Heer Van Dyck?” Schuyler looked up. Gusta stood in the doorway, her brow set in an unconscious furrow. “Captain Tasman and Meester Visscher are here to see you.”

“Of course, Gusta, show them in.” Quickly he shuffled his correspondence from his desk, then stood and smoothed his doublet. Within a moment the two men entered the library. Schuyler bowed deeply as they approached. “Captain Tasman! And Meester Visscher. You honor my home with your presence.”

“You honor us with your time,” Tasman answered. The captain waved his hat. “May we sit and discuss the upcoming voyage? We thought to settle a few things with you before our meeting with Governor Van Diemen.”

“But of course!” Schuyler gestured toward two chairs near the window. “Have a seat gentlemen, and take your ease.” He looked up at Gusta, who hovered in the doorway, and lowered his voice. “Gusta, some tea and biscuits, if you please. I’m sure our guests could use some refreshment.”

“Cool water, for me, if you have any,” Visscher said, glancing over his shoulder as he sat beside Tasman. He sent Schuyler an apologetic smile. “This heat is stifling. I don’t know how the natives stand it in those huts.” The heavyset Visscher was perspiring profusely, a line of sweat across his brow and upper lip. Schuyler rubbed his finger over his mouth, suppressing a smile. Obviously the man had not lived in Batavia very long.

In time, a body became accustomed to the heat.

Schuyler pulled over the small stool that stood beside his easel. “Perhaps the natives don’t suffer because they’ve known nothing but warm weather.”

“I suppose you realize our plans are well under way,” Tasman rubbed his hands over his trousers as he assumed control of the conversation. “We are planning to sail before the month is out. The ships are now fully manned. We’ve been given two excellent ships, the jacht de Heemskerk and the flute de Zeehaen. Yde T’jercksen Holman will skipper the Heemskerk, and Gerrit Janszoon will serve as skipper of the smaller Zeehaen. You, of course, my friend, will sail upon the Heemskerk with me. I will command the voyage from that ship.”

“And you?” Schuyler lifted a brow in Visscher’s direction. “Surely you will sail with us?”

“Ja.” Visscher’s serious face split into a wide grin. “I am first mate of the Heemskerk. You’ll see a great deal of me, Heer Van Dyck. We are to share a cabin.”

Schuyler’s smile broadened in approval. “Already, gentlemen, my heart beats in anticipation. Being chosen for this opportunity is perhaps the greatest honor of my life.”

“Word of your skill precedes you, or Heer Van Diemen would not have chosen you as official cartographer.” Tasman nodded in respect. “The governor general, a great admirer of your art, is quite determined that we map out this area while we have predominance in this part of the world.”

“We know there is a great south land somewhere out there,” Visscher inserted, reaching under his spectacles to pinch the bridge of his nose. “But two previous expeditions have been unable to find it. Pool died before he could thoroughly explore the area, and Tasman’s last voyage was cut short by disease—”

“Scurvy,” Schuyler interrupted, looking at the captain. “I heard you lost nearly half your men.”

The corners of Tasman’s mouth tightened. “It couldn’t be helped. Matthijs Quast was the commander, I was only a skipper of one ship.”

Schuyler instantly regretted his words. “I’m not blaming you, my friend,” he added softly. He couldn’t help overhearing rumors that Tasman often mistreated his crew and lacked the stomach for true adventure, but he couldn’t afford to offend the man who held the reins of his own future.

He took a deep breath and adjusted his smile. “God often works in ways we cannot understand.”

“Indeed.” Cold dignity masked Tasman’s features. “Well, Heer Van Dyck, we trust that our upcoming voyage will meet with more success. I have engaged the services of a doctor, an English gentleman who comes highly recommended by no less a personage than King Charles’s physician.”

“Truly?” Schuyler’s brows rose in amazement. “How did you come by such a man?”

“As you said,” Tasman answered, a look of satisfaction creeping over his features, “God works in mysterious ways.”

