After the meal Peter had declared supper, he had dragged them all down to the beach again for a complicated game with rules she never quite managed to grasp. She’d been cross at first, but then hours had slipped away as she ran and tromped with the boys, stamping their feet into the sand and calling to each other. The sun had reigned overhead the whole time, full and blazing and not moving once in the sky, despite the twilight that gathered while they ate. Only when Peter had grown bored with the game had she noticed her exhaustion, and how grubby she’d become, her nightgown stiff with salt and her hair tangled.

What would her grandfather say? The thought almost makes her giggle, but the sound turns into a hiccup instead, and she smudges the tears from her eyes. He’s quick to praise her when she sits up straight, her knees together and her hands carefully folded in her lap. When she forgets and slouches or fidgets, or bounces excitedly, wanting to show him the latest samples from her collection, he turns silent and presses his lips together in a frown. He doesn’t believe science is a proper pursuit for a young lady. But then he took her to the observatory, so maybe deep down in his heart there’s some softness in him after all, despite what her mother believes.

Sometimes, if she’s able to catch her mother in just the right mood, she’ll do the perfect scowling impersonation of her grandfather. She knows her mama doesn’t like her grandfather, even though she’s never said as much aloud. With her father, she’s less sure. Sometimes both her mother and her father look sad after her grandfather visits, but some instinct tells her it’s one of those subjects she shouldn’t ask about.

Thinking of her mother brings a fresh pang to her chest, so sharp it almost steals her breath. She wishes her mother were here now to brush the salt tangles from her hair, to tell her one of her stories properly. Maybe she’s getting too old for fairy tales, but right now, it’s the only thing she wants in the world. The thought makes her cry even harder.

She might never see her mama or her papa again, or Cook. Or her grandfather, who she would be happy to see even if he scolded her or sighed in disappointment at her for looking an unladylike mess. There are so many things she hasn’t done or seen yet. What if she never gets the chance to go to a university and study to be a scientist, or travel around the world?