The waltz music drifted over the water; couples were dancing on the pavilion under lantern light, and from ashore came the pitchy scent of smudge pots smoking to keep mosquitos at bay. Nathaniel pictured himself dancing with Constance, holding her tight and close, kissing her the way a man on the cover of Mother’s most recent Ladies Home Journal was kissing a woman in a satin dress, with authority and passion.

“I’ll tell you what—there’s a regular harim staying under Auntie Battleship’s roof, right now,” said Will. “Cousin Connie and three of her friends, Cousin Johanna and two of hers. We’re all having a picnic tomorrow, with Frances Parkman and her mother joining us from Pulpit Harbor. We’re short on males. C’mon along.”

Nathaniel nodded, but explained that he was missing a shoe, a deficiency that Will waved off; among him and his three friends, there had to be an extra pair Nathaniel’s size. He snubbed the cigarette and looked at the three brothers.

“Y’know, it’s interesting that you and I should find ourselves in a similar situation. In the same boat?” he said.

6