall ever seeing hair the color of hers, not the color of wheat as he'd first thought, but that of a pale amber. He didn't recall ever seeing a face such as hers, period. She was the colors of sunrise.

Liam elbowed him in the ribs. How long had he been staring?

He roused himself, taking his cap in hand. "Hello, I'm David Graham. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance," he said, horrified to hear his voice betray him with a slight stutter. He noticed Liam's raised brow and resolved it best to say no more. Elisabeth smiled politely and returned his greeting. There was silence then, an uncomfortable silence, but he didn't trust his voice to speak, didn't know what to say. She was the first to break it, taking her leave to see to her father.

No sooner was she down the ladder and out of sight than the others began their merciless banter at his awkwardness. Liam played a part of the proper English gentleman, Sean the lass, and Rob provided an amicable commentary, letting him off easy. He shrugged it off good naturedly—what could he say anyway? He had played the fool; he deserved the taunting. Besides, if he resisted, it'd only go on longer.

"Eijits," he said, a wry smile turning up a corner of his mouth. Admiring the effortlessness with which they interacted, he gave them a couple moments before deciding enough was enough. Running his hand back through his hair, he set his cap on, pulling it down tight. "Are we to play, or are ye all too busy acting the goat?"

"Oh, to be sure, we can carry the weight of both, David. Don't ye be mistaking that," Liam said. "But ye seem a bit discombobulated so we'll make it simple for ye and keep it to the bones. Rob, toss 'em, will ye?"

Hazard was a game of chance, though Liam turned out to be a skillful player in his gaming strategy and the play required all David's attention for the next few hours for him to hold his own. The stakes were tiny, but he didn't like to lose. Especially after he'd just embarrassed himself over the chit.

Liam stood when they broke for the midday meal. "D'ye play whist David? No? Well, we'll teach ye tonight then. Mr. O's always looking for a fourth." Mr. Oliver was also set on teaching lessons in the afternoons, and Liam invited David to participate in those as well.

"He willna mind a bit. He loves to impart bits of his wisdom. He's even arranged with Elisabeth's father to include her," Liam added with a wink and an elbow to Sean. The lad took his cue and pantomimed a swoon.

David grinned, shaking his head at the teasing. He gave a noncommittal answer before leaving to find his uncle, sure Mr. Oliver would be expecting payment, something he didn't have to spare.

3

November 8, 1783—Our first full day at sea passed without event. Weather fair, wind light. A German boy, Paul, from the inn, is on board with his family. We passed a pleasing hour with the language. He'll likely be speaking English like a Scot at journey's end! And I hope to be speaking German like a German. Morning spent gaming with Liam, Sean, and Rob, lads from the country north of Glasgow. Most of the afternoon reading with Uncle. Tomorrow plan to ask the Captain for some chores, so as the time passes less slowly.

BREAKING BRIEFLY FROM his monotonous pacing, David sat on deck and made a short notation in his journal. The ship's bell rang twice, signaling mid-dog watch.

He was beginning to doubt his ability to keep his wits about him for the length of time it would take to reach Philadelphia. Only the first full day, and he was so wound up with the urge to run his skin fair crawled with the wanting of it.

Breathe . . . breathe and look about.

The brig moved swiftly through the water, the sea occasionally blasting him with a light spray of cold, salty water. He focused his thoughts on the motion of the breeze, the movement of the ship.

Breathe.

Aye, so the ship was small. But the ocean, now there was another matter entirely. Imposing . . . without end . . . full of life beneath. Another world just out of sight . . . just had to imagine it. He stood and walked to the rail.

Breathe . . . breathe and look about.

The sun, a huge glowing ball of orange, fell slowly toward the horizon, bathing the timbers of the ship in a soft glow of red, its sails in a fiery orange. All the colors of the rainbow surrounded him as it sank from view, vivid colors intermingling with the flat slate blue of the sky. He turned a slow circle to take it all in, doing his best to be nonchalant about it. It wouldn't help matters any to have the crew start in on him for gawking at a sunset.

Things weren't so bad, only different, just have to look about. A full moon was rising early in the east, a spectacular yellow globe rivaling the sun. He watched the trail of light it left across the water and relaxed his hands atop the rail, welcoming the calm as it washed over him and settled.

He felt her approach, felt her pause before she spoke, felt the tranquility he'd worked so hard to achieve, vanish. She hadn't made a sound, he thought idly, not one that could be heard above the myriad of other sounds aboard the ship anyway.

He kept his eyes on the ocean. The lass likely thought him a simpleton; there was nothing to be gained in passing on how aware he was of her, everything to be risked if her face befuddled him again.

"Are you frightened, thinking of the changes to come?"

Hell. She _did_ think him a simpleton then. He managed a snort of contempt before he answered her.

"Frightened? Nay." Turning toward her, grateful the night and her hood cloaked her face in shadows, his eyes scanned the deck behind. "Should ye be out alone after dark?"

She laughed, lowering the hood of her cloak. "I didn't mean to offend you. I apologize. It's just that you appear to be making the trip alone. I'd be frightened if I were."

Her laugh, there was no artifice to it. It tugged at him. My God, she was even more beautiful in the moonlight, her face luminescent. He turned away.

"No' alone. My uncle is traveling with me. And I was serious, lass, what with the seamen, it might no' be safe for ye up here at night."

"My father has made great friends with Captain Honeywell. I'm sure his sailors have all been asked to keep an eye out for me." Her voice carried an odd blend of tones: soft, sweet, yet confident. Mayhap that assurance came with the traveling in cabin class.

"David?"

She was looking at him, waiting. What had she asked? A corner of her mouth tilted prettily as she studied him.

"Do you have family other than your uncle?"

"Aye."

"Well? Why aren't they with you?"

"It's no' the right time."

"Why is that, if you don't mind my prying?"

He smiled, shaking his head slightly. Would it matter if he did? "We just set up in Glasgow last year, when we had to give up the farm in Newry. Ma's kin is all there, and Da thought to try his hand at tailoring again. He says now that he's older and more settled he might be more suited to such. I canna see it, but mayhap . . . ye do what ye must. That I do know."

"He didn't want to start over in the colonies?"

"No' the 'colonies' any longer, lass. Nay, I don't see my Ma ever wanting to leave, especially when Da's trade is uncertain. Since I'm the oldest of my brothers and a bit at loose ends without the farm to work, Da thought it time I learned a trade of my own. When Uncle James wrote that a print shop was looking for young men in America, he decided I should go."

"You're fortunate to have a large family, even if they can't be with you. My mother died, giving birth to my sister, and my sister soon after. I still miss her, but I miss my Papa, as well. He hasn't smiled much since then. He promises things will be different in Philadelphia. I do hope he's right."

He thought about that. Pa's brother, Richard, had left the farm in seventy-five when his wife and baby son had died in childbirth. Took off to France, hadn't come back home since. His mother had retreated deep into the recesses of her own soul when his sister Margaret died of the smallpox. She'd left them for months.

Maybe it was necessary, the licking of wounds on one's own so as they heal. Ma had come back to them, and Uncle Richard was doing fine now, with his new wife, new sons, and new country.

"To be sure, he's right. Everything will be different," he answered.

"The sky is wonderful out here, isn't it? Have you ever seen so many stars?" She set her back against the rail, tilting her head his way.

"Do you remember my name, David?" she asked with a smile.

"Aye."

"Hmm."

Sassy wench, was she flirting with him? Sassenach gentry, not likely . . . mocking him, then? He turned his eyes back to the ocean. The few clouds had disappeared, and she was right; the sky was brim full of stars. "This many stars? It's a rare sight at home, to be sure."

Captain Honeywell walked by, spotting her. Honeywell was a stout, thick man, his booming voice leaving little doubt as to whose word was law on the _Industry_. David hadn't glimpsed his compassionate side yet, though Uncle John had assured him it lay just beneath the man's rough exterior.

"Miss Hale, I'm sure your father will be expecting you. It's late," he said, aiming a stern glance at David.

"Yes, sir. I'll go to him now."

The captain planted his feet and stood his ground, waiting without a word until she started to walk away.

"Elisabeth?" David said, earning another glare from the man.

She stopped and turned, her face alight at the sound of her name.

The lass had been flirting then. Imagine that. "I'm verra sorry about your mother. I canna fathom the loss."

"Why, thank you, David. Good night, Captain Honeywell."

And then she was gone.

Breathe. Breathe and look about.

4

Atlantic Ocean

November 1783

"I UNDERSTAND MR. OLIVER is kind enough to include you in his daily lessons," Wilson said, rising from the bench, reaching over to grab David's cup and pack it, along with his own, back into their trunk. "He asked if I'd mind sharing a bit of the gospel with you boys in the mornings. I told him I'd be more than happy to."

David grinned, recognizing at once the exchange his uncle had made on his behalf. "Well, I think they got the better end of that, Uncle John, ye've a talent for making the Book exciting."

"High praise indeed," Wilson said cheerfully, reaching out an arm to steady himself as the ship rolled heavily to one side. "But best not to raise expectations too much I've found, especially with young men who've much more on their minds than the word of the Lord. Are ye still hungry, lad?"

He was, but he knew his uncle was worried about the amount it took to fill him. They had already dipped into the supplementary provisions and they were only out a day.

"Nay, I'm good." He grabbed the trunk and hoisted it up onto their berth.

"I'll join you on deck at four bells then. Be careful up there, will you? The sea is rough today."

"Aye, Uncle John." Leaving his uncle to his Bible, he climbed the companionway ladder and walked to the mainmast. Many passengers had stayed in their berths this morning, owing to the weather. He wondered if Elisabeth suffered from seasickness.

Someone needed to kick some sense into him.

"David! You're right on time, man! Can we be getting started then?"

"Morning, Liam, Rob. Where's Sean?"

"He's still in his bunk, no' taking well to the roll of the sea," Rob said, his hand massaging the ankle of his lame leg.

"Ache?" Liam asked. "I can get—"

Rob scowled and shook his head, moving his hand, tucking the leg under his other. "It'll just be the three of us till he wanders up," he said, cutting Liam off. He brought the die out of his pocket, tossing them three times until they read a number from five to nine.

"Six. Shoot this time, will ye, David?"

David took the die, casting a six on his first try. "Nicks. That ship we saw last night? She was a slaver. Alex said so."

"Thought so. She had an evil look about her," Liam said, wrinkling his nose. "Smell as well." He groaned when David won the next toss as well. "Ye take credit?"

"Don't think I know ye well enough to loan ye my stash," David said, grinning as he reached for the balance of the stake. They had found a small dowel down in the hold yesterday and had sliced it into wooden coins, distributing them evenly amongst themselves to use when wagering.

"Hmmph," Liam said. He looked up as Wilson joined them, Sean in tow. "Rev'rend Wilson, good morning."

"Good morning, lads. Gambling with the ship's timber I see."

"Just waiting for ye, sir. Mr. O warned us ye'd be by."

Wilson chuckled. "Oh? Ye needed fair warning, did ye?"

"No' me, Rev'rend. Canna account for what Mr. O thinks I might need. I'm willing enough to listen to any wisdom you're willing to toss my way, so's Rob here."

"Rev'rend Otter often thought Liam's questions rude, sir," Rob offered.

"I welcome your questions, Liam, as well as the segue into the story of King Solomon and his gift of wisdom," Wilson said. "But I can't promise I can give ye an answer to all of them."

"Fair enough, sir. And tomorrow, mind, I think a chat on charity wouldn't come amiss. Remind your nephew here on the meaning of the word." Liam motioned to the empty spot that had held the stash now in front of David. David rolled his eyes.

"Best carry on, Rev'rend. He'll talk til ye forget what ye were about," Rob advised.

Wilson skillfully steered the banter to the story of King Solomon, two mothers, and one baby. The conversation was lively as they discussed the wisdom of Solomon and the merits of his actions, Wilson contributing only when he thought it necessary to keep the exchange on track. David kept silent, listening to the responses of the others.

"The odds were against the man. No woman alive would willingly see a child cut in two, her own or no'," Liam said.

"Mayhap the King just gave the bairn to the Ma that spoke out the quickest?" Sean said. He spoke haltingly, pressing his lips tightly together after the words were out.

"Ye're spilling too much sentiment into it, Liam. There's plenty enough women do 'bout anything to achieve what they be after," Rob said.

"Half a bloody baby's an achievement?" Liam said, scoffing. "Off with ye, Rob."

"Liam does have a point," Wilson said. "But I think we're best served not to belabor the details and take away, instead, the message intended."

Liam nodded, considering, then stood, grabbing Sean by the hand. The boy's eyes had gone round, the muscles in his throat visible as he gulped convulsively. Leading him to the rail, he took off Sean's hat and placed a hand under his chin, aiming his face to catch the cold spray of the sea.

"Aye, I'll give ye that then, Rev'rend. In this case the message is clear," he said, turning back to look at them. "Tomorrow, then, come with one a bit more untidy in the interpretation, then we'll talk."

Wilson laughed. "All right Liam, I'll give it some thought." He stood and announced with a wink at David that he was needed elsewhere. "Sean, ye look a wee bit green round the gills. Would ye want to join me then? Lie down in your berth for awhile?" Sean managed a nod and Liam handed him over.

Liam looked at the sun, gauging the time. "D'ye want to keep playing?"

"Nay." Rob eyed the mast before them. "Ye think we'd see land from the perch atop the first yard?"

David grinned, thinking it a grand idea, wondering why it hadn't occurred to him first.

"Mayhap. I'll go first." He started up the ropes, welcoming the pull in his muscles as he climbed.

"I'll have ye all locked below," one of sailors bellowed from above, "iffin you don't keep your bloody feet on the bloody deck."

David dropped.

"Can he do that?" Rob asked, squinting up at the man high in the yards.

"Dinna ken. Though Ritcher likely can, well enough," David answered, watching the First Mate march toward them.

"JUST IN CASE we were feeling homesick, aye, Davey?" Liam said as he shoveled, mucking out the livestock hold. Ritcher had descended fast upon them, grumbling he had no use for idle hands on his deck. Rob had made his getaway timely, claiming Mr. O needed his help.

"Ye don't want to be getting soft as a lass on the passage, do ye?"

"Och, I wasna complaining, mind ye, just making conversation. And don't be mixing soft lassies in with the manure. It's no' right."

David laughed. "We're done here. Suppose we ought to go below so ye can rest up a bit afore your class."

"Hmmph," Liam said. He sprinted past David and leapt into the hold, missing the ladder by a mere fraction of an inch.

"Eijit, I'm no' nursing ye if ye break a leg," David said, climbing down after him.

"I expect not, Davey, but there's where I give ye leave to mix in the soft lassies."

ELISABETH STOOD TO CLEAR the evening meal from the tiny table, catching her plate just before it crashed to the floor. Bracing her feet against the roll of the ship, she quickly grabbed the bowl that had held the stew, pouring the small amount left into her father's bowl.

He'd been on her mind for days now. David.

She had recognized him immediately. He was the boy on the quay, the one she'd caught staring; the one she had stared back at. And couldn't seem to stop staring back at.

And it wasn't his appearance she was drawn to, though David was every bit as handsome as Liam was, if one took the time to look. And she was taking the time. Too much time, she was afraid. She'd do well to take a page out of Rhee's book before she made a fool of herself. Rhee could be head over heels with a boy and he'd have no inkling of it.

But his face was such a study in contradictions, who could blame her for noticing?

It was a stern face; full of harsh lines. Full lips formed a mouth that often rested in a scowl, a scowl that could change in a heartbeat when it lifted and the lines rearranged themselves into the deepest dimples she'd ever seen. Heavy dark brows framed his eyes, large doe-brown eyes lushly fringed with thick lashes. And the curls he kept hidden beneath his cap . . .

"Elisabeth, be careful. You're spilling it."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Papa." She took her cloth and wiped up the stew that had spilled. Maybe they should just eat bread. Surely it was less of a mess.

He'd smiled at something Liam had said today, and she'd been relieved that smile and brief display of dimples hadn't been turned on her, for she suspected her knees would have turned to pudding if it had.

But no, it wasn't his appearance that was responsible for her fascination. It was his strength. It was a quiet, inner strength, and it drew her in.

"Elisabeth, the captain said you were talking to one of the boys on deck last evening." Her father pushed his empty bowl away, folding his well-manicured hands atop the table, calling an end to her distraction.

"Yes, Papa, I was. He's one of the boys I met in Mr. Oliver's group." She went to him and straightened his cravat. He was usually so impeccably groomed; he must still be feeling poorly. "He's on the ship without his family. He's headed to Philadelphia to become an apprentice to a printer; I thought he might be feeling alone." Timing the movement so she didn't drop it, she quickly picked up his bowl and wiped it clean, storing it back with the others in their small box of kitchen ware.

Hale stood and reached for his book and bottle of whisky from the shelf. "Well, be that as it may, you need to remember your place. You're aware, are you not, of the social status of an apprentice? Be sure he's someone you have no cause to spend time with." He carefully poured out a measure of whisky into his cup. "For that matter, most of these people you have no cause to spend time with."

"Papa! You know Mama always said you could learn something from people in all walks of life. Why, learning a trade to support one's self is nothing to be ashamed of. It's quite the thing in America." She put the last utensil away and paced back and forth in front of her father, her fingers pulling at the cloth in her hands. At the sound of it ripping, she set it aside. Calmly, she must approach him calmly, or she would be spending the next six weeks in this room. She stood in front of him, placing her hands gently over his.

"The trip is to be so long, Papa, and there are only a few people my age. I miss my friends, I miss home. No one here would cause me harm."

Her father sighed, softening immediately. "There are many ways to invoke harm, Elisabeth. Ideas may harm. Whether employment in the trades is 'quite the thing in America' or not, it shall not be for you, nor for the people you choose to surround yourself with once we arrive." He reached over to set the bottle back on the shelf. "But I've no wish to lock you up in these wretched circumstances. I only mean for you to remember your place. You mustn't form any attachments on this ship, is that clear? Absolutely clear?"

It was clear. She nodded, hugging him tightly. "Thank you, Papa. You know I'd never want to disappoint you. Would you like to walk on deck?"

"Oh. Well, all right, I suppose. The book will keep." He set it and his cup in a secure spot and donned the overcoat and hat that hung from the rack at the foot of the companion ladder, taking care to straighten the white ruffles at the edge of each of his cuffs. Elisabeth threw on her cloak and followed him up the stairs.

Placing her hand in the crook of his elbow, she guided him in a slow circle of the deck. Mr. Oliver stopped them as they passed, delivering news of the day's class. She suspected Mr. Oliver was hoping she would be one of the students at his new school in Philadelphia, but even if her father allowed her to attend a school, it would depend less on the teaching skills of the schoolmaster and more on the attributes of the other students enrolled. Which was a shame, because one had only to talk a brief time with Mr. Oliver to be impressed with his depth of knowledge.

Liam, David, and Rob were just behind Mr. Oliver, and Elisabeth took care to introduce her father formally to the boys. She wasn't quite sure she could count on him to be polite, and she held her breath as he shook each of their hands. But he made courteous inquiries about their trip so far, and Liam, not as reserved as David and Rob, actually made him laugh at one of his anecdotes. She tried not to look at David any more than she did the others. Papa wasn't stupid.

