Margaret woke with the sound of a child's whimper in her head. Unsure if it was some lingering part of a dream or little Caroline coming awake and in need of water or a reassuring word, she lay still on the bunk next to Eliza, listening. The irresistible pull of sleep beckoned to her, however, and she closed her eyes, very quickly descending into slumber once more. But when she heard the child's whimper again, followed by a furtive command of "Hush," sleep vanished altogether.

Abigail.

Margaret recognized her voice, whispered though it was. She sat up in her bed and immediately wished she hadn't. The cabin swam and swayed, as though the ship had been caught in a sudden violent storm. It was a very unpleasant feeling, and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the nausea to pass. She opened her mouth to call out to Abigail, to warn her she might be unwell herself, but words failed her. The whimper came again, a thin, high wail that was cut short.

"It will all be over soon," Abigail said in a crooning voice, louder this time.

There was a rustling sound of blankets and bedclothes, and then the cabin door creaked open. Moonlight illuminated Abigail's slight frame, but there was someone else with her. A man cradled Caroline against his chest, her hands tucked underneath her chin and her long, thin legs dangling over his forearms. The door closed quietly behind them.

Margaret's bare arms erupted with gooseflesh and her scalp prickled. Pushing aside the quilt, she stood and hastily pulled a dressing gown around herself. Her head throbbed and her vision swam. She felt so very tired. Still, she had to find out where Abigail was taking her sister. Had her condition worsened during the night? She considered waking her mother and father, but she didn't want to worry them unnecessarily.

Pulling open the door and stepping out into the cool night air, Margaret looked left and then right. She caught sight of Abigail's pale hair and the man's broad shoulders as they turned the corner. No doubt they were heading toward Abigail's private quarters at the opposite end of the ship. Indifferent to her current state of dishevelment, of which her mother would no doubt be appalled, Margaret took off at a quick pace, her feet slapping against the damp planks as the salty wind whipped her hair into a frenzy. Perhaps Abigail had wanted Caroline moved to her own cabin, to better administer aid and nurse her back to health without disturbing the family's sleep. In that case, Margaret could be of service.

She knocked at the cabin door but there was no immediate reply. She knocked once more, louder and more urgently this time, but still her friend did not receive her. "Abigail?" she called, her voice nearly lost on the wind. "Abigail, please open the door. I know Caroline is there with you. Is she all right?" When there was no reply still, Margaret shook off propriety, took a deep breath, and let herself in.

Abigail looked up from where she was crouched at the bed, visibly surprised and with anger in her eyes. "You did not bolt the door, you fool?" she said harshly to the captain, her father. Margaret blinked, taken aback. Had she spoken in the same manner to her own father, she would have received such a lashing that would have made sitting impossible for the next week.

"Are you unwell?" Margaret asked, taking a step into the room. Her eyes widened. "There is blood on your mouth."

Abigail straightened. "Leave, Margaret. This does not concern you."

"What concerns my sister concerns me," she answered sharply. "Why have you brought her here?"

Abigail dabbed the corner of her mouth. "Because she is dying," she said matter-of-factly, but not unkindly.

Margaret rushed to Caroline's side. "What do you mean, dying? I thought you were helping her?"

"I am sorry, Margaret, but the child is too far gone. I can only help her find peace now," Abigail said. "Hasten her exit from this world so she will no longer be suffering."

"What are you talking about?" Margaret demanded. She looked to Mr. Abbot, who remained curiously silent. "Has your daughter gone mad?"

"She is not mad," the man said. "She is hungry."

His words made no sense. Margaret's gaze shifted from Mr. Abbot to Abigail once more, and then at last to Caroline. Even in the dim candlelight, she could see twin puncture marks and the blood at her sister's neck.

"What have you done to her?!" Pushing Abigail out of the way, Margaret knelt next to her sister, whose face was unnaturally slack. With a cry, she put her head against her sister's chest, but there was no heartbeat under the thin linen of her shift. She felt at her neck and wrists, shook her sister and repeatedly called her name, but there was no response.

Margaret stumbled from the bed, tripping over her feet, and fled the room. "Mother! Father!" she screamed as she ran back to her cabin, not caring who she woke or disturbed along the way. She threw open the door, flooding the room with moonlight, her cries of alarm growing more frantic.

"Caroline is dead!" Margaret cried. She clawed at her parents, urging them up and out of bed. "Do you hear me? Caroline is dead!"

"Are you having a nightmare, Meg?" Thomas asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes. "Caroline is just over . . ." His words trailed off, as Caroline was clearly not in her usual spot.

"Where is she?" Mrs. Abernathy said, her voice strangely calm. And then: "Where is my daughter?"

Margaret clutched her hand, pulling her toward the door. "She is this way. Come! They have done something horrible to her."

She had no recollection of the distance between her cabin and the Abbots', only her mother's heart-wrenching cries that shattered the otherwise still night. "My child!" she wailed, throwing herself on the bed and pulling the little girl's lifeless body against her chest. "My sweet baby!" Caroline's face was white as marble, no longer flushed with fever.

Mrs. Abernathy searched the room, her wild eyes finding their target. "You are the devil!" she screamed at Abigail, thrusting an accusatory finger in her direction. "You have brought death upon us!"

Thomas and Eliza stood in the doorway, clutching each other, mute. Mr. Abernathy stared at Abigail for a long moment. "Not the devil," he said as he shook his head, his voice numb. "But an aberration nonetheless."

Mr. Abbot smiled then, baring teeth that made all the Abernathys gasp and recoil. "I think it best we close the door," he said, "and settle this as quietly as possible."

*****

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