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hostility, no contempt, little anxiety, mostly simple curiosity.
    Why should it matter? The passengers meant nothing to him.
    Yet try as he did to ignore it, Bairn experienced the stirrings of uneasiness in his midsection, as he always did when he came across these odd people—a prickling, a plucking in his chest.

    Waiting, waiting, waiting. Anna kept one eye on Dorothea and the other on Felix as they stood on the dock, absolutely sure that one or the other would end up in the dark water and neither of them knew how to swim. Felix had an abundance of curiosity and a dearth of common sense, and Dorothea was still muddled in a fog. Never emotionally sturdy, the death of Johann took her over the edge.
    Felix’s stomach grumbled loudly. “How much longer? I’m getting hungry.” His stomach was a bottomless pit.
    “It shouldn’t be too much longer,” Anna said. Her heart ached in a sweet way as she watched relief ease his face. As she saw him bend down to throw a pebble at a seagull, she wished for the hundredth time that Johann were with him. Felix seemed so lonely. The only other child close to his age was Catrina Müller, and she was a sore trial to him.
    And suddenly Georg Schultz appeared in front of her. Again the hackling feeling. He wanted her to interpret as he spoke to Christian. “Guilders, Christian,” Anna relayed. “He wants you to prepay the freight. Full freight for each adult, half freight for each child from age four to fifteen. No charge for those under four.”
    Alarm flickered through Christian’s eyes. “I wasn’t anticipating a charge for children. We spent more than expected when we bought extra provisions in Rotterdam yesterday. If we pay now, we will have nothing left.” He rubbed his forehead. “What can be done?”
    Think, Anna. Think. She looked Georg Schultz in the eye. “We will pay half-freight now, and the remainder when we arrive safely in Philadelphia. We want to ensure that we will be well cared for.”
    Georg Schultz pointed to her and growled low in his throat, “Kommst du mit.”
    She followed him up the gangplank and noticed an official-looking figure standing at the top of the gangplank, watching her approach with sharp, penetrating eyes. For a split second he reminded her of Felix’s father, bishop Jacob Bauer—treetop tall, muscular, wide-beamed shoulders. Then the moment passed and she saw how very different from the bishop he really was. Jacob was plain and humble and holy. There was nothing plain nor humble nor holy about this man.
    This man was dressed impeccably in a sturdy, long-sleeved coat that hugged his ribs, a crisp white linen shirt, tight-fitting breeches that tucked into polished knee-high black boots. Sun-streaked, amber-gold hair threaded with red, kept long and held back in the traditional seaman’s queue. High cheekbones framed by side whiskers, boxy jaw, and cold slate-gray eyes. His skin was nut-brown from days in the sun, or perhaps from his heritage. While he appeared young, his seaman’s stance, so solid, so self-confident, and his style of dress sent a simple message: that he was in charge, and that he was all business.
    Georg Schultz, intimidated by no one, barely came to the middle of his chest. “Bairn, where is the captain?”
    The man propped his shoulders against the polished oak and crossed his arms over his broad chest, as though preparing for a long chat. “He’s in the Great Cabin. Not t’be disturbed. What do you want, Schultz?” Behind him, sailors hurried from one end of the deck to the other, exchanging words,issuing orders. Now and then, the man would bark an order to the sailors who hurried past him in a rich Scottish burr. This man, Anna thought, had the kind of authority that shut you up fast if you were a young sailor inclined to challenge something he had just said.
    He glanced at her then, the hard line of his jaw softening just a little, looking down at her with an inscrutable gaze, making her feel even smaller and