The wind picked up as they continued their walk and the roll of the ship made each step a little more difficult. When they reached the companionway again, Elisabeth suggested they go below.

She was anxious to be alone with her thoughts, to mull over everything David had said to her. She and Rhee used to talk for hours at a time about a boy one or the other of them might have a fancy for on any given day; analyzing and deciphering the meanings that might be read into each phrase the one in question had uttered. Eventually they'd laugh and give up, deciding that the boys were much too simple to have their words taken at anything other than face value.

Somehow, she didn't think that was the case with David. Actually, she was quite sure there was nothing simple nor superficial about him.

Heaven help her. She didn't want to make a fool of herself, but, mercy, he did intrigue her past reason.

November 9, 1783—Cold today. Started classes with Mr. Oliver, passes the time.

November 10, 1783—The day promises to be a fair one, although again cold. Wind strong and steady, and according to Mr. Ritcher, we are on course. Alex says the log reads nine knots with regularity, which I gather is a respectable speed. Some of the passengers have an ongoing wager on the distance traveled each day. Many still confined to their berths, unable to recover from the constant roll of the ship. Deck has been empty of passengers for the most part.

November 11, 1783—The sea has stilled some, will be a relief to many. Wind steady.

5

"ARE YOU KEEPING a journal, David?"

Her voice flowed over him, fluid and feminine. He closed the journal and looked up. "Morning, Elisabeth. Aye. Ma gave me this to keep a record, something I can hand her next we meet. She says someone working in the printing business best be comfortable recording events."

She sat beside him. "Would you mind telling me about her?"

He smiled, thinking of her. "Ma's the one ye ask permission or forgiveness of, the one adamant we attend school and kirk. She'll see through any excuse 'fore ye even have time to think it up. She holds the family together; not the one of us has a chance to forget it. I had a heck of a time convincing her to allow me to go to America. Without the persuasion of Da and Uncle John, it ne'er would have happened. I've only seen her weaken one time, and that was when Margaret, my sister, died of the fever two winters past. Margaret was less than a year old when we lost her."

"The only girl . . . I feel for your mother. The loss would be that much harder. I'm sorry for that, David, the loss of your sister."

"Good day, Mr. Hale. Up to catch a wee bit of the fresh air, are ye? It's a fine morning, to be sure." Elisabeth jumped up as the sound of Liam's voice carried across the deck.

"May we talk later, David? I ought to go."

"Of course. Are ye feeling poorly then, lass?"

She smiled. "Oh, no. But I must see to my father."

He saw Liam wink as she passed, then heard her greet her father. "Wait for me, Papa. I'll walk with you. You remembered Liam, didn't you? He's the boy traveling to Philadelphia with Mr. Oliver to open the new school?" Her father's reply was lost as they walked away.

David looked thoughtfully at the ocean, his journal forgotten for the moment, forearms resting on his knees as he twirled his pencil round and round in his fingers. Dropping down next to him, Liam took out his knife and began working a piece of bone.

"So . . . ye'd be thinking her Pa wouldna want her to be passing the time with me?" David finally asked.

"Aye. Ye'd have noticed yourself, if you weren't so caught up with the wee lass." He was silent for a moment, as if mulling it over. "Well, to be fair, I have had the pleasure of a bit more dealings with the cull than ye, on account of his talks with Mr. O."

David pulled a piece of straw from the bale behind him and stuck it between his teeth.

"It's not ye, David; it's the lot of us. He willna be pleased to be sharing her company with the likes of us, no' any of the Scotch. Nor the Irish, I'd be guessing."

He pulled the straw from his mouth and glanced at Liam, searching his face. This was the first he'd seen Liam serious. Bitter, even. He exhaled a long, slow breath, conceding Liam's assessment, resigned in his acknowledgment that it was no surprise, nothing he hadn't encountered before, the only wonder being that she had even approached him in the first place.

And she had. First.

"Aye, well, be that as it may, I don't think I can see my way clear to stop talking to the lass, long as she be willing." He took his cap off and ran his fingers through his hair before setting it back in place, then put his pencil and journal into his pocket. "Mayhap I should, Liam, but I don't think I will. It's just a conversation. I'm free enough to have a conversation with the likes of anyone willing to do the same, Sassenach wench or no'."

Liam grinned. "Aye, that ye are."

"What're ye working on there?" David asked, pointing a finger at the bone and knife in Liam's hands.

"A die. Mr. Oliver should have a new seal for his new Academy, aye?"

David leaned over and took a closer look. It was intricate work, and Liam's long slender fingers were sure and quick as he went about it. He had the letters naming the Academy all formed precisely, up through the letter 'v' in 'Oliver's', the space of each calculated to leave ample room for the remainder. He frowned, looking up at Liam.

"That's incredible. Where'd ye learn that?"

Liam shrugged. "A fellow I knew once." He pocketed the die, stood, and stretched, bouncing from one foot to the next, full of restless energy. "There's the Reverend, searching for ye. Dinna be forgetting, the lads from Kilkenny are playing tonight. Lively boys; they're sure to take the edge off. And the lass with them . . . Annie . . . well." He sighed dramatically.

David laughed. "And ye'd best no' be forgetting those lads are her kin, and not likely to take their eyes off her. I'd hate to see that pretty face of yours colored purple."

"Don't underestimate my charm, Davey," Liam said, grinning. "And bye the bye, ye're going to need to work on yours, ye be thinking ye can keep your hands full of that Wallace chit whilst your thoughts are full of the beautiful, proper Miss Hale. She gets a whiff of that, the rest of your passage will be miserable. Trust me on this."

He frowned. Which "she" would be the one making him miserable? There was nothing between him and Sarah Wallace. Nothing. Admittedly, she'd caught him watching her dress the other day. Mayhap he'd kept his eyes on her a bit too long. Blonde, rosy, and plump, with a bosom one could lose himself in—well, there was a lot to look at. And she'd certainly made no effort to be modest about it. He could almost suspect she'd planned it.

Which could absolve him . . . mayhap . . . of the brief groping that took place last night when she cornered him up here by the livestock. Though truly it was more of a thought than an action, owing to the sound of Uncle John's voice drifting from across the deck.

How had Liam known?

Liam laughed at his expression. "Finish your business with the Reverend, Davey, then come. It's time for me to recover my stash from ye."

"Aye, soon after our meal." Zounds, this ship was small.

November 12, 1783—The ship is full of those from all walks of life and all manner of looking at it. The man who shares our berth has indentured himself for a year in exchange for passage. He seems honest and steadfast, and likely to benefit in the end. Others, maybe not so much. The Germans, particularly the women, are a hardworking bunch. Few gentry on board, Elisabeth among them. The friendship of a lad called Liam Brock shows promise to last well beyond the length of the passage. Ma would name him sauce-box, and she'd be right. But there's more there, much more.

6

"YE'RE OUT EARLY." Liam yawned, crossing his hands over his forearms and hunching his shoulders in an exaggerated shiver.

"Aye, 'early to bed, early to rise' and all that—Da's favorite adage for saving tallow," David said, his head bent as he worked on the rope he held.

"I think Franklin was considering more the health of a man's mind than his pocket."

"Mayhap he was, but ye don't know my da."

"What's that ye're so intent on there, Davey?"

"A different meal, I'm tiring of the fare. The sea, she's calm early on, the ship still. I think I can catch a fish or two 'fore the wind picks up."

He'd pulled out a few strands of his hair and was carefully inserting them into a loose knot in a bit of weighted twine, finishing by tying the knot to the hook he'd fashioned. Breaking the loose end with his teeth, he grabbed a small piece of the galley refuse he'd set aside and stood, walking over to the rail.

Liam followed, reaching over to finger the strength of his line, eying the drop from where they stood to the surface of the water below.

"Hmmph, a wee bit different from the loch. Ye'll no' be wading in after it, I expect." He grinned, looking back at David. "You don't have a net, do ye? I can hang ye by your toes should ye need help bringing one in."

David looked down to the water and took a small step back. Calm or not, its vastness was still daunting.

"I'll be letting it go first. See that bucket over there? I'm thinking I can bring it up with that. It may take a bit of trying."

"Aye, a bit," Liam said. He turned his gaze to the sea, suddenly alert. "Now! Drop your line, Davey. See the porpoise over there?" He pointed to a spot several yards out. "Maybe there's more! They're sure to be tailing something to eat."

David tossed out his line, and they watched it disappear under water. A minute passed, and he started to pull it in to check the bait, then stopped, transfixed, as a porpoise sailed out of the water directly in front of them.

"Whoa!" Liam said, jumping back.

David didn't move. The porpoise hung suspended for a moment, the playful glint in its eye belying the grey corpse-like mantle it wore. It tossed its snout up into the air, and David heard a rush of air as if it were snorting, then it glided gracefully back into the sea, leaving nary a ripple as evidence.

"Did ye see that, Liam? Did you see? He looked right at us!"

"Aye, and I think he made an offering as well. Pull up your line."

David had felt the tug and was already doing just that while Liam ran to retrieve the bucket and another bit of muck to bait the hook. He brought in two more in quick succession, keeping his eye on the porpoise as it circled back round again, chasing the smaller fish toward the line.

"Holy hell. Bring all the bait over, Liam."

He could hear the crew in the rigging cheering them on as the catch piled up. Twice more the porpoise herded round the fish. Then, on the last loop, it came in close and sailed high out of the water. Chattering, it tossed its snout again, telling them what, he hadn't a clue. Then it landed with a great splash, completely soaking them with icy seawater. Laughing, they called out thanks to the creature as it sped away.

"Well, I'll be damned, what d'ye make of that, Davey? What do ye think it said?"

"When I know, I'll let ye know. Though it appears it thought we needed a decent meal and a bath." He stood at the rail, watching the open sea thoughtfully. After a moment, he turned and looked at Liam, grinning.

"Don't know about you, but I need to get into something dry. Then let's find the cook. He made a promise to fry up the catch for a fair share. And mayhap that was the beast's message; he offered up more than enough to share, aye?"

November 15, 1783—Luck was with us today. Liam and I caught many fish with the help of a friendly porpoise. It was an unusual situation to be sure. Even the sailors were agog. A welcome respite to the provisions we have been provided.

DAVID POCKETED THE JOURNAL, taking his now habitual stance against the rail as he watched the moon rise. The water was calm, the reflection of the moon unbroken as it laid a glittering white carpet across the black sea.

"They say with each new moon, souls return to the earth for another try."

Liquid softness, that's what it was. There was no mistaking her voice. He hadn't seen her alone since that morning she'd scurried away at the approach of her Da.

"Aye, well, don't be letting Uncle John hear ye say that; ye'll be setting yourself up for a sermon."

"I wait for it each month, for a sign of my mother."

He looked at her, drawn by the sadness underlying the words. "Will ye know; if she comes back, I mean?"

'I don't know. I like to think I will. But I hope it's not for some time. I prefer to feel her presence as it is now, watching over me. Look!" she said, pointing out the bright trail of a falling star. She turned to him. "At supper this evening the mates were full of the story of you and Liam fishing. They say it's a sign, a good sign, that the fairie-folk are watching out for you, and therefore this ship."

"Hmmph." He looked away, his eyes back on the moon. Best not to comment on souls returning and the blessing of the fairie-folk in the same conversation. Uncle was not keen on that vein of talk either, to say the least.

"I should leave you to your thoughts. I told Annie I'd meet her later. Good night, David."

Should let her go. Plenty of agreeable lassies aboard this ship.

"No! I mean . . . don't go just yet, Elisabeth. Let's step out of the wind, sit for a spell."

He reached out to grab her elbow, drawing his hand back instantly before touching her, remembering his resolve to keep her at arm's length. He pointed to a spot sheltered from the wind. "Here, ye can still have a view of the moon, and it's a wee bit warmer."

She sat, and he dropped down beside her, drawing up his knees and crossing his arms atop them. They didn't have to talk of fairie-folk; there was plenty other to talk of.

"What d'ye think it'll be like, Philadelphia? I spend a lot of time wondering. I expect the town is full of important men. I may even have the opportunity to meet Dr. Franklin, if he returns. He's ties to the _Gazette_ , where I'm to be indentured."

Elisabeth looked at him, eyes narrowing. Quicker than he'd given her credit for then, seems she realized his use of the word 'indentured' had been deliberate.

"Well, if you do, know that I expect to be introduced as well."

"The people. How different they must be, to have accomplished what they did."

The treaty between Britain and the colonies, or rather the United States of America, had been signed in France a couple of months ago, and King George had relinquished all claims to the thirteen colonies. Had actually acknowledged them to be free and independent states. It was nothing short of remarkable. What of the people who had brought that about? Why had they succeeded where so many others had failed? How long had Scotland been at it? What made the Americans different?

"Why, just on this ship alone, Elisabeth, we're but a small group among many. The Germans, the Dutch . . . I know some French, a few words of German. It's so different from home, where ye know the intent of those around you."

"Well, just knowing the language doesn't mean you know your neighbor's intent, David."

"To be sure . . . but it helps, if ye can match the eyes with the words." A tinder box slid past him as the ship rolled. Recognizing it as Alex's, he reached for it, pocketing it before it landed in the sea. Lad had enough trouble starting the evening's fire.

"And it's no' just the language. What of the customs, whose shall prevail? Or do ye think we'll mingle and take a bit of the best from each?" he asked, turning to look at her.

"I think it's likely that people will congregate into groups where they share something in common, don't you?"

"Now that the common cause has been won, they'll go their separate ways? Live with those with whom they belong, ye mean?"

"No, I didn't mean to imply that."

She shifted, as if he were making her uncomfortable. Well, he wanted to hear her say it. Again, plenty of agreeable lassies aboard this ship.

"David! There you are. Good evening, Elisabeth. I'm sorry to interrupt." Mr. Oliver, looking harried, paused to tip his hat to Elisabeth. "David, have you seen Sean? He disappeared shortly after supper. He's been full of talk about your fishing experience; I'm afraid he might try to replicate it. I've sent Rob to search. I haven't been able to find Liam; however, I expect I know his whereabouts."

"And which whereabouts d'ye have in mind, Mr. O?" Liam said, striding up with Sean in tow.

"Sean, I've been looking everywhere for you! Ye had me worried. Thank heavens you're in one piece."

"Course I am, Mr. Ol'ver. I was only talking to one of the sailors 'bout his work. I didna know ye were missing me, but then Alex, he's the sailor, ken, he saw Liam and Annie trying to keep each other warm, that's what he said anyway. I don't think that's what they were doing, but he talked to Liam and then Liam wanted me to take a walk with him. Did ye know they climb up that mast to the very top to fix the sails when they be needing to? And last week he did that twice, but I didna get to see cause I was in lessons. Don't you think that would be the best lesson, Mr. Ol'ver, learning how the ship sails? He said he would take me up there if I wanted to and if ye said I could. I do want to, Mr. Ol'ver!"

"No, Sean, I think not. My charge is to get you to Pennsylvania in one piece. You may climb all the masts you like once you're in your brother's care." Mr. Oliver put his arm around Sean's shoulders and guided him toward the companionway.

"But there won't _be_ any masts with my brother, Mr. Ol'ver!"

Mr. Oliver's reply was lost as the two of them descended.

"Elisabeth, did Davey here tell ye all about the porpoise and the fish? I tell you, David had those fish landing filleted into the skillet for the cook to fry faster than we could eat 'em! It was a sight to see. One I'll ne'er forget, I'll tell ye that now."

"Good evening, Liam. Well, actually, he didn't have much to add to what little I'd already heard from the crew."

"Aye, well, that's David, the strong, silent type. Keep in mind ye'll need to see me whenever ye require a full accounting of events. Now, come, the both of ye. Rob's waiting. A cèilidh of sorts is underway on the aft deck. Annie says ye were planning on singing with her tonight, Elisabeth. Is that so?"

"Nay? Truly? Annie did?" David stood, offering his hand to Elisabeth.

"Yes, I suppose there might be a bit more to me than you're aware of." She stood without taking his hand and turned on her heel, walking toward the aft deck.

Liam laughed. "I think ye offended her."

"Aye, well mayhap," David said, "Let's go, I don't want to miss any if she sings."

The musicians were running through the motions of tuning their instruments, matching their notes one against the other. "The lad with the flute, he's called Ewan. Thomas is playing the accordion, and ye of course know Sarah and Annie. The one with Elisabeth in his arms is Seamus. He plays the fiddle," Liam said, with a discreet eye to David's reaction at the last.

David whipped his head around to follow Liam's gaze. Eyes narrowed and jaw tensed, he watched as Seamus swung her round and round.

"David, you're here. Good, I took the liberty of bringing this up from your case," his uncle said, coming up behind him, producing a harmonica from his pocket.

Seamus released Elisabeth at Annie's side, and David turned slowly, taking the harmonica. "Thanks, Uncle John," he said, glancing back to see that Seamus still had his hands off her.

"Ye play, David? Well, well, cull of many talents. Let's give these Irish lads a helping hand then, aye?"

Liam quickly tested the heft of a few of the smaller barrels in the vicinity, choosing one that was half empty to serve as a drum. They waited a few beats into the first song, then joined in, the drum setting a rhythm the harmonica answered, delighting the others. Annie and Elisabeth joined in at the chorus.

She set his blood dancing, just looking at her. He hadn't meant to set about her earlier; he had no quarrel with the lass.

He couldn't keep his eyes off her as she sang song after song, not even when Sarah Wallace came and sidled down between him and Rob. As soon as he saw her step aside to take a break, he pocketed his harmonica and went to her, grabbing her hand and startling her into a laugh as he swung her round and round in step with the music.

He kept her dancing for near an hour, until she finally begged, breathless and laughing, to sit for a spell.

"I'm finally warm, David, for the first time since the ship has sailed."

"Aye, well, it does feel good to be moving, doesn't it?" He struggled to keep his arm on his knee instead of drawing her closer. She was a bonny lass at any time, but more so now with her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. "Your voice is a wonder Elisabeth. What other talents are ye storing?"

She laughed. "Not too many actually. I do love to write poetry, though. My friend Rhee and I would while away hours reciting our poems to each other."

"Aye? Recite one now. If ye don't mind, that is."

"Oh, I think I'll save that for another day. It won't serve me well to reveal all my secrets in one evening. Besides, I should be seeing to my father before he seeks to find what's become of me."

"Another evening then." He stood and offered her a hand. She took it this time, jumping to her feet at the same time the ship rolled, tossing her toward him. Gently, he steadied her, reveling in the sensation of the warm, soft weight of her.

She backed away slightly and looked up at him. Keeping one hand around her waist, he moved the other to her face, pulling a bit of hair back from her eyes.

"Aye, but ye are a bonny lass, Elisabeth," he said quietly, losing himself in her eyes, his hand cradling her chin while his thumb caressed her cheek. He could kiss her. She wouldn't mind, he could tell. And Uncle John had retired an hour ago.

But there were more than a few eyes on them, that he could also tell.

Might be worth it.

Then he thought of her father and dropped his hand from her face, pulling her closer for a brief instant before releasing her and guiding her toward the companionway leading to her cabin.

At the open hatch Elisabeth turned and gave him a dazzling smile. The force of it startled him, and once again he found he had lost his tongue. How did she do that?

