Bertha led me to her cabin, a simple, unassuming room with a small bed pushed against the wall and a wooden rocking chair in the center. A picture of her husband hung above her bed. He’d been a cheerful, handsome man with the same heart-shaped face as his daughter. He’d died during a raid many years ago when Violet and I were very young. Now Violet was all Bertha had left. I sincerely hoped that my old friend was OK, wherever she was. And that John Pete was keeping his dirty pirate hands off her.

Bertha walked up to the rocking chair and turned it upside down. There was an envelope taped to the bottom of the chair.

Handing me the envelope, she said, “You look at it. I never was very good at figuring out maps. I’ll go check on your father. Is he in your cabin?” I knew the real reason why she gave me the map – Bertha was illiterate but didn’t like others knowing about it.

“Pa’s in Joseph’s cabin. I’m sorry about Violet, Bertha. I promise you I’ll find her.”

She smiled at me kindly. “I know you will, lad.”