Visscher shifted heavily in his chair. “We wanted to discuss the voyage with you so you will be prepared with the sea charts.”

“Of course.” Schuyler reached over his desk for a pencil and paper, ready to take notes.

Tasman folded his hands on his knee. “We are to sail first to Mauritius, then south into fifty-two or fifty-four degrees south latitude, searching for the southern continent.” His words, flat and uninflected, ran together in a monotone. “You, of course, will map our progress, our depth soundings, and our landfalls. We hope your work will be a valuable addition to the charts in the archives of the V.O.C.”

“It will be my privilege and honor to assist the Compagnie,” Schuyler answered, placing his notes back on his desk, “but I must confess that I look forward to the work with a different motivation. The thrill of discovery drives me, gentlemen—the desire to leave a mark upon the world before I depart for a more heavenly clime. You, sirs, are explorers and seamen, while I am an artist, a soul in search of expression.”

He avoided their eyes, certain they would not understand, but determined that they should know why he wanted to sail with them. “My gift to the world,” he said with quiet emphasis, “will be a map unlike any other in existence. It will reveal not only the geographical layout and such knowledge as one might expect to find on a sea chart, but will also illustrate the flora and fauna and the peoples we may discover … out there.”

Schuyler paused, smiling as he thought of his secret weapon. Last night he had sat in this very chair and reexamined Aidan’s sketch of the bird, wondering how he could ever replicate it, and the answer had come to him like a voice on the wind. Why not take the girl on the voyage? He could not ask her yet, of course; he’d had difficulty enough persuading her to join him at his house. But if he gained her trust and her agreement, she could sail on the Tasman voyage and embellish his map with the finest, most lifelike renderings he had ever seen—better by far than the works of Sibylla Marion.

“So of course, gentlemen,” he said to his guests, “though I hope we find gold and lands and honor, I care far more for the lasting benefit of the chart we shall produce.”

“Your commitment to excellence is noted and appreciated.” Tasman’s brown eyes had glazed slightly during Schuyler’s speech, and he turned restlessly toward the window. Schuyler frowned as he followed the captain’s gaze. Tasman had focused on Aidan’s slender figure at her easel in the garden. “By heaven, Schuyler, I thought your daughter had married.”

“She has,” Schuyler answered, folding his arms. “That young lady is my … ward, a most talented artist in her own right.” He cleared his throat as the light of inspiration dawned. “Indeed, Captain, you might find her useful aboard the Heemskerk. She is a wonderful illustrator of animals and flowers.”

Visscher rose from his chair for a look. “A pity there are no women allowed aboard ship,” he murmured, crossing his hands behind his back as his eyes studied Aidan’s fair form through the window. “Just the sight of her would be art enough to satisfy.”

“No women?” Schuyler lifted a brow. “But I thought women were perfectly welcome. You, Captain, sailed with your wife when you commanded the Engel.”

“Wives are not women, sir, if you catch my meaning,” Tasman answered, giving Schuyler a knowing smile. “The men will respect another man’s wife, knowing that he has vowed to guard her with his life. But unattached women are a plague upon any ship. They distract the men, they sow strife at every turn. And two women together—” He closed his eyes, and waved his hand, a clear signal that two women aboard ship would transgress the boundaries of any man’s patience.

“No woman will ever sail aboard my ship unless she is married.” Tasman drew his lips into a tight smile. “And I’d prefer never to take along a wife. I’ve convinced my own Jannetje to remain in Batavia with our daughter while I am gone.”

“And how is your lovely daughter?” Schuyler smiled at the memory of the pale young woman he had met on several social occasions. Lina Tasman had been Rozamond’s chief rival for the affections of Dempsey Jasper, and many a night Schuyler had been kept awake by Rozamond’s sharp criticism of the captain’s daughter.

“Lina is well, thank you.” Tasman’s face betrayed no knowledge of their daughters’ rivalry. “She is engaged to be married as soon as God grants us a safe return.”

