Jenn’s gear was piled in Daniel’s dinghy by the time I got her into it, along with a load of tomato seedlings and precious seed stock stored in metal canisters. Breakers hailed us as we approached, rifle raised in salute. Daniel met us in Melville’s stern, smiling with relief. I hadn’t had time to warn him of my promise.

I grabbed the hand he offered. “You were right about the chaos over there. And I caught up with Jake. He says the Stormies have gone to ground. Then we needed a moment about Rubio.”

“Of course.”

Jenn’s smile was tentative as Daniel helped her onto the Melville. She spent a moment rearranging her colorful layers, then got right down to it. “Glim says you might be able to help me.”

He seemed to guess what was coming. “How so?”

I made myself busy unshipping tomato plants.

“You see, I have these cousins in . . .” Turning to plead with him, she got a full view of the Lagoon. She paused, her gaze flicking frantically across the hectic crowd of boats, from Unca Joe shorn of its lattice of walkways to her denmates and so many others madly building, carrying, and loading. Her ingratiating smile faded until her mouth formed a silent O. She dropped her eyes and began to weep.

I brushed compost from my palms and went to put my arms around her, even knowing she’d dreaded close contact as much as I, since the Wave. It seemed the only comfort left to offer. Jenn didn’t pull away.

“It’ll all be fine,” I said, without any real reason to believe it would. Like Jake said, it was a huge risk, but necessary.

Jenn eased me to arm’s length and took another, more considered look around the Lagoon. “Oh, my. That was a deep one, wasn’t it.”

I nodded, always stunned by how fast her realities shifted.

She brushed tears away. “What you must think of me.”

I patted her, smoothed her hair. “I don’t think anything at all.”

“Ahoy, the Book Boat!” The battered rowboat I’d brought home not so long ago pulled alongside, a tow-headed young Smith at the oars and Ellie Mae perched in the stern with a small, root-balled tree on her lap, its leaves pressing against her face. Every other inch of space bristled with potted or burlapped vegetable plants. Ellie Mae’s sturdy, old-woman’s body was erect and purposeful. Even before Daniel had them tied up, she was handing him the tree with care and ceremony.

“Our newest Meyer lemon. It’ll want a special placement.”

“I know just the spot.” To me, he said, “Take Jenn forward. We’ll get all this stowed.”