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Prologue

Entry 1

From Evelyn Terry’s Private Journal, Dated June 4, 1825

The tide brought in many things, but this was the first time it brought a person…

“Race you to the island, Sparrow!” Gilbert Monroe shouted as he ran ahead of me down the wet path, sand and dirt kicking up behind him. Rain was still misting after the storm. “I’m going to beat you!”

“No, you’re not!” I ran faster, thundering down the rocky path, laughing as the bucket I carried for shells banged against my bare legs. I could hear the others behind us—Aggy, Thomas, and Laurel, taking bets on who would be victorious in making it to our island first.

It would be me. It is always me.

I rounded the bend at the bottom of the hill where overgrown brush hid our island from view, and I crashed into Gilbert. We both tumbled to the ground.

“Are you alright?” Gil asked, immediately helping me up. Mud crusted the bottom of my dress and stained both of Gil’s knees. He even had a splotch of it on his cheek. My bare feet were caked in dirt. “I didn’t mean to stop short and get in your way. I was waiting for you to catch up.”

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “Catch up?” I jutted out my chin defiantly. “I don’t need your help to win a race. I can do that on my own.”

“Oh, I know.” Gil brushed his pale brown hair away from his big hazel eyes. “You’re the best at everything, Sparrow.” His cheeks warmed and he quickly looked away.

My friends call me Sparrow because I am sharp-eyed, nimble, and quick, like the bird that dots the Long Island shoreline we call home.

“I don’t know about that ,” I teased. “But I am fast.” We both grinned.

Even though Gilbert is fourteen and two years older than me, we’ve been in the same class for three years now, since he came from England to live with his aunt and uncle after his parents died from typhoid fever. They run the mercantile in town for Axel Rudd’s father and live in rooms above the shop. I was glad Axel didn’t come with us tonight. He’s rude. We try to leave him out when we can, but it is tough avoiding him.

Another rumble of thunder in the distance made us look up. The sky was darkening both from the vicious rain and wind that had just passed and the approaching twilight. The clouds still looked heavy and thick, ominous as if more rain was imminent. The roads and the fields were already flooded. Trees were bent and snapped at odd angles. Please don’t rain again , I thought. Just hold off for an hour more so we can go to the island . We were so close now. Once we cut through the brush, and the seagrass, we’d be on the beach, and then the small island I found would be in view. I wasn’t sure why, but every time I emerged onto the beach, the sandbar was there, waiting as if it knew I was coming. I wanted to see our island again so badly. If we didn’t make it there today, between chores and school, it could be a week before we could meet up here again. I didn’t want to wait a week to see Gil and the friends I loved most in this world.

“How did you get away today?” Gil asked.

“My mother thinks I’m out checking on our grapevines,” I admitted sheepishly.

A merchant from Italy gave Papa a single grapevine. Mama didn’t want him to plant the vine. She didn’t think it would take, but it did. And so far, the vines are growing, winding, and creeping along, getting bigger by the year.

“My aunt and uncle think I’m making a delivery, but I finished all the mercantile deliveries before supper.” Gil grinned.

He had a large freckle on the left side of his mouth and a sprinkling of them across the bridge of his nose that grew brighter in the sun, which he tries to avoid by always wearing a large hat. My heart did a strange sort of thump as I stared at him for a moment.

Having a fondness for Gil is my secret.

“We only told a small fib and for a very good reason,” I said. “When we’re on the island, I feel like it’s our time, and I can actually…breathe.”

I looked out at the small parcel of land—our island—that we claimed as our own only a few weeks ago. This small stretch of land that jutted out from Greenport, where we lived, was hidden by brush and overgrowth along the water as if it never wanted to be found. But when we did a few weeks ago, we couldn’t stop returning to it again and again. The island felt like its own place, so unlike the rest of Greenport. Where else could one find strange giant conch shells that felt like they’d washed up from halfway across the world? A waterfall, where we swam, ever mindful of the cave behind it that we were all too chickenhearted to explore? The sand on our island is warm, the sun always seems brighter, and sometimes—though I’ve never shared this—it feels like the wind off the water whispers my name over and over again when I am there. Evelyn. Evelyn Terry. Welcome home.

“Me too. And we found this place thanks to you,” Gil reminded me. “Maybe that’s why I always think of it as ‘Evelyn Island.’”

The two of us were quiet and I looked away quickly so he couldn’t see me blush. That’s when I heard the others coming.

“Who won?” asked Thomas as he came down the road with Laurel, the girl he was courting, by his side. Thomas and Laurel are older than the rest of us—sixteen—and I suspect they won’t stay in Greenport once they were married. Both want to see the world. My best friend, Aggy, quiet, always serious and kind, trailed behind them, her curly brown hair flying behind her, her gray eyes standing out on her pale face. She looked from me to Gil back to me again.

“It was a tie,” Gil said and winked at me.

“It was only a tie if Sparrow let you win,” Laurel said, and we all laughed.

“It doesn’t matter who won,” I said. “I just want to get to the island. I bet we’re going to find the most magnificent shells after tonight’s storm.”

Lightning flashed in the distance, and we all looked up. A low rumble of thunder made me doubt that the storm really was finished. I thought of Papa’s tide clock, and I knew that high tide would return before we knew it. If we wanted time on the island and didn’t want to get trapped there, we had to go now.

