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From Evelyn Terry’s Private Journal, Dated June 7, 1825

Due to the Cough, school was canceled, and Papa forbade us from leaving the farm. But I was restless. I couldn’t stop thinking about Aggy. Would she survive the Cough?

Aggy was very ill. I knew that from listening in on Papa and Mama’s conversations. They tried to tell me otherwise, but I knew my friend was very sick, and my last words to her were said in anger. I longed to see Aggy and apologize for things I didn’t understand, but Papa wouldn’t let any of us leave the homestead. Alone, I felt tortured. I hadn’t taken the necklace that Aggy’d offered or taken the letter that afternoon, when I fetched her mother to help Aggy get home. We hadn’t spoken since.

For the time being, our own household had been left unscathed by the Cough, and Papa wanted to keep it that way. For that reason, Papa made the journey to town alone to get updates and supplies. Two more families we knew had taken ill, school was not reopening for the week, maybe longer. Mama kept me busy helping her cook and clean. We sent a meal to Aggy’s house, but her mother and aunt wouldn’t let me past the front gate to leave it. Will she live? I wanted to ask them. What was in that letter she wanted me to read? She’s my best friend. I can’t let her die.

I refused to think of a world without Aggy in it.

There had to be a way for me to save her.

Captain Kimble, I decided, was the key.

I told Mama I was going to go for a walk to check on our grapevines. Instead, I heeded the call of the island, in search of Kimble and some answers. Despite the fog and dreary mist in Greenport, the second I cut through the brush near the shore, the island showed itself to me. I ran across the sandbar, feeling the warmth of sunshine return as I reached the other side. This time, I could see the fort clearly from the beach, and I prayed Kimble would be there.

The second I neared the fort, the vines pulled themselves away from the entrance, allowing me inside. Kimble wasn’t there. My eyes flickered to the chest in the corner of the room.

If I wasn’t mistaken, I could hear whispers calling to me from that trunk. I’d never seen anything like it, and to this day, it is a feeling I cannot properly describe. I couldn’t look away. I felt drawn to that chest like a magnet—whispers beckoning me to come closer. Drawing near, I could see the carvings appeared ancient, like the chest was built in another lifetime, the gold filigree on the detailed scrollwork chipping away, the wood warped, the metal accents bent. Curiosity was killing me. What kind of treasure was kept inside that box? How did it keep Kimble young?

I stepped closer to the trunk, desperate to open it. Leave , a voice in my head told me, and I did, fighting my urges and retreating to search the island instead. I found Kimble emerging from the waterfall that guarded the cave.

He didn’t look surprised to see me.

“Sparrow, I thought I told you to steer clear,” he said, dropping a sack at his feet.

He was soaked from head to toe, and he shook his hair out like a dog.

“You remembered my name,” I said brightly. “I came back because I had questions.”

I heard him groan. “More questions? Kid, can’t you see I’m busy?”

I rushed over, careful not to fall into the pool of water. “What are you doing? Can I help?”

“No.” He opened the sack, taking out a pickax and some other primitive tools. Papa had far better ones. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Shouldn’t, but I am.” I couldn’t waste time getting to the point. “I need your help. My friend is sick.”

He sighed heavily. “Poppet, I know what you’re asking—”

“I didn’t ask anything yet,” I mumbled.

“Look, I can’t even help myself.” He looked up at me, his blue eyes reflecting the waterfall. “Get out of here, kid, before the island doesn’t let you go.”

My eyes welled with tears. “Please. I think she’s dying,” I said desperately. “I have to save her.”

He stood up and faced me now. He was so much taller than I was. Taller even than Papa. “Sparrow,” he said quietly, “you do not want whatever you think this life is. Not for you. Not for your friend.”

“But—” I started to protest.

“ No ,” he said, his tongue sharper now. “I won’t let another person succumb to the same blasted curse that took me. It stole Grace! It took my crew! It’s claimed too many lives already! Go on now, kid. Find another way.” He turned me in the direction of the beach. “Get out of here while you still can. The Blood Orange Moon is days away, and then all of this”—he waved his hand around—“will up and vanish when it’s ready.”

“What do you mean, ‘all of this’? Do you mean the island?” I asked.

He didn’t answer me. Instead, he packed up the tools again and threw them back in the wet sack. “You heard me, Sparrow. Get out of here.”

I thought fast. “You haven’t found the missing piece yet, have you?” It occurred to me then that the missing piece was from the treasure chest. A coin maybe, or something gold. Without it, the treasure wasn’t complete, the way it had been when he’d first stolen it.

He turned his head ever so slightly. He was wearing that thick, ridiculously heavy leather jacket again. It hung to the back of his knees, which were covered with high boots. Entirely inappropriate for the weather, yet he didn’t break a sweat.

“I can help you search for it,” I blurted out. “Show me what you’re looking for, and I’ll help you find it on the island. In exchange for saving my friend’s life.”

His face scrunched up now, and it was the first time I saw him angry. “This isn’t a game, kid! No deals! If I can’t find the coin in this maze of an island, you sure as hell won’t be able to either!”

“I—”

“GO!” he thundered, pointing toward the beach.

I started running then, both angry and upset at the same time. Kimble needed my help! Why couldn’t he see that? As I ran across the sandbar, I knew I would make him see reason. I had to.