“You had best keep a sharp eye on her,” Schuyler answered, rising as Gusta entered with a tray of drinks and sweet cakes. “My daughter was so determined to be wed that I found it hard to restrain her enthusiasm. If we are detained on the voyage, your little Lina might slip away and marry with only her mother’s blessing.”

“She would never do that, sir.” Tasman’s stern expression cracked in a smile. “I will have her intended groom on board my ship. He is Sterling Thorne, my ship’s surgeon and a most excellent physician.”

“Sterling Thorne?” Schuyler tilted his head. “I do not know the name. It is not Dutch.”

“He is recently arrived from England. Witt Dekker, who will serve as first mate aboard the Zeehaen, brought him to me, and I was impressed when I interviewed the man. Lina was likewise pleased by his manner and intelligence, and I am only days away from finalizing the arrangements of their betrothal.”

“Ah, very good then.” Schuyler clapped his hands together and regarded his guests. “Shall we drink to their health and happiness?”

“And to profit,” Visscher answered, standing. He lifted his glass of water from the tray. “There is certain to be gold in the undiscovered continent, my friends.”

“To discovery.” Tasman lifted a china teacup.

“To God’s blessing.” Schuyler took the final cup from the tray. “And to posterity, for those who come after us will review what we have done and know that it was accomplished by the grace and will of God.”

“Amen,” the other men echoed.

Schuyler lifted his cup and sipped his tea while his mind raced with a new and perplexing question. He knew he wanted Aidan to sail aboard the Heemskerk, but how could his plan be accomplished now that Tasman had forbidden women aboard ship?

His mind burned with the memory of their first meeting. The Spirit of God had clearly said, She needs you. You need her.

Sighing in frustration, Schuyler replaced his cup on the tray and walked with his guests to the door. Visscher and Tasman offered their farewells, then turned and left, their figures gradually disappearing down the cobbled walkway.

Schuyler closed the front door and leaned against it, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. If Aidan could not sail with him and help with his grand map, then for what possible reason had God urged him to invite the girl into his home?

“No, no!” Gusta shook her head. “A thousand times no! A lady does not gobble her food. She nibbles it with the utmost delicacy.”

Aidan let her knife fall to the table with a resounding clatter, then folded her hands in her lap and fought to restrain the temper that bubbled under the surface. She had passed a wonderful morning in the garden, another in a glorious succession of hours where she was learning to paint and create under Heer Van Dyck’s patient tutelage. But her new master had declared that Aidan’s afternoons would be devoted to Gusta and lessons in ladylike deportment.

“You will never make a lady,” Gusta was saying now, her face wrinkling in a dour expression of disapproval. “Not in a thousand years.”

“I hope,” Aidan answered, gritting her teeth, “that I won’t live that long. Especially here! I cannot abide another hour of this, much less another week!”

The housekeeper drew herself up to her full height, her bosom jutting forward like the prow of a ship. “You ought to be grateful that Heer Van Dyck sees something of promise in you. And you should thank God above for such a gift, for there is certainly no other reason why the master should have glanced twice at you!”

“I didn’t ask God to give me anything.” Aidan cast a withering stare in the woman’s direction. “And I only asked your master for a wee bit of instruction, not lessons in dining and etiquette.”

Aidan heard a soft hiss as Gusta drew in her breath through her teeth. “You didn’t have to come.”

Unable to answer, Aidan strangled on the words that rose to her lips. Yes I did. If I am ever going to be respectable, if I am ever going to be more than a guttersnipe, I have to learn how to be a great artist.

But Gusta would not understand the motives that drove Aidan. The housekeeper was not a great lady, but she was genteel and respectable. She had never fallen to the bottom of humanity’s barrel, never watched her friends suffer with disease and starvation and fear.

Neither could she understand the yearnings and frustrations that rose in Aidan’s breast every time she saw the sun falling at a certain angle upon a rose in the garden. Her heart stirred in the same mysterious way when she saw a butterfly lighting on a hibiscus blossom, and she knew she could paint that picture. If she were only given the materials and instruction, she could make that butterfly live forever; she could preserve that sunset-gilded rose for all time.

