She predicted he would be gone by the end of the week, and once away from her, he would be safe. The Queen Esther was docked, and it was likely most of the crew had begun to run out of funds and would soon be ready to be back at sea. If Maria wasn’t mistaken, she could see a flicker of longing for the sea in Samuel’s eyes when the wind picked up and the sea chilled the air, a hunger for his old life in which he didn’t have to sit at the dinner table at an appointed hour, here where the stars weren’t half as bright as they were out at sea. He was drawn to the harbor, where he stared out beyond Hell Gate. New York was blue and gray, a city surrounded by water, which called to him even though he wished to stay. The broad North River, later to be renamed the Hudson, ran two ways: seawater rushed to the north; fresh water flowed into the ocean. It was a river that couldn’t make up its mind, and Samuel appreciated that. He was born under the sign of water, and was himself often of two minds. He yearned to leave and he didn’t want to go. He had recently constructed a boat out of parchment by folding it this way and that for Maria’s amusement. Men on ships found all sorts of entertainments to while away the hours at sea. How to make a valentine out of shells, how to turn paper into cranes and birds and fish and boats, how to tell stories, how to be completely silent. When Maria set the paper boat in the river, it had turned one way and then the other. In the end, it did not set forth on either tide, north or south, but instead continued on in a circle until Samuel plucked it from the sea. It was a sign of his own indecision. On some mornings he packed his bag, on others he could not imagine ever leaving New York.

At the Fly Market on the far end of Maiden Lane, Maria noticed a person of interest farther down the row of stalls, buying lemons at the fruit stand. The shopper was an elegant woman who wore an embroidered mauve dress stitched in France; her pale hair was caught up with small combs, all of which were blackened silver. A small white dog followed at her feet, devoted beyond all reason. If Maria wasn’t mistaken, the woman wore red boots.

“I wouldn’t look at Miss Durant for too long,” the fishmonger warned Maria as he weighed out haddock. “It wouldn’t be wise.”

“Why is that?”