“Miss Cottonwood, I apologize for all the trouble I’ve caused you. I should take my leave before you are further inconvenienced.”

“Not at all, sir. I have enjoyed your company. I’m afraid Mr. Ball and I have little to talk about,” I said honestly.

He laughed softly. “I can well imagine that.”

I smoothed the skirt of my dress as I stood, my hand rubbing over the book in my pocket. I removed it and held it nervously. Books had always comforted me.

He smiled faintly. “Ah, Tennyson… Locksley Hall? ‘When I dipt into the future, far as the human eye could see; saw the vision of the world and all the wonder that would be.” He spoke the words exactly as I had read them.

“Yes! You know Tennyson?” I held my breath.

“Well, there’s not much else to do on a ship but read,” he teased me.

“I would love to see your ship—I mean the Delta Queen. Maybe when my mother feels better, we can take a ride. Or when I get old enough, I can go myself. We rarely travel anymore, but my Uncle Louis, Louis Beaumont, frequently travels all around the world. I guess travel is in my blood, for I want to see everything!”

He stopped and looked at me. “Don’t be in such a hurry to leave home, Miss Cottonwood. It’s much safer to have an adventure in the pages of your book. Many scoundrels await inexperienced travelers, especially ones as lovely as you.”

“Are you a scoundrel, Captain Garrett?” I asked.

He blanched slightly. “I suspect that the sheriff thinks so, and Mr. Ball likely does by now as well. Do you think I am a scoundrel, Miss Cottonwood?”

“If my maid reports missing silverware, I shall know that you are, sir!” He laughed heartily, so I did as well.

“You have a keen wit, Miss Cottonwood.” I acknowledged his comment with a nod, just as I had seen Mother do, but I kept quiet.

Later that evening, I enjoyed a quiet dinner and watched my mother sleep before I scurried back to my bedroom to record this momentous day in my journal. My candles burned brightly into the night, and I ignored the cramping of my hands. I wanted to remember everything, every word, every gesture. I even mentioned Mr. Ball in the history.

I opened my bedroom window; the smell of gardenia filled my room in just a few minutes. Pale moonlight splashed on the walls, and I tossed and turned on my bed, thoughts of Captain Garrett filling my head and burning my heart. With tired eyes and numb fingers, I eventually slept, only to dream of my new friend riding his ship across a sparkling sea.

In my dream, I saw myself standing on the shore, watching the ship sail out of sight. And then, I saw Reginald Ball, walking on the water like Holy Jesu and waving a handkerchief furiously at me.

Startled, I woke and found my father standing at the foot of my bed. Even in the moonlight, I could see he was drunk, swaying under the power of his beloved corn whiskey. Like an angry demon, he cracked his belt at my legs while he grabbed and twisted my foot. I refused to scream. I did not want to satisfy his lust for terrorizing me, nor did I wish for my mother to be his victim. She would certainly try to come to my rescue, as I always tried to help her. The belt stung my leg through the thin cotton of my gown. He sweated and sputtered, calling me vile names and hurling accusations at me. I gathered from his violent diatribe that he had had a visit from the sheriff. I couldn’t prevent the tears from filling my eyes, but I still didn’t cry out. How many times before had I faced this blind fury that was once the father I loved?