I headed into Bertha’s room, got the sewing kit, and went back to her. She smiled at me as I walked into the cabin. Apparently, she’d been the victor of her last fight; Joseph sat in the corner, arms crossed, his face screwed up in a scowl that was more comical than fearsome.

Taking the sewing kit from me, Bertha motioned me to the other side of the bed. “I’ll need your help, Casey. This might get messy. Take these cloths and hold them for me. You’ll be handing them to me as I need them.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

”’Tis a pity the other men on this ship aren’t as gentlemanly as yourself,” she said as she took out her sewing needle and began threading it. Joseph had the good grace to bow his head and blush at this. I laughed out loud, despite myself. My father stirred in his sleep and groaned.

Immediately, I felt guilty for laughing. “Will he be OK, Bertha? Do you think he’ll make it?”

“Oh, aye, Casey. Your pa’s made of sterner stuff than most men,” she said as she began carefully stitching his wound closed.