August 3rd, 1773

Dear Diary,


Well, today is finally my fourteenth birthday. Mother is only working half of her usual work day at the bank today. Then, she will come home and make a special birthday supper for me which includes rice pudding, my favorite. Mother even has a present for me that I get to open after my sweet treat of rice pudding. It's going to be a wonderful birthday, but there's just one thing that's missing. Someone, actually. My father.

You see, here in England, when a young lady, such as myself, turns fourteen, she becomes an adult woman. If her parents can not take care of a certain chore that needs to be taken care of in the household, she must do it. If her younger siblings need to be taken care of, she must take care of them. And, wherever she goes, she's known as an individual and expected to be an example of the values that take place in her family.

Even before I was fourteen I had to uphold half of the household responsibilities because Mother never had a husband to share the responsibilities with. Because he has been lost at sea for years upon years, Mother has lost all hope in his return home and is now convinced that my father is gone for good and that his body is at peace in a watery grave. She has decided that it is time to find a new father for me and a loving husband for herself. Someone that can help lead me into womanhood. A father that will help me choose that special someone when I become old enough. Basically, someone to take the place of the father that I really never had. Because everyone in town is as equally convinced as Mother that my father is dead, Mother's social reputation would not be spoiled with a new man in her life.

But no matter the gravity of my mother's doubts in the fact of my father's whereabouts, I still believe he's out there. Somewhere in the seven seas. You might think that it is just wishful thinking taking place in my head, but it is not. Some of the sailors who have recently been out in the ocean say that they've seen a man that looks, walks, and speaks just like my father. They say that his ship is docked at a seaport in the small island of Patricia, which is said to be located in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Some of the men are utterly sure that the man is truly my father; others scoff at the believers and say that it is just a mirage or a ghost. As for me, I believe that the man really is my father. I asked one of the sailors if he knew how long the man would be staying on the island of Patricia, but he knew nothing about the duration of his stay. At least I knew where he was, that he was probably safe, and that he was truly alive. For all these years, I thought that he was shipwrecked somewhere or that a band of pirates had taken him hostage. Now someone has seen him alive, and that is all that I could ever ask for.

But, for some reason, the reassurance of him living is not enough. I have to see him. I have to see that he is alright and that he is alive. Hearing those facts from someone else just does not seem enough. I have to figure out some way to get to Patricia. But how? Well, now that I an thinking about it, there was a sailor the other night who said that the ship "The Conqueror" would be sailing to Patricia in the middle of the week. If I left a note for Mother, packed my things properly, and somehow smuggled myself onto the ship, I might be able to get there within a month or two if the sails do not get taken off track in a storm. He might still be in Patricia by then. But, how do I tell him that I'm his daughter? Because he left before I was born, he has never seen me. What if he does not care for me? What if he does not want anything to do with me? What if my father was really never the courageous man everyone said that John Jameson was? What if he is just some sailor who is a coward and nothing more? What if all of Mother's stories are false? That does not matter. I mean, this is probably my only chance at getting to meet my father. I should not question this, right? I should take the chance. Right. So, I guess it is settled. I shall head to the port this week and somehow end up at Patricia within a month.

Oh, no! I hear Mother coming through the door. I must go now, and hide this journal, fearing that she might find it and read about my plans. I believe that my plan will work. I shall venture out to the ship on Wednesday.
Sincerely,
Laurena Jameson