“New race?” asked Thomas, his tone daring. “Whoever gets to the sandbar first keeps all the shells! Go!”

We all took off running down the path, pushing away the brush that hid the shoreline to burst through it and race over the sandbar to the island. Even in the dark, I could already see the island in my mind’s eye—warm, sunny, like it always is—calling to me again. I picked up speed and ran ahead of everyone, even Thomas, who I suspected was hanging back so he could hold Laurel’s hand. I could hear Aggy and Gil on my heels, but I was first, running so hard my legs were burning, my lungs screaming.

There was a loud clap of thunder. It rattled me, sounding like a thousand trees falling at once, and then suddenly a man was standing in front of me on the sandbar. He had his hands on his hips, and looked perturbed to see me.

“Where do you think you’re going, kid?”

His eyes were hard to pull away from. Azure blue, with flecks of gray that seemed to sparkle, they held my gaze. He was an adult, but much younger than my father, a smirk etched into his face.

“To the island,” I said, pointing to the stretch of land emerging from the fog behind him, as if just coming into view. I could hear it calling to me. Evelyn. Evelyn Terry. Welcome!

“Ahhh. It’s caught you in its clutches too then, has it?” He looked back at the island, then to me again. “Let me save you some heartache, kid.” He was impossibly tall, and when he leaned into whisper in my ear, the scruff of his blond beard tickled my face. “Run from this island and don’t look back.”

I looked at him then—really looked—and for some reason, it didn’t occur to me that the others hadn’t reached the sandbar yet. I didn’t wonder how this oddly dressed man had appeared out of nowhere. He wore a long leather coat, a matching vest worn over a threadbare white shirt, rings on his fingers, and an earring in his left ear. A key with a skull insignia hung from a chain around his neck. He had a gold compass in his hands. He stared at it a moment, then snapped its cover shut.

“Who are you?” I whispered. It was a simple question, but it would have the most complicated answer I’d ever hear.

His smirk deepened. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

My heart thudded in my chest. “I might. Try me.”

He scratched his head, his floppy blond hair blowing in the wind. “Alright then. Ever heard of the name Kimble? Captain Jonas Kimble?”

I blinked. “No.”

He looked a bit affronted. “No? How can that be?” he said, sounding exasperated. “Don’t they teach you kids any—” He sighed heavily and checked the compass again. “No matter. What year is it, kid?”

“You mean day?” I asked, confused. “Today is June fourth.”

“ When ?” he asked, his voice gruffer. “June fourth, when ?”

“June fourth, eighteen twenty-five,” I said.

He seemed to stumble back then. “Eighteen twenty-five… How?” His face flickered with pain, and he consulted the compass again. “I’ve wasted so much time.”

Maybe he is lost , I reasoned. “Do you need directions to Greenport?” I asked, motioning to his compass.

His smile was almost teasing. “Who says I’m using this compass to find a port? Let me tell you something, kid. Sometimes the journey is more important than the final destination.” He slipped the compass into his pocket.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped.

“Sparrow, it’s time to go,” Aggy said, her eyes darting to the man then back to me. I could hear the worry in her voice.

Behind me I could hear Gil and the others calling me now too. And in the distance, another rumble of thunder.

“Now,” said Aggy, more insistently.

“Listen to your friend,” the man said, his eyes on the sky. “The Blood Orange Moon is coming, and you don’t want to be here when it arrives.”

“What is a Blood Orange Moon?” I asked as Aggy tugged on my arm.

“Sparrow, let’s go!”

“You heard her,” he said, watching us. “I’ve got no time to talk to kids. Now, if you knew where my ship was, that would be a different story.” He scanned the horizon line.

“We don’t know where it is,” Aggy answered for us. “Good day, sir.” She took my arm and led me away in a hurry.

“Aggy, why are you being rude?” I said, but she shushed me as we approached Thomas, Laurel, and Gil.

“Are you alright?” Laurel asked. “This fog rolled in out of nowhere, and we couldn’t find our way to the sandbar.”

“We thought maybe you fell in the water,” Thomas said.

“No, I was just talking to—that man.” I turned around. The man was gone. Aggy gave me a strange look.

“There’s no man there,” Laurel said.

“Sparrow? Are you alright?” Gil asked.

“Yes, there was a man on the sandbar. Just a moment ago,” I said. “Aggy saw him. He was looking for his ship.”

“Ship?” Thomas stared out at what we could see of the water. A flash of lightning lit up the sky again. “There’s no ship in the harbor.”

“Maybe he was sick with fever,” Laurel suggested. “No fisherman would be out in this weather.”

“Perhaps,” I said, feeling odd. Aggy remained silent behind me.

The wind picked up then, and I knew it was the precursor to more rain.

“Let’s go home,” Thomas said. “We can’t make it to the island before another storm. We’ll try for shells again next week.” He turned back the way we’d come, and Laurel and Gil followed. Aggy, however, stood still, staring out at the water shrouded in fog.

I looked too, and as the fog suddenly lifted, I knew we were seeing the same thing.

A battered ship, with a black flag bearing a skull and crossbones whipping in the wind, clear as day.