Was it possible Mercy had experienced so much death and despair in her life that she accepted it without question? Was it such a normal part of her existence that she could so easily move on?

He held her gaze, needing to understand her in a way he couldn’t explain. As though sensing his questions, her eyes flashed, revealing depths of churning pain. Then just as quickly, the flash was gone.

“What else can I do?” she asked. “Maybe I should sterilize the washbasin and pitcher.”

He didn’t move, didn’t say anything.

She dropped her attention to Sarah’s ring and began twisting it on her finger.

“She said you’re like her mum,” Joseph whispered.

Mercy nodded.

“That’s because you loved her so unconditionally and so thoroughly.”

She slipped the ring off and held it out toward him. “I don’t want it.”

“You should have it, even if you don’t wear it. It will keep her memory alive.”

“Take it.” She thrust it into his hand, but he pushed it back. With a jerk, she grabbed it and threw it with such force it bounced against the far wall above his desk. It landed on the floor, and the sway of the ship sent it rolling underneath the bed.

For a moment, she stared under the bed. She then looked at him and cupped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and radiating disbelief and embarrassment at her outburst.

Had she ever allowed herself to feel the pain of her losses? Or had she repressed everything for so long, she didn’t know how to grieve?

“I’m sorry, Joseph. I shouldn’t have thrown it.” She began to feel around under the bed.

“There’s no need to apologize,” he replied.

She groped under the bed farther. “I don’t know what came over me. I right promise I won’t do that again.”

He started to reach for her, wanting to make her understand that she needn’t fear him, that she had every right to be angry, but then he hesitated, his fingers hovering over her shoulder. Did he dare touch her? He shouldn’t do anything that might undermine his integrity, and yet it seemed the situation with Sarah’s death permitted him some leeway.

She released a small cry of frustration. Far within that cry, he heard the echoes of her heartbreak.

“Mercy,” he said softly, touching her shoulder and gently squeezing.

Her frantic movements ceased, but she didn’t lift herself. Instead, her body slumped as if she’d given up her will to fight.

He ought to remove his hand and put space between them. But even as he willed himself to be noble and honorable, his desire to comfort her was stronger. He let his fingers linger, then slide slowly down her back before returning again to her shoulder.

She shuddered.