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of the Cutlass ate.
    The gruel did remind her of something pleasant: the most perfect oatmeal she’d ever tasted. But instead of dinner, it had been served at breakfast. What was it, two weeks before? She and John were aboard the SS Sonora , the Vandervere ’s sister ship, which had taken them down the Pacific side of their journey. Every bite had overflowed with flavor.
    They sat at this lovely round table, just the two of them. White linens, china bowls and cups, sterling silverware. The success of John’s hardware store had enabled them to travel first class, something she had never done. It was midmorning. They had slept in. The waters were perfectly calm as far as the eye could see.
    “John, isn’t this moment amazing?” Laura said. “I have never been this happy. I didn’t know a joy so complete was even possible.”
    He reached across the table and took her hand, sipping his coffee with the other. “I don’t have words to say. I thought long and hard about where to go on our honeymoon. Narrowed it down to a half-dozen choices. I wrestled the hardest with this one. But now . . .”
    “It’s perfect, John. I love it.” She squeezed his hand.
    “Laura.” He looked deep into her eyes when he said this. “For me, it’s not the ship or that incredible view out there. Or even this very fine bowl of oatmeal.” He smiled. “It is being here with you. Doing all this with you. Adding to our love, moments like last night, with you now as my wife. It’s . . . I have no words.”
    She leaned forward and they kissed.
    “See that man?” he whispered, pointing to a man standing alone against the rail looking out to sea. “That’s who I was, what I’d be doing on this ship right now without you.”
    Just then someone began coughing loudly, jolting her from these pleasant thoughts. As she reentered the present, she saw it was a woman standing alone against the rail of the Cutlass , about the same distance as the man John had pointed to. Laura turned to her right, as if she might see John sitting across the table where he belonged.
    Oh, John .
    She quickly ate another spoonful of gruel. It was revolting, but it had the power to force her thoughts elsewhere. She looked around at the other women and children on deck. Everyone with a bowl wore the same disinterested expression. She knew she needed nourishment, and only that knowledge kept her eating until it was gone.
    When she finished, she got up and walked the bowl back toward the table they’d set up to dish it out. It was obvious there were far more mouths to feed than bowls available. A number of passengers stood in line; their faces suggested they’d heard the early reviews about the gruel. Laura saw Micah had been reassigned and was now cleaning the bowls being turned in. Instead of handing hers in, she joined him and began to clean them too. He smiled and stepped aside.
    “Ma’am, that’s Micah’s job.”
    She turned to face a gray-bearded man she assumed to be Smitty, the cook. “I’d like to help,” she said.
    “Well, I don’t think the captain would approve.” He slopped down another bowlful of gruel. “You heard him. Y’all are guests.”
    “We may be, Mr. Smitty. And we are very grateful to you, but how do you think we feel taking all your food and not even lifting a hand to help?”
    Smitty’s eyebrows raised. “I . . . well, I suppose it’s okay then. But if the captain comes by, you will tell him you insisted?”
    “I certainly will,” she said. “The quicker we get these bowls clean, the faster people can eat, right?”
    “I suppose.”
    No more was said. She continued helping Micah. A few minutes later, more ladies volunteered. In short order, everyone was fed, all the bowls and spoons cleaned, everything put away.
    She decided to walk out to the bow and take in the sunset. It was hard not to acknowledge the wonder. Aboard the Sonora and Vandervere , almost every night, the Almighty had painted the most elaborate scenes