Once, long ago, Aidan imagined that all people were plagued by those frustrated feelings and visions, but over the past few years she had come to realize that she was decidedly odd. Orabel could look at a sunset and feel nothing but relief that the day would soon cool; her mother looked out upon the sea and saw only the miles and miles of ocean that separated her from Ireland. But Aidan saw textures, shapes, and colors of a million hues. A sunset could make her delirious with joy; some dark aspect of the sea could cause her to weep. But these things did not seem to affect anyone else.

Except Heer Van Dyck. Yesterday she had discovered a small caterpillar in the garden—a wondrous creature colored with orange and green, with a perfect brown circle on his back, like a saddle. Long, tufted hairs adorned his head and tail, and she had stared at the animal in simple fascination for what felt like only a few seconds.

But when she let the leaf fall and stepped back to her easel, she found Heer Van Dyck watching her, a gentle and bemused smile on his lips. “I was wondering what caught your attention,” he said softly. She gestured toward the bush, thinking that he would want to see the unusual creature for himself, but his eyes never left her face.

“A caterpillar,” she answered simply, pointing toward the hibiscus. “I’ve never seen anything like him.”

“You stared at him for nearly a quarter of an hour.” Van Dyck tilted his head slightly and studied her in a way that made her feel a bit like a wee bug herself.

“Really?” Aidan felt a slow blush burn her cheek. “I had no idea.”

“You were caught in the Creator’s time.” Van Dyck sank to the small stone bench in the garden and gestured for her to resume her seat by her easel. “Chronos time, everyday time, seems to stand still when creativity is present. Just now, my dear, you were watching the caterpillar in kairos time, God’s time. When we are lost in contemplation of God’s creation, when our inner artist is at work, we are living in kairos time. Chronos time passes without our noticing it. We accomplish more—we are more—than we are when we live by a timepiece.”

Watching Gusta’s face now, Aidan suddenly wished she might abandon chronos time forever. These hours with the determined housekeeper were pure torment, for Aidan wanted to be painting, she wanted to lose herself in her work. Under Heer Van Dyck’s forbearing instruction she could almost believe again in a patient and loving God … but every paradise had its resident serpent to contend with.

A scullery maid thrust her head through the door. “Beggin’ your pardon, Gusta, but the master wants to see the young lady in his study.”

“But we’re not finished!” Gusta snapped.

Aidan stood and cast the older woman a triumphant grin. “Yes, we are,” she said, pushing back her chair with far more noise than grace. “Thank you, Gusta, for your instruction. But as I shall never make a lady, I don’t see how it will benefit me.”

Leaving the housekeeper speechless, Aidan turned in a whirl of skirts and flounced down the hall.

Heer Van Dyck stood at the window, his back straight, his hands folded behind him as if he were lost in contemplation. Aidan slipped quietly into the room, recognizing that he was deep in thought, perhaps even experiencing a bit of the creative fog she had lately begun to enjoy. What a relief it was to discover that she was not a complete eccentric.

As she moved quietly toward a chair, she noticed that his work-in-progress, a beautiful illustration of Java and the surrounding Indonesian islands, lay spread on the worktable. She thought she made no sound, but he knew she was there, for after a moment he spoke without turning around. “Do you see the map on the desk, Aidan?”

Startled by his use of her familiar name, she stammered in reply. “Y-yes.”

He nodded slightly, his gaze intently focused on the garden and the ripple of blue sea in the distance. “As you know, Captain Abel Tasman will leave very soon on a voyage during which I intend to complete that map. As you can plainly see, there is a void at the right margin. Governor Anthony Van Diemen has commissioned me to travel upon the flagship as the official cartographer.”

Aidan caught her breath. He was trying to tell her that the time of her departure had come, and far sooner than she expected. He would soon leave, and Gusta would send Aidan back to the tavern, back to waiting tables and hauling ale and rifling through drunks’ pockets to find money enough for food.

