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so happy he didn’t want to speak. Slowly they turned, to take in the whole scene. For Henry, the whole scene was Ben. And then Ben said, “That’s Provincetown,” and Henry looked to the distant, dark shore and saw lights twinkling. “And you are very handsome.”
    “You’re a lunatic,” said Henry. They leaned against the gunwale and watched the dark envelop the earth. Overhead, stars twinkled and then glowed, and soon bright stars and constellations shone all around, down to the horizon. Henry said, “It is a dome. Now I see why they thought the world was flat.”
    “It’s awesome, isn’t it?”
    “I feel I’ve never really seen the night sky before.”
    “I love it,” said Ben, “but I’ve got to get back, or they’ll think I went overboard. Shouldn’t be long till supper. Passengers eat in the captain’s quarters.”
    “Susan and I are the only ones, aren’t we?”
    Ben nodded. “But we’ll probably get one more in New London.”

    The captain’s cabin was much larger than Henry had imagined, with a table and chairs, a sofa rigged for heavy weather, two seaworthy bookcases filled with well-worn volumes and a warm stove. A cove bed was hidden behind a thick blue drape. Susan, slightly green, sucked air but said she was much better than she had been. The lumpen-faced Mrs. Hawke pulled up her sleeves, revealing lovely white dimpled skin. She insisted Henry call her Gale and told the story of how Dahlia had belonged to her father, and how Peter, as she called Captain Hawke, had caught her eye the first time he sailed with them. “Course he looks much better now he’s dressing in a style befitting a captain.” Gale winked at Peter, who looked at his plate. Gale continued. “My mum died when I was five, in childbirth. Baby died too. So Daddy took me onboard, and this has been my home ever since. All these things are Daddy’s. He taught me everything there is to know, my daddy did, about sailing, the sea, our good little ship, and keeping the books, thank the Lord, since Peter’s none too good at that.”
    She took a slug of rum, and Henry thought of Concord, where half the town was drunk on rum day and night.
    “I could probably take this old tub to sea by myself, but I like having the men around. Specially this one.” She tugged the captain’s right cheek. Flushing red, the captain said, “That’s enough, Gale.”
    “Every day I miss my daddy.” Another slug of rum.
    Henry listened to Gale but his attention was on Ben, who served as the captain’s steward at meals. After a few moments of quiet, Henry said, “And where are you from, Ben?”
    Gale answered. “He’s from Block Island.”
    Ben nodded.
    “And soon he’s going back there.”
    Ben paled.
    “No, dammit,” said the captain, pounding the table. “He’s my crew!”
    “I know where Block Island is,” said Henry.
    “You do?” asked Ben, incredulously.
    Captain Hawke spat a breath of air. “Who doesn’t know Block Island?”
    “Landlubbers don’t know it,” said Ben.
    “Did I ask your opinion, Somers?”
    “No, sir.”
    Aside to Henry, Susan said, “Please, leave the young man alone.”
    But that was asking the impossible. All he could see was Ben. His wild brown hair and long, thin face; his sleepy, tortoise eyes. Ben lifted a thin finger to scratch his cheek and Henry wished he could be that finger.
    Five or six times during the meal, the captain, no fumblebum, dropped his fork or knife and said, “Somers,” and Ben, making faces, dutifully picked up the utensil and returned it to the table. Susan tried to be polite company but she barely ate a thing and spent most of her time looking from the captain to Henry to Ben and back to Henry again. Finally, she said, “Henry, you haven’t eaten a thing. And you said you were so hungry.” Mrs. Hawke shot Henry a chilling look, then said, “Peter wouldn’t be captain if it weren’t for marrying me,” and there was no question whose flesh the old bird’s talons