Dan sighed as his hammer made contact once more with the fence post. The August sun seared his back, and he could feel the sweat beading up along his forehead, just underneath his hat. The summer heat had been relentless, and Dan wished he could be sitting under one of the large oaks with some lemonade, just like the summers before. But duty called.

As he wiggled the post further into the ground, his hands ached from the exertion, his body exhausted. Most days, his emotions had fueled the constant momentum – someone had to get it all done, and it had to be Dan, no matter what Mrs. Jo said. But after more than six weeks of early mornings and late nights, Dan's energy was waning. He was tired of the work… tired of the heat… tired of the anger.

He gave the post one last blow as the kitchen door opened and several of the students scurried down the steps. "Hey Dan!" Nat called, slowing down his dash. "We're all headin' to the river for a swim. Wanna come?"

Dan removed his hat and shook his head. "Nah – not today. I still got lots ta do 'round here." A quick swipe to remove the sweat on his face hid the true desire in his eyes.

"Aww, c'mon Dan," Nat pleaded, "you've been workin' nonstop lately. I don't think Mrs. Jo would mind if you took a break."

"Somebody's gotta do it," Dan replied, his frustration mounting. No one seemed to understand. "It ain't gonna get done by swimmin'."

"Dan…" Nat sighed, stepping towards his friend. "How long are you gonna stay mad?"

"I ain't mad," was his only replying, his focus turning back to the post in front of him. It was still crooked.

Nat's face turned soft and he took a deep breath. "Sure ya are. I understand why you're upset but it's been so long now – Nick'll be home and you'll still be angry with him."

Dan glared over the post; the exhaustion consumed by the ever-growing resentment. "Why doncha mind your own business? You don't know what you're talking about." Dan turned towards the forest, the other children just shadows in the trees. "Ya better go with 'em – ya don't wanna get left behind."

"Fine," Nat relented, the hurt apparent in his voice. "I guess I should." He took off towards the treeline, leaving Dan feeling a bit ashamed. Nat meant well – and he knew that. It was just so frustrating to see everyone else okay with the fact that Nick had abandoned them. It had been hard enough to keep things running a few years ago after Silas had left. At least now Dan was older and could shoulder some of the load.

What hurt Dan the most was watching Mrs. Jo, day after day, pretending that things were going to go back to the way they had been. She was always reminding Dan that things could wait until Nick returned. What if that never happened? This "three" month journey could turn into six months and before too long, that room in the barn would be taken up by extra feed and old barn boards.

Dan shifted the post once more, setting the hammer against the wood and swinging hard. The aim was a bit off, the angle slightly wrong and the end result was an even more crooked post. In frustration, Dan flung the hammer across the paddock, sending it crashing into the nearby trough. For good measure, he kicked the post, the pain of the hard wood against the toe of his shoe gave him some consolation. It was easier to deal with that kind of pain.

Looking up, Dan suddenly found that he wasn't alone. Bess stood a few feet from him, two glasses of lemonade in her hands and a disgusted look on her face. "Are you done?" she retorted, her eyes rolling at his childish outburst.

Dan felt his face flush, embarrassment engulfing the anger. Bess simply shook her head and stepped forward. "Asia thought you might be thirsty," she said, handing one of the glasses to Dan.

"Uh, thanks," he replied, cleaning his blistered hands on his pants. He took a few quick sips of the cold liquid before turning back to Bess. "How come you're not at the river?"

"Why aren't you?" she asked, her voice accusing. "You've done nothing but work this entire summer, Dan."

"Somebody's gotta get it done."

"But why does that have to be you?" Bess took a quick sip from her glass and carefully smoothed out her dress, trying to seem indifferent. Her shoulders eventually dropped, and she shook her head. "Ever since Nick left, you've been acting like some sort of martyr – as if everything resides on your shoulders, which only seems to make you angrier. You've become simply intolerable."

Dan was taken aback. If it had been anyone else to confront him, he would have lost his temper and given them a piece of his mind. But this was Bess. She was normally right, much to his dismay. And it's hard to be angry with someone you're sweet on.

"Well…" Dan began, removing his hat and running a nervous hand through his hair. He really didn't know how to respond. "Nobody else seems to care about all this stuff. I can't just leave it…"

"Why can't you?" Bess argued, stepping towards him, an intensity lighting up her eyes. "Nick specifically told us that half of these things could wait, and I don't know how many times I've seen you repair these fence posts." She sighed, her face softening slightly. "It would have been nice to spend some time with you this summer."

Dan's face reddened at the thought. Bess was right. Summer picnics and evening walks would have been nice. Instead, he had squandered all those chances on a crooked fence post. For the first time in the past several weeks, Dan was beginning to feel a release from the resentment.

He grinned shyly. "Yeah, it would have been nice."

Bess' previous disgust turned into a coy smile. "The summer isn't over yet. Any chance these chores could be done later?"

The invitation and the sheer exhaustion of the summer heat encouraged Dan's surrender. Setting the glass of lemonade down on the fence post, he gave Bess a quick nod. Eyebrows raised, he grinned. "Race ya to the river?"