“You are leaving soon?” Her voice sounded weak and strangled to her own ears.

“Ja.” He turned slightly, his strong profile barely visible above that glorious beard. “Perhaps I should have mentioned this sooner, but I wanted you to fall in love with the work. I wanted to be certain you were passionate about the art. Because what I am about to ask is very difficult indeed.”

He turned slowly, and Aidan saw that the customary expression of good humor was absent from the curve of his mouth, the depths of his eyes.

“It is a time of confession, I suppose,” he said, sinking into his chair and gesturing that she be seated across from him. “Of course you knew my departure was fast approaching. When I invited you here, I obeyed the impulse of God without completely thinking through the consequences. I didn’t consider what I should do with you once the time came for my sailing.”

“Please, sir.” She lowered her eyes, dreading the dismissal to come. “Speak plainly. If you want me to go, say so. I’ll go at once.”

“All right, I’ll speak plainly.” He rubbed his hand lightly over his knee, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Aidan O’Connor, when I watched you draw in the tavern I knew I needed you—as an artist. Your gift for depicting nature, for instilling life into drawings of insects and birds and flowers, is like nothing I have ever seen here or in Europe. Together you and I could create a great work, the most beautiful chart humanity has ever seen.”

She stared at him in total incredulity. “But how? I know nothing about maps or charts or sailing—”

“That’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to understand cartography. That is my area of expertise.” His face creased into a sudden smile. “Haven’t you noticed how my maps are adorned with pictures? I drew a sultan’s camels upon the African desert, ships upon the sea, natives upon the islands. Art is what sets one chart apart from another, Aidan, the beauty of the art!”

He leaned forward, expecting something of her, but Aidan lowered her gaze in confusion. “The art?” she whispered. “I don’t understand.”

He smiled benignly, as if dealing with a slightly thickheaded child. “Abel Tasman has been charged with discovering new lands, Aidan. Therefore we shall doubtless encounter new flowers, new wildlife, and new creatures—living things no European has ever seen before! The map we create on this voyage will be unlike any other in existence!”

“We?” She drew back, puzzled and more than a little frightened of the change in his demeanor.

“Our map shall feature complete and careful renderings of those new flora and fauna, and there will be nothing like it in the world! But I can only create it … if you sail with me.”

She sat motionless as the shock hit her full force. He didn’t want to cast her off! He wanted to take her on a voyage into the unknown!

“Sail with you?” The muscles of her throat moved in a convulsive swallow. “But I hate the sea! I could never board a ship!”

“Yes, you could. Sea travel is as safe as it can be, given the dangerous times in which we live. The Dutch East India Company regularly sends ships to Europe and back; sailing is not nearly as risky as it was years ago.” His eyes squinted with excited amusement. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about the ocean, but—”

“I didn’t have to hear—I have traveled the sea myself!” Aidan’s heart began to thump painfully in her chest. Memories of her voyage from London came crowding back, noisy and obnoxious, like unwelcome guests. With a shiver of vivid recollection, she saw again her father’s pale face, heard his dying gasps and the horrifying sound of his body splashing into the sea. Memories of that sea voyage, her first and last, made her shudder like the touch of a ghost.

“My parents and I sailed from London together six years ago,” she said, her voice shakier than she would have liked. “My father died on that voyage. And they—the seamen—threw him overboard, into the sea.”

“I didn’t know,” Van Dyck answered softly. “Forgive me, but you never speak of your parents.”

“I am a grown woman; you need not concern yourself with my past,” Aidan answered, folding her arms across her chest.

“I don’t mean to pry.” Van Dyck coughed softly into his clenched fist, then a thoughtful smile curved his mouth. “Think of the art, dear girl. Of the kairos time. You and I will be painting things no civilized person has ever seen before. You will be the first woman to dip your brush into the colors of an unknown bird, to depict the rush of a strange insect’s wing.” His left eyebrow, snowy white, rose a fraction as he watched his words take hold. “You can learn nothing, child, without moving from the known to the unknown. If you want to broaden your horizons, take this step. Life will shrink or expand in direct proportion to the measure of your courage.”

