It was Sunday. Isabelle walked through the nearly deserted town with a wide smile on her pretty face. Since none of the local businessmen were available to trade she'd given herself a treat and taken her favorite horse for a gallop along the beach. If one were to ask her, a hard gallop on a stretch of white sand was the proper way to worship any creator there might be.

As she approached the church she heard a familiar hymn being belted forth in a most unfamiliar rhythm. Isabelle saw Jack McGonnigal leaning against a coconut palm a little distance further on. She raised her hand. Jack waved back lazily.

"How was Honolulu?" she asked by way of greeting.

Jack shrugged his broad shoulders. "Still there. Captain's wife got a nice house with a view of Wakakii. Reckon they will be happy there."

Isabelle made herself comfortable against an adjacent tree. She'd never asked Jack why he didn't attend church. She knew that Claire wanted him to go with her and that Colin had extended a very sincere invitation but Jack resisted. She was vaguely curious whether it was because of being raised a Catholic in Ireland or if it had more to do with the reception he would most likely get from the white parishioners.

The little church was built with wide windows to let the breeze flow through. From her vantage point Isabelle could see Lavinia sitting near the back of the church. Colin often said that Lavinia, being so totally skeptical of everything was his best judge of the success of a sermon. Lavinia said that she always attended with an open mind and that she liked the music.

When the congregation stood to sing the last hymn Isabelle see that David had been sitting beside Lavinia. She was a little surprised. In spite of his close friendship with Colin, David had never regularly attended services at the little church. However, thinking back over the recent past she realized that David had gone to church whenever they were in port. Was it, she wondered, because he felt thankful that he had been rescued from the island when there seemed like there was no hope? Or could it be that he felt he owed something to Colin for the part he had played in his rescue?

"Ah, here they come," said Jack, standing up a little straighter.

Colin had come out first and taken his normal place near the door to greet his parishioners. Lavinia and David did no more than wave at him. Mauriri and his family paused only briefly. The children catching sight of David ran ahead of their parents calling out his name. He stopped and gathered them to his chest for a brief hug. With Lavinia's help he put Tevaki on his shoulders and Tahnee took hold of Lavinia's hand. The four of them continued walking towards the Lepaus house on the east end of the village. They made thought Isabelle a pretty picture, a family picture.

Isabelle was looking forward to the rest of the day. Since they had brought David home from the island on which he had been held captive, his friends had developed a habit of having a meal together on Sundays. The meal itself would be late in afternoon, but soon after the end of the worship service they would start to gather at the Lepaus to spend the day cooking and visiting.

Isabelle turned to join David, Lavinia and the children when the expression on Jack's face made her look back to the church. The Bradford party, among them Claire and Mrs. Russell, had stopped to speak with Colin. Their carriage was close by and Mrs. Bradford was helped into it. Mrs. Russell joined her and both women leaned towards Claire talking. Mrs. Bradford made a gesture indicating that there was room for her in the carriage. Claire shook her head with a smile.

Henri Seraut and Gilles Bradford were walking purposefully towards Isabelle and Jack. They wore crisp linen suits, straw hats and both carried slender canes. "Good morning, Miss Reed. Ah, McGonnigal," said Bradford, "you made it back in good time."

"Good winds."

"How long do you need to get the boat ready?" Bradford asked Jack and then went on with out giving him a chance to respond. "By Tuesday we will have cargo to load."

Seraut stood next to Isabelle and addressed her in French. "You do not care to be preached at, Mademoiselle?"

"Colin would never preach at me," she said in the same language. "He knows it would be a waste of his breath."

"I've been told that there is a passable restaurant in Papeete. Would you honor me by having dinner with me there one evening?"

Isabelle looking past him noticed that David had stopped and was looking back at them. Well, she thought, I can make a pretty picture too. She tilted her head to smile at Seraut and said, "I'd love to. Do you have an evening in mind?"

Claire walked up to them at that moment. Bradford turned from Jack to her and said, "So, Miss Devon, they couldn't convince you to grace us with your presence for luncheon?"

"Not today, Mr. Bradford, I have plans," answered Claire with a wide smile. "I'm to come tomorrow for dinner, perhaps I will see you then."

"I shall look forward to it," he said, bowing over her hand. The gentlemen took their leave.

Claire reached out her gloved hand and slipped her arm through Jack's. "I was afraid you wouldn't make it back for today."

"Ah, for one of Lianni's meals, we laid on a bit of canvas."

Claire giggled. Isabelle looked over her with a critical eye. She wore a high necked dress of yellow muslin with a several rows of satin ribbons near the hem. A wide straw hat, leather shoes and net gloves. "You're certainly a fashion plate today. Aren't you hot in all of that?"

"Sweltering," answered Claire, taking the gloves off by carefully pulling at the tip of each finger. "You can't even see my stockings. At least my hat doesn't have a dead bird on it like Mrs. Titchmarsh's."

Isabelle shook her head sympathetically; she didn't envy Claire the balancing act she was doing between her godmother's expectations and her normal way of life on the island. She looked back at the Bradford party. The men had mounted their horses but the carriage remained just outside of the church. Mrs. Titchmarsh stood beside it talking to the occupants. She nodded several times in Claire's direction. Isabelle's first reaction was to stick her tongue out at Mrs. Titchmarsh but she thought better of it. Her second was to feel very apprehensive about what the woman was saying to Mrs. Russell. Isabelle looked at Claire who was walking slowly arm in arm with Jack, oblivious to the older women watching her every move.

***

Atara rounded the edge of the Lepau house with several of his friends. He was carrying a ball. "Uncle!" he called to Mauriri, "How about a game? My friend in France sent me a real football."

Mauriri looked at David who shrugged as if to say why not. The teams were chosen up quickly. Atara invited Colin to play with him and suggested that three of his friends be on Mauriri's team with David to give them some young legs. Colin encouraged Jack to play on Atara's team to even them up. Before joining in, Jack hesitated for a moment saying he hadn't played since he was boy.

They played barefoot on the beach, the goals two upturned canoes. Mauriri one goalie and Colin the other. They were both experienced players, Colin having grown up with the game and Mauriri, like his nephew, learning while going to school in France. It was a spirited game that drew a crowd of onlookers from the surrounding Polynesian households.

Lavinia, Lianni and others of the village women continued to work on the food for dinner. It would be a shared meal, served on the beach by the light of a bonfire. Isabelle, who had contributed several pounds of cheese she'd gotten in Auckland towards the meal, sat on the edge of the porch and watched the game. Claire, minus hat, gloves, shoes and stockings, joined her there.

"I never thought Tahiti could remind me so much of home."

"Of home," said Isabelle with a sidelong glance, "you mean England?"

"Yes," answered Claire, her brown eyes following Jack's sturdy figure. "When my father was alive we spent Sunday afternoons with his family in a suburb of London. Just a short train ride from where we lived. I'd watch my cousins play football with the other boys on the old village green. Then we would all go to my Uncle's for a grand meal. Well done, Colin!" she shouted as Colin blocked the goal by throwing himself several feet to his left.

