The Tynemouth had been anchored in the landlocked basin of Stanley Harbor for several days now. None of the passengers had been allowed ashore, however, because the midwinter winds were forceful when they first arrived, too much to attempt the crossing.

Finally today the winds had diminished and the water was less choppy, apparently safe enough for the crew to begin transporting passengers to the shore. The ship had lost one of its longboats during the hurricane-like storm, so the transportation in the one remaining boat had been ongoing most of the morning.

Mercy turned her face slightly, letting the breeze coming off the water cool her cheeks and neck. Joseph had drawn another map on his hand and explained that they’d sailed nearly to the bottom of the world, and the seasons were opposite here.

In London during early August, the streets would be unbearably hot. The sun would bake the garbage, the waste ditches, and even the River Thames so that the stench was insufferable in almost every part of the city. Flies would be out in endless swarms, as would the children trying to escape their sweltering homes.

But here in the Falkland Islands, winter was just beginning to lessen its hold. Though the wind was frigid and the spray of the water icy, the bright green of the meadows and hills filled Mercy with awe. So did the wildlife—the black-browed albatrosses flying overhead and the sea lions calling out noisy greetings from the rocky shore.

Early that morning, she and Joseph had seen penguins through his spyglass. “King penguins,” he called them. She’d been delighted to watch them waddling along, tall and straight and proud, their beaks pointed in the air with a snooty attitude. She was hardly able to tear herself away when they heard the first stirrings of passengers beginning to awaken and emerge from their cabins.

Since the storm a fortnight past, she’d taken to meeting Joseph at first light next to the rope that kept the women confined to their portion of the deck. She stood on her side and he remained on his, and their time together was always brief, well before any of the other passengers were awake.

She hadn’t exactly planned to meet him there every morning, but after they’d come up from steerage after the storm, he escorted her back to the rope. When she ducked under and tried to give him back his cloak, he’d told her to keep it for the day since it was still raining, and he’d offered to get it from her the following dawn.

When she met him the next morn, the air was damp and foggy, so he’d suggested she keep the cloak another day. One morning had led to another, and he always had a reason for why she ought to have his cloak a day longer.