I was filled with the greatest sense of foreboding. Standing rigid and tall next to me was the man I married just two days ago, watching intently the deckhands loading our baggage. I gazed at the grand, gray steamer as it exhausted a thin snake of smoke toward an even darker gray sky. My parasol twisted with an unexpected whisp of wind and the steamer’s horn belched a loud squawk making me jump. My husband glanced at me annoyed. I would have to get used to these icy, frigid moments that seemed to me unwarranted and cruel for a new bride to endure; for there was no turning back now.