Why did he let her?

"Good night, David. Sleep well!" she said. She didn't wait for a reply.

He let her because he didn't seem to have a say in the matter.

He rejoined the others, dropping between Liam and Rob on the deck. Liam looked at him, opening his mouth, then closing it as he seemed to think the better of whatever he'd intended to say. He passed over a cup of water, and David drank from it gratefully.

"She's an acid tongue, that wench," Rob said.

David turned on him, not certain he heard right. "Say again?" he said, his hands curling into fists at his side.

"Sarah . . . ye left me at her mercy. And she has none."

David relaxed, remembering Sarah had come to sit between them. He grinned. "Just sparing ye time with an agreeable lassie, Rob."

"Dinna need no favors, lad."

David pulled out his harmonica and played softly. He watched as Annie beckoned and Liam went to her, holding her close as she whispered in his ear. Laughing, Liam turned to Sarah and hauled her up and into a dance.

Sweet, the lass had been aiming daggers his way for hours, since he'd first taken hold of Lisbeth. Hadn't been much more than a few glances between them, and she thought to make something of it. And there'd be no more of that now, besides.

Elisabeth hadn't pulled away.

"He's always been one to attract the lassies, or anyone for that matter. Fate's way of evening up the score, I suppose," Rob said.

David continued playing, though he glanced at Rob, signaling his interest. He was curious about Liam. For all his loquaciousness, the lad sure didn't speak much of himself.

"I met him a few years past, when Mr. Oliver bought out my indenture. Liam's had a rough time of it. His ma took to the gin when he was but a wee bairn. He ne'er knew his pa. Some say his pa was an English gent, one who tarried in the village a bit too long whilst on the way to his estate. Mayhap so. Liam doesn't have the look of most. By the time I met him, he was taking more care of his Ma than she of him, with necessity causing him to become very resourceful. Even so, Mr. Oliver has always had an eye out for him—for all those who be needing a little looking after." Rob paused, running his hand down his leg before he caught himself and removed it. It seemed Rob had needed a 'little looking after' himself at one time, and he didn't want to be reminded of it.

"He made sure Liam had enough to eat and attended his school. His ma passed last year. Tongues wagged she overdosed herself with the laudanum. I don't know if it was true, but the time was right when Mr. O decided to make his way to America and asked him along."

The ship's bell struck three bells, and Rob nodded.

"Tomorrow then, David." He got up slowly, steadying himself with his hand against a crate before he walked to the companionway.

Rob was a good, steady sort. He'd likely do well in America.

Annie's high, clear voice rang out with the verse to a melancholy song, signaling the end to the evening. Ewan and David accompanied her, David's thoughts racing as he played. His family; they didn't have much, but they always had food and shelter. If they were ever short of anything, it was Da who did the worrying and providing. If Da hadn't been there, would he've been able to? To provide? He'd like to think so, but truly, would he?

Elisabeth . . . she'd been in his arms. She hadn't pulled away. He was apt to lose sleep over just the thought of it tonight. You'd think she was the first lass he had had in his arms.

Somehow she was.

November 16, 1783—The passengers put together a cèilidh on deck. It is not unusual to have music; it passes the time. However, this one taking place on the fifteenth instant was of a more organized nature. It served to spread goodwill amongst all, I think, and lightened the tedium some are feeling. I've been fortunate to date as I've been able to keep busy with new friends, lessons, and some chores assigned by the first mate. I'm appreciative of the chores—this ship is very small for one used to having five hectares to work daily. Uncle John has arranged for me to participate in afternoon lessons given by Mr. Oliver (Liam's guardian). The mathematics comes easy, but the Latin is requiring a bit of thought. Liam, in spite of his flippancy, is proficient in all. The younger ones are most affected by monotony as they are not allowed on deck without supervision. This morning Liam, Rob, and I fashioned a stash of logs from a bit of flotsam and have been encouraging Sean and his friends to build miniature cabins and such. Mr. Kiefer showed us how the log cabin was configured. It seems an economical way to build a lodging fast if ye but had the timber.

November 17, 1783—We are all feeling the cold overmuch as the wind is constant and fires are allowed for a short cooking period only, due to the danger they present. Needless to say, we'd all perish should the wind carry the fire across the ship. We sighted another ship heading to London. The captains compared calculations, and Captain Honeywell was satisfied his were accurate. They communicated by means of a board. Alex, the youngest member of the crew, is helpful when we ask for clarification of the 'goings on' aboard. I often feel that the language the crew speaks to one another is something entirely other than English. It's helpful to have someone interpret. I mean to ask if he lives in Philadelphia when not at sea.

November 18, 1783—Elisabeth shared one of her poems with me last evening while we took exercise on deck. I wasn't sure of the meaning, but I did appreciate her company. I've come to look forward to spending time with her.

November 19, 1783—This morning the sea was much calmer. I tried fishing early on, but without luck. I told Liam if he had but risen from the berth at first light, he could have applied his charm again, and we would be eating other than oatcakes. Uncle John's wee 'sermon' was particularly agreeable this morning, especially as he joined us in a game of hazard first. Prior to this trip, I hadn't known he played, much less that he enjoyed playing. It's something I would have thought the kirk to frown upon.

November 20, 1783—The sailors are forecasting a storm tomorrow based upon the look of the moon tonight. Fishing may be good if it holds off until the afternoon. They say it may cause us to be confined below for our own safety if it is a powerful storm. I pray not.

7

"STORM COMING," David said.

The _Industry_ struggled as she flew across the ocean in a valiant effort to outrun the white-capped swells battering her on all sides. The crew was lively about the ship, busy preparing for the imminent onslaught, and frigid seawater was flying over the deck in all directions.

"Ye lured me up here at the crack of dawn with false hopes of catching breakfast," Liam said, watching the activity with interest.

"Aye, well, not today, I'm thinking. How's Sean managing?"

"Flashed his hash twice already. Had to leave before I did as well."

"Ye've a stomach like a rock. More than likely ye didna want to help Mr. O clean the lad."

"No' for the third time anyway."

The first mate eyed Liam and David.

"You lads aim to be on deck; I aim to get some use out of you. Mannus!" Richter shouted, calling Alex to his side.

David and Liam ran to and fro across the deck as Alex assigned them tasks. They hauled the hammocks down to the shelter of the crew's quarters, then they found him pieces of tarpaulin that he placed up in the weather rigging so that the watch would have some shelter from the wind and driving rain. He took them forward to check that the boats were secure, shouting orders as he showed them how to clear the drain holes and cover them with canvas. David lost hold of a sheet of canvas as the wind whipped it from his hands, sailing it straight into Liam, knocking him down. Alex ran around the boats to retrieve it as Liam struggled to free himself from its bulk.

"Thanks, Liam," Alex said, laughing. "Lucky break there, David. Ritcher wouldn't take lightly to us losing a bit of canvas to the storm." The ship rolled heavily, and David and Liam both lost their footing and slid toward the rail. Ritcher gave a signal to Alex.

"You're gonna need to get below now," Alex said as they rejoined him. "It's coming fast." He ran to check that the lifebuoys were secured to lines, then went aft to fasten the hatch cover.

The boys started toward the companionway, stopping as they spotted a passenger climbing out.

"Sean? What's he doing? Sean!" Liam shouted, the wind drowning out the sound of his voice. "Sean, over here!" Sean set his hands on the rail, peering into the water below. "Ah, hell." Liam ran to fetch him.

"Hang tight! All hands, hang tight!" one of the sailors bellowed.

The ship canted heavily, and David turned, facing the mountain of water that towered over them, dwarfing the ship.

Holy Christ, they were going down.

He took ahold of the mast he stood by, bracing his legs, ducking his head and praying. The wave burst across the ship with a roar, covering him, soaking him through, crashing over the deck and sweeping away everything loose in its path. David lost his hold on the mast and was tossed in the grip of the water as it battered him to and fro across the deck. His legs straddled the rail as the ship rolled high and he clung to it as she trembled heavily and settled. Stunned and shivering, he struggled to unwrap himself.

"On your feet, lads! Ain't paying ye to take a morning swim," someone called out, likely Ritcher. The crew had been knocked about as well. David looked for Liam and Sean.

My God . . . Liam and Sean.

"Man overboard!" Ritcher shouted as the bell rang. "Heave to!"

"Let go the lifebuoy!"

"Man overboard! Heave to!" shouted a sailor from the mizzen rigging.

Liam was swimming. Swimming. David blinked, struggling to focus. Sean was in the water, not far. A seaman had thrown a lifebuoy out, though Liam hadn't seen it, focused as he was on reaching the boy. Liam couldn't swim well; well, neither could he for that matter, and he looked to be tiring. Alex ran up beside him. David stood, pointing toward the boats.

"Why havena ye launched one?" he shouted.

Alex shook his head. "They won't."

"What d'ye mean, they won't? They'll drown!"

Alex just looked at him, helpless.

"Hell. Keep them spotted. Don't let them out of your sight!" David ran toward a seaman who was barking orders up at the men in the rigging. He grabbed him. "Launch a boat!" he shouted.

"No," the sailor said. "Cap't will crucify the lot of us for risking the boat and the crew. It can't be launched in this weather. He needs to grab the buoy. We'll bring him in, he does it quick enough."

"He doesn't see it! Surely ye can see that. There's no time; he's foundering now! Someone's got to help them! He needs it brought to him!" It seemed as if hours had passed, though it had been less than a minute. But even seconds in that roiling black sea . . .

Someone? He ran toward another buoy, struggling with the ropes, releasing it from the rail.

"Get below! They be lost; ye'll only be joining them to their fate." A sailor had run up behind him and wrapped an arm around his neck.

He recognized the sailor, a small man, one who used his acid tongue to make up for what he lacked in size. David had always taken pains in the past to avoid the man. Not now. He broke his grip easily and turned, drawing back his fist. He hit him hard, sending him sailing back onto the deck. Two more sailors approached, one to grab his fallen mate before he slid off the deck, the other with his hand up in a conciliatory gesture as he motioned to the buoy.

"Ease off, lad. The reach of the rope may be long enough. We'll add to it if we can and tow you back."

David grabbed the buoy and ran aft, past where Liam and Sean had drifted. The sailor followed, handling the rope. "Stay afloat, let the lads drift to you. Don't tire yourself."

He stood at the rail, buoy in hand, frozen in place as huge swells of inky black water rolled up to meet him, the frigid spray soaking him through afresh. A minute now; they had been in a minute and counting.

He couldn't go in there; he just couldn't. The man's right, they're lost in that. There's no point in his going in. None at all. He swallowed hard and looked toward Alex, to see if he had them in sight. If he didn't . . . nay, he was pointing.

White-livered, yellow-bellied eijit, jump in there, _now_ , damn it. Already wasted a minute just making a damn decision should have been second nature, didn't need deciding in the first place. He wrapped the buoy's rope around his wrist and vaulted over the rail, jumping as far from the ship's side as he could manage.

Good God Almighty Holy Mother of God. Water—hurt. He gasped frantically for air. Nothing but water—and it hurt. Hurt. Thousands of tiny knives piercing his skin. He couldn't see, the towering wall of water in front of him dwarfed him. Tremendous waves swelled around him, caging him. Caging him. He couldn't breathe—the knives—suicide's a sin. What in God's name had he just done?

The only thing.

Liam and Sean, is it even possible they're still conscious? He looked back at the ship as a swell carried him high. Aye, Alex was still there, pointing. They were still above water. He forced himself to kick, trying to maintain his position like the man said. His teeth chattered convulsively, the pain shooting about his head. Seconds passed and the sea tossed him back, plunging him once again into a deep abyss.

Don't panic. Kick again, don't panic. Same waves be tossing Liam and Sean this direction as well. Stay put, conserve energy. He rose to the top again. There, Liam had Sean in one arm and was using the other to pull himself forward. Sean didn't look—nay, don't think. They're above water, not far, not far, not far at all.

He didn't dare call out. He would only end up with a mouth full of water and couldn't be heard over the wind anyway. He waved his free arm high above his head, holding tight to the buoy.

Liam had seen him! He held the buoy in front and began to kick with every ounce of strength he had left. Closer, closer . . . A tug pulled him back and he panicked, suddenly recalling the shark he'd seen trailing the ship the day before. Would he even feel the teeth of the beast, atop the knives? He circled to the front of the buoy and looked behind. The rope was stretched tight all the way to the ship. No shark.

"Eijit," he spat out through his chattering teeth. He looked back to Liam. Still too far. Why hadn't they added to the line? Because this was pointless; they were right—why waste the rope?

Maybe, maybe not. He reached for his knife and began sawing at the rope. Don't drop the knife, don't drop the knife, don't drop the knife.

Suddenly it was no longer taut. Had they just cut him loose, save him the trouble? He followed the line of it to the ship. No, one of the sailors was motioning him forward. Thanks be, they added another length after all.

Putting his knife away, he began moving again, kicking until he reached them. He grabbed Sean under his armpit, pulling half his weight up onto the buoy. The lad was unconscious, and Liam refused to surrender his hold.

"Let go, Liam, I've got him," he tried to shout. "Hang tight to the buoy. It will hold us all. We've got to get back to the ship. Liam! Pay heed man, I have got hold of Sean. Just grab his free hand if ye will. We have to hurry." His voice was hoarse from the salt water he had taken in. Liam wasn't listening.

"Liam." He reached out, touched his face, and turned it toward him.

Recognition dawned slowly in Liam's eyes. The lad barely had the strength to keep himself above water. He nodded slowly, placing a hand on the buoy. David signaled, and the crew began towing them in.

Cold . . . ache . . . sleep now. There'd be no shame in it, not now, none.

Liam's holding on. Liam'd been in the water twice as long. Liam could hang on, well then, so could he.

How much longer, though?

Ma, her pain when his little sister died of the fever, think what the loss of another child would do to her. His brothers, why, they'd not be allowed out of the house forever. They'd never forgive him. America, what of the plans he'd made, all for naught if he slept.

Sleep, no shame in it now . . .

The rope, had it weakened at all when he'd tried to cut it? Might still end for the lot of them in a watery grave, a new beginning indeed. Mayhap Elisabeth could look for their souls to return with the next new moon.

Was she right? Would they return with the next new moon? He could find out if he surrendered.

No. How it had felt to hold her. There. Aye, that was sweet. Why hadn't he kissed her when he'd had the chance? That was surely one of the more stupid decisions he'd made.

The ship. Good God, we made it.

Two sailors had climbed down the ropes and were waiting for them. They reached for Sean first, and Liam helped David push him up and over to the men. One of them slipped a harness over his chest and under his arms and gave a signal to haul him up. David looked at Liam in relief as they pulled Sean over the rail, then watched in slow horror as Liam's eyes lost focus, and he let go of the buoy, slipping underwater.

"Nay!"

Adrenalin raced through him, and he dove without thought, thrashing his arms about to feel for him. He grabbed Liam's hair and reached for his collar. Which way now—up was which way? He couldn't remember; both ways were dark. Forcing the terror down, he chose a direction and kicked toward it, gulping greedily at the air as soon as he broke the surface. He didn't see the wave coming, wasn't hanging tight to the buoy. It picked him up high, slammed him full force against the side of the ship. He dimly realized he'd lost his grip on Liam.

Raining now. Sea is warmer, warmer than the rain. Can sleep now.

8

FRIGID SEAWATER MISTED HEAVILY throughout the hold as the storm continued to batter the _Industry_ the next two days, adding to the despair of those trapped within. The ship pitched violently, throwing possessions and those passengers still standing against the tables, bunks, and floor. Those in bunks were tossed against the side of the ship and each other, rolling in their own or their mates' vomit. The two sloop buckets had long since overturned, the stench of their contents overpowering all others in the cold, airless shelter.

Children cried, women screamed, some prayed earnestly; most just moaned in misery, pleas for water repeated over and over in vain. The water barrel was empty, with no hope of getting another while the storm raged. When it finally began to abate that second night they were all too exhausted, sick, and frightened to do more than lie helplessly in their berths until morning came.

ELISABETH PRESSED A COOL CLOTH against her father's forehead, then down along his face and throat.

"Can you drink, Papa? Just a few sips?" He opened his mouth slightly, and she held up the back of his head, pressing the cup to his lips. He closed his eyes and mouth after a swallow, and she lay his head back on the pillow, waiting. Good, it stayed down. He'd been vomiting for hours. Maybe it had been days, she'd lost track of time.

Captain Honeywell and his first mate were coming down the ladder. She stood and went to the door, listening. The captain was speaking, his words slurring from exhaustion. "Confounded fool lads, damn near brought my ship down. If they make it through this, they'll wish they hadn't. See to it, Mr. Ritcher."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, speak up, man, will they?"

"Sir?"

"Make it. Have you checked on them or not, damn it?" the captain asked, turning back to face Ritcher.

Ritcher had noticed her and nodded in her direction. The captain turned to look, set his mouth in that way he had, then turned on his heel and disappeared into his quarters.

"Mr. Ritcher, who? Who is he talking about? Mr. Ritcher, please!"

Ritcher had mumbled something unintelligible and hurried back up the companion ladder, dropping the hatch down after him.

David. Or Liam. Why else would Mr. Ritcher behave in such a manner? My God, what had happened? Not David; please not David. Then, ashamed, she bowed her head and said a short prayer for the safety of them all.

But please, not David.

Her father moaned, and she walked back into their room. Alex; Alex will know. Alex would be down soon to see to the captain. She just must stay awake until he did. She mustn't miss him.

Oh, God, please not David.

9

DAVID LAY STILL, his eyes shut as he tried to put a name to his surroundings. His head pounded, every muscle in his body, clenched rigid against the cold, ached. His teeth chattered, poking away at the ache in his head. The cold . . . the sea! His eyes flew open as he raised his head. There was something he needed to recall.

No, the pain . . . he quickly fell back, turning his head to his side, retching. Someone, his uncle maybe, murmured words of comfort as he cleaned him. He tried to concentrate, tried; there was something important he should know. The effort was too much. He slipped back under.

Later, minutes, maybe hours, he woke to the smell of soup. Someone put a spoon full of it to his mouth. He felt his stomach heave again; nothing left to vomit, vomited anyway, felt the cloth around his face. He turned his head away from the smell. No more, didn't want more. Soft hands.

Someone was talking quietly; he couldn't make out the words. Soft hands, soft words, then nothing but blackness.

No, no water. Didn't want anything. Stop. Hurt.

Again, he surrendered, welcoming the blackness.

"DAVID, DAVID? Come on, mate. It's been more than two days now, ye need to wake up. Ye're worrying me, man."

Liam. He tried to answer, but the words wouldn't come. Two days? Why? Not possible.

"David, if ye can hear me, press my hand," Liam said as he grabbed David's hand between his own two.

He made an effort, but his fingers wouldn't move. Tried to open his eyes. Maybe just looking through his lashes wouldn't bring that awful pain. Nay, not worth the effort. He tried his fingers again.

"Elisabeth, he moved!"

Loud. He winced, then he felt a soft hand across his brow, smoothing back his hair, and a cloth moving gently round his face.

"I'll go find the Reverend. He's only just left. I'll be right back," she said. "You'll stay with him?"

Silence. David moved his fingers again, stronger this time, questioning.

