Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina

Harper stood outside the library door and peeked in the dimly lit room. Inside, Nate was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the television set. He was a slight, pale boy, his fair hair badly in need of a haircut. He sat motionless except for his nimble fingers rapidly working the remote control of the game he was playing. His concentration was intense; he was utterly unaware that she was watching him.

Seeing Nate in this room, small and alone, absorbed in his own world, reminded Harper of herself at that age. Harper had often squirreled herself away in this very room, only she wasn’t into games back then. She escaped to her books. She still treasured the books of her youth, counted them as friends: A Wrinkle in Time; The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe; and anything by Judy Blume. So many books, so many hours . . . She remembered being engulfed in stories, completely engaged in the enchanted worlds. During those times she hadn’t felt lonely.

Like Nate, she had spent much of her childhood alone. Harper had been raised as generations of James children were raised before her. The upper-class British family subscribed to the children are best seen and not heard school of child rearing. James parents did not kiss or coddle their children. Emotional displays were frowned upon. No one could say that Georgiana neglected Harper’s physical needs. Quite the contrary. Harper was always well dressed, well fed, well tended by a fleet of nannies. Neglect took many forms, however.

Her mother schlepped her between their homes in Manhattan, the Hamptons, and England, leaving her in the care of a nanny, a woman who usually sat and watched Harper play alone while her mother conducted endless business meetings or engaged in the whirlwind of her social life.

When Harper was six, she was deemed old enough to visit Sea Breeze during the summer break. Her mother never liked the idea of sending her daughter to the Muir family in the South for an extended stay, but the summer sojourn away did prove convenient, so she’d agreed to Mamaw’s invitation.

Only here, at Sea Breeze, did Harper’s pattern of isolation finally break. When she’d first arrived, everything on Sullivan’s Island had felt so strange—so foreign. The enormous oak trees dripping with moss, the pounding surf, the lack of routine. Mamaw did not allow nannies at Sea Breeze and let the girls run wild on the island, requiring them only to show up washed and tidy for meals.

At first, Harper had felt like a boat adrift without a rigid schedule to follow or a nanny to tell her what to do. The freedom was frightening to a lonely six-year-old. She also felt shy and awkward with her two older sisters. Carson and Dora were closer in age to each other—and five and eight years older than Harper. They knew the house, the landscape, the culture. Sea Breeze was their place and Harper felt like an interloper. The first few weeks of that first summer, she spent huge amounts of time hiding in her room, reading.

Until Mamaw intervened. “Child, you must play outdoors!” Mamaw would say. Her grandmother shared Harper’s love of books, but under her tutelage, Mamaw shared with Harper her other loves—fishing, boating, swimming, and the magic of the lowcountry. Mamaw took it upon herself to be the girls’ pied piper. She packed lunches and took them out exploring the island and the waterways while telling tales of their infamous ancestor, the dashing Captain Muir, a fearsome pirate. She inspired the adventurous spirit that lay dormant in their blood and seeded in their young hearts the dream of finding the buried treasure that was, she claimed, rightfully theirs.

Dora was transitioning to her teens that summer and had set her sights on local boys. Carson, in need of a summer friend, turned to Harper. They soon discovered that they were kindred spirits, both creatures forged of imagination and dreams. The five-year difference in age evaporated in light of Harper’s intelligence and Carson’s love of adventure. Harper’s love of reading often was the creative fodder for exciting new ideas to act out in their world of play.

Her summers at Sea Breeze had been a saving grace for her as a young girl. She wasn’t alone with her books. With Carson, she had brought her imagination to life. She’d had a friend to play with.

Harper peeked in once again at the little boy sitting alone in front of the console. She quietly backed away from the door, a smile playing at her lips. She knew what she had to do next.

Chapter Four

Charleston, South Carolina

Dora awoke in a strange room. She blinked slowly as it dawned on her where she was and how she had gotten here. She remembered the pain in her chest, the shortness of breath, Cal helping her to his car and driving her to the hospital. The mattress was thin and the sheets starchy, like the green and white hospital gown bunching at her hips. She felt woozy as she continued to blink in the light.

“Hi,” Cal said at her side. “Glad you’re awake.”

She mustered a weak smile. “Hi.” She looked blearily around the room, allowing her eyes to adjust. In the corner, she saw Mamaw sitting upright in a metal chair. She looked smart in her usual tunic—an aqua blue today—and tan linen pants. Mamaw smiled with encouragement when their gazes met.

A voice rang out from across the room. “Lord, you had us so worried! I was fixing to have a heart attack myself!”

Dora saw Mamaw’s eyes roll before she turned her head in the other direction to see her mother hurrying to her bedside. Winifred Smythe wore a sparkly white top that clung to her ample curves over black stretch pants, like snow on a mountaintop.

“Mama?”

Winifred rushed to Dora’s side. Her once blond hair was now mostly gray and worn in the utilitarian bob and bangs style that Cal referred to as “the helmet.” Under her blue eyes, a string of pearls graced her neck and dangled from her ears in delicate drops.

“Yes, it’s me, darling. I’m here!” she said, clutching Dora’s hand.

“When did you get here?”

“I dropped everything and drove straight here the moment Cal called. Bless his heart, he was so upset about you, he forgot to tell me what hospital he’d taken you to.”

Dora tried to imagine Cal being that worried about her.

“Honey, you gave us such a scare,” Winifred continued, squeezing her hand. “When I got to thinking my baby girl had a heart attack. I cried all the way from Charlotte. I am a wreck!”

Mamaw spoke up. “Don’t get your knickers in a knot, Winnie. We don’t know it was a heart attack.”