“I’m going for a walk to look at the sea,” Theodore announced, taking out a cigar.

“I’ll come too,” said Mary.

It was quiet on the beach.

“I’m sorry Gretchen came,” said Mary.

Theodore nodded. “Yes.”

“Are you staying a few more days?”

“I’d like to,” he said. “Though I have work at the studio.”

“Oh,” said Mary.

They stared out over the water. Banks of clouds were gathering now, promising rain, and relief.

“We’ll see what tomorrow brings,” said Theodore.

That night, Gretchen and Mary went to bed as usual. Gretchen didn’t say anything about Theodore. Just after dark Mary thought she was going to cry. She was glad that, moments before, the rain had begun to fall outside the window, masking all sounds.

It was the middle of the night when she awoke, and realized that Gretchen wasn’t there. She waited a while. Not a sound. Then she got out of bed and went to the window. The rain had stopped, and the stars were visible again. Looking out, she saw nothing at first. Then she made out a pale shape, moving about on the little patch of grass. It was Gretchen, in her nightdress, pacing up and down in front of a bank of reeds.

Mary did not want to call to her in case it woke the household. She stole quietly out of the room, down the stairs and outside.

“What are you doing?” Mary whispered. “You’ll get soaked.”

“I can’t sleep,” Gretchen said. “I’m worried.”

“Why?”

“The children. Those fires in the city.”

“They said it wasn’t serious.”

“They don’t know. You can’t even see the city from here.”

Mary felt her heart sink, but she only paused a moment or two.

“Do you want to go back, just to make sure?”

“That’s what I was wondering.”

“We’ll take the ferry in the morning,” said Mary. “We can always come out again if everything’s all right.”

“Yes.”

“Come back to bed now, or you’ll catch a chill.”

The first ferry was not due until mid-morning, but they were all three at the Point waiting for it—Theodore had insisted on accompanying them. The ferry was late. They waited an hour. Then another. Then someone arrived and said the ferry wasn’t coming, so they went back to the inn, to see if anyone there had any news.

“The ferry’s been attacked, set on fire they think,” the owner of the inn told them. “We just had a man here who rode over with the papers from Brooklyn. There’s all kinds of trouble in the city. Fires everywhere. They’ve sent to President Lincoln for troops.”

“Can we send a wire to the city?” Theodore asked.

“’Fraid not. All the telegraph lines are down. Destroyed. You’re safer here.”

“I have to get to the city,” said Gretchen. “My children are there.”

“I can get a cart to take you to Brooklyn,” said the owner of the inn, “though it may not do you any good.”