Prologue
A balmy spring breeze tousled the surface of the glimmery blue-green water, but the eight-year-old girl refused to even glance at it. Crying into the crook of her arm, she pleaded, “Please don’t leave me here all alone, Papa.”
“You won’t be alone. Your aunt will be with you.
” Seated beside her on a large, flat rock near the end of the jetty, her father patted her back.
“I know you’re sad about leaving Anna behind, but soon you’ll meet other children.
You’ll make so many friends and you’ll have so much fun playing on the beach that when I return, you’ll beg me to buy a house on Dune Island so we can live here forever. ”
“No, I won’t. I’ll never have a better friend than Anna and I’ll never love any place as much as I loved our apartment in Queens.” Sobbing harder, she repeated, “I don’t want you to go.”
“Hush now, child. Hush.” He gave her a few moments to settle down before he gently moved her arm away from her face.
Cupping her chin, he peered into her tear-filled eyes.
“You know why I must leave. It’s my duty to serve in the war.
God willing, I’ll be back to get you shortly.
In the meantime, you need to be very brave because you have an important duty to fulfill, too. ”
Wrinkling her forehead, the girl sniffled. “What is my duty?”
“You must help your aunt and obey whatever she tells you. Mr. and Mrs. Frost are allowing you to stay in their home with her while I’m away because we’ve told them what a good helper you are. Promise me you’ll do whatever is asked of you, without any complaining?”
She nodded. “Yes, Papa.”
“That’s my good girl. My precious, darling daughter.” He smiled and let go of her chin. Lately, his smiles seemed almost as sad as his frowns and although she tried to contain her tears, a few dribbled from the corner of her eye.
“I’ll be brave on the outside, but on the inside I’m going to miss you every day and every night,” she said.
“I will miss you every day and every night, too,” her father admitted.
He was quiet a moment and when he spoke again his tone was lighter.
“My chief petty officer will probably keep me too busy standing watch or scrubbing the ship’s deck to write to you, but you could draw a picture or write a letter to tell me how you are and what you’re doing. ”
“Pictures are for little children who don’t know how to spell yet. I’ll write a letter,” she declared indignantly, smoothing her threadbare pinafore over her legs. “But how can I mail it to you if I haven’t got any money for stamps?”
“Ah, well, that’s one of the many wonderful things about staying in a home so close to the ocean.
You don’t need a stamp to send a letter.
All you need is an empty glass bottle and a cork.
You’ll roll your letter up nice and tight and slip it inside.
Then you can cast the bottle into the water, right over there from shore.
” He twisted around to point at the white sandy beach to the east of the jetty.
“A week later, the bottle will reach me on the other side of the ocean.”
“What if the waves carry it in the wrong direction?”
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “A message sent with love always finds its way from one heart to another.”