XXXXX

Nick stared up at the blanket of stars above him, the Athena skimming across the black waters on one of voyage's calmest nights. He was on 12-4 watch but even with the late hour, Nick enjoyed being on deck, listening to the murmurs of McKenzie and Conners who were stationed as look out. The night air was also a relief, cooling against his skin. The humidity of the West Indies was always stifling, Nick's thin cotton shirt still stained with the day's sweat.

It had been a long one, most of it spent trying to decide the best way to navigate the shoals as they neared Cuba. The currents around Grand Turk could be tricky and once they made it through that strait, Windward Passage wouldn't be far behind. The weather was holding and after several days with barely a breeze, a swift Caribbean wind was carrying them with the hopes of gaining a few extra days. But more speed normally brought more problems; something everyone wanted to be prepared for.

A deep sigh ran through him as Nick quickly found Ursa Major, leading him directly to the North Star. It was bright despite the near full moon that lit the upper deck. He knew that it was too late for Jo to be awake, but he found some solace that perhaps she had spent part of her evening staring overhead. After almost two months, he still found nights the hardest, longing for the evening talks and good night kisses. The time had flown by, but he felt like he had missed so much – fishing and picnics, swimming and planting the garden. And then there was that tree house he had promised to help the kids build. He hoped the speed would keep up – maybe he could get home in time to get one started.

Nick reached into his pants pocket; the wooden turtle tucked safely between two folds of fabric. Pulling it out, he sadly glanced at a chip in the wood, obviously his constant contact with the treasure had started to affect the shell. Once he returned to Concord, he would have carve Rob a new one – the poor creature wouldn't be fighting lions in its current state. He was sure there were a few hawksbill and loggerheads floating around next to them at that very moment. Maybe some day he would get to show Rob a real turtle out on the open seas.

Nick wandered away from the helm, towards the bow where McKenzie was now crouched on top of a few barrels against the port side mast. He could see the fatigue in the crewman's stature, the late night obviously taking its toll. But as he approached, Nick could make out a pile of papers that McKenzie had sitting in his lap, a pencil expertly sweeping across the page. "Whatcha got there?" Nick called out as he got closer.

McKenzie stopped briefly, a smile playing along his lips. "Just somethin' ta pass the time – the light's the best wi' the full moon." The graphite image was stunning, even in the darkness. It was a ship, a vast space of water surrounding it, each mast and sail detailed perfectly. The likeness was uncanny. "The Athena…" Nick said, in awe of picture.

"Aye well," McKenzie sighed, "not my best work." He brushed away some of the lead shavings, the smudge leaving a shadow against the paper sky. "I'm sendin' it off ta Isla when we reach Jamaica. That lass is always pesterin' – askin' 'bout the ships and the waters." He flipped through a few of the pages, the talent apparent to Nick as he recognized crew members and the Captain. There were images of dolphins and fish, each one so realistic, it felt as though he were watching them swim.

"You're really good," Nick said, his eyes landing on a picture of a sea turtle, the creature floating through a mass of seaweed. He stopped McKenzie and knelt for a closer look. Each scale of its skin, the bumps on the shell plates, all seemed to leap off the page. It was as if the turtle was laying in McKenzie's lap and Nick reached out to make sure it wasn't real.

"Aye – ya like that one, do ya?" McKenzie chuckled at his expression. "Ya can have it, if ya wan." He held out the page and Nick gingerly took it, afraid of smearing the image.

"Really? I got someone at home who's gonna love this," he replied, admiring the picture. "Thanks." He carefully rolled up the paper, tucking it gently into his pants pocket.

Suddenly, the helm hatch flew open, the door's commotion ringing out through the night air. Nick spun around to find Brady staggering over to them, a bottle in his right hand. "What are you two plannin' out here?" he shouted, his words slurring as his feet continually got in his way.

"You're drunk," Nick called out, turning his attention back to McKenzie, hoping if he were ignored, Brady would leave to sleep it off.

"That don't matter," Brady continued, drawing closer. "You two sittin' here, whisperin', tryin' to find a way to get rid o' me, aren't ya?"

McKenzie shared Nick's confused look. "We dinnae ken what you're talkin' about, Brady." McKenzie stood, rolling up the drawings and turned to make his way and rejoin Conners. "Ya should go ta bed." As the two men met, Brady lunged towards McKenzie, grabbing the papers out of his hand. "Then what's this?" he accused, attempting to reveal the secrets inside, but instead, tearing several of the pages.

Nick jumped in, trying to stop the destruction. "That's enough Brady," he yelled, as McKenzie desperately tried to save his sketches. The tussle continued for a few seconds before Brady threw everything into the air, several pages floating over the ship's rail, the bottle crashing to the deck.

"What is your problem?" Nick asked as he grabbed the drunk man by the shirt front, pulling him away from the railing and over to the main sail.

"My problem is you," Brady growled, his breath reeking of alcohol as he struggled to free himself. "Ya come up here, thinkin' you're better than all of us." He pulled back an arm, aiming to clock Nick in the chin but the abundance of alcohol slowed his attempt. Nick grabbed a hold of the conspiring fist and pulled Brady to the ground.

