My father is a ship captain and my mother is his cook, and our family owns the Red Jacket, a three-masted ballyhoo schooner, and in the summer, when I’m free from school, I get to sail away in her.

Unfortunately, right now, I’m still tied down in school with three days to go and no sign of my parents. Normally, they would have been back in port a week ago, but they’re overdue. Nothing to worry about yet – much.

These days, with war prices for some things going through the roof, there are some cargoes too tempting, tucked down in places too risky, and a ship captain has to weigh both if he wants to make a profit and stay afloat. Last I saw my parents, they were going to do the sugar run to Jamaica. Up in the cold North sugar cane simply doesn’t grow. You have to go where it’s warm and for us in the U.S., that means the Caribbean, which is unfortunately down next to the Confederate States of America. This is 1892, the fourth and nastiest year of the war so far and we have to sail right past Florida with its people doing their best to be unpleasant. So, we in the cold North can either buy it from Britain at outrageous prices or go get it ourselves, come back, and sell it to ourselves at outrageous prices, which is, by the way, why my parents can afford boarding school.

I won’t kid you. It’s a dangerous run. But, if nothing else, our Red Jacket is fast and Crow sits up in Crow’s nest and watches when they sail past the Florida coast. Crow, Crow’s nest, get it? Well, maybe not. Crow isn’t his real name anyway, but that’s what people call him and he doesn’t seem to mind. His real name is Iilittate Akdisshé, which is Blood Dancer, but that’s a little scary for most people. He’s a Crow Indian, which isn’t what they’re really called either. They’re the Bird People. So Crow sits in Crow’s nest. Get it? Pa had it built when the war started just so we could keep a lookout and stay ahead of things. It’s a tricky climb to get up there and Pa doesn’t let me go up when we’re at sea, but in port I can, and you can see a lot.

So I’m staring out the window, daydreaming in class. It’s summer. You can’t blame me!

“Calista?” That’s Mrs. Johnson.

Honestly, she still calls me that to this day. Everyone calls me Cali. Even my parents.

“Calista, are you with us?” Of course, half the class snickered.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s just a few days more. Come up to the board and solve the problem.”

Naturally, it’s division. I hate division because it takes forever. It’s unpleasant, but that’s what school is isn’t it? So my term is almost over, the school is going to close, my parents are overdue, and I don’t know where I’m going to stay if they come back after school closes. Maybe I’ll sleep in the school basement!

mbondr

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