"Aye, well, ye remember the storm coming, I expect. Sean had come up on deck to find us. He wanted to try his hand at fishing, ken. Sick as he was."

David tried his fingers again, an urgent press.

"He's fine now, Davey, no small thanks to ye. Don't be worrying over him. Mr. O has him chained to his side. Otherwise ye'd find yourself sharing that bunk, so troubled is he that ye may not wake. When ye got us back to the ship, some of the crew were waiting to hoist us up. Story is, I went under again, you dove to fetch me. When ye brought me up, a huge swell claimed the both of us. Ye ended with your head slammed against the side, the both of us headed under again 'fore the sailors took hold and hauled us in. Sean and I, we recovered by the next day, but the storm still kept us down. Ye, on the other hand . . . ." Liam stopped, his voice breaking.

David tensed, the terror of those few moments washing over him afresh.

"I don't mind telling ye, Davey, we've all been worried. That's a harsh way to get the lass's attention. Once they let her down here, she's only left your side to tend to her Da. The storm made him awfully sick," Liam said, curling his fingers tightly around David's hand.

"That was a damn fool thing to do Davey, and I . . . I thank ye for it."

David returned the pressure, then surrendered again to the blackness.

ELISABETH TIPTOED BACK into her cabin just before her father woke. She'd spent the night in steerage, helping the Reverend and Liam with David. Liam had tried to convince her to sleep in the berth, "only to keep the lad warm Lisbeth, no one can find fault with that. Ye've more padding than the rest of us when the ship tosses him." But she didn't, as much as she wanted to. She contented herself with rubbing his hands to warm them and sponging his face to cool his forehead and keep him clean as he continued to vomit up whatever remained in his stomach. He didn't wake all night long, but she thought his fever broke.

She'd been so frightened when she found out what had happened. Reverend Wilson had told her that at the onset of the storm Paul had stuck his head out the hatch door to look for Sean and had had just enough time to see David go over the side before his mother grabbed him by the waist and pulled him back in. He'd told his mother what he'd seen, and she had gone to Wilson.

She knew the German mothers on board had a soft spot for David and Liam, both of whom had spent hours below entertaining the children with games and card tricks. They were doing what they could to help David recover.

She prayed they knew more of how to go about that than she did.

ANOTHER DAY, another night; still, he was down.

"Elisabeth, are you leaving?" Papa asked from his bunk.

"I'm going to get you some broth, Papa. You should try to keep something down now that you're feeling better."

"Later, not now, Beth. Now I just want to sleep. Thank you for keeping me company. You're a good daughter," he said, his voice trailing off, his eyes closing.

She hoped he still felt that way in a few days when he was up, hearing the talk that was making its way through this ship.

Should she sleep as well? No, how could she, as worried as she was. Grabbing a book from the shelf, she headed to the kitchen to talk the cook out of some broth. The Reverend had told her David had kept some water down last evening. So far he had yet to speak, but he was waking briefly. That had to be a good sign. Please, Lord.

The cook gave her a broad smile as she entered the kitchen. "Aye, Miss Elisabeth! Cap' says to give ye my best for your Da. Here it is a'waiting. More than enough for ye, too. And how is Mr. Hale?"

"He's much better. He's sleeping now. Thank you, Mr. Grimes," she said, reaching for the soup.

"Sleeping, eh? Well, he can't eat if he's sleeping, can he then? Here, I think the lad may be wanting something to settle his stomach 'bout now. This will surely tempt him. Have him eat the broth while it still be warm," he said with a wink, handing her a loaf of fresh bread. It smelled wonderful. "I hear he's keeping water down now. That's a good sign."

Elisabeth looked at him, opened her mouth to reply, then closed it, not sure of what to say.

The cook laughed. "Come back later. There'll be more waiting for your da."

"Thank you, and I'll thank the Captain for this," she said, smiling as she backed her way out of the kitchen.

"Oh, I'm thinking we'll keep the Captain out of this, if it all be the same to you."

She hoped God didn't judge her too harshly for all the deceit she'd carried out these last few days. And now she was taking food from the Captain's table. But David would never get better if he didn't start eating something. The aroma of the food roused even her stomach to attention, making her wonder when she had last eaten.

"DAVEY, LOOK what an angel has brought us!"

Elisabeth looked up, her heart jumping to her throat. "David, you're awake!"

"No' sure; thought I smelled fresh bread, likely dreaming."

"This looks to be straight from the Captain's table, Davey. I think it really _is_ bread, fresh bread. Can ye believe it? It pays to have friends in high places, aye?"

"To be sure. Hello, Elisabeth."

Warm brown eyes met hers as Liam helped him sit up. She looked away, hastily busying herself with the food. "Good morning." Good heavens, why was she flustered? Surely he couldn't remember if her hands lingered as she had soothed him and cleaned him. Nor the prayers she had whispered. Could he?

She handed the food to Liam and climbed on the berth. "Where's your cup, Liam?" He pointed, and she poured some broth into it and handed it to him. "Eat."

She turned to David with her bowl. He grimaced each time she held the broth to his mouth, his eyes not meeting hers. But he swallowed. Was he embarrassed? Or would he rather someone else held the bowl? She looked toward Sarah's berth, finding her fast asleep. The poor girl had been suffering alone for days, vomiting whenever she woke, though she scorned Elisabeth's offer of water last night, so maybe she wasn't completely alone. Annie was up and around a little, she likely cared for her. It was certainly not her father. He'd been insensible with drink since the storm. Well, it wasn't her concern. Sarah had certainly made that clear since the cèilidh.

She broke off a few chunks of bread and put them in David's hand.

"Make shares, Lisbeth. I havena seen ye eat in days," Liam said, reaching for the piece she handed him.

She did, taking as small a portion as she could.

After the last bite, David lay back down, looking at Liam. "Liam, go on deck for a spell for me, will ye? Your stories are getting stale. Ye need some new tales."

"Aye, well, I could be using a wee bit of fresh air, if ye're sure you're not needing me for anything."

"Go!" David said.

Liam grinned, jumping off the berth. "I'll send the Rev'rend, Lisbeth."

"You've a friend for life, you know," Elisabeth said quietly, climbing down from the bunk after Liam had left.

"Aye, I know, one I be proud to claim." He moved gingerly, readjusting his position, closing his eyes. "Don't go, Lisbeth." He reached out a hand, and she took it in hers. "Can ye stay? Will ye read?"

"Yes, of course I will. I've brought a book."

"I enjoy hearing your voice. Start where they bring Gull'ver to the city gates."

She had thought him asleep, but he had known the book, had known where she had left off. He did want her here.

"Of course." She let go of his hand and sat, opening the book to read aloud.

"The emperor, and all his court, came out to meet us; but his great officers would by no means suffer his majesty to endanger his person by mounting on my body . . ."

10

LIAM HAD HEARD the rumors. He and Sean owed their lives to these men, after David. No one would openly acknowledge it, but Rob had told him it had been whispered about that the Captain was within seconds of giving the order to make sail. Would have, too, if David hadn't reached them just when he had.

He understood. It was the man's duty to weigh one, or as the case may be, three, lives against a hundred and fifty. A ship can't hove to in weather like that without great risk. And if the crew hadn't been quick about towing them back and hoisting them up, they would have been left.

And if that didn't leave a rock of terror low in one's gut, nothing would.

So he'd clean when the captain gave the order to clean.

A crew of women organized the effort, sending men up on deck with buckets of grime and orders to replace it with sea water. Over and over. Those staying below were put to task scrubbing and repairing, taking care not to use so much water that it leaked into the cargo hold below and incited the Captain's temper. Not a one of them balked. The hold was days past the point of becoming unbearable.

And he'd help with the crew's quarters as well, something the Captain hadn't ordered.

Some had realized early on that helping the sailors with domestic chores got them small favors in return. Extra fires for cooking . . . sweeter water for a sick child . . .

Sometimes even a hand up from a roiling black sea.

UNCLE JOHN HAD MOVED him to the forecastle so he could sleep during the cleanup. But he'd had his fill of sleeping, he needed some air. And it looked as if the sun might be shining. He rolled out of the hammock, stretching his hands high above his head, then down to the floor. He looked up as Liam walked in with a passel of women, toting an armful of supplies.

"Liam, good, you're here. Have ye had breakfast? I'm near famished."

"Hmmph. 'Bout time ye got out of that bed. Breakfast was hours ago. I notice ye waited till just after the cleaning was done, nothing wrong with your senses."

The women patted him about the head and shoulders, speaking quickly amongst themselves in German. He'd picked up enough of the language to understand the gist of what they were saying and smiled, thanking them for their concern before turning back to Liam.

"Can ye grab something and meet me on deck, Liam? I canna face another minute 'tweendecks, even to find grub."

"Ye need to face another twenty minutes. Sit back down till we're done. This willna take long."

Hell, he was hungry. He glared at Liam.

"I can make ye, easily enough," Liam said, shrugging.

That might be true. At the moment, anyway. He hesitated.

"I'm helping these women David, so dinna make me worry after ye."

David lay back in the hammock, hands behind his head. "By all means, Ma. This I have to see anyway."

HE BLINKED SEVERAL times against the brightness, steadying himself at the top of the ladder.

"David!"

Sean broke from Mr. Oliver's hold and ran, vaulting up into David's arms, careening him backwards into Liam, throwing his arms tightly around David's neck. Laughing, Liam came around and grabbed Sean.

"Here now, squirrel, ye dinna wanna be choking the life out of him, d'ye? He just got it back inta him."

"David," Mr. Oliver said solemnly, taking his hand. "I am more grateful than you can ever know." He threw his arms around David in a strong, brief embrace.

Somewhat uncomfortable, he returned the man's embrace, mumbling a reply before sliding down against a crate.

"How have ye been keeping busy, Sean? Think ye can best me in chips yet?" he asked. He glanced at Liam, who gave a mock salute before heading back below toward the provisions.

"It's been awful without ye, David. Liam won't play, so I canna practice as good. Rob doesna spin the yarns Liam does, and we had to stay below for days while the ship was tossing. I got to sleep with you, only ye didna know so it didna really count . . ."

On and on Sean went. David leaned back, grateful to feel the sun on his face and the boy in his lap.

"The water was awful cold, wasn't it David? I was really scared," Sean said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, the change rousing David.

"It was the coldest I have ever been, Sean, and I was really scared, too."

"You were?" The lad's eyes searched his face, his blue eyes squinting in disbelief. "I'm not going to do that again, go near the rail without Rob or Liam or Mr. Ol'ver or you. Mr. O don't believe me, I think, but I'm not, I promise. I'm sorry I made ye and Liam come in with me and that ye got so awful sick."

David looked at the boy, his tears threatening to spill over freckles as he gave the speech he'd obviously been thinking over for days. He grabbed him close and murmured, "We're all fine now, Sean, dinna fash over it. It was only an accident, it wasna your fault." Sean held on tight, shoulders shaking as he nodded.

David pulled back and tapped Sean's nose with his forefinger. "Look, there's Liam, and he's brought some oatcakes. Grab some for me, will ye, 'fore he claims them all?"

"Take a break, Mr. O, will ye? Find Rob for us and send him over," Liam said.

"I'll bring Sean when I head below," Wilson said.

Mr. Oliver glanced at Sean, who was hanging tightly to David's leg, and nodded. "Aye, then I will."

Minutes later Rob limped up on deck. "Finally, man, ye gave us all a scare."

"Did ye bring the chips?" David asked before Rob could think to coddle him as well. "Well then, toss 'em, man; let's play 'fore Sean forgets all I taught him. Will ye join in, Uncle?"

He did, surprising them again with his luck as he beat them handily.

"Just another example of experience gentlemen, winning out over the enthusiasm of youth," he said, standing to take his leave, reaching for Sean's hand.

"I don't wanna go, Rev'rend Wilson," Sean said, his arm still wrapped around David's leg.

Wilson bent to whisper something in his ear, and Sean glanced at David. David winked at him, and Sean tightened his lips rebelliously but didn't protest further as he rose and followed.

One game was enough. David leaned his head back, closing his eyes as he raised his face to the sun.

"I'm well enough Liam, just enjoying the gift of the sun and fresh air. Leave me be," he said, before Liam could ask.

He listened idly as Liam and Rob rambled on about the virtues of one of the lassies Rob had fancied back home, and he himself daydreamed about the virtues of a lass on board this ship. He must have drifted to sleep, as he started a bit at the sound of Liam's voice.

"Good afternoon, Elisabeth. It's a fine day to be up on deck. How's your father faring?"

He opened his eyes as Elisabeth sat next to him, a spot Rob must have vacated.

"Papa is fine, thank you for asking, Liam. He rose this morning feeling much like himself again and made his way to the Captain's cabin for the afternoon."

"So, ye'll be having the afternoon free to spend with the likes of us, then?"

"Yes, I do. Have you anything entertaining planned?"

"Nay, and the truth of it is, David's tiring of my entertainment these past days."

David snorted. "Liam, sounds like Elisabeth will act as nursemaid now. You can take some time off."

"I don't need time off, David. Ye're no' a chore."

"Go find Annie, or Eliza, or what about the lass yesterday, the one who offered—"

Liam quickly stood. "Stop, Davey, no' in front of Lisbeth. Ye'll have her telling tales out of school. I'll be back in a bit. Behave yourselves, now."

He left, and David turned to Elisabeth. "Ye don't have to stay if ye've things need doing. I know you've been nursing both your da and me the past few days. Ye're likely weary. I didn't mean to volunteer your time without asking. Just that Liam wouldn't have left otherwise, and he needs to. And I don't need a nursemaid." He paused. Maybe that sounded ungrateful. "Not anymore, that is. I didn't mean to imply I don't appreciate all that ye did. I do. Appreciate it, that is."

Hell, maybe it was better when he lost his tongue.

"Do you want me to go?"

"Not unless ye need to."

"All right," she said, looking at him uncertainly.

Ah hell. His fingers found hers, and he grasped her hand tightly. "Stay. Please."

She looked at him and smiled. "I'd like to."

He spent the rest of afternoon listening to her talk of home, contributing to the conversation now and then, dozing off now and again. He was glad of her company. Glad she didn't seem to expect much else. He kept ahold of her hand, all the while stroking the base of her thumb with his own in a slow rhythm until the sun was low in the sky.

"Papa will begin to wonder where I am soon. David?"

"Hmmm?" He stood, helping her to her feet. He looked at her face, waiting.

"David, I want you to know I'll always treasure this afternoon. I'll always remember it." She looked around quickly, then rose on her toes, her mouth aimed for his cheek.

He wasn't one to make the same mistake twice. With lightning quickness, his hand cupped her chin, moving her face so that her mouth met his lips instead of his cheek. He'd meant it to be a quick kiss, and he was prepared for 'nice.' Maybe something a bit more; after all, just touching the lass was beyond nice.

What he wasn't prepared for was the slow spinning sensation that enveloped him as everything about them receded, leaving nothing but her: the sweet taste of her mouth, the warmth of her body as she pressed against him, the softness of her skin under his fingers as he caressed her face. Her scent marked him, filled him, drowning out all others.

"Ahem. Hello? David?" Liam tapped his shoulder. "David!"

He drew back slowly, his eyes searching her face.

"Elisabeth, thanks for watching over the lad. Mr. Ritcher says your da is looking for ye. I told him if I saw you, I'd send ye directly."

He couldn't believe it; he'd forgotten where they were. Completely, utterly forgotten. The bump on his head, it must have lingering effects. Except she had felt it as well, he could see the confusion in her eyes as her fingers went to her lips. She nodded without speaking and pulled away, walking quickly in the direction of her cabin.

No sooner than she was out of earshot did Liam begin his tirade.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, David, what if I had been her da? Or one of the captain's men who reports to her da? Are ye mad, man? Isna one near-death experience in a week enough for ye? Where's your sense? I know I haven't known ye long, but I had ye figured for the cautious, careful type. Ne'er the type to grab a lass whose da disapproves of the likes of ye and kiss her like she was your next meal, in broad daylight no less, for all to see. What were ye thinking, man?"

It was clearly far from 'broad' daylight. David grinned as he faced the sea and made a point of watching the sun disappear.

"Well, it's light enough that all but a blind man can see, and her da is no blind man, ye can be sure of that."

David laughed. "What am I thinking? Aside from the fact that ye're making a lot of fuss over a wee peck? Aye, well . . . I'm thinking here's a bonny lass, one I happen to fancy no less, standing in front of me, one who clearly willna mind being kissed. And I'm thinking who knows what the next minute will bring." He looked past Liam. Something had caught his eye in the gathering dusk. Squinting, he raised a hand and pointed.

"Mayhap that monster over there will swallow this ship, and I'll have missed my chance to kiss the bonny lass I happen to fancy, for sake of prudence. And what little comfort that will be as I wallow in the belly of that monster fish."

Liam lowered his head, shaking it from side to side in mock disgust and resignation. David grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him to face the sea, just as the whale rose alongside the ship with an audible snort. Liam jumped back, knocking the both of them off their feet.

"Oggh." David grumbled and pushed. "Ye weigh more than a boll of wet oats. Don't forget I'm but barely an invalid."

"Invalid, my arse." Liam said. But he moved off and over, never taking his eyes off the monster fish.

"It's a whale. At least I think it is," David said. "I don't believe it'll harm us. I just said those things to make my point."

The whale kept pace with the ship, its bulk dwarfing the _Industry_.

"Point taken," Liam said slowly, his eyes still locked on the whale. "Ye know Davey; there's never been a dull moment with ye."

"Me? I thought it be you. My life was steady 'fore I met you on that quay."

Then, with no more noise or warning than it had given upon its arrival, the whale submerged.

"Ye don't think it'll come up under and capsize us, do ye?" David asked.

"Nay, it's no' our time to die quite yet."

David looked hard at him. "Really now, is that so? Well then, I ask ye give me fair warning when you determine the time has arrived."

Liam laughed. "I don't think so, no' and have the responsibility of the virtue of the lass that may be within arm's reach of ye."

"Hmmph." David braced himself against the crate and stood. "Let's find some supper. It's been a fair while since I've eaten. Looks like Mrs. Andrews is taking a turn at the fire already. Maybe I'll share with ye."

"Mr. O's a bachelor as well, dinna ken why she couldn't have offered an exchange with him. He's as harmless as the Reverend."

"Mr. O comes packaged with a wild black rascal like you, as opposed to a sweet, angelic youth like me."

"Mr. O's saddled with three lads as opposed to one. She can figure that out quick enough," Liam countered. "Though she probably didna count on ye eating as much as three."

November 30, 1783—Rob says we are on track to arrive in about six weeks, having lost some time due to weather. He spends a good amount of time with the seamen talking about navigation, ship routes, and such. We suffered through a terrible gale, and I lacked the opportunity to write, but all is well now.

11

December 1783

HE HADN'T SEEN HER in days. In quarters this snug, that was likely by design. Hers?

Had the kiss embarrassed her? Angered her? Disappointed her? Left her indifferent? He could think of nothing other than her and that kiss—didn't mean she couldn't.

She may have simply been playing at nursemaid, a way of passing the time when naught much other was available. Now that he was on his feet, she had no use for him?

