“Look what I found,” the sailor said to the Captain. He indicated Caroline and Joanna. “They’re all alone, and apparently, they’ve been living like a pack of wild animals.”
“No, we haven’t!” Libby furiously insisted. “We have a hut and everything.”
The sailor ignored her and addressed the Captain. “They’re like a trio of abandoned wolf pups.”
“We had mothers!” Libby huffed. “It’s not our fault that they died.”
But she was ignored again.
“Are there any others?” the Captain asked the sailor.
“Not that we saw.”
The Captain peered down at her. “Is it just the three of you? And don’t lie to me. This is important.”
“There’s just us three,” Libby said.
“Lord almighty,” he muttered as he led Libby over to Caroline and Joanna. “Will you introduce me to your companions?”
“This is Caroline”—Libby pointed to her—”and this is Joanna.”
“Are you sisters?” he asked.
“No.”
“None of you?”
“No. We’re like sisters though,” Libby told him. “We’re closer than sisters.”
“I’m sure you are.”
The Captain studied their surroundings. The sky was so blue, the ocean a brilliant turquoise color, the sand blazing under the sun’s unrelenting rays. The palm trees swayed but provided no real shade.
“What shall we do with them, Captain?” the sailor inquired.
The Captain grimaced with disgust. “It’s beyond me. We’ll convey them to the nearest port, and the authorities can figure it out.”
“Shouldn’t I stay here?” Libby asked. “What if my parents come for me?”
The Captain and the sailor exchanged a tormented glance, then the Captain said, “Trust me, Miss Libby, they won’t come. Now then, are there any items you’d like to take with you? Have you any dolls or clothes or other mementoes you’d like to bring?”
“No, I don’t have anything,” Libby said.
“That’s the saddest comment I ever heard.” He spun to Caroline and Joanna. “How about you two girls? Are there things you’d like to take?”
They shook their heads, not keen to talk to him. It seemed like a dream, as if they would eventually wake up and the day would glide along as all the other days had glided along since they’d arrived.
“There’s no reason to linger then,” the Captain said, and he motioned to the longboat. “Let’s get you out to the ship.”
Libby blanched with dismay. “I won’t go on a ship! None of us will go on a ship ever again!”
“It’s all right,” the Captain said. “Mine won’t sink.”
“It’s what Mother claimed about the last one, but it wasn’t true.”
“I’ll make it true,” the Captain firmly stated, “and you have to be very brave, so Caroline and Joanna will watch you and realize how to be very brave too. Can you do that for me?”
“I guess,” she grudgingly replied.
He picked her up and balanced her on his hip. She couldn’t remember an adult picking her up before. And she was five, so she wasn’t exactly tiny. For once in her short life, she felt protected.
“I’ll climb onto a boat for you,” she said, “but only if you promise I’ll be safe.”
“You’ll be safe. I promise.”
Libby rested her head on his shoulder and told herself to believe him. What other choice did she have?
Twenty years later . . .
Libby Carstairs strolled through the dark garden, following the path to the river. Colored lanterns lighted the way. With each step she took, the sounds of celebration faded behind her, which was a relief.
The mansion was packed to the rafters, with guests jostling elbow to elbow, and she was never comfortable in tight spaces. She’d been desperate to get outside into the fresh air.
The farther she walked from the house, the quieter it became. She arrived at the dock, delighted to find a bench perfectly positioned for ideal viewing.
She plopped down and gazed out at the black water. It was a beautiful July evening, the sky clear so she could see the stars overhead. Boats bobbed in the channel, their lamps swinging with the current.
Usually, she loved being in the middle of a crowd, but recently, she’d been growing weary of the attention that was regularly showered on her. Nightmares had been plaguing her, and her nerves flared at the oddest moments. Discomfort was a constant companion. It was like an old friend that visited occasionally.
The foundation of her world had collapsed without warning, so who wouldn’t be a tad disturbed? She had too much on her mind, too many decisions to make, too many options to consider.
“You stupid fool,” she muttered, addressing her deceased Uncle Harry. “How could you leave me to fend for myself?”
She sent the words winging upward—on the off chance that he was in Heaven. He’d been a charming cad and charlatan though, so it was very likely he was residing in a spot quite a bit lower and quite a bit hotter.
From the day she’d been delivered back to England as a little girl and he’d blustered forward to claim her, he’d been the center of her universe. He’d declared himself her uncle, and the authorities who’d been searching for her relatives had allowed him to traipse off with her.
He wasn’t her uncle though. Not that she’d apprised anyone. She’d discovered the shocking news by accident, while riffling in his papers after he’d died, and she was still flummoxed by it.
He’d fed and clothed her, had trained and nurtured her. He’d turned her into a celebrity who could dazzle with her sad songs and stories, but he’d used her too: to earn money, to keep a roof over his head, to support his mistresses and dissolute friends.
She’d been a gorgeous, talented child who—with her curly blond hair, big blue eyes, and waiflike expression—had brought audiences to tears. She’d seduced them with her singing, dancing, and emotional tales about her puzzling childhood, a few of them true, most of them not.
Harry had had a vivid imagination, and he’d written a history for her that people never
