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quietly, “Last night the captain thought I was his mother. And then again this morning.”
    “I’m not surprised. He often hallucinates with his fevers.” His voice was subdued.
    I hesitated. It really was none of my business, but I couldn’t help myself. “John … did you know his mother?”
    “Yes. His father, too. He was an excellent man.”
    “They’re deceased?”
    “Yes. The dream, the memory the captain relives, comes from their deaths.”
    “How did they die?”
    “Their ship was attacked and taken by pirates.”
    “How awful. And they were killed by the pirates?”
    Finley hesitated. “Yes.”
    “How did the captain survive?” I asked.
    “Others arrived in time. He was only a boy then and he saw horrible things.”
    The ache at my side made me find a chair to sit. “The psychological ramifications .…” I began, but stopped. The words were correct, but I did not like the sound of them.
    Suddenly a shout rang from outside: “Pirates!”
    Finley sprang out the door, and I followed after him into the open air. I looked up to see a young sailor in a perch high over our heads. He was waving his arms at the first mate.
    Finley quickly pulled a telescope from his belt and looked at a figure in the distance. And then, almost immediately he relaxed and put his telescope away. He gave orders for the men to sail on, and soon the little dot disappeared over the horizon.
    “ Was that a pirate ship?”
    His gray eyes didn’t quite meet mine. “No, it wasn’t.”
    “Wait a minute.” I pulled on his sleeve and took the telescope from him. I only got a glimpse when he took it back and began to move away. “I thought I saw a black flag ….”
    “You hardly had the chance to see anything.”
    “Still, I thought I saw ….”
    “Forgive me, but you didn’t. Everything looks black from a distance.”
    I pulled my arm away from him and stood firm. I regarded him closely. “Mr. Finley, you are lying to me.”
    “Why should I lie to you?” he asked with some exasperation.
    I stood and watched him, my hands on the wooden rail, the wind tugging at my skirts, my eyes on him as he carefully avoided my gaze. “Mr. Finley?” I asked.
    “Yes?” He still did not face me.
    “Why is Captain Tucker such a successful mariner?”
    He answered immediately. “He is bold. Unafraid. He is known to agree to almost anything, moving whatever cargo through whatever waters, whatever the risk. Commissions no other Captain would dare touch, Captain Tucker makes his specialty. It is said in our circles that the storms steer around him, that he was born of the water and the water takes care of her children.”
    “You sound very proud. Almost like a parent.”
    He took out a pipe and began to fill it. “I suppose I do view him like a son. No, not a son. I won’t flatter myself. But I have known him these many years, and thank God for it.”
    My eyes fell on the cross at Finley’s neck. He was fingering it again, and it angered me unreasonably. It was dark and heavy and reminded me of something before, something not long ago. The day before that heavy cross swung against his chest as he let those awful men pass him by without raising a hand to stop them, knowing they were bent on hurting me.
    “Why do you wear that cross?” I had to ask him, my voice sharp.
    His hand fell to his side. “It belonged to my father.”
    “Are you a religious man, Finley?”
    He eyes my warily. “I suppose.”
    “Is that why you wear that cross?”
    The interrogation was practical, to more fully understand the mindset of a man so close to the captain. And I was comforted by the anticipation of soon going back to the cabin and writing my records again. They had been too long neglected.
    Now, however, I simply watched that dark, heavy cross around the first mate’s neck, finding it almost mocking. There was some kind of meaning, twisted and paradoxical, and I had to dissect it.
    Finley looked out at the ocean and ran his fingers through