Maybe she'd been curious. Consort with the lower sort and all that. Now she'd satisfied her curiosity and had negated the need for more. Well then, maybe his curiosity was satisfied as well, and he'd negated his need for more.

"Have ye heard a word I've said, Davey?"

"Sure, ye said ye willna be missing home." Best pay attention on who was in front of him; stop worrying over who wasn't. "I can't think on it too much, though, Liam. I've no sense what life will be like once we've landed. There's no anchor to it, aye?"

"Hmmph, well, Mr. O feels like home to me, and ye'll be around, so I've no worries on that score. Ye'll be my anchor if I be needing one. I can count on that; I can count on you. Look, here comes your uncle."

"Morning, Uncle John, what brings ye up so early?

"It's Sunday, and it looks to be a fair day. Mayhap we should have service up on deck."

"That's a grand idea," Liam said. "Reverend, have ye by chance met Elisabeth's da?"

"I have. Why is it you ask?"

"I've seen neither him nor the lass on deck in some days now. I was thinking it would be the Christian thing to ask him to service also. He's the type would appreciate a personal invitation."

Ahh, hell, Liam. All the pains he'd taken to keep his uncle from guessing he was partial to the lass.

"I miss the lass. We grew . . . ahh . . . close. Whilst nursing Davey here, ken?

Taking care to keep his own face impassive, David watched his uncle's as the man's eyes darted from Liam to David, then back to Liam. Uncle John was no fool.

"Aye, well, surely ye know the Hales are Catholic, Liam. I'm not so certain he would accept the invitation, personal or not," Wilson said.

What? David's head whipped around to Liam. He hadn't known that. Liam had?

"Oh, to be sure, he wouldna," Liam said. "But he couldna deny his daughter outright the chance to worship, should she choose to, do ye think? It's the same God, right?"

Wilson laughed outright. "There's a bright future for you, Liam, I've no doubt of it. Very well, I'll extend the offer personally to Mr. Hale. I'm heading back below. You lads join me shortly to begin preparations?"

"Aye," David said. He turned to Liam.

"Can't have ye losing focus, man. Like I said, ye're my anchor." Liam shrugged. "'Sides, I _do_ miss the lass."

Forget the missing her. Everyone knew this but him? "She's papist, Liam? How long have ye known that?"

"Dinna ken, no' exactly. Does it matter?"

"Does it matter? Are ye daft?"

How could Liam even think that? Hell, he'd have thought someone could have mentioned this before . . . before what?

"Pete's sake, Davey." Liam looked at him, bright blue eyes assessing. "Same God, right?"

No. Well . . . yes. Mayhap. Hell, he didn't know.

ELISABETH HAD COME to the service, alone as Liam had predicted, and was sitting with Annie a short distance away. And was paying heed to Uncle John, just like everyone else.

Or mayhap the others were just outwardly showing respect, and their thoughts were occupied elsewhere while their blood danced about with frustration. Liam frowned pointedly at him, cuffing his knee to point out he'd noticed the fidgeting.

Sean ran to greet Elisabeth as soon as it was over.

"Elisabeth, where have ye been? Ye missed my reci . . . my recit. . . I memorized my six times multi'cation and told the class yesterday. Only ye weren't there to hear it, and ye helped me learn them!"

Elisabeth grabbed Sean, laughing. "I'm sorry, Sean, my Papa had some work he needed my help with these last few days. Would you like to recite them for me now?"

"Now? Nay, it's Sunday. Dinna have to know them on Sunday; ye're supposed to rest on Sundays. Ye don't rest on Sundays?"

"Yes, yes I do. I suppose I was thinking it was more like talking than work at this point, since you've already memorized them."

"Nay, ye have to wait till the morrow. Are ye coming to class then? Is your Da done with ye?"

Elisabeth ran her hand through his mop of red hair, then patted the curls, smoothing them down. She reached for his hand, taking the cap he held, placing it back atop his head. "Yes, I believe he's finished with his letters, for a few days anyway. Hello, Rob, Liam, David."

"We've missed ye, Elisabeth. Glad to hear ye'll be back tomorrow," Rob said.

"Aye, the young ones are a bit harder to handle without ye, that's the truth," Liam said. "Were ye feeling poorly?"

"Oh, no. My Papa wanted my help with some of his correspondence. I believe we've finished most of it, though, and he won't have need of me quite as much."

"Sean! Wait, ye know ye must wait for Liam or me," Rob said, hurrying after Sean. "It was good to see ye out again, truly, Elisabeth."

"Thank you, Rob. Goodbye, Sean!"

"Bye Lisabeth. Don't forget tomorrow."

"All right, Sean, maybe we'll have time to start on the sevens," she said, waving a hand.

"I heard tell Mrs. Reid has taken an interest in ye," Liam said.

Elisabeth looked back at Liam, surprised. "Is there anything you _don't_ know, Liam?"

Liam shrugged. "I've always found it helpful to keep my eyes and ears open."

"Who's Mrs. Reid?" David asked, speaking for the first time since she'd joined them. It was irksome the way her presence had sent his blood racing. He was grateful Sean had gotten to her first. The lad saved him the embarrassment of running to greet her like a lovesick fool. He had the sinking feeling that without Liam there to make conversation he might remain tongue-tied for the duration. He hoped she hadn't noticed. Of course, Liam had.

"Annie mentioned that the widow Reid was spending a lot of time trying to catch the notice of Mr. Hale and his poor motherless daughter. I gather she tried to ingratiate herself with the father by carrying tales of the daughter?"

"Tales? Of what?" David's dark brows came together in a scowl. "Are ye meaning this widow made something of Elisabeth spending time with me while I was down? Is that true, Elisabeth? Is that why ye've been confined to your cabin?"

"Not confined, precisely, but Papa did suddenly need a lot of help with his correspondence."

"And?" David said.

She raised her brows, questioning.

" _Why_ was it that he needed ye close, of a sudden?"

Liam excused himself to see if the Reverend needed help.

"Nay, stay. If ye don't mind, that is. I'll no' be the cause of her being shut in again."

"David, it's not important, really. Mrs. Reid ended up with much less than she bargained for. Having a daughter around full-time doesn't make for ease in romancing. She's the one who convinced Papa I should go to Sunday service, in spite of—never mind. She won't be bending my Papa's ears again with tales of my 'transgressions.' Quite the opposite, I should imagine."

"Lisbeth, I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused ye. Ye need to be doing as your father expects." He put his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her and looked at her, rocking back on his heels.

Her eyes snapped, darkening to a deeper blue. "Oh no you don't, David Graham. I'm not a small child. I do and have done many things without my father's express permission. And as of this point in time he hasn't forbidden me to spend time with anyone, _anyone_ on this ship. If you choose to no longer spend time with me, then come out and say so, don't hide behind my father. Do I make myself clear? As a matter of fact, there's Sarah standing with Annie. Mrs. Reid was full of talk about—never mind, if I'm not mistaken, Sarah appears to be waiting for you. She'll be much less troublesome. From my understanding, _her_ father is much too taken with the bottle to know or care _who_ she spends time with."

She stopped, her hand flying to her mouth and her eyes widening in horror. Flushing, she turned and hurried away.

David blinked, taking a step back. She had made it so easy, he hadn't even used the words he'd crafted, explaining their differences.

Liam looked at him, grinning. "She told ye, didna she?"

"David? I need you. Can you come over here?"

David scowled at Liam. "Aye, Uncle John."

Why didn't he feel relief?

December 7, 1783—Uncle John held a service on deck this morning, which was well attended as the day was fair. Some started music on deck for the afternoon, probably not in keeping with the Sabbath, so I didn't attend, but enjoyable for others nonetheless.

December 8, 1783—Full moon last night, bright enough to play cards, and a group of us did. I wish Elisabeth had been able to make it. She may have considered it if I hadn't been there as well.

December 15, 1783—We have had the blessing of a strong wind the last week, and the crew thinks it may be enough to make up for time lost during the gale in November and the stillness after. Many have been ill from seasickness, and the first mate sends us below when the ship rolls overmuch.

12

"LIAM?" David whispered. "Ye awake?"

Liam was out of his berth instantly, finger to his lips, shoving David to the companionway and up the ladder.

"Ye wake up Sean, Mr. O will be forgetting he favors ye."

David snorted. "He ne'er loses his temper." He took a deep breath. "Aye, much better. The smell below was stifling this night. At least the wind had kept it down some."

"Country boy."

"Hmmph, and you're no'?"

"Och. Nay. Me, I'm from a thriving city of one hundred or so. Well, mayhap fifty. Varies upon the number of gents passing through for sport. I never much thought on it."

David grinned. "Aye, well, city boy, it's glad I am then, that I brought you up here to observe a clean night sky." The night was brilliant with stars, and the small whitecaps atop the water glowed with a phosphorescent fire. They spent a good while in silence, pointing out falling stars.

David yawned and stretched out his arms. "One night I'm hoping to be lucky enough to see _na fir-chlis."_ Alex had explained the phenomenon to him as a strange fire atop the mast, visible only at night.

"Ye willna, ever—it needs to be storming. This crew willna let the likes of us on deck again in a storm, you can be sure of that," Liam said. "Are ye still writing daily in your journal?"

"Aye, I try. But I think I need to slow it down a bit so my pencil makes the entire journey. Why d'ye ask?"

"Elisabeth. She was in a lather about the paper ye had given her. Ye do know her da has much more paper at his disposal than ye?"

David chuckled. "Aye, well, it made her happy." And had taken the look of studied indifference from her eyes for a brief while. It was difficult for her to avoid him on a ship this size, but she was fairly good at ignoring him. "I asked her to write out a wee bit of her poetry."

Liam grunted, but didn't make more of it than that. "She's a good sort. Did ye see her today, watching Alex eat the maggot from his biscuit? She barely flinched." He laughed.

"Aye, well. He didn't have to savor it like it was a delicacy. I'll admit I was feeling a bit queasy myself by the time he was done."

"He did allow as how it was the better variety of the beast," Liam said. "I think mayhap man can eat 'bout anything, he gets hungry enough. And this crew has been hungry enough at times."

"Have ye?"

"A time or two. Well, just be knowing I was hoping to have a copy of it, your journal; forget the poetry. To read when I'm old and grey, ken?"

"It's no' much, I'll be warning ye in advance, but course I can be writing ye out a copy." He elbowed Liam, pointing at one of the figures pacing the deck. "That's Hale coming this way, aye?"

Liam looked, then nodded. "With Wallace. Now that's an unlikely pairing. What do ye make of that?" They inched back further into the shadows, keeping quiet while the two passed, wondering what business Sarah's father could possibly have with Mr. Hale.

"Begging your honor's pardon, don't mean any offense by it, for certain I don't . . ." Mr. Wallace could be heard saying as the two passed by.

"Bumming a bottle, ye think?" David asked softly.

"Could have picked a more generous mark, if so."

13

Christmas Eve, 1783

December 24, 1783—I have missed recording many days, as not much of note has happened. I will try to make up for the loss in this entry. Our progress is finally steady. The days have settled into a predictable, albeit pleasant routine. I always join Uncle John for the noonday meal. The late afternoon is spent in class with Mr. Oliver. His curriculum is limited due to the restrictions and distractions of the ship; however, it does pass the time, and I come away with a bit more knowledge than not each day. Liam and I try to entertain the children on the ship. We found it helps reduce the amount of crying at day's end and makes the evenings easier for all of us. Often we spend time with the Germans and try to extend our knowledge of the language–as do they.

_Yesterday there was a cry of "Sail Ahoy," and a great commotion among the crew. The ship was the_ Ceres _, on her way to London, carrying troops. The crew speculates she was carrying the last of the British troops from New York. This being an American vessel, that was cause for an extra ration of rum for the seamen._

This evening the children are putting on a play to commemorate the birth of Jesus. Hymns for both adults and children are planned; it will be held betweendecks as the weather is too frigid for most once the sun goes down. Elisabeth will be able to participate as she is to manage the play. I'm glad of that, as I don't often see her past supper. She avoids me when she's able.

ELISABETH HURRIED DOWN the ladder into steerage, smiling to find it chaotic as always, loud with laughter and good natured jests. Someone was playing melodies on a harmonica, and one of the MacTavishes was tuning up his fiddle.

" _Frohe Weihnachten_!" Mrs. Kiefer said as she passed.

"Did you do this, Mrs. Kiefer?" she asked, fingering the decorations strung along the berth. She started to struggle with the German, then settled on English to try to tell her how impressed she was. David came up behind her, rattling off something, and Mrs. Kiefer laughed, embracing her. Hopefully he'd only repeated what she'd been trying to say. It sounded rather long, more than a mere 'they're beautiful.'

Politely, she took her leave and continued on toward the children. She made it as far as the next berth before he stepped in front of her, walking backwards so that he could face her as they moved.

"Lisbeth, the wee ones, they all be wanting to know the plan, lass. Liam and I havena a clue."

"David, good evening, you seem rushed," she said, struggling to keep her eyes off his face. Her resolve to stay away would falter if she looked directly at him. She'd already made enough of a fool of herself. She blushed as she was reminded once again of her uncharitable remarks regarding Sarah and her father.

And his complete lack of denial. She mustn't forget that.

"Just anxious to see ye, lass."

"Lisbeth, at last! Davey and I are ready to go swab the deck or scrub the galley, something a wee bit more relaxing. If we tarry much longer with this bunch we'll no' have energy left for caterwauling." Liam pulled two small boys from around his neck and set them on the floor.

"Lucy, you know all the parts well; didn't you want to help David and Liam?"

Lucy giggled and hid her face in Elisabeth's skirts. Surprised at the girl's uncharacteristic shyness, Elisabeth looked up at David, forgetting her resolution. Faith, but he did make her heart skip a beat, his shoulders so wide and strong, straining against his white linen shirt. Mischief sparked from his warm brown eyes as he grinned at her, and she felt the spark all the way to her toes. That grin transformed his face, the hard lines that usually settled into a solemn mask, erased, as his dimples appeared and took over. Her hand itched to reach up and push back the lock of hair that had fallen across his eyes, separating from the tangle of soft chestnut curls that never seemed to stay put within his cap.

She'd known better than to look.

And Liam, with his impish charm, well, there weren't many females who could resist taking a second glance there, those piercing blue eyes all the more remarkable against his raven black hair and brows, framed above the fine line of his nose, the high set of his cheekbones.

Mercy, she supposed she knew how little Lucy felt. They made quite a pair, the both of them.

"Well, all right, no matter, Lucy. Let's let them go off and do boy things. I see Annie now; she's headed this way. We best get started." She arranged them in rows according to order of appearance. She felt David behind her, whispering in her ear, asking her to please not disappear after the play. He hadn't waited for her to say no. She turned to watch them saunter away, rubbing her arms to subdue the goose bumps he'd raised.

They owned their world, those two, no doubt of that—and it wasn't the same world as hers. She'd do well to remember that.

Annie joined her, looking festive with a garish green cap atop her red curls.

"Where did you find that, Annie?" Elisabeth asked, laughing.

"Oh, and don't ye like it, love?" She pirouetted on her toes, hand to her head.

"Oh, yes."

Annie clapped her hands. "Lovely, Lisbeth. Now, where's my Mary and Joseph?"

"Sean, are you ready?" Elisabeth asked. Sean, the oldest of the bunch, was the master of ceremonies. He nodded, bouncing with excitement.

Elisabeth and Annie stepped to the side and let the children carry on. And so they did, almost flawlessly, with little prompting from Elisabeth. Annie sang to aid in the telling of the story, her beautiful voice resounding around the confines of the hold, and at the end of the play the children received a thundering round of applause.

"Oh, Annie, thank you so much. You made it so much easier for them," Elisabeth said.

"I enjoyed it just as much as they did, Lisbeth. Your lad's headed this way. Merry Christmas, love. Say hello to your father for me now."

Her lad? Was she referring to David? How was it possible the gossipmongers weren't up to date? Certainly, if anyone's, he was 'Sarah's lad'.

"That was wonderful, Elisabeth," Mr. Oliver said. "I know first-hand what a difficult task you set up for yourself, and you made it look easy. That's a talent you can be proud of."

"Oh, but I love it, Mr. Oliver. If you had told me six months ago that I could have arranged this, well, I'm not sure I'd have believed you."

"Now, you're not leaving, are you? There's a long evening ahead, I'm hoping you can share in a wee part of it."

"No, she's not leaving as yet, are ye, lass?" David said, appearing at her side. "Your play was wonderful, Elisabeth."

"Thank you, David. I wasn't sure you saw it."

"Every minute of it. Now come eat. Liam's got a plate ready for ye, Mr. O."

She supposed it couldn't hurt. The women had put together such a festive spread. She didn't know much about preparing meals, but surely it'd be impossible to prepare the items they were serving with the rations provided. They must have been prepared to have Christmas onboard. She wasn't; she'd been certain she and Papa would be spending Christmas with her grandparents.

The smaller children called to her, asking her to sit with them. She acquiesced, not turning to see if David followed.

"Sean! You were wonderful. Would you mind if I sat with you?" she asked, squeezing between him and his friend, the German boy, Paul. "Hello, Paul, I wanted to let you know your voice is beautiful. Such notes you could reach! Had you studied that at home?"

No matter the poor boy couldn't understand much of what she was saying, especially as fast as she was prattling. She risked a glance at David from beneath her lashes. He had followed and settled in the spot next to his uncle across from her. Drat, he had caught her peeking and was turning that grin on her.

"Your mother has such lovely decorations, Paul. She's quite talented, isn't she? Wouldn't you agree, Sean? Now, Lucy, tell me what you'd be doing right this minute, if you were home for Christmas Eve."

The children were delighted to have her full attention on them, showering her with questions as she told them stories of celebrations she had had at their age. Some knew so little of her Christmas traditions, it was surprising. She would ask David about that later.

No, on second thought, she wouldn't. It would have something to do with the differences between the Catholics and the Protestants. He was only a casual acquaintance after all, and religious differences weren't an appropriate subject of conversation between casual acquaintances.

The children turned their questions on Reverend Wilson: did Jesus speak all the languages there were to speak, what if He didn't, how would one know which language to pray in so He could understand, how old would He be now if He were still alive, did He have to obey his mother and father all the time even though He was in fact God's son, and on and on.

He patiently addressed each question, but she'd aver he displayed a bit of relief when someone announced it was time for all to gather around and sing hymns.

"Elisabeth, are you ready to return?" Mr. Oliver asked, joining them. "I promised your father I'd see you back safely before three bells."

"I am, thank you, Mr. Oliver." She had noticed Sarah was free now, free from attending to her father's meal, and she wanted to leave immediately—before the girl made her way to David. And well before any unkind thoughts made their way from her tongue to his ears.

She understood completely the attraction Sarah carried for David. She'd recognized it from the first. There were plenty of other young men on board who would eagerly accept her attention, should she choose to bestow it. But she didn't, not for any appreciable amount of time anyway. No, Sarah had sensed something in David, just as she herself had. And Sarah needed the haven that something promised. She shouldn't begrudge her that.

"I'll escort her, Mr. Oliver. I'd like to get a bit of fresh air. If ye don't mind, that is, Elisabeth. I promise I'll get ye there without delay," David said. Mr. Oliver nodded before she could think of a valid reason why she'd mind.

