“She said I was to go to people named Chase, who live in a town called Hingham, in Massachusetts.”
He nodded, as though he had expected this. His wife had been Anna Chase of Hingham, in the days when he wooed her.
“Do you remember any other life but this among the islanders?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. I know we came out on a ship, Mother and I, and landed at the islands, and stayed there. I think the captain of the ship was unkind to my mother. I think we slipped away from him. But—she never told me this. It is half memory, half guess.”
“You never went home while your mother lived?”
“No.”
“Did she ever tell you why?”
“She said her work was in the islands, that she could not leave them.”
“Was she happy?”
The girl considered; and her eyes were dim. “Not always,” she said.