"He's going to hurt himself," said Lavinia. Both concern and admiration for Colin's skill sounded in her voice. She dropped a tin bowl full of pea pods between her friends.

"Like a true Brit he'll tell you that any injury sustained during a football game is a badge of honor," said Claire with a trace of laughter, she reached into the bowl and pressed her thumb against the ripe pod. The bright green peas spilled out into the bowl. She glanced at Isabelle who was watching David try to steal the ball from Atara. He overstepped and found himself on his backside in the sand.

Lavinia sighed, "It is such a rough game."

"It's nothing compared to Rugby," answered Claire, looking up at Lavinia. She half expected her to tell David he had to stop playing. "If you aren't bleeding at the end of a scrum you haven't done your part."

"The English are so civilized," said Lavinia softly. She watched for a moment longer then went into the house for the ti wrapped chickens that would be baked in the underground oven. She knew better than to think she could keep David from over doing. She could tell the others, even the boys were watching out for him. She hoped that would be enough.

"I heard Henri Seraut ask you to dinner in Papeete," said Claire to Isabelle as they shelled peas. "Will you go?"

"Sure," answered Isabelle with a shrug of her slender shoulders. "Why wouldn't I? If Tom Bradford's money is behind them, they could become important business contacts in the future."

"Yes, I suppose they could."

"What's the matter, I thought you liked them?"

"I like Gilles Bradford," answered Claire quickly, "I like him very much."

"Why not Henri Seraut? He is a handsome well spoken man. At least he knows how to ask a woman out to dinner," said Isabelle with a touch of asperity. She was still watching the game.

Claire frowned and stared down at the bowl of vivid green peas. "Lavinia says he reminds her of his grandfather. I don't think he was a particularly good man."

"You mean you think he liked fallen women."

Claire looked up, her pretty face a mask of contrition. "Isabelle. I--"

Isabelle turned to her friend and spoke with a trace of remorse. "I know that isn't what you meant. But I don't want you to think he fools me. I know what he's after. He isn't likely to get it. I've dealt with his type before. But his type can interesting and useful in business."

Isabelle's eyes slid back to the game. Atara was running rings around David, passing the ball easily to his friends practically through David's feet. David was sweating heavily, what he lacked in skill he made up for in sheer determination. Atara, a bit too sure of himself, misjudged a kick allowing David to steal the ball and send it flying over the sand to a teammate. He paused then bracing his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

"He is alright, you know," Claire said quietly. "He doesn't need his arm to play football."

"What?" said Isabelle as if she were affronted that Claire thought she was watching David too closely. "He's a grown man. If he doesn't have sense enough to take it easy after being nearly beaten to death, not to mention the knock he took to the head a couple of days ago. It is none of my concern."

"No, none at all."

Isabelle's greenish-gray eyes narrowed at Claire. Then she sighed and hung her head slightly. She could pretend with everyone else, although she was pretty sure she didn't fool Lavinia, but with Claire she was honest about her confusing relationship with David. It was one of the things she cherished about her friendship with Claire that she could admit she wasn't in control of her feelings for David. "I can't seem to help myself," said Isabelle softly. "He is so damn reckless. I think he is trying to prove that he--"

"What?" coaxed Claire gently.

"Oh, that everything he went through didn't make him weaker, didn't sap his courage or his spirit," said Isabelle with reluctant admiration. "He gets stronger everyday, and he is just as foolhardy as he ever was."

"But something bothers you." Claire looked for signs of what it was in Isabelle's expressive face. Then thoughtfully she asked, "This is going to sound a bit foolish since you were attacked and nearly lost the horses but how was the trip otherwise? I mean between you and David.

The few minutes by the little stream flashed into Isabelle's mind. She had thought of them often. At times it seemed to her that David was just about to pull her against him when the horses interrupted them. But if he had felt the same hunger that she had in those few minutes, he had thought better of it since.

Isabelle sighed deeply. She pushed the image out of her mind and answered Claire softly, "It was all right, I suppose. He was very quiet most of the time. He won't talk about it, you know, the time on the island. He won't tell me how bad it was."

"Have you asked?" Claire concentrated her full attention on Isabelle. She sensed an underlying sadness in her friend. She wondered what was causing it.

"Not in so many words." Isabelle spoke slowly while looking down at the pea pods in her hands. She wasn't seeing them. "But I can tell he is worrying about things, looking over his shoulder. I can feel him trying to work out everything that could go wrong before he agrees to a plan, even with simple things."

"You mean he has lost a measure of confidence?" asked Claire seriously. A slight frown marred the smooth skin of her forehead.

"Yeah," said Isabelle with a nod of her dark head. "It's funny, there were times in the past when David's cockiness made me want to punch him but now I miss it."

Claire glanced at out the men playing football. It was impossible not to be aware of the changes in David. He had always exuded physical confidence; he was tall, strongly built, agile and quick. Now he was rail thin and obviously laboring to keep up with the pace of the game. "He was gone for so long. It must have been so horrible. I'm sure he thought he would die if not in one of those fights then of the inadequate food and the conditions. It isn't surprising it would take a while for him to get over it."

"No. Not surprising." Isabelle traced her finger through the bright green peas in the bowl between them. The line her finger made disappeared immediately.

"I hope he is talking to someone," said Claire soberly, as she pushed a long strand of light hair out of her eyes. "I was really frightened by that beast Frye even though I was in his clutches less than a day when you, David and Mauriri found me. I'm sure I would still be having nightmares if I hadn't been able to tell Lavinia about every minute of it."

"Maybe he's talking to Mauriri or Colin but certainly not to me," said Isabelle tartly. "Of course he did tell me that I'm just what that Devil fellow is looking for to replace that heartless bitch."

Claire cocked her head to look more closely at Isabelle's troubled face. "Jenny? You're nothing like Jenny. Isabelle," said Claire, reaching to take hold of her hand. "You must have misunderstood him."

"No." Isabelle bit her lip to stifle a sigh. Sighing was for melodrama heroines not for women who ran their own businesses. "It's no good, Claire. As far as David is concerned I'm always going to be a petty thief and a liar, just what I was when he met me. And then there is the future."

"What do you mean?" asked Claire her frown growing deeper.

"The boat," said Isabelle with a slap of her hand against the porch floor. She was trying to sound unconcerned but the tenseness of her body betrayed her. "The business."

"I don't understand. Do you mean because of Mauriri?"

Isabelle grimaced. "There isn't space for me on that boat, Claire. During the trip to Auckland, they had their heads together talking about currents, and reefs and I don't know what else. And they'd talked about the past, other trips."

"But don't you think it is because they are glad to be back on the boat together. You can't think that David would push you out of your partnership. He owes you so much. And you were doing so well before he was kidnapped," said Claire quickly. She felt a swell of indignation at the thought of Isabelle not being properly appreciated. If she hadn't stepped in David's precious Rattler would belong to the bank in Sydney. "I can't think he would treat you so unfairly."

