Lucy: Daughters of the Sea #3 Read Online Free PDF Page A

for heaven’s sake, what are you doing, child? Your hat! Your bun!”
    “Oh, Mother, doesn’t this air feel wonderful? And look, you can really see the ocean from Boston.” They were standing near the end of the wharf where the Elizabeth M. Prouty , the coastal steamer, lay against the pilings, bobbing gently. This was the ship that would take them across Massachusetts Bay, up the coast of New Hampshire, across Casco Bay, Muscongus, then Penobscot Bay, and finally into Frenchman’s Bay and Mount Desert Island.
    “What’s this?” Her father took one look at her and gasped. He appeared mortified, as if she had stripped off all her clothes and was standing naked on the wharf. Surely the absence of her hat and the sight of her disheveled hair could not be that unnerving.
    “What is wrong?” Lucy asked, worried by her parents’ transfixed expressions.
    “You look so different,” her mother said, staring at her as if she were a stranger. Lucy’s hair, touched by the sun, was a flaming conflagration, and her eyes sparkled a fierce green.
    “Ain’t she a looker!” A stevedore whistled low and then suddenly the air was crosshatched with such whistles.
    “Come along, child, it’s time to board. And for God’s sake, put your hat on.” It was more a prayer than a curse that her father uttered as he grabbed her arm and steered her toward the gangplank.
    The wind was on their nose, which was unusual for this time of year, and the captain informed them that, due to the contrary breezes, they would arrive at six the next morning. Lucy couldn’t have been happier. The longer she could be at sea, the better. She did not plan on sleeping a wink. Why spend any time in a stuffy cabin when one could be outdoors? Her parents might worry if they knew her plans, so it would be best if she did not tell them. She had firmly decided that she would try her best to be the model daughter, the perfect emissary. She would even agree to give tennis a try if it would really help her father’s designs to become bishop of the diocese of New York.
    And she was the perfect daughter that night, going down to dinner in the ship’s dining salon in a gray cashmere dress with a fitted jacket. They were seated at the captain’s table and the captain, Andrew Burch, asked that the reverend give the blessing. Marjorie was pleased with the honor but slightly disappointed that there was no one of note at the table. It was too early, as Mrs. Simpson had said, for the summer people. There was a dentist and his wife who were disembarking in Portland, a businessman and his ten-year-old son, also from Portland, and a governess who had come in advance of another family — the Greens — whom Marjorie had never heard of but who apparently summered in Bar Harbor. The talk was mostly about weather, and though Marjorie attempted to ask the governess a few discreet questions about the Greens, she was able to extract precious little information. At the conclusion of the dinner, they bid their tablemates farewell and wished them all a good summer.

     
    The Snows’ cabin was a double suite, thanks once again to the largess of St. Luke’s, and when they had returned, Marjorie sank down on a settee and sighed. “Now I hope I don’t get seasick.” The ship was rolling a bit as they had steamed beyond the deep bays of the Massachusetts coastline and were exposed to the open sea. “My goodness, Lucy, how do you stand there and keep your balance without holding on to anything?”
    Lucy shrugged. She loved the rhythm of the waves; it was as if she had known this motion all her life. She felt almost cradled by it. But how could she explain any of her feelings to her parents, who both looked a bit queasy? She tried to change the subject. “Mother, you said good-bye to Miss Burnham, the governess, as if we’ll never see her again this summer. Surely our paths will cross.”
    She saw her mother and father exchange glances. “Oh, I don’t think her employers are