apa and Margaret were married a week later, on a day when the weather was fine enough for us to row over to the mainland to find a minister.

Before the ceremony, Margaret gave Celia a small mother-of-pearl comb.

“This was your mother's, when she was little,” she said. “Someday I'll tell you all about her.”

To me, she gave a jar of sea glass, bits of red and blue and green.

“When I first came to Devils Rock, I could tell you liked sea glass by the pieces I found on the windowsill in your room. I've been collecting them for you ever since.”

I held it up to the light, and the colors sparkled like jewels, one shade of blue like Mama's eyes, another like Margaret's.

Mr. and Mrs. Richardson came to the wedding. Mrs. Richardson clasped Margaret's hand.

“You make sure that husband of yours brings you by to visit now and then,” Mrs. Richardson said. “It can get pretty lonely out there.”

I felt Margaret's other hand tighten around my waist.

“Oh, I shan't be lonely, Mrs. Richardson,” she said. “I've got my family now.”

After the wedding, Papa hired a horse and buggy and we drove into the highlands of Maine. Everything was new to Celia and me, and we squealed at each new sight—mountains and rivers, deer and rabbit and moose—and I felt my heart pound to see the trees, especially the maples. They were every shade of orange and yellow and red, even more beautiful than Mama had promised. Papa pointed out spruce and fir and hemlock, and we ate our picnic lunch under trees with white bark that curled and peeled. Papa said they were birches.

While Celia napped, I slipped away into the woods and lay under a golden canopy of leaves.

In my whole life, I'd never been where I couldn't hear the sea; it was like a second heartbeat to me. Here, under the trees, there was no wind, no pounding surf, only the soft chitter of songbirds.

Using my hands and a stick, I dug up two small spruce trees and brought them back to the picnic spot.

“What are those for?” Margaret asked.

“One for Mama's grave,” I said. “And one for your sister.” As soon as I'd said it, I was sorry because Margaret began to cry.

“They're tears of happiness, silly,” Margaret said, hugging me. “Oh, how did I ever get so lucky to find the three of you?” But I think we're the lucky ones.

The sea brought us Celia and it brought us Margaret. We're a family, and there's no greater treasure than that.