"Oh, he won't cheat me. I almost wish he would, then I could hate him. But he wants Mauriri as a partner not me," Isabelle said with her eyes watching the game. She loved Claire for caring so much about her but the worried affection she saw in her friend's lively brown eyes only made her feel sadder. Claire believed so strongly in everything working out for the best if one put the effort in.

"But you and David are--"

"Friends. Just friends and business partners. And that is probably for the best"

"But, Isabelle."

"No, I'm serious," said Isabelle, looking Claire straight in the eye. "Someone has to keep their head on straight in this business. And that's me. I've still got a lot to learn and there is money to be made. I trust both of them, they won't cheat me. Maybe I can even convince them they are better off with me taking care of their books. When I took them over they were a disaster."

"I'm sure," said Claire slowly, " that that is very wise of you. But what about your heart?"

Isabelle smiled. "My heart is just fine. Look, I don't know why things can't work out between David and me. I don't mean live happy ever after but I did think we'd at least have a good time together." She shrugged her slender shoulders. "Sometimes things don't work out. What I need to do is not let the fact that I'm soft in the head about David prevent me from taking care of myself and my future."

"Not soft in the head, soft spot somewhere else, I think," said Claire with a gentle smile. She knew that Isabelle was finished with the subject. It was difficult for her to talk openly about her feelings perhaps because Isabelle didn't think her feelings were as important as other practical considerations. Claire had accepted that she couldn't push Isabelle to see things from her own rather romantic perspective. With a suppressed sigh, she let her attention shift back to the game. Her eyes found Jack quickly. "Watch this," she said sharply.

One of the boys kicked the ball into the air. David had himself positioned to take control of it when it landed in the sand. Jack, appearing from nowhere, stepped in front of David and redirected the ball off his head. Atara then kicked it through his uncle's legs into the goal.

"You bloody ringer!" exclaimed David. "I thought you haven't played since you was a boy."

"I haven't," answered Jack, his face was creased by the widest grin anyone had ever seen on it. "But when I was a boy, I played everyday. Village priest was mad for football. It was the surest way to an easy penance."

Mauriri realizing David was having trouble catching his breath, declared the game was over and that Atara's team had won. Claire slid her arm around Isabelle and hugged her. "I love being part of a family again. I do hope Mrs. Russell will come to see how good my life here is, just as it is."

"What?" said Isabelle with her impish grin. Her pensive mood had disappeared in an instant as she let herself be caught up in the game. "You don't want to be eating roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with the Bradfords?"

"No," said Claire, shaking her fair head. "I know they mean well but I don't think I would fit in. Strange, isn't it? When I came here Mrs. Bradford's life was the exactly what I was looking for. A prosperous husband, a beautiful home, children, and even a familiar sort of social status. But now, I realized how much more I've gained by not finding that."

"You mean it isn't what you want anymore?" asked Isabelle with great interest. She loved to see Jack and Claire together. But if things were going to work out between them Claire was going to have to do some serious rethinking about the kind of life she wanted. Everyone agreed Jack was a good sailor, but a rich man he was never likely to be. The fault, thought Isabelle, was no more in Jack than it was in herself, it was simply that both of them were outsiders because of their pasts. Not that Isabelle planned to let that stop her from making a fortune.

"No, not exactly, I want to be prosperous, well, at least comfortable. I may be able to do that on my own if I work hard on the paper. I do hope for a husband and children," said Claire as her eyes drifted away from Isabelle to watch the men walking toward the water barrel.

The boys were still kicking the ball back and forth between them. David was punching Jack in the chest with mock seriousness. Jack laughed loudly at something someone said. He looked towards Claire. When he saw she was gazing in his direction he sent her a brilliant smile.

"It's just," continued Claire thoughtfully as her returned his smile, "I'm glad now that I've had to learn so much about myself and about others. I'm glad I didn't just waltz into life as a colonial wife. They may as well be in England; they cling so closely together. I wouldn't want to give up anything about our family, our diverse, interesting family."

A gentle smile played over Isabelle's wide mouth. "Interesting and diverse. That's us, to be sure."

***

The most frustrating part of his convalescence for David was not being able to row back and forth from the Rattler at her mooring in the bay and the shore. Rowing was something his arm was simply not able to tolerate. He wanted the familiarity of living on his boat. Having spent weeks imaging her sunk he could not get enough of just standing on the deck and looking her over. But living on the boat meant he was dependent on someone else to row back and forth. David hated being dependent particularly for something as simple as rowing across the bay.

Generally it was Tah-Mey who ferried him as he had early Monday morning. David walked up the beach and through the little town. He walked slowly, paying little attention to the market around him. He felt tired and sore from the football game the day before. He knew while he was playing that he would suffer from it, still it felt so good to be part of a game. They had all been watching out for him but at least he'd played. He hadn't sat on the porch and watched the way he had been doing for weeks now. David laughed aloud when he thought of his astonishment at Jack taking that ball off his head. He'd have to get Jack to teach him that trick. God, it had been good to feel like one of the mates again.

There was a price to pay, he hurt all over. Today he'd been tempted to just lie around the boat but the question of how to approach Mauriri about the future continued to nag at him. He needed to talk it out and he needed more information.

Between Colin's house and the church was the garden. David was not surprised to find Colin on his knees tying tomato plants to stakes. He paused at the gate and watched his friend work. There was something unusual about the force with which Colin was stabbing the stakes into the ground. It was almost violent. This display of temper in Colin, who was normally so calm and deliberate in his actions, took David by surprise. He wondered what was wrong.

Colin, aware that he was being watched, stood and turned towards the gate. His face, red from exertion, broke into a warm smile when he saw David. "Good morning. How are you feeling after all that exercise yesterday?"

"Like I had a lot of exercise yesterday," said David ruefully. "I want a rematch when I don't have to stop for a breather every time I run the length of the field."

"That day is coming soon. You need to be patient."

"So everyone keeps telling me but patience isn't my long suit."

Colin grinned in agreement. "Were you looking for me for a reason? You look as if you have something on your mind."

"Yes," said David, running his hand through his sun lightened hair. "I need, uh, well, I need for you to tell me how things were while I was away. Things between Mauriri and Isabelle."

"Mauriri and Isabelle," repeated Colin as he turned back to his work. "I'm not sure I understand."

David came into the garden. Without being asked he held the tomato plant against the stake allowing Colin to tie it securely with a bit a string. Colin looked up and smiled his thanks.

"The thing is, I want Mauriri to come back as a full partner but I can't judge what he wants. He skirts the subject. I'm afraid that he doesn't want to come back."

Colin's blue eyes shifted suddenly to David's face but he didn't say anything. He just waited for David to go on.

