America

The seaman were slow to finish shoring the ship to its mooring. The sun was down and Matthew Henderson's fury increased. With flailing arms, he spewed hot breath into the cold air, "How dare you tarry, Captain! Be about it man! Drop the walk way! I'll see you pay handsomely for this. Handsomely, do you hear? I'll not have my daughter aboard a moment longer!"

MacPherson had begun to sweat, glancing nervously at Matthew with each new threat. Finally, it was safe and he nodded for the gang plank to be lowered. The instant it was secured, Matthew's coachmen came aboard. Each glowered at MacPherson, then followed Uriah to the hatch.

Matthew was still ranting as he stomped off the ship. "And that was none too hastily done." When he reached the first of two waiting coaches, he turned to glare one last time before heaving his massive size inside. On the seat beside him lay heated bricks wrapped in a blanket. Carefully, he tested the warmth. "Just right."

Below, Uriah held the candle. One of the men quickly wrapped John in a clean, dry quilt and whisked him away. He darted up the steps, across the deck, down the plank and put the boy into Matthew's waiting arms. Gently, Matthew laid the boy on the warm bricks. In only a second, the tired, half starved child was asleep. A second man brought Mary, helped her in the carriage and covered her legs. She glanced at her son, weakly smiled at Matthew then leaned her head back. Her eyes drooped, then closed.