We slipped into the church between services. Placing our baskets on a pew, we huddled together in the back, wiping perspiration beads off our faces. We chose a seat beneath a window, hoping to catch any breeze. The church had large, airy windows, but like the rest of the island, it remained stifling. Virginia had a pervasive heat beyond our imaginings. Biting mosquitoes replaced the stinging mayflies at sunset, as though they had arranged shifts in doling misery. Already, some of the newcomers were falling ill with summer fluxes, though we three and Janey had thus far been fortunate.

“We need a plan,” Maggie began, her voice low. There was no one near the window, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious. As on ship, she saw that we women could—must, in fact—take charge for ourselves.

“Agreed,” Tempie said.

“Aye,” I added.

“First off, we know there have been no sightings of the Sea Venture since the storm hit. Have we accepted that it is likely…lost?” Maggie asked. Her tone was softer. She looked from one of us to the other. In the ensuing silence, she continued, “I do not expect to see my Hugh again.” The tears in her eyes belied the conviction of her words. “This side of heaven, I mean.”