"I can understand if he doesn't feel he should trust me as a business partner anymore. If that is the case I'm going to have to accept it. But," he paused and chewed his bottom lip, "well, I think there is a chance that he doesn't want to work with Isabelle, for Isabelle, until we can pay back the rest of the payments she made. When we were on the long trip to Auckland, it was clear that there were too many captains on the bridge. I'm not blaming Isabelle, she never interferes when it is a sailing decision, but Mauriri seemed to be holding himself back. So what I'm asking is how they got along."

"Ah," said Colin, sitting back on his heels. He stood slowly and took off his straw hat. His wiped his sweating forehead with a snowy white handkerchief. "I haven't had my breakfast yet. Would you care to share some cold rice pudding and a few bananas?"

"Sure," answered David, frowning a little at this apparent change in subject. He followed Colin out of the garden and into the house. Colin carefully washed his hands and dried them. He stirred up the fire in the stove and set a copper kettle on top the range. From the larder he took an earthenware bowl covered with cheese clothe. He put it on the table and brought bowls, spoons and bananas.

David stood in the doorway, drumming his long fingers impatiently against the jam. If it were anyone else he would think they had suggested breakfast to avoid the topic but he knew Colin. Colin wouldn't answer such an important question until he had had time to think about it and form a response. When Colin gestured towards the table David sat down. He reminded himself where he was and waited until Colin had said a short blessing over the food before he picked up his spoon.

"When you went missing," began Colin slowly, "a great many people were thrown off balance. No one more so than Mauriri. He felt a terrible weight of responsibility. He believed that it was his fault."

"That's foolishness," interjected David, shaking his head. Although it was foolishness, he knew it was true because he would have felt the same crushing responsibility if it had been Mauriri who disappeared. "The Devil wouldn't have cared who was with me."

"We know that now but we didn't know why you'd been taken, even after finding Tah-Mey and knowing how, Mauriri believed that had he been with you the attack would not have occurred or he could have fought it off. It drove him, the mystery of your disappearance drove him, the worry he felt. All of it kept him on the boat constantly searching. Isabelle quite practically insisted that your trading contracts be kept up. She argued that they couldn't search without the boat and without trading they couldn't make the payments on the boat or buy supplies. As I said, it was a wholly practical attitude but Muariri found it--"

"Cold-blooded," said David with a slight smile. "That's Isabelle, she never loses track of the bottom line."

Colin ate a spoonful of his rice pudding. It would be unjust to let David believe Isabelle was less affected by his disappearance than the rest of them were. "You know I don't pretend to understand women, least of all Isabelle Reed but Lavinia made quite a point of defending Isabelle."

"Lavinia defended Isabelle?" asked David; his dark eyebrows arched in doubt.

"Yes, very strongly," answered Colin, nodding his fair head. "She pointed out that Isabelle was as consumed with the search as Mauriri was but she went about it differently. Perhaps because for her there was no guilt there was just the horrible fear that she would never see you again. She barely slept; to get her to eat one literally had to stand over her."

David was quiet for a moment. He tried to imagine Isabelle frantic with worry over him. It was hard to do. Sure they were friends of a sort. Well, maybe they were good friends but Isabelle never made any secret of putting herself first. In fact that blatant but honest selfishness was one of the things he liked about her. Then he spoke thoughtfully, "I remember that first day on the boat when we were talking thinking that she looked so thin, not ill but--"

"Exhausted? She was and Mauriri was. You know how that is, two people working on the same overwhelming problem in different ways, both suffering from exhaustion. Of course they rubbed each other wrong. But they did work together under those difficult conditions. Surely now, they could work together more easily."

"Except that now I'm part of the mix," said David, laying his spoon down and sitting back in the chair. A troubled frown darkened his handsome face. "So you're saying it's me. It is one thing to recognize, oh, what would you call it, brotherly feeling towards an old friend in trouble and quite another to tie up your family's future with him in business when he has proven himself to be feckless. "

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all," said Colin quickly with a groan of exasperation. "What I'm trying to do is answer your question. Mauriri and Isabelle had a difficult time working together on the ship. Mauriri wasn't particularly comfortable being paid to sail the Rattler but considering the circumstances I think they did an admirable job of keeping their objective, finding you, in mind. None of that is to say that Mauriri can't trust you. David, maybe Mauriri just believes that, as you said, there are too many captains on the bridge; that there simply isn't room for three of you in the partnership."

David sat staring at his bowl. He made no move to pick his spoon up and resume eating. The kettle started to whistle; Colin got up to make tea. He watched David as he was pouring steaming water into the china pot. Bringing the pot to the table he said, "That's really the question you're asking, isn't it? Are you going to have to chose between them?"

Without looking up David nodded. He knew that it was why he had chosen to come and talk things out with Colin. Although he was careful in choosing his words, Colin always found his way to the heart of the matter. David needed to talk about Isabelle. It was true that he needed advice on how to approach Mauriri but since the attack on their campsite Isabelle had been constantly on his mind. He was sure that the attack was not a robbery attempt but he wasn't certain whether the intention had been to kill them or simply to frighten them. Either way Isabelle was danger. It felt as if everyone he knew was in danger but David couldn't forget that the Devil had shown a specific interest in Isabelle.

"She helped me," said David suddenly in a low voice. He was still staring at the table. "She stood by me when Mauriri couldn't, shouldn't have. I understand that now. She didn't worry about whether she should stand with me or not. She just did it. Sometimes I try to forget that. It is easy to think about her making the payments on the Rattler as a way of cutting herself in on the action and forget that she risked her life to come with me after Jenny. It's easy to think of her as an opportunist, an adventuress, not someone like Lavinia who deserves to be treated like a lady. But as much as I try to think of her as just another trader, I can't"

"I don't think there is a man alive," said Colin with an almost embarrassed smile, "that would fail to notice Isabelle is a woman no matter what she might be doing."

David laughed softly, and then he sighed with bafflement. "She doesn't ask for any special treatment. She works on the ship just like the rest of us. This last trip she did three times what I did."

David looked up suddenly, his green eyes bright and earnest. "I want my old life back, Colin. I want Mauriri as my partner but Isabelle," he groaned and shook his head. "Isabelle doesn't deserve to be pushed out after she's worked so hard."

Colin sat down and poured out the tea. David, he thought, had changed in some small but essential way. It wasn't that before the kidnapping David couldn't have realized what he'd just said but that he wouldn't have bothered. He would have charged ahead doing everything that he could to get Mauriri back on the Rattler without regard to Isabelle.

"What does that mean, David? Your old life back," asked Colin as he idly stirred his tea with a silver teaspoon.

David looked at him with a frown. He shrugged slightly. "You know, how things were before, before Jenny, when Mo and I were real partners. I suppose now you are going to tell me I can't go back."

"No," said Colin, shaking his fair head. "You know you can't go back. I just wonder what it is you're looking for, hoping to recapture by having Mauriri as your partner again."