She had valid reasons aplenty, just not ones she was comfortable sharing with Mr. Oliver.

THE CAPTAIN AND Ritcher were standing outside the companionway, enjoying a smoke. Rotten luck; he should have let Mr. O take her back. Now her Da would hear first thing she was with him.

David tipped his cap to the men. "Capt'n Honeywell, Mr. Ritcher."

"Good evening, Mr. Graham, Miss Hale. Was your performance a success, Miss Hale?"

"I believe so, Captain, thank you for your inquiry. Is my father awaiting me?"

"He's deep into the cards, Miss. He'll not be missing you as yet," Ritcher said.

"Come along, Sam. It's likely to be your hand by now. Good night, Mr. Graham." They extinguished their cigars and disappeared down the ladder.

Well now, that was odd, wasn't it? Left her alone with the rabble.

Elisabeth turned to him. "I should go below now. I don't want my delay to be the subject of speculation. Merry Christmas, David."

He looked at her, opened his mouth once, then shut it. He took in a deep breath, releasing it slowly as his hands fisted at his side.

"Aye, Lisbeth. Merry Christmas to you as well. Sleep tight."

He hadn't pressed. Given that he'd wanted to drop to his knees begging her to give him the time of day once again, that'd been a struggle.

He'd like to have kissed her good night, to test his memory of that first kiss. He'd had a good knock on the head; the kiss likely wasn't anything like he remembered it. He'd planned to kiss her again, see that it wasn't, get the wanting of it out of his system, stop the dreaming. But the deck was teeming with people tonight. It'd have to wait.

He grinned, walking back to the other companionway. There was also the minor hindrance she'd likely slap him, should he even venture close.

He found his uncle alone. "Uncle John, why is it that we don't celebrate Christmas like this at home? It seems happier, the way the Germans mark the occasion. Elisabeth's stories as well, don't ye think?"

"The Church feels that a lot of the traditions observed prior to the Reformation had no relevance to the birth of Christ and more relation to pagan celebrations."

"Aye, well, I'm thinking there's no harm in a wee bit of decorating and plenty of good food. The carols the Irish are singing, I hear references to the birth of Christ, as well as to general goodwill."

"I'll no' argue the fact, David, I don't believe there's harm in this type of celebration. But history has shown a more riotous type of revelry at Christmas, one that had little to do with the birth of our Savior. The Church thought it best to put a stop to it all, in order that we could remain focused on our service to God."

David nodded, unwilling to dispute the point. He had to believe, however, in the possibility the Lord had nothing against celebrations centered around family and the singing of hymns.

14

"LOOK AT THE BRIGHT SIDE, David," Liam said, as they played yet another game of cards. "The wind's at least moving us in the proper direction."

"Aye, and it's moving the air below as well. Could be worse."

"Aye, we could be swimming," Liam said, grinning.

David laughed. Or drowning. Life was good. It was the day after Christmas, and the Captain had ordered all passengers confined below, owing to the strong wind coming out of the east. Most didn't notice, too seasick to move from their berths.

The game of choice below deck was Whist, and they never lacked for partners in the long evenings aboard. Mr. Oliver had indeed seen to it that David was taught the game, and he had learned it quickly and well, albeit not as well as Mr. Oliver and his boys.

As closely as he'd observed Liam's swift calculations and strategy, he didn't think he'd ever match him. And some days there wasn't any point in playing against someone he hadn't a hope in hell of besting. He'd suggested they play Loo this morning.

"Where are we, Rob? Did ye find out?" Liam asked, looking up from his hand as Rob joined them.

"Dinna ken, no' for sure."

"Ye? Or the crew doesna?" David asked. Rob was normally full of the particulars, given he spent a fair amount of time with the seamen.

Rob shrugged. "They're no' sharing."

There was talk amongst the others that they were only a few days out from Cape Henlopen. David thought that might be true; they had begun to see smaller craft in the sea and birds as well. The crew was reluctant to discuss their position, though, even Alex, and the talk amongst the passengers was just that, talk.

Sarah sat next to David.

"I'm so cold, David," she said, hunching her shoulders in a shiver, surprising him as she moved in close. She hadn't spent time with them in the last few weeks; he figured she'd lost interest. It wasn't a secret he fancied Elisabeth, not anymore. He gave her a brief smile, turning his eyes back quickly to his cards. No wonder she was cold, the cut of her gown as low as it was. Lass needed a mother.

"Ye're feeling well enough then, are ye, lass?" Liam said. "Angus over there's been trying to keep you warm for days now, darlin'."

She ignored him, entwining her arm with David's. "Are you sure you want to be playing cards again, David? It's all you've done for hours." She pressed up against his arm, scooting closer. "There's ways more entertaining to pass the time. Cozier ways."

He grunted, not answering.

Liam laid down several of his cards.

David groaned at the set and reached for another card. If he ignored her long enough, she'd go. Wouldn't she? Wasn't that the way of it?

He didn't know; how would he?

"Angus?" Rob asked. "Ye're meaning the lad that won the deed to that German fellow's farm last night?"

She put her other hand on his thigh beneath the table, and the cards in his hand curled as his grip tightened.

"One and the same," Liam said. "He's riding high. Word is that farm 'bout runs itself. He'll just have to sit back and count the profits."

David concentrated hard on his cards, choosing one and discarding it. Hell, he could have laid down the key to his game, for all the sense he could make of the figures. He risked a glance down at his arm. Sure enough, those lovely breasts pressed up against him were threatening to spill over. She was actually a sweet lass. They could pass the time together. She could erase the spell Elisabeth had cast.

Now . . . there's a thought.

"That and watch his back. The German's wife was fit to be tied," Rob said.

Her hand moved higher, her grip on his arm tightening. His eyes crossed. Mayhap . . . it wouldn't hurt to just . . . it couldn't hurt just this once.

"Willna do her much good. The man won it fair and square. _Right_ , _Davey_?"

No. He clenched his teeth, reaching below the table to move her hand. Even if he could be sure Lisbeth wouldn't hear of it, Uncle John sure would, and he'd have his hide.

"Davey?"

"What? Oh, aye, right."

He lay down a set and deliberated on the remaining cards in his hand.

"I think ye already lost, David," Rob said, his voice laced with amusement.

"Do you only plan to play at cards, David? Maybe I should go."

He turned to her, managing a weak grin. "Sure, Sarah, wish me luck for the next round."

She stood, her pretty pink lips puckering in a pout as she turned and headed in Angus' direction.

"Do you two rehearse in advance?" David asked quietly.

"Deal me in, will ye?" Rob said. "Think the lad'd be more appreciative, wouldna ye, Liam?"

"Indeed I would, Rob."

"I'm verra appreciative. Just was wondering, that's all."

"'Specially seeing's how it'll only be 'bout twenty minutes afore she realizes ol' Angus hasna more than the shirt on his back," Liam said, "and likely ne'er will."

David looked around, spotting his uncle. "Uncle John," he called. "Up for a game?" He patted the empty spot next to him.

"Sure, David. What's the choice, gentlemen?"

"Whatever Liam prefers," David said, tossing in the balance of his useless hand. Sarah hadn't gone to Angus, her father had waylaid her, and he looked a bit angry. Good, he was paying heed.

15

"SAIL AHOY!"

Captain Honeywell took out his glass and trained it on the ship in the distance. "Well, Mr. Ritcher, can you make her out?"

"Aye, sir, it's the _Liverpool._ "

"That will be Darcy then, I'll want to talk to him."

"Heave to!" Ritcher bellowed. "Looks as if they're preparing to launch a boat, sir."

"Good, better him than me."

A short time later Captain Darcy was welcomed aboard the _Industry_. Honeywell ushered him into his cabin, offering him a cup of wine. "Well now, Albert, what am I up against?"

"Ice. Ice everywhere. Never seen anything like it, Jack. Spoke to Jacob Smith a few days back. He left London fifteen weeks ago—"

"Where, Albert? Where did you see him? He's bound for Philadelphia as well."

"Latitude 30, 40, longitude 74, 30. The _Brothers_ was drove off the Capes, lost her top-sail yard and sails. Now she's headed to Charlestown. Smith said he'd spoken to twelve or thirteen vessels what had been drove off the coast."

"God Almighty, all going to Charlestown, I expect. And you're still headed north? Why?"

"Have cargo waiting in New York. Haven't encountered anyone yet said there's a problem there."

"Charlestown? You heard anything about that?"

"You shouldn't have a problem with that, Jack, not with ice anyway." He drained his cup and stood. "I need to get back. Much obliged for the drink."

"Thank you, Albert, I'm indebted for the information." They left the cabin and climbed up on deck. "How did you find Jamaica?"

Darcey laughed. "Warm." He paused as he prepared to scale down the ropes and into the waiting boat. "For your ears only, Jack. Seems the governor has orders from the King not to trade with the Americans. Had to sell off my cargo at half the price on the black market. This whole damn trip, nothing but a waste of time and money."

"But you still have your ship; appears to be more than some can say. I hope to be able to say the same in several weeks."

"God willing."

"Aye. God speed."

16

New Year's Eve, 1783

RUMOR WAS THEY no longer headed to Philadelphia.

"I was hoping to be celebrating the New Year with my feet on the ground, American soil, as it were," one of the passengers grumbled as he paced.

"It wouldn't be so bad, not if we knew what the trouble was," another answered.

David lay in his bunk, his arm over his eyes, trying to lose himself in sleep. The not knowing, aye, that was always the hard part. But he'd heard it over and over again these last two days. Each time it only served to set his nerves further on edge.

He didn't trust himself to be civil during yet another conversation of useless speculation or another game of cards or dice. So he'd retreated to the solitude of sleep early last night and did his best to keep up the illusion well into the day. Better that than risk making things worse by alienating a friend.

He missed seeing something other than this blasted hold. He missed his freedom to move about.

But most of all he missed seeing Elisabeth. He'd counted on the chance to talk to her again before they parted. She was in his thoughts constantly; he needed to resolve it. Somehow.

"DAVID, UP WITH YE, the Cap'n's here." Liam shoved at David's shoulder.

"I trust you would like further information of our voyage. Gather round so I don't have to be repeating myself." Honeywell's loud, booming voice filled the hold.

Instantly all were quiet and moved to the forefront. David jumped off his bunk, following Liam.

"We've been advised the Delaware is full of ice, and we won't make it past the Capes. Several ships have been anchored outside the Capes for weeks, without movement and with little shelter. Not only will it put us at undue risk to follow suit, it will sorely test our store of provisions. Therefore, we're heading to Charlestown to reprovision. We'll make sail for Philadelphia again when the weather clears."

The Captain ignored the groans and questions, continuing with his announcement. "This being New Year's Eve . . . Hogmanay," he said with a nod to the Scots. "I've allowed for the distribution of a quantity of rum from my private store. Should this be deemed insufficient later in the evening, the purser has been instructed that a certain quantity shall also be available for purchase."

He paused briefly as the noise in the crowd altered to grunts of appreciation, and his eyes searched out David and Liam.

"I've also lifted the restriction against the more hardy of you wishing to venture on deck. I believe the danger of encountering ice has passed for the time being. Be advised we should reach Charlestown within the week."

Cheers rose as the Captain ascended. David and Liam tore up the aft ladder and immediately encountered Mr. Ritcher.

"Mr. Brock, Mr. Graham, 'bout time ye lads came up from yer napping. See Mannus over there and make yourselves useful. I ain't got no use for idle hands on my deck."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Alex talked nonstop, and the afternoon passed in a blur, punctuated only by the freezing downpour they worked through the last half hour.

"We've had the luxury of a bath for the New Year, eh, Davey?" Liam said when they finally sat, choosing a spot somewhat sheltered from the wind. Even so, it didn't take long for the chill to set in once they were idle.

"Hmmph," David said, shivering. "Did ye check the barrel, Liam?"

"I did. Maybe enough for a cup, no more."

They had taken the top off a used barrel and set it out during storms, hoping to collect rainwater to supplement their tiny water ration. The first couple of times they had set it under the mizzenmast, but found the water collected there tasted of tar. And that was only if the barrel didn't get kicked away by one of the crew climbing the mast. Now they had fixed it in a more open spot, forgoing the benefit of runoff, settling for a meager amount that at least tasted somewhat pure.

"Mayhap it'll keep raining awhile. We'll likely want it tomorrow, after rum. Let's get dry," David said. "What d'ye think my chances are of retrieving Lisbeth from her cabin?"

"Oh? The lass is back on your mind?"

David ignored the taunt. He knew darn well the lass was on his mind. He never lost an opportunity to point out any number of God-fearing actions taken by the Irish-Catholics they bunked with. Same God, right? Right.

Liam turned to him once they had climbed back down into the hold. "No' good, Davey. Maybe I can, I'll think of something to do with the wee ones that involves her help. Get me after ye change. And hurry, looks like we're behind. Rum's been flowing for awhile now."

He hurried. He was colder than cold. Felt good though, once he changed into something dry. The exercise, the fresh air—he felt better than he had in days. He scanned the crowd, searching for Liam. His uncle caught his eye and beckoned him forward.

ELISABETH MADE HER ESCAPE as soon as her father joined the Captain for a drink, asking the widow Reid if she'd mind telling her father she was spending the evening with friends. She'd suspected Mrs. Reid would be only too happy to do so, and she was right. The forced confinement had strained all their nerves.

She wanted a chance to thank Mr. Oliver, in the event she didn't see him again; a chance as well to say goodbye to Annie. And Liam and Sean and Rob. She had even steeled herself against the possibility of seeing David with Sarah. It was New Year's Eve, after all, a time to be with those special to you. She thought she might manage a credible goodbye to the both of them, if she left it until last, right before she made her escape back to her cabin.

The hold was noisy and chaotic, though nothing like the Christmas celebration of last week. These were loud, hard drinking men, the women blending unnoticed into the background. For the first time, she didn't feel comfortable being there. She hesitated.

"Miss Hale! Don't be leaving yet! Your friends will be so disappointed to have missed you. Come with me." It was Mrs. Andrews, the woman with the burns, the one who cooked for David and the Reverend. She let her take her hand and lead her to the midsection where she and her son bunked.

"Don't worry, love. They're just letting off some steam. Your lad's no' been joining in. Here, have some. Welcome in the New Year." She handed her a small cup of warm spiced wine.

Elisabeth sipped it. "It's good, Mrs. Andrews. It's not what they're drinking, though, is it?" Taking another small sip, she nodded toward the bowls lined up and down the centers of the tables.

"No, lass," Mrs. Andrews answered, laughing. "That would be the captain's rum. This is just a wee bit of wine. Mrs. Drecker fixed it up. One of her family secrets she claims it is. I aim to have your David write it out for me. I watched her make the second batch, so as I'd know what's in it. I've taken quite a liking to it."

'Her David.' She liked the sound of that, but he hadn't been her David since his recovery from the near drowning, if even then.

And there he was. Seeing her, he grinned, pushing his way toward her. That grin; my word, those dimples would be the undoing of her yet, if she didn't soon develop some backbone. She raised the cup for another sip, finding it empty. Laughing, she handed it back to Mrs. Andrews. That certainly wasn't the route to more backbone.

"It's too good, I'm afraid, I didn't mean to gulp it down. Thank you, ma'am. I'll have to ask David to write out the receipt for me as well."

She moved through the crowd to meet him, declining a cup of the grog when offered. "I'd better not, sir," she said, laughing. "Faith, I'll have a difficult time enough holding to my senses after the wine." One of the men shouted something to the effect that the "lad shouldna be minding that a bit" and was hushed quickly by the others. She decided not to take offense, waving him off with a small smile.

David came up beside her and took her elbow. Surprised, she searched his face. Maybe he _had_ been joining in with the men and their toasts. Because he hadn't touched her since that first and last kiss a month ago.

She'd thought often of that kiss. He had done a much better job of kissing than—well, she couldn't seem to recall his name now, and never mind, he wasn't important. But David's kiss had been special, she knew it had. Why hadn't he sensed it as well? Why hadn't he wanted to kiss her again? Why had he preferred Sarah?

Well, now's now, that was then. She smiled at him, then remembered her promise to herself. She struggled to keep her expression neutral.

Had Mrs. Andrews actually said the wine was not as strong as the rum?

He grinned. "It's good to see ye, lass. I've missed you."

"Elisabeth! Top of the evening to you!" called Seamus. "We need ye to fill in for Annie a song or two. She says she's busy. Can you do it, lass?" Some of the passengers were clearing away a small area for dancing. Seamus and Ewan were standing by with their fiddle and flute.

"Go ahead if ye'd like, Lisbeth. I need to see what Uncle John requires of me. I'll be back to fetch ye shortly, if ye don't mind. I'd like to visit with ye," David said, nodding to Seamus and Ewan. "Please?"

Her spirit soared before she stamped on it firmly.

"Very well, David, just for a few minutes."

Thankfully the crowd was lively and easy to please, because her heart wasn't in it as she sang. She needed to say her goodbyes, tell Mr. Oliver about Charlestown. When Annie relieved her, she moved back through the hold, searching for him.

Maybe he'd gone up for a bit of air. She'd try the deck. Reverend Wilson called out to her just as she reached the ladder.

"I thought I'd get a breath of fresh air," she told him. "And I needed to speak to Mr. Oliver."

"I think it best if you don't go on deck alone tonight, Elisabeth," the Reverend said. "The Captain allowed the crew some rum as it's Hogmanay. The judgment of some will be lacking."

"Well, all right," she said, glancing toward the ladder doubtfully. She'd never felt unsafe with the crew before. As she looked, she saw Sarah descend, followed by Liam, then by David.

Gracious, what that girl was wearing; she'd catch her death of cold unwrapped like that up on deck. She had the urge to take off her own cloak and throw it over her.

Sarah, seeing her watching, came to her, thrusting her chest out, giving her a small, smug smile. "You be slumming tonight, Miss Hale and Mighty?" She glanced back over her shoulder at David, then leaned in, placing her hand on Elisabeth's arm. Elisabeth struggled not to back away from her touch, tried not to cringe at the overwhelming smell of alcohol as she leaned in close to whisper, "Well now, don't you be tossing yer high and mighty little head, taking yer temper out on our David. He's got more than enough to share, see. And I'm not one minds sharing." She laughed, stopping short at a hiccup, then wandered away without waiting for an answer.

Elisabeth staggered back half a step, her hand going to her mouth, then to her chest as she fought to catch her breath. Why, that . . .

David could bury himself in that tart's bosom, if he was so enamored of it. She glanced down quickly to assure herself her own lace scarf was arranged modestly about her neckline. Why, it was a wonder Sarah's stay could even contain her bosoms, though granted it only contained them by a mere fraction. Mama would turn over in her grave should she even consider wearing something so revealing for everyday wear.

She'd write Mr. Oliver to say goodbye, once they were in Philadelphia. Or maybe she wouldn't.

And David could just wonder about her whereabouts, as she no longer cared to tell him. To tell any of them.

Rabble, indeed.

She tightened her mouth and turned back to Wilson. "Reverend, would you accompany me then? I feel a headache—" Lord Almighty, him too. Reverend Wilson was walking away, Sarah under his arm.

HE'D SEEN HER AS soon as he stepped beneath the hatch, had seen the stricken look on her face. Torn between slapping Sarah and soothing Elisabeth, he chose the latter. Not that he'd slap Sarah anyway, no matter how sorely he'd been tempted.

