Framed in one of the square ports of the packet was a face which reminded Ah Cum of a Japanese theatrical mask. As she sat the bride actually woke up, sat up, and looked frightfully around the room. Her cargo is nearly shipped. With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. The island had evidently grown round this lagoon, approached it gradually from the volcanic upheaval—an island of coral and lava. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn.
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