Vivas por algo más, mi hija, she’d say.

Never marry for love, as love doesn’t buy bread.

Never marry in haste, as those who rush, stumble.

Never marry low, as poverty is a stain that never washes out.

Instead, I was to find safety. Comfort. Respectability. Things only a good marriage could provide ’cause a woman alone wasn’t safe from the words and deeds of evil men. A woman alone had not a thing in this world that couldn’t be taken from her if a man wanted it, not even her dignity.

Now here I was. Aboard a strange ship sailing for no place I knew.

A girl alone.

With the sun beginning to dip, I returned to the captain’s quarters and found Izra inside.

“Some of your things was recovered before we left, Miss Coates!” he said. He scooped a folded bundle from a basket and set it on the table, where other items had already been spread out. “I’ll come back to fetch you for dinner.”

He bowed, quick as a sneeze, and sped off, throwing the door shut behind him.

I studied the colorful assortment he’d left me. Most of the items were garments, rumpled and still damp from the sea. A thick cloak of midnight-blue velvet for use in weather such as I’d never known. A gown of sea-green brocade. Petticoats in shades of pink and blue. A shift of white holland. Front-lacing boned stays of pearly silk. A red slipper with a silver buckle. A yellow slipper with a gold buckle. A tangle of ribbons in colors like happy wishes.

In addition to the clothes, there was a leather journal with a cord tied round its bulging pages. I picked it up and brushed my hand over the soft cover, my heart thumping in my chest.

I hadn’t thought about staying Miss Coates, but…could I? Miss Coates had true prospects in life. Everything Mama always wanted for me.

I brought the journal to the stern bench and dropped onto the soft sheepskin, which held gentle warmth from the sun. The Ambrosia stood in calm waters, barely swaying. Outside, the rising moon was splitting itself in two, one for the sky, another for the sea. The journal pages were wavy and the ink had bled in one corner. Turning to the beginning, I read:

The Reflections and Occasional Musings of Miss Emmeline Cecily Coates, Daughter of Nathaniel Coates and the Late, Beloved Elizabeth Anne Sumner

Miss Coates began her entries the day of her departure from Antigua, on July 29, 1776. My Grand Adventure Begins! she declared, sailing from her home on the Paladin with the Ambrosia in convoy.

How sad. Her grand adventure hadn’t lasted long at all.

I read on slowly, pressing dents into the paper in my concentration. Sewel had sold all our books a year ago and I was rusty. Even when we’d had books, I’d seldom read, much preferring the freedom of swimming and dreaming up my own stories, which were always more thrilling. But I kept on and wrestled each word into my understanding.