David took a deep breath and rubbed his hand against his rough chin. "I want to recapture the knowledge that things are always going to come out right in the end. I want to know that Mo has my back so I can believe that every fight I get into we can win, every problem we can solve. I want to feel," David laugh suddenly and shook his head. "I want to feel sure of myself again."

Colin nodded. He understood what David was saying. If he looked back at the time before Jenny, even before Isabelle, it seemed Matavai Bay was their own little paradise. Lavinia and David had seemed so happy in their loose relationship, Mauriri and David came and went with tales of adventure, he'd had his own work and Mauriri's family life had a provided a sense belonging for all of them. Yes, looking back it did seem good. But, thought Colin, nothing can stay the same for very long. Children grow, lovers become dissatisfied; the nature of one's understanding of their own work changes over time. If Jenny was a curse in David's life and to some extend in his own, it was important to remember that Claire and Isabelle had been blessings.

"I'm pathetic, aren't I?" asked David with a rueful smile. He glanced out the open door at the small yard and the road beyond. "Always looking over my shoulder, jumping a strange sounds, too weak to play a whole game of football."

"Stop it," said Colin frowning. "You are a man who has had a rough time, physically, emotionally and perhaps spiritually. Such experiences take a great deal of time and effort to recover from."

David looked closely at Colin. He remembered suddenly how ill, how demoralized Colin had been after nearly dying in the open boat with the passengers and crew of the Windjammer. It had been months before he had walked without a cane. But his health hadn't been the worst of it. David remembered to his shame that nothing had mattered to him during that time but Jenny. He had no idea how long it had taken Colin to return to his church, to come to terms with what God had let happen to him and those with him.

"Something you know from personal experience," said David, hoping that Colin would understand that he was developing an appreciation for the courage Colin had shown during his own recovery.

"Yes," said Colin simply. They sat quietly for several minutes. The only sounds the clink of their spoons against the edges of their bowls.

"David?"

"Mm?" Lost in his own thoughts it took David a moment to concentrate on Colin.

"If you are asking my opinion I believe that Mauriri loves the Rattler as you do and he very much wants to go back into business with you. I don't know why he would be avoiding the subject with you but the only solution I can see is to ask him directly."

David considered this for a moment, then said, "And what do I do if he says he won't share the ship with Isabelle?"

"I don't know," answered Colin slowly. His blue eyes were pensive behind the thick lenses of his spectacles. " I agree with you that it is very important to treat Isabelle fairly. There must be someway to do that at least within a business context. Mauriri is a fair man. He understands how great a contribution Isabelle has made. Perhaps it is something else that prevents him from discussing the future with you. The only thing I can advise you to do is talk to Mauriri. You and Mauriri have a long history. The vast majority of your time as partners you were exceptionally good at communicating with each other. You are so much better now, it is time for you to really clear the air."

David nodded. "That's good advice. Thank you."

"You are quite welcome. I only hope I have been helpful," said Colin as he reached out for David's bowl. "Would you like more pudding?"

"Yes, it's good," answered David. His greenish eyes regarded Colin thoughtfully. "You know when I came upon you in the garden you seemed to be awfully worked up just to be tying up tomato plants. Is there something wrong?"

Colin took a knife and sliced bananas onto David's pudding. He frowned, he wished that he wasn't so transparent. "Nothing that you should be worried about."

"Oh, come on, Colin," cajoled David, sipping his tea. "You're attending to bodily needs by feeding me, you've given me advice, good advice and I've no doubt you're praying for me. Give me a chance to be of some use, at least let me listen to your problem."

Colin grunted slightly with amusement and shook his head. "Well, it is the same old problem. I've had a letter from the bishop. He is getting complaints."

"The church was full yesterday."

"Yes, it was. And to the best of my knowledge Mauriri was not paying anyone to come," said Colin with a ghost of a smile. "No, the problem is that a number of the white parishioners feel that our services aren't solemn enough. They are offended that there is no, well, I suppose the word would be dress code for attending services. And lots of other small complaints that show I'm not doing my job."

"Are you really worried about this?" asked David, watching his friend's face. David had never taken any interest in the church. His friendship with Colin had developed over meals at the Lepaus not within the context of his role as a minister. And yet, thought David in a moment of great clarity, it had been Colin even more than Mo he'd gone to when he was in need of a sounding board. Maybe Colin had been his spiritual advisor after all.

Colin shrugged. "Yes and no. The bishop is a fairly reasonable man. He likes me and he is aware that church attendance is higher. He is used to hearing complaints from those who are accustomed to a more English service. I think he takes anything Mrs. Titchmarsh says with a grain of salt."

"He should take it with a dram of whiskey."

A wide smile broke out on Colin's kindly face in spite of his best efforts. "Perhaps so. She does rather stretch the limits of Christian charity, doesn't she? Poor woman. Mrs. Russell, you've met her, haven't you?"

"Claire's godmother? Yeah. Her showing up out of the blue like she did has poor Claire running in circles. Lavinia said she spent an entire afternoon tearing her room apart looking for gloves. Can you think of anything more useless than net gloves? Don't tell me she's causing you problems too. She seemed like a very nice woman, little Old World maybe but pleasant enough."

"She is very pleasant," agreed Colin as he poured out the last of the tea. "And well meaning. She is also the widow of a high churchman and an old friend of the bishop. She means to be helpful, the suggestions she makes, they would be very appropriate in a poor London parish. But not here. Her letters to the bishop are looked on with considerably more interest than Mrs. Titchmarsh's." He grimaced slightly as he said, "It is always a balancing act. Not something to worry about, I'll whether the storm."

"You always do," said David with a smile. "I don't know that the word of a bunch of sailors would stand up against Mrs. Russell's but if you ever need a testimonial there are at least a dozen fellows down on the waterfront who'd be happy to say you're a saint."

Colin, who had stood to fetch more hot water, turned back to David with a puzzled look. "What are you talking about? The men I've written letters for?"

"Yes, and the men you've fed when they'd gambled away their pay, and those you've given a bed. Your bishop should spend some time on Lavinia's porch as I have this past month if he wants to know what good work you're doing here."

Colin laughed aloud at the image of his proper, self-important bishop sitting on the porch of the tavern sipping a beer. "Only obeying the Lord's instruction."

"Oh?"

"Matthew 25, verse 40, 'And the King shall answer and say unto them. Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.'"

They heard the slap of sandals on the porch decking. They both recognized the step. Neither man was surprised when Lavinia appeared in the doorway. She had a heavy market basket on her arm. "Colin? Oh, good morning, David. Suffering any ill effects from yesterday?"

"Oh, a few new aches and pains. Nothing too bad. Nothing a good massage wouldn't help."

She rolled her black eyes. "You are nothing is not persistent."

"Part of my charm," he said with his winning smile and a gesture towards the buttons of his shirt.

" Do you mind, Colin?" she asked as she sat the basket on the table. " It probably would be good for him."

