Free Ship of Dreams by Brenda Hiatt

shuddered. Somehow, though, he knew that Della had never been that innocent—or foolish.
    She adjusted her white straw bonnet to better shield her face from the sun—and his gaze. "By the following year, some of the miners were beginning to notice us, in a way I didn't care for. Particularly Maire, who was already becoming quite a beauty. I cut off our hair—over her protests, and my mother's—so we could disguise ourselves as boys. Maire agreed, once I explained things to her."
    "And your mother allowed this?" Kenton began to doubt the fitness of her parents to have had the raising of children.
    "Oh, I told her it was because of the heat. She never had any idea of how far afield we went in our scavenging. And of course we took care to transform ourselves back into girls before returning home."
    He quirked an eyebrow at her. "So you lied to her."
    Della looked slightly uncomfortable. "We—I—didn't always tell the entire truth, I suppose. I told Maire it was for Mama's own good, so that she would not worry. She had enough to worry about with Papa already, you see."
    "No, I'm not sure I do see. Tell me about him."
    She frowned up at him for a long moment, but he simply waited. He'd told her more than he'd intended about his own past, and now it was her turn.
    "Before we left Ohio, I remember him as very merry, always with a song or a jest on his lips," she said at last. "But then he changed. I suspect he never forgave himself for Tommy's death."
    This was new. "Tommy?"
    "My little brother. He was but two when we headed west, and didn't survive the trail. I cared for him as best I could, as did my mother, but he just ... wasted away." Her chin trembled, and though her eyes were shielded by the wide brim of her bonnet, he suspected she was on the verge of tears.
    "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm sure you did all you could."
    She sniffed once, then raised her chin almost defiantly, repudiating her momentary weakness. "Yes, I know I did. And it was a very long time ago." Now her tone became brisk again.
    "But Papa took Tommy's death personally, and seemed to feel that if he could just find his lode and give the rest of us a life of luxury, it would compensate somehow. A penance, I suppose. So he worked longer hours than any of the other prospectors, even though he was by no means one of the stronger men. He broke his health, in the end, but he did find what he sought."
    "And settled you all in Sacramento," Kenton recalled from yesterday. "You were rich, then?"
    She smiled again, but this time it held more than a hint of bitterness. "Briefly. Very briefly. Papa bought us a fine house, fine clothes, hired servants, all the trappings. He seemed almost his old self again, cheerful and carefree. But only a few months later, cholera swept through Sacramento. Maire recovered, but ... Mama died." She sighed.
    He might not trust Della, but he felt nothing but sympathy for her now—or, at least, sympathy for the girl she had been five years ago. Of course, that could be her whole motive in telling him this story ... but he didn't think so. "And your father?"
    The deck was growing crowded now, so again they retired to the railing, as far from other people as they could manage. Della stared at the waves, much as Kenton had done earlier.
    "He changed—again. This time, though, he seemed to have no real goal, beyond drowning his sorrow. He took to drink, then to gambling. All too soon, Maire and I were forced to find work. She found a position in a florist's shop, and I waited tables at one of the finer restaurants, until I had saved enough to start my own business."
    Kenton could not suppress a grudging admiration for her resourcefulness and courage. "You were how old then?"
    "Sixteen. I would pull my hair into a bun to look older and more responsible." She flashed a grin that, for a fleeting moment, made her look barely more than sixteen now.
    "And what was the nature of your business?" he asked, when she turned back to the sea.
    She