"Lisbeth, please don't go," David said quietly, coming up behind her. "Come, sit with me a bit. I'll show ye a trick my ma uses for headaches. If it doesn't work quickly, I'll take you back to your cabin. Or Uncle John will, if ye'd prefer." He didn't allow her the opportunity to refuse; she'd take it in a heartbeat.

"Get your hands off me," she said, pulling away.

"A minute, Bess." He half-carried her to an empty berth away from the others.

"So help me, I'll scream," she said, hissing through clenched teeth, struggling as he held her tight.

He was out of time. Releasing her, he stepped in front of her, blocking her passage, dropping to a knee. He brought his hands to hers, taking care to keep his touch light. "Please, lass. Please."

She darted a glance around. "Get up, you fool."

"There's nothing between us, Sarah and me. Ne'er has been. Nothing but friendship."

"Get up! Are you so intent on making a spectacle of yourself?"

No, he wasn't. But he'd checked before he gone to his knee, no one was looking, not yet. The hold was wild tonight, more than enough to look at elsewhere.

"Get up!" She kicked him, her small foot slamming into him. It caught him off guard; he fell on his backside.

"Oh!" Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, my word. I'm so sorry, David, are you all right? I didn't mean to—I'm so sorry." She stooped down to offer him a hand.

"I'm fine, 'specially knowing ye care!" He grinned, taking her hand, debating whether to pull her down into his lap and kiss her—get done with all this talk. "Will ye give me a chance to speak, 'fore ye leave? Will ye listen?"

She stepped back, withdrawing her hand, folding her arms across her chest as she looked away, making a show of tapping her foot. "Do hurry, please."

He laughed and stood, scooping her up before she could think, settling her between his knees on the berth, back against his chest.

"A minute, Bess, only a minute, please. Close your eyes." He brought his fingers to her temples, applying pressure. "Uncle John sent me up there to fetch her. He'd seen her drinking more than a few servings of the grog, ken?" He tightened his legs about her, holding her still as she struggled to rise.

"Uncle John worries over her. He thinks her da doesn't. I asked Liam to accompany me, seeing as she can be difficult." He felt her relax just a fraction.

"She was playing free and loose with several of the crew. Liam talked her way free and we brought her back. Ungrateful lass; she'll probably head back up there within the hour if her da doesn't start paying some mind to her whereabouts. I'm no' sure who told ye what about Sarah and me, but they were wrong, lass. They were wrong." He paused as he felt her settle against him, his fingers now gently massaging circles on the sides of her forehead. "Are ye still mad?"

She sighed. "No, not even at her, I suppose. But don't stop doing that."

He chuckled. "For just a bit longer, I don't want ye falling asleep. I'm hoping ye'll stay for a long while yet."

"Why are you touching me all of a sudden?"

His fingers stilled for a moment, then resumed. He didn't pretend not to understand her.

"Noticed that, did ye? Truth be, I . . . I don't know, Elisabeth. I guess I'm just tiring of the effort it took no' to."

"What?" She pulled away and looked back at him, her mouth open.

He shrugged, having no better explanation. He liked having her near; it was as simple, or as complicated, as that.

"Is it all right with ye then? If I touch ye?"

He watched as the muscles jumped about in her face, finally settling into a smile that reached her eyes.

"Yes, I expect it's all right."

She settled back and he held her, sheltering her with his body as his thumb stroked the back of her hand, soothing her.

She felt right, and for now he was done questioning it.

Just as she was starting to doze off, he prodded her awake.

"Victuals are out, Lisbeth. I'm famished, come. Rob and Liam have saved us a spot."

They spent a companionable hour eating, talking and laughing, and at the end of the meal she rose from the table to help the women clear.

"Mrs. Andrews told ye to stay seated. Ye're a guest." He straddled the bench and pulled her down, back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. "I know ye've got to get back to your father soon, but I'm not ready to be handing ye over just yet. Can ye stay a wee bit longer?"

"Actually Mrs. Reid seemed anxious to have me out for the evening. I don't think I'll be missed for some time."

"Do ye mind? Her taking him over like that?"

"To some extent, yes, of course. But I admit it makes me feel better about spending time away from him, and I do want him to be happy. It's just that I don't think she'll be the one who makes him happy. She's far too different from my mother."

"But mayhap she can help him move past your mother, and that will be a step forward, aye?"

She grasped his hand and nodded. "Is it hard for you, being away from your family on a celebration like this?"

"No' with you here. Besides, I think the worst of missing them has passed. Time and distance softens that. I know it doesn't ache to be thinking of them now."

"That sentiment will give me something to ponder when the ship arrives in Philadelphia," she said quietly.

She stiffened in his arms and he saw her blush; she hadn't meant to say it then.

"Look at Liam. I believe he's sparking Hilde. Why, I don't think he knows much more German than I do."

"He'll manage, don't be doubting that."

"I suppose you're right," she said as the girl leaned into Liam, whispering something.

"Let me up to help the women, David, I don't feel right just sitting here."

"David! There you are. Paul and me wanna try that trick again. I got the cards; can you show us one more time?" Sean asked. "Hey, Lisbeth."

"Hello, Sean, Paul. What trick does David know?"

"He'll teach you, too, won't ye, David?"

David reluctantly released Elisabeth and turned back toward the table, taking the cards from Sean. "Elisabeth is leaving for just a bit. Right then, all eyes watching closely now, aye?"

He spent the next hour putting the boys, and Elisabeth, once she returned, into fits of giggles as they tried to replicate his tricks and failed each time. "All right, lads, that's enough for tonight. I need to escort Elisabeth to a dance 'fore she has to leave. It's getting late. I should tuck ye in 'fore I go, aye?"

"Nooo!" the boys cried as they ran off into the crowd.

David stood and took Elisabeth's hand, leading her to the music. "Come, Lisbeth, dance with me. We've a bit of the evening left."

MUCH LATER, winded and warm, they stepped away from the other dancers. David filled a cup full of the grog and led her to an empty spot on the bench in front of his berth.

"Will this go on all night, David? No one shows any signs of slowing. It must be getting close to midnight." She took a large swallow of the drink. "This is good. It tastes of lime. I've never had it before."

"It'll continue through Ne'erday if the whisky flows long enough. Or rum, as the case may be. Provisions being light, mayhap only until first light. We don't commemorate Christmas with the same gaiety the English do. This is our annual celebration. If I were at home, I'd have a gift for ye." He pulled her back to rest against his chest and bent to kiss the top of her head. "I'm grateful to have you with me this night. It bodes well for the new year."

How fast things change. Not more than twelve hours ago he lay in this room feeling bad-tempered and sorry for himself, through no one's fault but his own. He reached for the cup, finding it empty. He laughed. "Thirsty were ye then, lass?" The man seated across reached out his hand to take it, refilling it from the large bowl on the table. David nodded his thanks.

Elisabeth squirmed until she was resting closer yet. He tensed, then relaxed as she stilled. She grabbed one of his hands, idly stroking it as she talked about the last few days she'd spent in the cabin, eventually coming around to the subject that had brought her between-decks.

"And my father thinks we'd be better off in Charlestown and arranging alternate transportation. So I may be leaving the ship within the next few days if that's the case. I wanted to let you know, and Mr. Oliver of course. That's why I ventured here tonight." She turned her head to see if he was listening to her, as he hadn't responded. "Did you hear me, David?"

"Aye," he said, tightening his hold.

He struggled with the thoughts running through his head. He couldn't come out and say he thought her father inadequate to keep her safe on the journey from Charlestown to Philadelphia. For one thing, he knew nothing of her father's adequacies or inadequacies. He had to assume the man had been taking care of her all her life. But he wanted to be there as well, just in case. Hale was still feeling the loss of his wife. It was bound to dull his judgment, maybe even his survival instinct, and travel was dangerous. Always had been. He chose his words carefully.

"I didn't think to be losing you so quick. Ye just set me back a bit, lass. Come, let's watch the coming of the New Year from above." He stood, pulling her up. The cup was empty again. He looked at her face closely, hell to pay if he got her lushey. Grabbing the blanket from his berth, he led her up the ladder.

"David, top of the evening to you, bucko! Ye brought someone to keep ye warm this night, eh?" one of the sailors called out.

Elisabeth giggled softly. Giggled? Elisabeth? David swore under his breath. "Nay, Mr. Parker, just up for a bit of fresh air 'fore the night ends."

"To be sure. I was young once, too. Don't be forgetting it, laddie."

The crew hooted and another chimed in, "I can lend ye a hand if ye need help finding yer way in the dark with the lassie, Davey!"

"Thank ye for the kind thoughts, Mr. Todd, but I believe I'll manage!"

"Aye, well, the boats be occupied, mind ye!" The sailors all laughed as he guided Elisabeth away.

"Sorry, Lisbeth."

"I don't mind. They didn't mean any harm. What did he mean about the boats?"

"The ship's boats. They afford a bit of privacy, being up and stowed."

"Ahh . . ."

"I've never used them, Elisabeth."

"I know."

"Aye, well . . . right then." How did she know that?

"Liam once explained your inclination to avoid confined, close places when I had asked him why I could usually find you on deck. I believe he phrased it, 'Davey doesna care for snug spots, lass'."

He snorted at her mimicry. The night was dark, there being just a bit of a moon. The weather had cleared, not a cloud in the sky and the stars sprinkled light across the sea. It was bitter cold. He'd been planning to keep her warm huddled together under a blanket as they sat on deck, but that was harder now with the audience they had. He led her to the opposite side of the ship.

"It's deserted over here, isn't it?" Elisabeth said softly,

"Aye, it is, being as it's in full view of the captain, should he be coming out for air himself," David said. "Let's sit over here. It offers some shelter." He guided her down and sat behind her, pulling her back between his knees with the blanket covering the both of them, his arms holding her tight.

"Will ye be warm enough?"

"Oh yes, I'll probably be the warmest person on this ship. Tell me what's wrong, David."

"The talk I heard from the crew today. Ships have been lost, waiting to travel up the Delaware these past weeks. Many have died. I believe the Captain's right to travel south to wait it out. It worries me, not knowing your whereabouts, if you'll be safe." He decided it best not to voice any concerns he might have over her father's capabilities.

"Really?" she asked, turning briefly to see his face. "That surprises me, I must admit. I'm sure everything will be all right. Papa's not concerned."

He tightened his arms around her. "I'm sure ye're right. Talk to me of anything, lass, I've been missing hearing the sound of your voice."

His thoughts wandered as he looked out over the sea, soothed by the soft sound of her voice and the feel of her close. He knew he would always remember the start to this new year, this ship, this lass in his arms. A couple was leaving the boats, making a bit of a ruckus climbing out, and he turned his head toward the sound. Well, now, what do you know about that. The Fergusons. Ol' Mr. Ferguson had to be pushing forty. And still catting about—with his wife, no less. Huh. Wait til he told Liam.

The crew began to make more noise, and he suspected someone had determined it was midnight, or close enough to it. He turned Elisabeth so that her side was against him, so he could see her face.

"You're done listening I take it?" she asked.

"Aye," he whispered.

"I think you should kiss me, then. No, I take that back, I'm finished with thinking, I think too much, I think. I should just not think at all sometimes. Lots of people don't, you know, think before—"

He chuckled, lowering his mouth to hers, kissing her. Softly, tentatively, at first, then deepening the kiss as her response assured him more was welcome. Good God, she was magic. The time he had wasted . . . it hadn't been the knock to his head at all; it was her, only her. His arms pulled her closer.

She ran her hands down his jacket, bringing them up under his shirt to run up and down his back.

He'd thought he'd been roused when Sarah had placed her hand on his leg, inching it ever so slightly up his thigh. He hadn't known the meaning of the word. Nothing compared to the feel of Lisbeth's small soft hands on his skin. Every nerve in his body from head to toes was standing at attention. His tongue plunged into her mouth, and he felt her nails as she clung to him.

He'd never claimed to be a saint. Da knew that well enough, which was why he was on this ship sailing to America instead of sitting in a classroom preparing for the clergy like Ma wanted. What's more, he'd never once said he didn't like snug places, didn't know why Liam'd say a thing such as that. He reached under her and picked her up, standing with her in his arms, never once letting loose of her mouth. She made a small mewing sound and pulled him closer.

Sweet, she was so sweet. He could taste the rum on her tongue. The rum . . .

She was lushey. Damn it all to hell and back. Not taking her to the boats, not. He wasn't a saint, but he wasn't a cad either. He set her down.

"Ah, Bess," he said, pulling his mouth away, still cradling her close, "ye are a wonder to me. I don't understand the power you have over me. It unnerves me more than a little, I'll admit, lass."

She pulled back and looked at him, taking her hands up to the nape of his neck. "Rest assured I won't abuse it, David. But I may need help believing it now and then. You're aware you hide it well?"

Well, he surely hoped so. He grunted and pulled away, leading her to the ladder.

"Come, let's celebrate the rest of Hogmanay with the others while there's still time. A wee bit of tea will warm ye right up. The crew still has a fire lit. Knowing Mrs. Andrews, she'll have some tea ready."

"I'm not cold. And I don't want tea." She pulled back. "Are you afraid to be alone with me?"

He grinned. "You're a canny lass, I'll give ye that. I've other reasons as well. Want to hear?"

"I might as well." She crossed her arms and stood her ground. "Maybe there's a small chance my dreams of a big, strong, braw lad won't be soured with the knowledge he's frightened of a girl little more than half his size."

"Ye'll be dreaming of me then, aye?" he asked, chuckling when she shook off his grasp and turned to walk back toward the companionway that led to her cabin.

"C'mere, Bess," he said, grabbing her. "The Captain will be coming up for a smoke anytime now and sure to send ye back to your father when he sees you." And send him to the bottom of the sea soon as he notices she's lushey.

"I don't want ye to go yet. Smell the rain in the air? There's a fair chance we could be in for another spell of weather and confined to quarters. I may not see ye again, I'll no' willingly have the little time I can be sure of cut short if there's chance of avoiding it."

"What do you mean, you won't see me again?" she said, her voice breaking and her eyes filling.

"I'll see ye again, I just meant to say no' as often as I'd like," he said hastily. He drew her close once more and bent to kiss her. She turned away.

"Don't. I think I should be angry with you."

Undaunted, he brushed her hair aside and kissed the side of her neck just below her ear. He felt her shiver. No, she wasn't angry.

"Well, I'd like some tea. Perhaps ye'd consider joining me, lass?" He offered her his elbow.

She ignored it and climbed down the ladder, turning to tell him, "Mrs. Andrews has a receipt we'd like you to copy out. She and I can make it and test it. You will sit and write it."

17

January 1784

January 4th, 1784—Tomorrow we should reach Charlestown, where we will wait out the weather. Lisbeth will be leaving.

"I'LL MISS THIS. The end of day isn't such a spectacle on land," Liam said.

"Mayhap it is in America. Ye'll note we've seen a lot more of the sun since leaving home, no' near as much of the rain. Things are different. I wonder if it causes much grief to the farmers."

"Jesus, Davey."

"Just wondering."

They sat quietly, each lost in thought, as dusk turned to night and the colors of the sunset faded. One by one the stars appeared, and the ocean soon glittered with diamonds. They had spent many evenings like this in the last two months. Now it was coming to an end, and fast. No longer was there an illusion that they were alone in the world. It was not uncommon to spot another vessel, and land was clearly in sight. He sighed. He, too, would miss this.

He spotted Elisabeth, alone, walking in their direction.

"Lisbeth, are ye looking for someone?" Liam called out.

She jumped. "You startled me. I didn't see you in the dark. I believe I was looking for David." She sat in front of David, resting her back against his raised knees.

Liam cast a puzzled look at David. Likely speculating over her familiarity. David shrugged, and Liam jumped up. "Last night and all. I'll be seeing the both of ye in a wee bit, I hear Seamus starting up his fiddle on the foredeck."

"Aye, Liam," David said. "We'll join ye shortly." He turned back to Elisabeth. "Are ye feeling well enough, Elisabeth?"

"No."

He recognized well the emotions behind the simple answer. Parting his knees, he brought his arms up around her and pulled her back to rest against his chest holding her tight while they watched the night sky.

Just when he thought she may have fallen asleep, she turned in his arms, her face mere inches from his. He loosened his hold. "Would ye like to go listen to the music, dance a bit?'

"No." She reached up and smoothed his hair from his forehead.

He squirmed backwards a bit, and she smiled. "I'm making you uncomfortable."

He chuckled. "And that makes ye happy?"

"Yes, it does. You're always so sure of yourself. I admire it; it's one of the reasons I feel drawn to you. But I do like to think I have some effect on you."

"Oh aye, I think ye can be sure of that."

She brought her hand down to trace his cheek. "Do you?" She put her finger over his lips against any response and lay her head on his shoulder, her palm on his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head and drew her in close again.

He enjoyed holding her, and if she wasn't worried about her father just now, he'd follow her lead. The weight of her felt good. She was warm, soft, and . . . wet?

"Elisabeth? Ye're no' crying, are ye, lass?" He tried to lift her face from his chest. She burrowed deeper, her shoulders shaking.

"I don't—can't bear—what if you never—" She was sobbing in earnest now. It was difficult to decipher her words.

He gave up trying to lift her face and instead held her, rocking her, whispering all the while. "It's all right, Bess, ye don't need to cry. I'll be doing anything ye ask of me. Just ask, you know that. Stop crying, lass, please." He kissed her forehead and down the side of her face, moving his mouth to the crook of her neck. Eventually her crying slowed and he cradled her face in his hand, kissing each eyelid and the tears on her cheeks.

"No, wait," she said, pulling a cloth from her sleeve. She dropped her head, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. She hiccupped and looked up at him, mortified, placing her hand over her mouth. He laughed and reached for her hand to kiss her palm, her fingers, the inside of her wrist. She sighed, and he returned his lips to the side of her neck, working his way up and over to her mouth. He felt the tremors run through her as she started to cry again, and he brought his mouth to hers, gently probing her lips open with his tongue. She put her arms around his neck and eagerly pulled him toward her, her crying forgotten.

Later, much later, she pulled away to look at him. He groaned and tried to pull her back. Laughing, she turned her back to him, pulling his arms tight around her. "You _do_ like me," she said.

"What nonsense is that? Ye know what I feel for you," he said, returning his attentions to the side of her neck.

"Really? And now how should I know that? To see you, I have to seek you out. Then most of the time I'm with you, you take undue pains not to touch me. So forgive me for not knowing you like me as well as you like, well, say . . . Mrs. Andrews."

He snorted. "Mrs. Andrews cooks my meals, lass." He held her tight as she struggled against him.

" _And,_ I can count on one hand the times you've bothered to kiss me. It's my last night to be with you. Just look at all the time you've wasted."

He chuckled. "Aye, and I'm thinking that's a good thing; otherwise I'd likely be well past satisfied with a kiss." His hand moved up and down her arm, his teeth nibbled the soft spot where her shoulder met her neck.

She shivered. "David? I'm just going to come out and say it, since you won't. Promise me you'll make time to see me, that you won't forget me. You'll have more freedom than I will."

