He stood beside the proud iron frigate—the Tempest—just christened from a fine yard in Boston in which Gerald Kenney had a stake. She had been abandoned by her captain once he made it west. It seemed he had obtained a touch of gold fever while rounding the Horn and was heading north to the Alaska territory. When Gerald had come to Karl with the opportunity to captain her, Karl had leapt at the chance. To be at sea again! And at the helm of a ship on the cutting edge of modern technology! He could not seem to stop praising God for smiling upon him. If it went well, he would build his own ship in the coming year. Mrs. Kenney clucked around him as his mother used to do, fiddling with his coat collar and his sleeves, fretting that he might not be warm enough. Her daughters, Nina and Mara, still did not treat him as a brother as he wished they would; instead they threw him coquettish glances, staring at him until he met their gazes and then dramatically lowering their lashes. He laughed at their girlish attempts to win his heart, playing the role of an elder brother with whom they could test their feminine wiles without being held responsible for their actions.
