The Promise Keeper: Sea Heroes of Duxbury

by Lisa Norato

  “Iris sees romance in everything,” Lud was saying, “and I fear she credits too much mystique and allure to a solitary keeper across the bay. But perhaps she would be so kind as to fetch us poor, freezing fellows something hot to drink?” Lud punctuated his request with a lift of his brows beneath a fringe of tawny bangs.

  “Yes, Daughter,” her father said. “What does a fellow need do to warrant a cup of hot coffee? Is not rescuing an entire barque’s crew sufficient?”

  The men chuckled, but Keeper Mayne smiled kindly at her.

  There was no denying Johnny Mayne was a brave, virile man. Her blood pumped quicker and warmer, and she returned the smile. But it was then Iris noticed him shiver in his drenched clothing, and she directed everyone toward the hearth fire.

  “It most certainly is sufficient, Father,” she said. “And in a moment, I will also serve hot clam broth with toast and vinegar, just the way you like it. But don’t you think you should go upstairs first and change out of your wet clothes?”

  He responded with a grumble as he eased himself into his old Winsor rocker by the hearth and took up a poker to stir the fire.

  The mantle above held a stack of Iris’s favorite books together with three large, burnished pewter plates and a set of brass candlesticks. Cast iron skillets hung on swinging iron cranes. Firewood lay stacked in a corner nearby, where her father could tend the fire without leaving his comfortable seat.

  Snow lumbered towards the warmth and curled up on the braided rug at his feet.

  Iris crossed to the cookstove and, wrapping her apron around the handle of the coffee pot, brought it to the table where she poured five steaming mugs of coffee. She added a healthy splash of brandy to each and passed them round.

  The sound of male grumblings carried from the borning room, some voices raised in protest or perhaps, more accurately, embarrassment, others in discomfort, a few in resigned gratitude. Iris paid no heed to the racket. Those men could receive no finer attention than to be under Hetty’s capable care.

  Grasping the final mug with both hands, she carried it over to Keeper Mayne. As he accepted the drink, their fingers brushed.

  His hands were lean and strong, raw from the cold. He’d untied the black neckerchief from the upright collar of his sopping white shirt, whose full sleeves clung to the contours and sinew of his muscular arms. His heavy woolen waistcoat molded to his broad chest.

  Iris snapped her gaze back to his hands, aware that he was watching her watch him.

  “The stimulant will warm you,” she said as he took a sip of the hot brew.

  He hid a smile behind the mug’s rim.

  Iris thought then she would be pleased to have Keeper Johnny Mayne visit Nook House under more pleasant circumstances. Dark eyes that shone like fire, a serious brow, manly attractiveness and unexpected smiles — it all impressed her. There was something soothing and lyrical about his voice that called to her. Peace and contentment filled her in his presence. She had no explanation for it, and yet there it was.

  He took another swig of the hot coffee. “I must soon take my leave. I am still caretaker of Pilgrim Light.” He glanced toward the borning room as though taken by an anxious thought. “Whatever became of Mr. Gregory, I wonder. I don’t recall seeing him with the others in the wagon.”

  “Who is this Mr. Gregory?” her father asked, concerned.

  “The passenger,” said Keeper Mayne. “I rowed him to shore. He was the first to be taken off the Vulture. If he staggered out into this cold, he’ll never survive.”

  The man in the black great coat immediately came to Iris’s mind. “I do believe I saw him. Peter did as well. It was a very queer experience. He took his hat off to me.”

  Her father straightened in his rocker. “Why did you not tell me of this, Daughter?”

  “I assumed the fellow was befuddled from the cold.”

  “Likely, the fellow was befuddled, Iris,” said Uncle Alden. “For a landsman, he suffered quite the ordeal. He must have been taken in by one of the other Nook families or perhaps in the Harlow’s sleigh with Captain Barrell and the mate Roark.”

