The Shipmaster's Daughter Read Online Free

hard enough, she could still hear the waves, smell the salt in the air, feel the cold water licking at her toes.
    “Do you know your name, then?”
    She opened her eyes. “Luciana Rene Renaldi.”
    “And the year?”
    “Nineteen-oh-eight.”
    “Then you’re sound of mind.”
    “Was I ever not?”
    Mrs. Peters laughed. “And you have a quick one, too.”
    Luciana struggled to pull herself onto her elbows again. “Have you found ma familia ?”
    “Well, of course. They washed up on the shore like you. They’re in the great hall right now.”
    Relief flooded throughout Luciana’s body. She exhaled, pushing the hair away from her sweaty and warm forehead. The sailor on Charity was wrong, like she suspected. Her family was fine. They were safe. She threw back her covers.
    Mrs. Peters pushed her back. “No, no, you’re staying in bed.”
    “But ma familia , I have to go and see them. I have to let them know I’m all right.”
    “You can do that once you’re fever free. Until then, you stay in bed. Why don’t you get some rest now?”
    “But–”
    She held up her finger. “Ah. No buts. Just rest.”
    Luciana consented, albeit with somewhat of a fuss. She hadn’t the time to rest. She needed to be with her family again. Mrs. Peters could not be swayed, though, and in the end, she fell asleep quickly, submitting to her body’s most dire need.
    In her dreams, she saw fire. She saw Charity and men throwing themselves into the rolling waves. She saw herself, falling from the edge of the ship, her hands reaching for nothing. After her back hit the ocean, she couldn’t remember nor see anything else. It was all blank.
    She woke with a start, sweat pouring down her forehead, her neck, her back. Her chest heaved. As she settled from her nightmare, the world around her came into focus.
    Sunlight peeked through closed curtains and small particles of dust hung in the air. The sound of footsteps and murmured voices in the hallway drifted through the door. She sighed. Turning, she swallowed a shriek when she saw she was not alone.
    A young girl stood in front of an oak chest. The lid had been flipped open and books covered the floor. An insignia of a roaring lion holding a wine glass carved on the front grabbed Luciana’s eyes. The girl held a long purple dress against her body. Her hand touched the edges, mesmerized by the soft fabric.
    “Mi scusi ?” Luciana spoke up, frowning. “That’s my dress.”
    The girl whirled, a mixture of shock and elation on her face. She held the dress tighter. “You’re awake. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” She paused and touched her chest. “I’m Esther Hargrave.”
    Narrowing her eyes, Luciana leaned forward. Just where had this girl come from? “I’m Luciana.”
    Esther looked at the dress in her hands. “This is a beautiful dress.”
    “It was my mother’s.” Luciana looked around for Mrs. Peters, but the little girl was the only other person in the room. “Where is your mother?”
    The girl looked away from the floor. “She’s dead.”
    Luciana wrinkled her nose, unsure of what to say. After a moment, she asked, “Your father then?”
    “He’s in the great hall with the doctor and Mrs. Peters.”
    The door opened and, as if on cue, Mrs. Peters bustled in the door. She carried a silver platter of food along with her, humming a chipper tune. She stopped when her eyes landed on Esther. “Miss Esther? What are you doing in here?”
    “I’m talking with the mermaid.”
    Luciana sputtered. “Mermaid?”
    Esther turned her eyes to Luciana. “Yes, mermaid. You washed up on shore like one. I was waiting to see if your tail flipped out from underneath–”
    Luciana held up her hand, shaking her head. “I am not a mermaid.”
    Mrs. Peters set the tray on the end of the bed, taking Esther’s shoulders. “I daresay not. Miss Esther, your father told you not to bother Miss Renaldi. Why did you sneak in here?” Esther chewed on her lower lip, shrugging.