"We witnessed a great storm brewing on the horizon," Willy said in a low, hypnotic voice. He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes wide as he held them captive with tales of his journey from England to America. "There was nothing we could do, nowhere to make our escape. The storm assaulted us from bow to stern like a great monster, surrounding us from every side so that day looked like night, and sea and sky were one. And, oh, how the wind howled! More than one man thought it was the mythological Sirens luring us to a violent and watery death."

He paused for effect, glancing at each of them in turn.

"It sounds positively horrific!" Eliza said, hanging on to his every word. "What happened next?"

Willy straightened in his chair and slapped his knees. "We sailed on," he said simply.

Eliza sighed. "You're very brave, Willy. Isn't he brave, Father?"

"Very," Mr. Abernathy agreed.

Margaret refrained from rolling her eyes at her sister. "Yes, very," she echoed. "We are, of course, thankful you arrived in one piece."

"I had my doubts," Willy said, lifting the porcelain cup of tea to his mouth. He took a sip before going on. "The storm took two men. Sickness claimed a dozen more."

Mrs. Abernathy cleared her throat. "Will you stay in America then?"

Willy glanced at Margaret before answering. "I will. At least for the foreseeable future. My uncle has made a place for me in his home. He will teach me the business of being a merchant."

"We will be glad to have you!" Eliza said brightly, clapping her hands.

Margaret shot Eliza a dark look, though her sister didn't see. If she was trying to convince Willy that she no longer loved him, she was doing a poor job of it.

"Won't you miss home?" Thomas asked. "What about your mother and father?"

"Richard is the oldest," Willy replied. "He will inherit the estate. I will miss my parents fiercely, but my future is here. And, to be frank, you all have felt more like family than my own."

"You are very kind," Mr. Abernathy said. "We have always regarded you as family, as well."

Willy got up then and moved to sit next to Mrs. Abernathy on the larger couch. "I have something for you," he said. Reaching to the inside pocket of his coat, he withdrew an oddly shaped bundle wrapped in linen cloth. Wordlessly, he handed it to her.

Mrs. Abernathy laid the bundle on her lap, and with careful fingers slowly unwrapped the linen to reveal the small doll that Caroline had left behind with the kitchen maid. On its breast lay a flower, now wilted. Mrs. Abernathy drew a deep breath, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Everyone back home was very sorry to hear about Caroline," Willy said, his words low. "The young maid thought you should have the doll. The rose is from your garden."

Mrs. Abernathy lightly touched the delicate bloom with the tip of her finger. "Caroline's favorite," she whispered. She hugged the doll to her chest and met Willy's eyes. "She was loved."

"Very much so," Willy nodded. "We shall never forget her."

Margaret rose suddenly. "Excuse me," she said as she fled the room. She hurried down the hall to the French doors beyond and threw them open, rushing outside to gulp the salty coastal air.

Waves of human emotion, this desperate longing she felt for her dead sister, seemed to rise out of nowhere on occasion and threaten to drown her. Caroline would have been dead regardless, she kept reminding herself, whether by God's hand or Abigail's. If anyone was to blame for her absence, it was their father for taking them from their home and subjecting them to such atrocities. Their mother, however, would forever fault her for Caroline's death.

"Meg," came a quiet voice, accompanied by a light touch on her arm. She jumped and swiped furiously at her wet cheeks. She had not heard his approach.

"Willy," she said. "You should be inside with the others. I am not fit for company."

He reached for her hand, grasping it tightly in his own. "I want to be here, with you."

"Willy, I˗˗" He kissed her then, taking her by surprise. Almost immediately she turned away. "No, Willy."

"What is this distance between us," Willy said, frustration in his voice. He placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her to look at him. "Do you not love me anymore?"

"Of course, I love you!" she said, exasperated. "That is precisely the problem, Willy. I love you. Eliza loves you. The entire family loves you."

"Then why this nonsense? Why did you come to my uncle's house and feed me lies?"

Her mouth gaped. "Do you not hear the words coming from your mouth, William? We are no longer children. You cannot have both my sister and me."

His cheeks reddened and his mouth thinned. "I think very fondly of Eliza. I believe we could be very happy together." He placed his hand on her cheek with one hand and pulled her close with the other. "But my heart beats for you. You are the one I want. I know that now." He drew her tighter against him, making his meaning perfectly clear.

Margaret's resolve vanished. She kissed him with a furious hunger, her entire body thrumming with need. Willy pushed her against the brick wall—to hell with propriety!—and his hands traced the contours of her body through her cumbersome dress.

"Ouch!" he said, pulling away.

"What is it?" Margaret asked, her breathing coming quickly.

He laughed. "You bit me, you little vixen!" He touched his finger to his lip and showed her the evidence of her lust. "You drew blood." He licked away the scarlet droplet with his tongue and moved in for another kiss, but then stopped suddenly. "What is wrong with your mouth?"

Margaret clapped a hand over her mouth, suddenly aware of her fangs. "It's nothing," she said. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply through her nose, but all she could smell was Willy's blood combined with his almost feral need. Her legs shook. She felt weak.

Willy tried to pull her hand away and she involuntarily hissed at him. "What the devil?" he exclaimed, stepping back. "What has gotten into you? And your . . . teeth . . ."

"You must go," Margaret said. "I am not who you think I am."

Willy advanced on her, seeming more curious than afraid. He reached out to touch her top lip, to draw it up with the pad of his thumb. But with her back against the wall, she felt cornered and in danger. She hissed again and bared her teeth in warning. Willy's eyes widened in alarm and he stumbled back, falling to the ground with a teeth-rattling thump.

"What are you?" he asked, looking up at her.

"We are damned," Mrs. Abernathy said, taking them both by surprise.

The entire Abernathy family had come to find them. Eliza rushed to Willy's side, reaching out a hand to help him to his feet. "Don't touch me!" he said, shying away.

Eliza's face fell. "Willy, my darling. You needn't be afraid. It's me."

"It's quite all right," Mr. Abernathy said. "Let us go back inside and discuss this like men."

"Father," Thomas said. "What if he tells? Our reputation will be ruined. We will be run from town. Or worse."

Mr. Abernathy stepped forward and smiled down on Willy, putting his fangs on full display. "You won't tell anyone about us, will you?"

Willy let out a cry of alarm and sprang to his feet, taking off in the direction of town without another word or backward glance.

"Willy!" Eliza cried, starting after him. "Willy, come back!"

Margaret put a hand on her arm, restraining her. "Let him go."

"Oh dear . . ." Mr. Abernathy said under his breath as they watched Willy flee. "Oh dear, indeed."

*****

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