“Halt! You there—stop!”

Gathering every bit of my strength, I threw myself into the sky—and fell for miles and leagues and fathoms. An instant, a lifetime. Then I punched through the surface. Frigid water shot into my nostrils, my ears. Shocked my heart. But then it steadied me, slowed me, and I realized I had done it. I was still alive.

I kicked, spearing my arms above me, bringing myself back to the surface. I broke into the rainy night and pulled in air, pain flaring in my weakened lungs. Muskets cracked above me, marines firing from the platform where I’d just stood. Water exploded beside me—inches away.

I gulped in air and dove. Pushed my arms through dark water. Kicking. Kicking. Never stopping. Not to breathe. Not to think beyond leaving the bay and making it out to open water. As I swam, I sensed the bullets slicing around me, but I kept going, even when one found my calf and bit.

The water deepened beneath me. I could feel the space opening, widening like the sky. I kicked deeper—to one fathom.

Lord, I prayed. Please give me a chance to do this right.

And kicked harder, to two fathoms.

Then three. And there I saw Emmeline Coates, alive, beautiful. Thank you, I told her. Thank you for letting me borrow your life. I swam through her, past her, down to four fathoms. To Lucy and Charlotte. The Holdridges. I begged forgiveness for the hole I’d made in their lives.

The fifth fathom. Malcolm.

The sixth. André.

I swore I’d always keep them both inside my heart.

Then I reached it—the seventh—and the water released me. I relaxed my body and let myself float. West End appeared, its white beach stretching out before me. The water clearer than glass. And there, in the distance, a young man walked the shore in a patient, uneven stride.

Mama, I whispered. Mama, I have done it.

I’ve lived for something more, and it’s you, and it’s love, and liberty, and friendship, and hope—and all the other mores that can ever be.

And it’s me, Mama.

Frannie.

Chapter 29: The Seventh Fathom

I broke the surface and treaded water as I caught my breath.

The Jersey was well away, but the boats that had been launched to chase me down were much closer. Lanterns swung this way and that as men searched the river.

I laughed. They’d never catch me.

My calf was bleeding. I was wheezing. Dying. But I still had a few breaths left.

There was no point deciding which direction to swim—all was darkness and rain and choppy waves—so I just followed the current.

With every kick, I felt a gathering within me. I had forgotten—Frannie was strong. Strong enough to swim around the world.