***
The gathering slowly dissolved, laughter tapering into murmurs as one by one the small crowd left the upper deck. Mrs Rose was the last to leave. She hugged Madelyn, as pleased with the news as Madelyn was. With a nod, Mr Stephen steered his wife from there. Above them on the mast, the hanging lamp danced freely to the slow breeze.
Madelyn remained, holding her response to Mrs Rose's smile before it faded away. She pulled her shawl tighter, hugging herself. The night air had cooled, the sea smelt better and the waves striking against the hull were happier.
Without thinking, she removed her boots, wiggled her warm toes, then moved to rest her hands on one cold rail. The ship creaked softly beneath her feet, and the lamp flickered.
She had been afraid, she would admit, of the future. Beyond rumours and distance, she scarcely knew anything of the country they travelled toward. Not of its people, nor the culture.