"No, of course. I'll make some more tea." Colin went to the stove and fussed with the kettle. He glanced back and watched Lavinia knead the muscles of David's shoulder. She had such beautiful hands, small, slender but strong. David had let his head fall forwards, he was smiling.

Jealousy, thought Colin, is an unseemly emotion, particularly in a man of God. Beside it was a waste of energy to be jealous of David. One might as well be jealous of the wind, or the sea, some other force of nature.

Lavinia carefully pulled David's arm out straight. She pushed it up just passed shoulder high. She heard a sharp intake of breath but David didn't complain. She let his arm down and pressed her fingertips deep into the muscles of his shoulder. He was still so thin; at least he wasn't the bag of bones he was when he first came back. Once so long ago now, she thought, I knew his body as well as I know my own. But there was so much of him I couldn't know.

David moaned as Lavinia's fingers probed the soreness, spreading out the pain. How firm and certain her touch was, he thought, the touch of a compassionate nurse, a good friend but not the touch of a lover. What kinds of a fool lets a woman like Lavinia walk away from him?

"Better?" she asked as she helped him pull his shirt back up over his shoulders.

"Much, thank you."

"You're welcome," she said as she started taking vegetables out of the basket. Her thick hair was caught in a braid that swung against her back with every graceful movement. "Colin, I brought you some ginger root and they had those mushrooms from China."

"Thank you, Lavinia," said Colin. He poured her a cup of tea and held it out to her. Lavinia smiled her thanks. Her dark eyes bright and her voice light and gay, she started talking to Colin about a recipe she'd found in an old journal of her godmother's.

David, with a sense of satisfaction, found an answer for his question. The kind of fool who loved her enough to want her to be happy.

***

Mauriri stood on the beach in front of his house and looked across the bay at the Rattler rocking gently on the turquoise water of the shallow bay. He'd known the first time he'd seen the Rattler that she was a good ship. There were of course a great number of other schooners, the same size, same weight. A lot of them built in the same yard but this was the boat he knew.

There was a reason sailors always called a ship she. A man could learn to know a boat the way he learned a woman's body. He could know the position of the rudder by the pressure of the wheel against the palm of his hand. From below deck he could know how the wind filled the sails by feel of the boat around him. The Rattler was the boat he had staked his life on, trusted to weather a storm, to out pace a pursuer.

He'd worked on boats for years. He'd sailed to Hawaii the first time when he was 12. Worked the boats until he'd gone to school in Europe and come back eager to get back to sea. But it wasn't enough to simply be at sea, simply to have the hard work of a sailor to make him feel completely alive. He needed the connection he felt to the ship itself and to its captain.

He let his mind drift into the past. He thought of a card game and a cocky Aussie who refused to believe that luck would desert him no matter how he flaunted it. David was a gambler. Mauriri knew that was part of why they had gotten on so well for so long. Mauriri loved the pure audacity of David's gambles.

Behind him he heard the soft swoosh of bare feet in the sand. Mauriri felt his wife's arms slid around his middle. She laid her head against his back. He let some tension flow from his body. Mauriri wasn't the gambler David was. He knew too well the price of luck deserting one in the wrong moment. There were risks he wouldn't take. There were prizes he would never win. But then, thought Mauriri as he covered Lianni's hands with his own, he already had the best prizes of all.

"Talk to him, Mauriri," she said gently. "You and David want the same thing, surely you know that."

He pulled her around to face him. "But what does Isabelle want? Have you thought about that? Nothing about the Rattler can be just between David and me anymore."

Lianni's pretty face clouded with worry. She had been so thankful, so relieved when they found David and brought him home. She had been so sure everything would be as it had been, even better than it had been, before that horrible woman had turned their world upside down. But it wasn't true, too much had changed and the future could not be predicted. "Would it be so hard to work with Isabelle?"

"With her?" repeated her husband, cocking his dark head. "Maybe not. But for her, that's what's different. They're paying me; she's paying me. When David and I sailed together I had a say in things, we were partners. Now, I'm just an employee. And that is no one fault but mine. She stuck by him, I didn't."

"But you had--"

"Good reasons?" Mauriri took a deep breath and looked back out to sea. He let it out slowly. "Yes, I did. But that doesn't change the fact that Isabelle is the one who saved the Rattler. No matter what David wants as long as Isabelle still has money invested in the Rattler he will have to bow to her wishes."

"What if she doesn't want to stay invested?" asked Lianni thoughtfully. "Maybe all we have to do is buy her out."

"With what?" asked her husband.

"We can save up."

Mauriri shook his head slightly. "But why would she sell out. From the moment she decided to stay in Tahiti she has wanted to be a trader. Unless she made enough to buy her own boat I can't see her selling her interest in the Rattler. And as for us buying a share, how would we save that kind of money on what I can make?"

"Talk to David," she pleaded earnestly "You know that with the two of you working together, you can solve the problem."

***

Claire had a lovely day with Mrs. Russell. They wandered through the garden gossiping in a well-mannered way about people they had in common in England. Claire had a long, luxurious bath in a claw footed tub. Mrs. Russell combed out her hair and wrapped her in a silk robe. Claire felt like a child again. There had been many days like this when she was little. Days spent in the comfort of Mrs. Russell's loving care.

From England Mrs. Russell had brought yards and yards of pretty fabric, lace and ribbons. She had already measured and pinned new dresses for Claire on other afternoons since the beginning of her visit. Mrs. Bradford had a sewing machine, a good Singer with a well-balanced treadle. Mrs. Russell had spent hours piecing together the clothes for Claire. This day Claire tried them on. Cotton dresses that would wash well after she had worked on the newspaper. A linen, split skirt, Mrs. Russell suggested might be just the thing for sailing. And an evening gown of deep rose silk, nothing too fancy. Modestly cut but fashionable, beautiful, the gift of talented, loving hands.

Claire stood in front of the mirror in Mrs. Russell's room and felt tears in her eyes. She hadn't had a new dress in two years. What money she had went to ink and paper for her work. She hadn't needed anything new, her old clothes, refashioned into more practical styles for her working life had served her well. But there are few women who don't enjoy the touch of silk against their skin, don't want to feel beautiful.

"Oh, Mrs. Russell, you've done too much," gushed Claire. "It is so beautiful."

"Nonsense, child," said Mrs. Russell but it was written on her face how much Claire gratitude meant to her. "I've had a splendid time and so has Rachel. We have consulted over nearly every stitch. You know neither of us had a girl to dress. It isn't the same with boys. They might wear a jumper one has knitted but that's about all. Remember when you were young, after your dear mother was so ill, you would come and we would make your school wardrobe together. Those were happy days."

"Yes."

"Turn around, dear," said the older woman. She carefully looked the gown over, brushing her hand slightly over the soft fabric. "I believe I've removed the pins and loose threads. Yes, very nice. Shall I pin up your hair?"

"But isn't it a bit grand for a simple dinner. The governor isn't coming tonight, is he? I thought it was just the Bradfords."