"I ain't better than no one," Nick responded, trying to keep the wriggling man against the deck. "I'm just here to do my job."

"But it ain't your job," Brady spat. He twisted himself around and managed to get free. Getting to his feet, he staggered towards the mess he had left, where McKenzie was trying to gather his things. "The rest of us have been on these ships – day in and day out." Brady motioned towards McKenzie, looking for some support. "And then here you waltz onboard and suddenly we gotta listen to you." Brady stopped in front of the broken bottle, picking up a one of the largest shards. He spun around in Nick's direction. "And I don't think it's fair – nobody thinks it's fair."

Stepping backwards, Nick found himself against the main mast, the shroud on his right blocking an escape. "Look Brady," he tried to reason, "I didn't ask for this job… it was an offer…"

Brady lunged forward, stopping short as Nick pressed himself against the ropes. "An offer, eh?" the drunk man laughed. "'Course it was… You got yourself all kinds of offers, doncha?" He looked Nick up and down. "Ben says you got yourself a nice cushy life up there, gettin' paid to work for some woman at a school." His face was inches away from Nick's, a slimy smile materializing on his lips. "So, how does she pay ya, Riley?"

Nick couldn't take it anymore. He could feel his heartbeat faster, his enraged focus turned. His hand instinctively went for Brady's throat. He pushed the man backwards, his grip tightening. "Don't you EVER talk about her that way."

Brady's eyes widened in fear, suddenly sobering up a little. He flung himself back and forth, trying to remove the intense hold Nick had on him.

"C'mon lads," McKenzie hollered, trying to draw the confrontation, a few of his illustrations still pooled on the deck. "Riley…" he pleaded.

For a brief moment, Nick's attention turned to McKenzie giving Brady just enough time. The pain was minimal at first; Nick felt a warmth trickle tumble down his right arm, and he circled back to the man he still held by the neck. Brady's hand drew back, leaving the long fragment of glass imbedded in Nick's shoulder.

Staggering a few steps together, the shock of it all took over and Nick let go. The light from the full moon gleamed against the pool of blood that had begun to settle itself at Nick's feet. Brady's head shook in denial as he took off across the deck and down below. McKenzie was quickly at Nick's side, an anguished look of fear on his face. "Aww, it ain't that bad," Nick murmured as he gently poked at what was once a clear piece of bottle, protruding from his skin.

"I think it is…" McKenzie began, his hands clutching Nick's arms. "Conners! Get down here!"

Suddenly, Nick felt his knees start to give way, the blood now staining the entire front of his white shirt. His breath came in short gasps and he began to feel lightheaded. He felt Conners next to him as the two men tried to keep him upright. "We gotta get him to the infirmary," Conners said.

Nick closed his eyes, feeling himself falling forward. He was caught and lowered to the wooden deck, the cries of his crewman swirling around in his ears. Then, just as the sounds began to fade and Nick felt himself slipping away, the smell of lavender filled his senses, calming any panic. "Jo…" he whispered gently, and all went black.

XXXXX

Jo was startled awake, at first confused by her surroundings. Finding herself tangled within the sheets of her bed, she tried to slow her breath, her heart racing. It had been a strange dream – the type one barely remembers aside from the last few fragments. She could remember being in a field, the feel of wild grasses brushing against her legs, a bright light streaming down from the full moon. But what resonated in her mind was the voice that called her name. "Jo… Jo…" said over and over – not panicked or fearful. Just soft and unrelenting.

Unraveling herself from the covers, she got out of bed, sleep far from possible. Picking up a light shawl from off the vanity chair, she quietly made her way out of the room. The summer air was heavy and thick in the house and as she passed by the grandfather clock, she realized the night was soon coming to a close.

As quietly as possible, Jo ascended the ladder to the Widow's Walk – a climb she made almost every night now. She knew that if Nick was on watch, he might still be awake, staring up at the stars. It gave her comfort, although a small part of her doubted they would ever find the same star. There were just so many, even in Concord; it was hard to imagine the infinity that danced above Nick each night.

She settled herself down against one of the railings, the one facing south towards West Indies. The routine had become so common place that a small pile of blankets greeted her, their practicality only as a cushion against the hard, wooden roof. She sighed deeply, enjoying the sweetness of the air; the light breeze was a relief from the heaviness of the house. Finding what she deemed the brightest star, a poem oddly came to mind, her memory suddenly flooded with Dickens:

How beautiful at eventide

To see the twilight shadows pale,

Steal o'er the landscape, far and wide,

O'er stream and meadow, mound and dale!

How soft is Nature's calm repose

When ev'ning skies their cool dews weep:

The gentlest wind more gently blows,

As if to soothe her in her sleep!

The gay morn breaks,

Mists roll away,

All Nature awakes

To glorious day.

In my breast alone

Dark shadows remain;

The peace it has known

It can never regain.

Jo began to shiver despite the warm air. Grabbing one of the blankets, she wrapped herself within the fabric. With both the dream's whispers and the poem's lyrics echoing in her ears, it soon became a long, sleepless night.

** Author's Note: The poem is titled "Lucy's Song" by Charles Dickens – one I assume Jo would know fairly well given her fascination with Dickens. **