Charlisse tried to focus her teary eyes on the sacred words, but a humid breeze fluttered the pages of the old Bible. She scanned the bedraggled assemblage standing on deck around the wooden plank upon which lay a tiny bundle wrapped in linen. Her son. Kent stood across from her, plumed hat pressed against his chest. He wore a solemn expression that was at odds with his usual insolent smirk.

Six days had passed. Charlisse and Isabel had remained locked in their cabintheir only ...