“They’re known as jellyfish.”

Evangeline turned her head. Dr. Dunne was standing beside her, wearing dark trousers and a white shirt open at the collar. “Jellyfish?” She laughed. “It’s a surprise to see you out of uniform.”

He glanced down at himself. “I’ve been in surgery. A gangrenous leg.”

“Oh dear. Did you have to amputate?”

“I’m afraid so. He waited too long, as these sailors tend to do. Think they’re invincible.”

Watching the horizon line quiver in the heat, she asked, “How is Mr. Buck?”

“Rather . . . unhappy, as you might imagine. It was brave what you did, Miss Stokes.”

“Or foolhardy.”

“Bravery often is.”

She looked up into his greenish eyes, fringed with dark lashes.

A voice from behind them said, “Excuse me, sir.”

Dr. Dunne turned quickly. “Yes, sailor?”

“A convict is in labor and appears to be having a hard time of it. Can ye come?”

It was Olive. Hours later, long after the women had been bolted in for the night, Evangeline could hear her cries.

The next morning, after breakfast, she and Hazel paced the deck.

“It’s taking too long,” Hazel said.

“Do you think you could help?”

“I don’t know.”

Olive’s snaggletoothed sailor passed them, swigging from a bottle of rum.

A cry pierced the air.

“Maybe I could,” Hazel said.

“Let me ask.” Evangeline hurried to the ladder and descended into the gloom of the tween deck. A sailor standing outside the surgeon’s room moved to block the door.

“I need to see Dr. Dunne,” she said.

“You’re a convict.”

“Evangeline Stokes. Number one seventy-one. Will you let him know I’m here?”

The sailor shook his head. “No convicts allowed.”

“It’s urgent.”

The sailor looked her up and down. “You’re about to . . . ” He motioned at her belly.

“No, no,” she said impatiently. “Just—please. Tell him it’s me.”

He shook his head. “He’s busy, can’t ye tell?”

“Of course I can tell. I have someone who can help.”

“I’m sure the good doctor has things under control.”

“But—”

“Stop wasting me time.” He waggled his fingers to ward her off. “You’ll be seeing him soon enough.”

The day became interminably hot. Steam rose from the newly washed deck as if from a griddle. Hazel opened the Bible, mouthed some lines, closed it. Evangeline worked on her baby quilt, trying to concentrate on the stitches.

Olive’s cries lessened, then stopped.

Evangeline looked at Hazel. She wore a grim expression and was knitting and unknitting her fingers.

They didn’t speak. There was nothing to say.

The sun slid down the sky, its reflection puddling on the water before seeping underneath, like liquid on a porous surface. When the convicts were herded below decks, Hazel and Evangeline hunkered down in the stern, behind the wall of chicken crates.

A passing sailor, seeing them in the shadows, did a double take. “Hey, you two. They’re locking up.”

“We’re waiting for the surgeon.” Evangeline clutched her stomach. “I’m—I’m due.”

“Does he know you’re here?”