She wore her hair in loose, salt-wind waves even in church, and the only apron she ever cared to tie on was stained with the evidence of her experiments. It was no wonder, then, that the menfolk, though grateful for her food, regarded Libby as unfit for a sensible marriage, while her friends just looked on, bemused, at her peculiar ambitions.
It was to those ambitions that she clung on moonless nights, when the ocean's breath crept through the cracks in her garret window and the clatter of lobster pots in the harbor below echoed in her dreams. Libby wanted more from life than another round of the annual chowder contest or the dubious honor of being the first woman in town to pickle eel. She wanted adventure. She wanted to see the worldat least the part of it that lay on the other side of the continent.
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