"No governor but the Titchmarshs are coming I understand. Of course Gilles and Henri will be there. Surely a pretty girl doesn't need the excuse of a governor to wear a new frock."

"No, of course not," said Claire as she swirled around in front of the mirror. "It is lovely. I can't wait for Jack to see me in it. He'll say something poetic about roses, I know he will."

"Poetic, dear? Your friend Mr. McGonnigal?"

Claire sat on a low bench so that Mrs. Russell could dress her hair. "Yes, he is very skilled with words."

"Is he?" asked Mrs. Russell as she pulled a brush through Claire's long tresses. "I don't believe I've heard him utter more than a few sentences. "

"Well, it isn't as though you've spent a lot of time with him. He's rather shy. Once he starts talking, he is really very well spoken. Very interesting."

"Has he much schooling?" Mrs. Russell twisted Claire's hair into a knot at the crown of her head.

"Not a lot. Some. He loves to read. I share my books with him," said Claire seriously. She was afraid that she sounded defensive. Jack was a good man who cared for her. That should be enough but Claire knew it would be difficult for Mrs. Russell to see the gentle man that she knew in the tattooed sailor with the earring and boar's tusk talisman. "Mrs. Russell, I know you've heard stories but--"

"Yes, dear?" asked the older woman as she secured Claire's hair with a tortoiseshell comb.

Claire didn't know what to say. How could she explain to Mrs. Russell that what Jack had done to stay alive after the wreck of his ship all those years ago didn't shock her? That she was thankful he had survived even though he had had to resort to eating the flesh of his dead shipmates. Thankful that he had lived to be lonely enough to advertise for a pen pal in the back of a magazine. That he had written her beautiful letters that gave her the courage to board a ship that would take her half way around the world. How could she possibly explain how her life, her happiness was tied to Jack having the courage to do something so repugnant ten years before they knew of each other's existence?

Claire took a deep breath and said, "You need to get to know him yourself. You always agreed with my father that one shouldn't form opinions based on hearsay. When Jack returns from this voyage with Gilles and Henri I'm going to fix a picnic for us. When you talk with him you'll understand he has ambition and a bright future ahead of him. I know that you will see him for the good man that he is."

"Well, yes, that will be very nice," said Mrs. Russell, laying the brush on the table. She picked up her fan and glanced in the mirror to tuck in a strand of her own graying hair. "You look lovely, my dear. Shall we go? I believe I heard the Titchmarsh's carriage."

***

The table on the wide veranda was long and narrow. It was covered with snowy white damask cloth, bone china, clear crystal and highly polished silver. Mr. and Mrs. Bradford sat at either end, the Titchmarshs on their right hands. Claire found herself between Mr. Titchmarsh and Henri Seraut with Gilles Bradford across from her. Both young gentlemen were politely flirtatious and Claire felt flattered. A toast was drunk to the health of the Queen of England. Talk was of the troubles in China. In spite of the lovely breeze off the ocean and the Polynesian faces of the servants she felt as if she had suddenly been transported back to England, back to her aunt's very proper dining room.

"So, you young bucks," began Mr. Titchmarsh as he held his wineglass up for a servant to refill. "Are to set sail on your venture tomorrow."

"Yes, sir, we are very excited," answered Gilles with a broad grin on his handsome face. He was dressed in an evening suit with a bright silk scarf tied about his neck. His thick dark hair was combed carefully back from his wide forehead.

"Your father says you've leased a boat."

"The Malahini," answered Henri Seraut, looking up from his bowl of consommé. He too was dressed very properly for the evening unlike the older gentlemen at the table who having put in a hard days work had done no more than washed up and changed their shirts much to their wives' distress.

"Ah, Jim Lodge's ship."

"I wish they had leased Jim Lodge with her," said Mr. Bradford as he torn his bread in half and buttered it. "I'd be much easier in my mind, if he were the master and not that cannibal of a mate of his."

"But, Father, you know, Captain Lodge was very insistent that Cannibal Jack was part of our deal."

" I see what your father means, lad; Cannibal Jack is hardly a steady sort of man. You'll want to watch yourselves, my boys, pickled in rum he is."

"That's true," said Mr. Bradford, emphasizing his point with a stab of his knife. "I don't understand why Lodge would want a man like that on his boat. I don't know Lodge well but he has always had a good reputation. I suppose that wreck that when he lost his crew has effected his judgement.

"Oh, sir, you're quite wrong, J--Mr. McGonnigal is an excellent and most reliable sailor," said Claire. She felt a blush warm her cheeks as all four men turned to look at her.

"Now, my dear Miss Devon," said Mrs. Titchmarsh in a falsely sweet voice, "do you really think you are in the best position to judge a man's seaworthiness?"

"Not me, of course, I'm not a sailor. But Captain Grief has always had great faith in Mr. McGonnigal."

"You remember Grief, don't you, Gilles? A gambler with more lives than a cat. I don't think I'd be using him as a standard of character, my dear girl. As for McGonnigal, well, he showed his colors years ago, didn't he? They say he--"

"Really, Tom," interrupted Mrs. Bradford, "don't you think we might find a more appropriate dinner conversation?"

"Yes, Uncle,' said Seraut smoothly, "besides there is no reason for concern, Gilles and I will be sure to keep the larder full so that Cannibal Jack will not face temptation."

The men and Mrs. Titchmarsh laughed. They did not notice Mrs. Bradford's dismayed glance at her cousin who sat stony faced or Claire whose face had drained of color.

***

Gilles Bradford had brought stacks of new sheet music from France. After the Titchmarshs said their good-nights, he led Claire to the piano in the large open main room of the plantation house. He sat beside her on the piano bench as she attempted to pick out the tunes. His cousin leaned on the piano.

On the veranda Mrs. Russell and Mrs. Bradford sat in the dark drinking coffee. "I'm sorry that Claire was upset by what was said about Mr. McGonnigal. Tom and Mr. Titchmarsh have no idea that she even knows him. The boys probably don't either. Men so rarely pay attention to such things."

"She will have to become accustom to such things if she insists on associating with such a person," answered Mrs. Russell with a note of resignation. "I believe I could accept all the rest of it. One can't approve of women like Miss Reed or Miss Temuto but my boys had friends I didn't approve of, in the end they did them little harm. Once they had matured and married they gave up such people."

"We always treat girls differently, though." Mrs. Bradford smiled and took a sip of her coffee. "We use to complain about that difference when we were girls. Don't you remember arguing with your father about your brother being allowed to travel to London alone when he was several years younger and yet you and I had to have an escort."

"Yes, I remember, and I would say my argument still holds, I always showed more common sense than he. I do appreciate what you're saying, dear. Claire has good sense. She may even be a good example to those women. Surely she will out grow them. But that man. How can I ever leave with her in the clutches of that man? I know I should take heart that she has held out against his advances in spite of her obvious infatuation with him. But what if they were to marry?"

"Oh, you don't think it will come to that do you?" asked Mrs. Bradford quickly, sloshing her coffee onto the saucer.

