It was but a week. Seven precious days, with two wonderful children. HE didn't want to be an absent father, but he had no choice. As they grew up, they understood. Uncle Jack certainly helped explain things. But, the past wasn't the point here. The point was the small dinghy floating on the waves. Seventy years they had, the majority far apart from each other, but that was drawing to a close.
"Pull it close. Careful!" he shouted. The crew complied. as they always did. It had been years since he had to shout at them, but they understood his concern, and forgave the quiver in his voice.
"All right lads, bring her up gently." Navigator Tuner had long since passed on, having paid his debts, but there were always souls who couldn't give up the feel of wind on their face, of salt on the breeze.
There she was, peaceful. They had laced her up in the old uniform of old. The one she was wearing the fortuitous day that he became captain. They had known better than to lay her in dress. They knew where she was going. She was grey and old, ravaged by time in a way he could never be. She clutched a bouquet of violets, pale stems not yet withered away. He took a solemn breath and knelt, leaning in close.
"Do you fear death, Mrs. Turner?"
The moment she signed on, she regained her youth. The color came back to her face, the strength to her bones.
"What are your orders, Captain?" she asked breathlessly in his ear.
"Report to your stations Will bellowed, seizing her hand. "You're coming with me."