I want to succeed. She dredged the admission from a place beyond logic and reason. She wanted to be respectable, but could she risk her life on the sea in order to achieve her dreams?

“After our masterpiece is done, your sketches and that marvelous memory of yours will serve you well,” Van Dyck went on. “You could publish a book of engravings, and thousands of cultured, appreciative people throughout Europe and the civilized world will marvel at your talent. Though they are miles away, they will see with your eyes and many of them will understand.”

Aidan tilted her head, listening. As always, Heer Van Dyck had managed to put his finger upon the heart of the matter. Though something in her resisted the thought of disappearing again into the dark bowels of a seagoing vessel, the end result might be worth the fear and trepidation.

If she did as he suggested, she might finally find respectability. Lili would be proud. Perhaps Aidan could actually earn enough to provide a decent place for all the girls at the wharf, a safe place where Orabel, Stella, Sofie, and the others could live and sleep in peace.

“I’ll consider it.” She gripped the arm of her chair. “If I may be excused, I’d like to go into the garden and think about it.”

“There is one more thing.” Van Dyck paused for a moment, then rose with fluid grace and stood straight and tall before her. “Joffer O’Connor, I would never have voluntarily considered the action I am about to suggest, but necessity compels it.” He took a deep breath, swelling the front of his doublet. “You are an artist. You will want to go on this voyage—you should go on this voyage. Unfortunately, Captain Tasman will not allow any woman aboard ship unless she is married to one of the officers.”

He lifted a white brow and waited as the significance of his words struck her. “But if I cannot go—” she began.

He held up a hand and cut her off. “Joffer O’Connor—Aidan—because I truly believe God would have you travel with me, I do most humbly ask for your hand in order that we may be wed. Working together, we shall produce the most glorious sea chart the world has ever seen.”

She had thought he could not surprise her further, but as his words fell upon her ears, ripples of shock began to spread from a point somewhere at her center, moving through her stomach and flowing outward to her fingertips.

“It will be a marriage in name only, of course,” he went on rapidly, anxiously. “I would not dream of attaching my advanced age to your youth and beauty. But it is the only way, you see.” Gracefully, he folded his hands and glanced down at his feet. “When my time on earth is done, I can promise that you will be well-compensated for your sacrifice. I am an old man, and considerably wealthy. As my wife, you will share in all I possess. After my death, if the idea pleases you, you will be free to marry for love.”

“Marry … you, sir?” The words, a full moment too late, broke from her lips. She clung to the armrests of her chair as a tide of confused emotions crashed over her—bewilderment, compassion, affection, gratitude, horror, fear. Part of her, touched by his tender compassion, wanted to weep; another part wanted to recoil from the inappropriateness of his suggestion. She was a ragamuffin, the daughter of a procuress, and he was an esteemed Dutch gentleman, the father of two respectable grown children.

“Sir—” She tried to keep the stunned disbelief out of her voice, but failed miserably. “This suggestion is not well made! If I cannot go to sea unwed, then I shall not go! The idea is sheer folly!”

Heer Van Dyck held up a restraining hand. “Please consider the idea overnight.” His eyes kept moving away, as though afraid to rest very long on her countenance. “And I will seek the will of our Heavenly Father. Perhaps there is another way. Perhaps I was wrong to suggest such an idea to you. I assure you, my dear, that while I have grown quite fond of your nature and am in awe of your talent, I have no wish to force my affections upon you.”

“Sir, I—” Aidan stopped, not knowing what to say. She could not imagine marrying a man older than her father, but neither could she insult or hurt him. Schuyler Van Dyck had been the personification of kindness and honor from the very moment she met him.

“Good night, sir,” she murmured, feeling heat flood her face as she stood and moved toward the door. “I will consider your offer.”

Her master did not answer. His artistic hands, motionless as empty gloves, rested on the desk as she left him alone in the library.