"Ah, you see," answered Mrs. Russell, nodding firmly. "Already you are concerned that if they were to marry you wouldn't have her in the house."

From the house came the voices of the young people raised in song. Both women smiled and Mrs. Bradford said gently, "I didn't say that. I'm very fond of Claire but I'm afraid that other people would be less understanding."

"People like Mrs. Titchmarsh," said Mrs. Russell. She was sorry that she had let her distress show in her voice. Except for those few minutes at dinner if had been such a pleasant evening.

"You understand these things, Anne," said Mrs. Bradford soberly. "There is always some arbitrator of the standards of a community particularly in a small ex-patriot community like ours. Truthfully, for while it was me. But now that I'm less and less mobile one can hardly blame Enid for stepping forward. She means well, she sees herself as a standard bearer for British civilization."

"I'm not blaming her. You have to do what you can to remember who you are. You know it is the same all over the world, the men may make fortunes in far corners of the world but it has been the women who have brought civilization to the wilderness."

"So true," agreed Mrs. Bradford. " I've often thought that it was a shame Reverend Trent had no wife. I'm quite sure that he would not have fallen under the spell of Tahiti quite so strongly if he had had a wife with him."

"Yes, we really shouldn't send these young men out without wives to give them comfort and support. He seems a very good sort but I do I understand what you have all been saying. A certain decorum is necessary for any worship service. I'm sure that during our meeting on Friday we can gently help him to see that he really must stress the importance of proper dress and music."

"You won't let Enid be hard on him will you?" asked Mrs. Bradford in a worried tone. " She is quite right about the need for a more reverent tone to our services but she does tend to be rather forceful when making her point. I'm afraid she gets poor Reverend Trent's back up."

"I'm rather an old hand at these things," commented Mrs. Russell with a smile. "Young ministers, particularly those who feel the weight of their spiritual responsibility as keenly as Reverend Trent often need to be reminded of the mundane details of parish life."

"He really is a good man," Mrs. Bradford said earnestly. She was very fond of Colin Trent and she deeply appreciated the challenges he faced in Tahiti. She wished she could protect him from his own gentle nature and Enid Titchmarsh's sharp tongue. "We must arrange for you to spend some time in the school. What he's done there is quite impressive. He is a gifted teacher."

Mrs. Russell got up from her chair and went to the table. She brought the silver pot to Mrs. Bradford's chaise and poured her more coffee. " Mrs. Titchmarsh suggested that at one time she thought Claire and Reverend Trent might match up."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Bradford, blowing across the top of the cup. "There was a brief time when I thought that was possible but it never progressed past friendship on their part. Truthfully, there is the couple I would like to see." She nodded her head in the direction of the piano.

"Yes," sighed Mrs. Russell as she watched Seraut and Claire trade places. Seraut started playing a spirited polka; Claire and Bradford danced expertly around the room. "That would be splendid."

"Claire would be so good for Gilles," mused Mrs. Bradford. "They would be steadying influences on each other and they have so much in common. Music, books. He admires her tremendously."

"Oh, my dear, you don't need to sing Gilles's praises to me. Nothing could make me happier than to see such a match. Claire would have the life she was meant for with you here in this lovely home."

"And Gilles would have the sort of wife he needs. I am very fond of him, you know but there can be no mistaking that Gilles is the sort of man who needs looking after. I suppose it was because he was such a beautiful child, his mother spoiled him and then once she was gone, I'm afraid I spoiled him."

"No, no," said Mrs. Russell, shaking her head. "Spoiled is the wrong word, he is far too charming to be spoiled. Besides, he's taken hold now. He is very excited and ready to throw himself completely into this venture of his and Henri's. Oh, if only Gilles had come out on the boat with Claire instead of me."

"It isn't impossible, you know," said Mrs. Bradford thoughtfully. "Look at them. They are having a wonderful time. Perhaps it is not too much to hope that Claire will see how well suited they are."

Mrs. Russell took a sip of her coffee and concentrated on the carefree dancing of her goddaughter. "Perhaps, but as long as she is entangled with those people I'm afraid she will not entertain the idea of any other young man but Mr. McGonnigal. In that set of people he is entirely acceptable. She is very loyal, a completely commendable quality but not one working in her favor in this instance." Her voice grew sad. "I can't bear to argue with her about these people. She is so earnest in their defense. The only thing to do is pull her gently away from them, involve her more with her own kind of people. Then she would realize on her own how much happier she would be with a decent, educated man like Gilles."

"We will simply have to have her come out more often. Stay over more. I should have done that from the beginning."

" She is so busy with the paper I hardly know how to go about getting her out more."

"Yes, I do see. Perhaps," said Mrs. Bradford, pursing her lips in thought. "You could help her with the paper. Then she would know how heartily you approve of her work. We don't want her to think that you completely disapprove of her or that she is a disappointment in anyway. No one can accept constant criticism without wanting to run away."

"She is anything but a disappointment," said Mrs. Russell with great feeling. "If I weren't so proud of her, so very fond of her, I don't believe I would feel so desperate about her association with these dangerous and immoral people. The paper is of course too much work, just look how thin she is. I do admire what she has been able to do with so little money or help. You know at home she would be considered very radical for publishing a paper on her own as she does."

"But here we are all so thankful to have some source of reliable local news no one would think of criticizing her. Anne," said Mrs. Bradford, setting her cup and saucer down on the small table at her elbow. "I would hate to lose your company but I do have an idea that might serve the purpose very well."

"What do you mean?" asked a puzzled Mrs. Russell. She turned away from the doorway to face Mrs. Bradford.

"Tom owns several houses in town. One, a very comfortable little house, is quite near Elizabeth Ivy's home. It would be perfect for you and Claire. You would be near her office--"

"And I could get her out of that bar," interjected Mrs. Russell, her eyes wide with excitement. "Oh, that would be wonderful, a very good start. Dearest Rachel, the Lord himself has put that idea into your head."

***

Isabelle leaned over the rail and enjoyed the cool night air lifting her hair off her neck. Sparrow was at the helm; she was the watch. Not that there was much to watch out for in open ocean. The others were asleep.

She stretched her arms above her head and rolled her shoulders. She wondered if Claire could be right, that the thing to do was talk to David. Ask him what he wanted for the future; tell him what she wanted. No, she'd done that once before. Only a fool would set herself up to be slapped down like that again. She'd hold to her plan. Learn as much as she could from him about trading, make as much money as she could while she still had an interest in the boat. Then when they had saved enough to buy her out go gracefully, as if it had always been her plan. No matter how much he wanted her off of his boat, on his own David might never have gotten out of debt to her, money ran through his hands like sand. Mauriri was different; if Mauriri wanted the life he and David had had before Jenny then he would plan and save until he could buy her out.

Alas my love you do me wrong to cast me off discurtisiouly,
For I have love you long and true,
My love, my Lady Greensleaves.

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