"I promise. I willna forget you, it's no' possible. You're never far from my thoughts. I thought ye knew. I'll no' let ye go easy. There's no' a chance in hell the ache of missing ye will soften." He turned her back to face him. "Now, we have till morning, so who is it that's wasting time now?"

HE WOKE WITH A start at the hand on his shoulder.

"It's almost dawn, David. The lass needs to get back before dawn."

Elisabeth looked up, sleepily, then closed her eyes again, snuggling deeper into his arms.

"Aye, thanks, Liam." He didn't want to take her back. But Liam was right, the ship's bell rang out two bells, and it would be dawn in an hour or two. He stood and carried her, keeping her in his arms until he reached the passageway of her cabin. He set her on her feet.

"Lisbeth, can ye walk? I shouldna be carrying ye to your doorstep." She turned and leaned against him, looping her arms around his waist, murmuring something incoherent. He pressed her back against the wall and leaned in to kiss her. She woke quickly then, pulling him closer, returning his kiss eagerly.

"Goodbye, Bess," he whispered, pulling away. She didn't speak, just looked at him as her eyes filled.

"Oh no, ye don't," he said. "I'll see ye soon, I promise." He gently grabbed her shoulders, turning her toward the companionway. He waited as she descended, turning only when she was out of sight. He needed an hour or two of sleep himself.

HE STAYED BELOW when the boat came to take the Hales to shore. He couldn't face watching her go, couldn't take the chance he'd cry like a lass.

Liam came down, tried to rout him from his berth. "Up with ye mate, ye need to see her off."

He covered his face with his forearm and turned away. "Too many eyes, Liam. Leave me alone. I said my goodbyes last night."

Liam pulled him back round to face him. "I'm no' suggesting a reenactment of last night, only a wee acknowledgement her going means something to ye. A lass likes a bit of a public declaration, I shouldna have to tell ye that. She's my friend too, and I don't care to see her searching the faces for ye. Ye know well she'll get to thinking ye couldn't be bothered to see her off. Or her da willna miss the opportunity to convince her of it. Is that what you're aiming for?"

David moved his arm from his face and looked at Liam, considering. "The boat; it's still here then?"

"Maybe, was loading just a bit ago. Could be gone by now, though, long as it took to talk some sense into ye."

David leapt from the berth and ran up the ladder. Pushing his way through the others, he reached the forefront of the crowd just as the crew of the longboat cast off.

"Elisabeth," he called. "Elisabeth!" She looked up and spotted him, her face brightening at once. "I'll see ye soon, lass, aye?" He kissed the palm of his hand and turned it toward her.

Astonished, she gave him a brilliant smile. "Aye, David, soon," she called back. Kissing her palm, she returned the gesture, ignoring her father's admonition not to make a spectacle of herself. The boat cast off, and he watched it go, long past the time he was able to make out her face.

January 5, 1784—Bess and her father have left the ship at Charlestown.

18

America

January 1784

A STRONG NORTHEAST wind blew across the harbor the afternoon the Hales left, relentless in its assault, growing in strength each passing day, until all the ships in the harbor were in danger of parting from their cables. The _Industry_ stayed anchored as she waited out the weather, but for those caught between-decks it was small comfort.

On the fourth day, when the wind was at its most vicious and cold, the ocean spray filling the air began to freeze, coating the masts and the rigging with ice. An enormous crash could be heard over the howling of the wind as the mizzen mast collapsed from the weight of the ice.

David and Liam were lodged with others under one of the tables, past caring they were sitting in filth and more than a foot of icy seawater. Many passengers, David included, rushed the companionway at the crash, determined to break open the hatch, determined the hold would not become their coffin. Just as they reached it, a seaman opened it and dropped down.

"Mr. Ritcher says to tell ye all it's only the mizzen mast fractured. The ship is safe, and he believes the worst to be soon over," Alex shouted above the din.

"The water, Alex. We're filling up with water down here. Granted ye canna see it, but ye feel it, surely ye can!" David said.

Alex laughed as the next roll threw David into the side of the ship. "Lubber, still ain't got yer sea legs, eh? The water don't signify, David. It's bound to come through the seams during a storm such as this. Yer safer down here, that's the truth of it, and I'm to stay here for the duration. Now where'd ye stash Liam?"

A WEEK LATER the damage was still being tallied. Two brigs and several sloops and schooners had sunk at the wharves; many smaller vessels were entirely lost. Bodies were being found daily along the shoreline. David was frantic. He asked Mr. Ritcher repeatedly if he'd received news of the Hales and got the same answer each time. Ritcher knew they had made it to town since the lighter had arrived back with their provisions, but other than that, he'd had no news of them.

He shouldn't have let her go, he should have gone with her.

In desperation, he negotiated passage into town with one of the ship's suppliers. Ritcher got wind of it within minutes and threatened to chain him by the ankles in the cargo hold, as well as to tell his uncle. He didn't know if Ritcher had the authority to follow through, but the threat to tell his uncle was enough. It would be bound to set him against the lass.

David had distanced himself from his uncle, Liam, and the others. But no one thought to comment, if they'd even noticed. The violence of this last storm had changed the passengers, stunned them into passivity. They no longer questioned; they simply waited. He struggled with the loss he felt. He'd known her such a short time. He'd likely see her again; the emptiness just didn't make sense. He couldn't talk to his uncle about it; mention of her faith had begun to creep into their conversations, and he sensed the man was relieved the Hales had left the ship. Liam, mayhap, but Liam was antsy with the waiting and out of sorts himself.

BY MID-JANUARY a warm wind blew in from the south, bringing with it a warm rain. Captain Honeywell announced the ships' carpenters had completed the necessary repairs. They would make for Philadelphia once more.

Alone, he stood at the rail, watching the shoreline as the ship made its way north. From time to time they traveled close enough that he could make out the dense forests lining the coast. Not a farm, not a village, not a fishers' cot in sight; what a vast, empty country this must be.

They were close now, he could tell by the watching the crew. Close. A day more? Two?

He drew in a deep breath, relishing the clean smell of the slight breeze. It could be considered warm, he supposed, but only if one compared it to the frigid wind of weeks past. All the sailors were busy: scraping and painting the masts that hadn't already been attended to during the repairs, blackening the yards, tarring the rigging, plus a host of other tasks he still couldn't put a name to. Alex was taking a holystone to the deck; David dropped to his knees to help him.

"Maybe tomorrow, David, we're close now. 'Pends if we can hire on a pilot quick enough."

An hour later they reached the Capes sheltering the entrance to the Delaware. The captain told the passengers to get their belongings in order. They'd likely reach Philadelphia by tomorrow. A month ago that would have brought cheers. Now the only response was noncommittal grunts.

Well, enough was enough. He'd carried this cag too long. He sought out Liam.

"We're almost there, Liam. What's the first thing ye plan to do when ye touch land?"

"Eat."

David laughed. "Aye. And drink. A full pint of anything wet that isn't laced with vinegar or tar."

Liam looked at him, his keen eyes missing nothing. "Ye'll be joining the living again, then?"

"Aye."

Liam nodded, satisfied, and turned to listen to Captain Honeywell. He'd asked the passengers to gather on deck so that he could advise them of the procedures that would be taking place.

"It's been a long journey for all of us," Honeywell said. "I for one am thankful we've suffered no loss of life. Now, we're apt to be put through inspection. You're to have your quarters clean, as well as yourselves. We're subject to quarantine at the whim of an inspector; do I make myself clear? Leave no doubt as to the state of your health. Shouldn't be a problem. We've been lucky enough to have no fever on board as of yet."

The pilot's ship arrived, and the pilot, an unusual looking man considering the primitive circumstances, boarded the _Industry._

"Will ye look at him, Davey. Did ye ever see such as he? America must be a fine place indeed," Liam said. "Good it is ye swabbed the deck, otherwise he might get the soles of his boots dirty."

"Don't be too quick to judge, Liam, Philly is no small port. I'll wager he knows his trade," Rob said.

In spite of his dandified appearance, the pilot proved more than capable. At long last, twelve weeks after leaving London, the _Industry_ began the slow journey through the Capes and up the Delaware.

_February 6, 1784—As I write this, the_ Industry _is finally being escorted up the Delaware to Philadelphia. We took on a pilot last evening on account of the great many rocks at the capes. We should let go the anchor by day's end and all aboard feel thankful and blessed to have made the passage without loss of life. Upon entering the Delaware we encountered eight vessels run ashore on the inside of Cape Henlopen. We learned one was from Bristol, four others from London. I did not learn of the port of origin of the other three. Captain Honeywell took on as many of the survivors as the Industry could hold, I estimate about fifty, and left the remainder of our provisions with the others. Uncle John reminds me of our good fortune to sail with such a compassionate man._

Whilst we were making these arrangements, a host of ships sailed out of the Delaware. We learned from the pilot that on Thursday and Friday last, Philadelphia experienced southerly winds, accompanied by rain. This opened navigation, and as a result on Sunday between twenty and thirty of outward-bound vessels were finally able to leave Philadelphia to proceed on their intended voyages. These same events have allowed the vessels that had been detained at the Cape by the ice to come up to town.

I'll wager this journey has been the most eventful thing I've experienced to date, and while I don't regret the experience, I am relieved it is finished. Now I wait to hear news of Elisabeth.

Praise for _Voices Beckon_

(the full length novel)

"Utterly Compelling" - _Publishers Weekly_

"Writing style is full of rich dialogues . . . characterization is unhurried, developing with ease and grace." ~ Cheryl E. Rodriguez for _Readers' Favorite_

"I absolutely loved my introduction to Liam Brock and his friends in Voices Beckon." ~ RomanticHistoricalReviews.com

"I tend to be very picky about the details and I expect them to be correct . . . the right details gave the book an air of authenticity. I enjoyed every moment and would highly recommend it to my bookish friends." ~ Kathryn Bennett for Readers' Favorite

"The scattering of eighteenth-century language made it more authentic . . . highly recommend this book and anxiously await the next." ~ Trudi LoPreto for Readers' Favorite

Excerpt from Voices Beckon

"KEEPING YOU BUSY OVER there, are they, David? I haven't seen you in a while," the clerk said.

"Yes, sir, I was helping the Mrs. pack up for the summer. She's off to stay with her cousin for a wee bit."

The air hung hot and heavy this morning, thick with flies. He shifted his shoulders and reached back a hand to peel his shirt from his back, wrinkling his nose as his own scent rose above the myriad of others. "It's wicked hot today, isna it?"

"Ahh, this is your first summer. I'd forgotten. It'll get worse. Here you go, only three today. Give my regards to Robert."

"Aye, Mr. Todd, later then." The man was daft; it couldn't get worse.

Elisabeth. He stopped and moved off the footpath. She was just a block down, walking with a young black woman. At least he thought it was her. The way the lass moved, the tilt of her head as she talked to her companion—aye, it was her. Had to be; no other reason his heart would be slamming up against his ribs. He ducked into the alley to give himself a moment to think. Should he just let her pass? Would she be embarrassed to be approached by someone of his sort on the street?

"God in Heaven, what's the matter with me?" he mumbled as she approached and passed. He stepped to the entrance of the close.

"Lisbeth."

She stopped, but didn't turn, canting her head as if listening.

"Bess." He stepped out of the shadows of the alley, removing his hat as she turned, watching her eyes carefully as she looked at him. Confusion, surprise, then a vivid flash of joy before shyness won out. She remembers. He stepped toward her, reaching out a hand to cup her chin, running his thumb across her jaw. She closed her eyes, sighing softly.

"You look well, lass." Better than well. God, how he'd missed her.

"You better get your hands off her, mistuh, 'fore I call for the watch." The young black woman grabbed Elisabeth's arm, pulling her back.

"No! Polly, no. This is David. It's all right; this is David."

"Is not all right, missy, it's a whipping I'll be earning, your Papa see you dawdling on this here street with the likes of him while I be standing by."

"Polly!" Elisabeth said, her horror showing at Polly's lack of manners.

"It's all right, Lisbeth," he said, turning to the girl. "Polly, is it? David Graham. It's glad I am to meet ye." He held out his hand and, though she made a point of ignoring it, he thought he could detect a slight twitching at the corner of her mouth. She was a beautiful young woman. He wondered at her place; no slave he'd seen to date carried herself like she did.

"Dontcha be turning your charm on me, mistuh, won't get you anywhere but on your backside. I know my duty."

"I'm sure that you do, Miss Polly, and I'm grateful she has ye at her side. It's only a minute of her time I'm asking for." He looked back at Elisabeth, hoping for help. The intensity of her gaze caught him by surprise as she looked up at him, her lips parting as she met his eyes.

Heat shot through him, pooling in his loins. He turned to Polly, his manner no longer mild. "Ye wait right on that bench there, Polly. I'll have her back to ye in three minutes. Track the time for me, aye?" He pulled Elisabeth into the shadows of the close without waiting for an answer, leaving Polly on the street staring at him, hands on her hips, her mouth open.

His hands cradled her face, and he kissed her, his tongue seeking, meeting, remembering. He moved a hand down her face, fingers following the graceful curve of her neck, gratified as he felt her pulse race at his touch, as he heard her moan of protest when he pulled away. He held her close and spoke, pressing her head to his chest.

"I've missed ye, lass. I was so worried. We've only a minute 'fore your maid calls. Can ye meet me? Later?"

She pulled away, looking up at him, her eyes filling as she shook her head. "I can't. I don't know how I can." She ran her hand across his hair. "You're tying it back now."

"Aye, is it all right, ye think?"

She nodded. "It's only that it no longer curls. I loved the feel of the curls." She ran her fingers across his face, and he felt her touch all the way to his toes. "You've shaved."

He grinned. "Aye."

"I'm sorry, I'm babbling. I've missed you so. I've a mountain of letters to give you. John told me you'd asked after me, but I didn't know what to do with them. It seemed too forward to have them delivered."

"I bring your paper. Leave them with John, and I'll pick them up Wednesday. I'll write ye as well, but think on it, Elisabeth. It's your company I miss as well as your touch. I need to see you. I need to. Your girl is looking worried, I'll no' try her patience longer." He kissed her quickly and turned her, his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her toward the footpath.

ELISABETH LOOKED BACK to say something, but he had already disappeared into the shadows of the alley. Faith, he was even more handsome than she'd remembered. Perhaps it was the clean shave and his hair pulled back in the cue, or maybe the passage of time. But his cheekbones were more pronounced, his jaw more square, his warm eyes brighter, his dimples deeper, his mouth . . . My word, just the sight of him had made her senses swim. She raised her fingers to touch her lips.

Polly grabbed her, turning her. "Look sharp Miss Elisabeth, your Papa's coming up the street to fetch us. Please missy, get that look off your face."

He mesmerized her; there was no accounting for it. It took her a moment to register what Polly was saying, though her Papa's voice brought her to, quickly.

"There you are, Elisabeth. I've finished with the tailor. Is there anything you'd like to do before we return?"

"No, Papa," she said automatically. "I'm ready." Turning to follow her father as he walked toward home, she held back slightly to keep pace with Polly.

"Do you see now, Polly?" she whispered.

Polly giggled softly. "Yes, missy. He's fine."

"SHE'S HERE, LIAM. I saw her, I talked to her," David said.

"Aye, I thought as much." It was Saturday, and Liam was waiting for David to finish at the printing office. "Mr. Hale came to the school to talk to Mr. Oliver. Mr. O is beside himself, as it seems she's convinced her Da to let her teach the wee ones in exchange for lessons. The lass appears no' to have forgotten ye."

David stopped abruptly, and the water in the pail he carried sloshed over his shoes. "And ye waited til now to tell me?"

"It was only yesterday, David." He grinned as David glared at him. "Well, truth be, Mr. O didna tell me of the visit til this morning. I ran across Mr. Hale in the market a few weeks ago, mind, and cornered the cove with stories of the Academy and our progress. I wasna sure anything would come of it, so I didna mention it. It was only my first go at it, see. I came as soon as I knew ye to be free."

*******

Continue the story with _Voices Beckon, P.2_ and _Pt 3:_

or, the full length novel, Voices Beckon, available at online retailers:

### Thank you for reading!

### We invite you to share your thoughts with other readers:

### Cast of Characters

Passengers on the Industry **:**

David Graham – Scotch-Irish, apprenticed to a Philadelphia printer

Elisabeth Hale –English, accompanying her father to America

Liam Brock – Scot, apprenticed to Mr. Oliver

Reverend John Wilson – David's maternal uncle, a Presbyterian minister

Edward Hale – Elisabeth's father, an English gentleman

Mr. Oliver – guardian to Liam and Rob, traveling to Philadelphia to open a school

Rob – Scot, apprenticed to Mr. Oliver

Sean – young boy under Mr. Oliver's care on the _Industry_ , traveling to join his brother in Pittsburg

Mary Andrews – passenger on the _Industry_ who offers to cook for David and his uncle

The MacTavishes: Annie, Seamus, and Ewan – Irish passengers with gift for music

Sarah Wallace – accompanied by her father, Sarah has her eye on David

Mr. Wallace – Sarah's alcoholic father

Mr. and Mrs. Kiefer and son Paul – German emigrants, Paul befriends Sean

Crew on the Industry **:**

Captain Honeywell – Captain

Sam Ritcher – First Mate

Alex Mannus – young sailor who befriends David and Liam

Print Shop **:**

Mr. Hall – David's master

Mr. Sellers – Hall's partner in printing business

Robert Store – journeyman in print shop, David's superior

Ian – apprentice closest in tenure and age to David

Thomas – senior apprentice in shop when David first arrives in Philadelphia

Hale household **:**

Mrs. Hale – Elisabeth's grandmother

John Black – cook

Polly – maidservant and friend to Elisabeth

Tom Abernathy – butler

Jane – servant

### Others:

James – apprentice to sailmaker

Rory Smith – foreman (and later owner) of paper mill outside Philadelphia

Victoria Billings – in Philadelphia with her father, readying for a trip out west

Silas Warner – Philadelphia bookbinder

Eunice Warner – daughter to Silas Warner

Mr. Coxcombe – occasional escort of Mrs. Hale

Mary – Elisabeth's friend

Rhiannon (Rhee) – Elisabeth's best friend (in England)

Becca – Elisabeth's cocker spaniel

### GLOSSARY of Eighteenth-Century Vocabulary

bairn – a child (back)

bawbee – a silver coin of minimal value ( _cant_ ) (back)

boll – a measure of weight (back)

cèilidh – a social evening with music, singing, dancing, etc. (back)

chit – a dismissive term for a girl (back)

cull – man ( _cant_ ) (back)

eijit – idiot (back)

fash – fret, worry (back)

receipt – a recipe (back)

sassenach – an English person (back)

silkie – seal (back)

whist – a trick-taking card game popular in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries (back)

victuals – food (back)

zounds – a mild oath, contracted from 'God's wounds' (back)
About the Author

Linda Lee Graham is the author's pen name.

_Voices_ indulges a passion for genealogy with a love of history.

If you have an interest in some of the stories behind the story, be sure to visit www.LindaLeeGraham.com.

The series continues with _Voices Whisper_ and _Voices Echo_
The Philadelphia of Voices

Scanned portion of the PLAN OF CITY AND SUBURBS OF PHILADELPHIA 1794 (modified with Skitch)

