In a life of few pleasures, any woman was a gift, but a big woman was an extravagance, and nowhere was Kate Hilyard more commodious than behind. Her warmth coursed through his loins, along his spine, and filled him with a feeling that he could conquer the world.

He wet his fingers and gently tried to waken her. She made a sound of contentment and stretched herself toward his hand. He kept his fingers moving gently in the place she liked most until he knew she was awake, though with eyes still closed.

“Good mornin’, my darlin’.”

“Thou got hairy balls, mister.”

“And a cock that asks if the hen be layin’.”

Kate giggled, which made Jack even firmer. Most women were as solemn as priests when they did this. A woman who could laugh with you in the midst of love, she was something rare. And he told her as much.

“Thou art a rare bird thyself, to be wantin’ it with thy twelve-year-old son sleepin’ at thy feet.”

“He won’t be wakin’ any time soon.”

“Do it quiet, then. But not too quick.”

And it was as fine a tumble as a man could want. She loved the feel of their flesh as much as he. When he rolled onto her, she welcomed him with her legs and her lips and the breasts that she slipped from her shift. When he began to move, she rolled her heavy hips as lasciviously as a whore. When he growled his pleasure, she whispered, “ ’Tis true what they say.”

“What?”

“The fuller the cushion, the finer the pushin’.”

And from the other side of the canvas, they heard Simeon Bigelow whisper groggily to his wife, “What didst thou say dear?”

Kate grabbed Jack’s buttocks to keep him from moving. Jack put a hand over Kate’s mouth to keep her from laughing.

“What, Simeon?” came another voice from sleep.

“Thou asked me for a cushion.”

“I asked a question? What question?”

“Not question. Cushion.”

Jack buried his face on Kate’s breasts to stifle a snicker. Husband and wife were like two mischievous children. They should have been used to life in the tween-decks. Day and night, the air echoed with the sounds of farting and vomiting and snoring and pissing and coughing, all things that kept a man in this world, no different from the animals. But seldom did the sounds of love break through. To Jack Hilyard, a man was never closer to God than when his hips were joined to his wife’s. The sounds of love should have been as the sounds of morning prayer. But even the Hilyards kept their passion quiet.

“I did not ask thee for a cushion,” said Anne. “I got a pallet.”

“You distinctly said, ‘Push me a cushion.’ ”

“Pray pardon but I did not. And why didst thou wake me?”

“Thou woke me and asked for a cushion.”

Kate’s body was shaking with laughter, which felt so good to Jack that he had to move once more.

“Where on this godforsaken ship at the edge of this godforsaken wilderness would I expect thee to find a cushion?”

“Right here,” whispered Kate. She rolled her hips. And Jack responded, and Simeon and Anne Bigelow continued to argue. And Jack and Kate moved with each other. And Jack tried to hold his consummation but could not. And Kate tried to hold her cry but could not. And Kate turned her head to her pillow to muffle the noise. And the Bigelows fell silent at the sound.