The trip to the docks the next morning was a solemn event. Eliza was in no mood to talk, having spent the night trying to suppress her sobs, though not doing a very good job of it, much to Margaret's annoyance. Despite Willy announcing his intentions to her parents, Eliza was quiet and withdrawn during the ride, occasionally dabbing away her sadness with a linen hankie embellished with Willy's initials that he'd given her as a parting gift. Caroline clutched a plain-looking doll on her lap, her morose expression no doubt due to regret at having left Emmeline behind with Eve, the kitchen maid. Her mother and father sat in the seat opposite, their hands linked, though her mother kept her eyes closed. Margaret glanced at Thomas, who was still watching her with a wary, though amused, expression. She quietly held his gaze, challenging him. He looked away first.

They arrived at the harbor late in the afternoon, hot and travel-weary, to find it bustling with people going about their business, or those hopeful for passage across the sea. The scene was loud and filthy with the funk of unwashed bodies and worry, so unlike the sprawling, easy-going existence to which Margaret was accustomed. She pressed her lips together, her nose twitching as people shoved and jostled her out of the way. She found Artemis and Apollo by the sounds of their aggravated whinnies and went to comfort them, offering bits of apple and carrot that she kept hidden in her pockets at all time.

"Is she sound?" she heard her father ask one of the crew who had rolled a small cask onto the gangway. He brought it to a halt and stood tall, his eyes squinted against the sun. Yesterday's rain had stopped and the clouds cleared out, leaving the sky a brilliant blue.

"The Manta Ray? Aye," the man answered. "Glides smooth as her namesake. You'll feel like yer flyin'."

"Oh, very good!" her father said, pleased. "I had heard this was the best ship. Not one incident in all her history."

The man crossed himself. "None at all, though 'tis a brief history, to be sure."

Before her father could reply, another man came bustling down the gangway in their direction, motioning them to gather around. "Captain Abbott at your service," he said with a slight bow.

"Major Conrad Abernathy and family," her father replied, gesturing to their group.

Captain Abbott bowed again. "My pleasure. If you're ready, allow me to escort you on board and to your private quarters."

The man who'd been in charge of the cask obviously hadn't known who they were, but now took special notice of them. Margaret saw the question in his eyes, though he'd been trained not to inquire about business that wasn't his own.

"My father's to be the interim governor of Georgia," she supplied, though he hadn't asked. "One of the royal colonies."

The man, muscles bulging from keeping the cask from rolling astray, wiped his sweat-sheened forehead on his shoulder and bobbed wordlessly before turning and giving it a hearty heave that set it in motion once more.

"Why did you have to do that?" Thomas said into her ear.

"Do what?"

"Boast about father's position."

"Any why shouldn't I be proud of our father?"

"Because it wasn't pride that provoked you to speak to that man, Margaret. It was vanity, and how you knew he would look at us. Like we are better than he is."

"We are better than he is," she said. "Look at him, for God's sake. Look at us!"

Thomas pinched her arm, hard. "Be quiet. He will hear you."

Margaret swatted at her brother and glanced ahead at the man, though without any real concern that he had heard her remark. The muscles of his bare back and shoulders strained under the weight of the load, and he was grunting and carrying on as they progressed at a snail's pace behind him.

"At the very least, he could have let us walk ahead of him. What if he loses hold of the barrel and it flattens poor Caroline?"

"I haven't lost one yet," the man replied, turning to wink at her before resuming his laborious work.

Thomas's eyes widened, though Margaret simply laughed. "You are nothing but trouble," Thomas said once they reached the top.

"You are much too concerned with what other people think," Margaret said.

"And you aren't concerned enough." Without waiting for her to reply, Thomas followed the rest of his family as Captain Abbott showed them to their cabin.

There would be time enough to see their accommodations, Margaret thought as she paused on deck. They would be on their way soon enough, and England would fade into memory as they headed out to sea. Margaret shielded her eyes against the sunlight winking off the surface of the water as she stood at the rail, watching the busy scene before her. Men scurried like ants as they made preparations, bringing on supplies for the journey, as well as the cargo they would unload in various ports before they ultimately reached their destination. From her vantage point, she had a clear view of Artemis and Apollo, and she kept her eyes on the twin horses as they were being led on. They seemed calm enough now, and their unfamiliar handlers experienced. Nothing to worry about with them for the time being.

Closing her eyes, Margaret relished the sun's glow warming her cheeks, though soon she became aware of someone standing beside her. Long association told her it was Eliza, even without looking.

"How long do you think it will take to reach America?" Eliza asked.

"Father says six weeks," Margaret answered lazily. "Though it could be months."

"Months?" Eliza sounded weak at the prospect.

"Well, there's no accounting for the weather. We could have storms."

Eliza was quiet for several moments, and then: "How many ships do you suppose have been lost to the sea."

Margaret took a deep breath, trying not to let her sister's incessant talking break her calm. "I couldn't say."

"And how many men on those ships?"

"Scores, I suppose."

"Illness is common on ships," Eliza said finally. "Pustulent diseases that ravage the flesh, diseases that twist the bowels and—"

"There's no need to be vulgar," Margaret quipped, opening her eyes once more. She allowed a small smile. "Though I do appreciate the description. Perhaps you should write a book."

"Mother says we are to confine ourselves to the cabin and stay away from everyone else aboard the ship," Eliza said.

"Ha! Pustulent diseases will be the least of our concerns if we are forced to spend months with no one's company but our own. We will claw each other's eyes out."

"Perhaps. Oh, I do hope I am not prone to seasickness!"

"That makes two of us," Margaret said, eyeing her sister warily.

"Excuse me," came a feminine voice from behind. Eliza and Margaret turned, and the girl—for she was not much older than they—dipped a polite curtsy. "I'm so very pleased to meet your acquaintance. I'm Abigail Abbott."

"Abbott," Eliza said, recognizing the name. "Are you the Captain's . . . daughter?" There was a slight hesitation, for she seemed too young to be his wife, though such an age discrepancy certainly wasn't unheard of.

"My mother died when I was an infant," the girl said when she saw their questioning stares. "I was raised on ships much like this one, having no other family."

"Really?" Margaret said, intrigued. "But you seem so . . . refined."

Eliza elbowed her in the side and curtsied an apology. "I am sorry, Miss Abbott. My sister doesn't always think before she speaks."

"No need for apologies," the girl replied. "My father is a ship's captain, but he is also a gentleman. And the men, despite their appearances, are worthy. May I ask your names?"

"I'm Eliza Abernathy," Eliza offered. "And this is my sister, Margaret."

"Well, you must come to my cabin for tea as soon as we set sail. I get lonely, with everyone else occupied and no one to talk to. One can read Gulliver's Travels only so many times."

"That's my favorite book!" Margaret exclaimed.

Abigail clasped her hand. "Then our meeting must be fate. Come in an hour."

She clasped Eliza's hand next. "I am glad you're here. It's not often I have female companionship."

"She was quite pleasant," Margaret commented as they watched the girl walk away, pausing to speak to various people.

"Didn't you hear what I said about Mother's orders to stay in the cabin?" Eliza quipped.

"You can't think that Mother would mean her," Margaret said. "Did she look ill to you?"

"Illness doesn't discriminate," Eliza said. "Death could come for us at any moment."

"Death will come to the poor passengers first," Margaret said pragmatically. "And we won't be speaking to them anyway."

Eliza stared at her sister, her mouth open. "You know, Margaret, you can be a real snob sometimes."

*****

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