  Mr. Bliss set his empty mug down on the long, center worktable. “When we pulled Captain Barrell off the barque, it was clear he was in need of a physician’s care. Being a local lad, Jenson Roark suggested the captain be taken to his family’s home in Millbrook. Daniel Harlow and his sons offered to transport them. It is quite likely they took your Mr. Gregory along with them,” he said to Keeper Mayne, “thinking it would be more comfortable for him than lodging with the crew.”

  “Exactly,” agreed Uncle Alden. “I am certain that must be the case.”

  The men of Vulture’s crew having been wiped dry, were given clothing and flannels to wear then wrapped in blankets. One by one, they returned to the warm keeping room to gather at the great, scarred worktable. Iris was kept busy toasting slices of brown bread, pouring hot drink and serving up the richly thickened clam broth. The cherry rum was passed around the room and soon the frozen sailors began to regain their senses and were able to share their story.

  Iris listened as it was told how the Vulture, enshrouded in the heavily falling snow, had lost her bearings as to her position in the bay. Captain Barrell drove her under close reefed sails, putting every crewman aboard to work in a collective, desperate effort to keep the barque to windward.

  An order was given to drop anchor, but the anchor chain was encrusted in ice so thick it caused the chain’s heavy metal links to snap as they were heaved over the side. They had exhausted their resources and could do nothing to stop the Vulture from driving into a sand bar. The men shivered anew at the memory.

  They would not have fared as well as they had, were it not for their captain’s humanity and sacrifice. Captain Barrell kept the majority of the watch himself, aided by alternating crewmen in half-hour watches. Everyone else he sent to the forecastle, where the fires still burned in the galley. Throughout the ordeal, the cook continued to fortify them with hot coffee.

  The Vulture’s crew toasted their captain with the cherry rum then gave him a round of cheers. A second round of cheers went to Captain Moon and the other rescuers. Iris raised her coffee mug and her voice alongside them. Hetty, Alice and Aunt Mary did the same. And then Father led them all in a prayer for Captain Barrell’s restored health and in thanksgiving that no lives had been lost.

  No sooner had they all said “Amen,” when the door banged open, driven by a wind gust. Peter stood shivering in the entry, bearing a heavy armload of bricks. Lud, nearest to the door, hurried forward to help him.

  Keeper Mayne joined to help and immediately Hetty began instructing them on how to lay the bricks in the hearth’s ashes.

  “Where have you been, Peter?” Alice asked her son sharply.

  “I have been gathering bricks for Nurse Hastings. She asked me.”

  “Surely, it couldn’t have taken you this long to collect a few bricks from the barnyard,” she said.

  He’d been arranging the bricks in the hearth, but suddenly Peter jumped to his feet and cried out, frightened and defensive. “I did no harm, Ma. I saw no one! No one!”

  “Mind your tone, son,” said Mr. Bliss. “We know you would never intentionally do wrong, and no one is accusing you of anything. Your mother was just worried about you.”

  Alice wrapped an arm around her son’s thin shoulders and led him to the table. “Come now, Peter. You’ve worked hard all morning. Have a seat and I shall fetch you a bowl of hot clam broth.”

  Iris found Peter’s reaction very curious indeed. She stood by her father’s rocker, thoughtful, as she stirred the ashes around the bricks. She pushed some of them a bit closer to the fire, so they might warm more quickly.

  “Daughter, I know the workings of your mind, and don’t you dare think of bringing Keeper Mayne a warm brick for his feet before you offer one to your old pa.”

  Iris grinned into the leaping hearth flames. For once, she hadn’t been thinking of their keeper. What could ha
ve delayed Peter? she wondered. He’d probably wandered off. Perhaps he had stumbled onto something that caught his interest, but why would he not say so? What was he hiding?

  In light of all that had transpired today, Iris decided it was a matter of little import.

  “You shall have the first warm brick, Father, but I still wish you’d go upstairs and change out of those wet things.”

  “I daresay, Iris, that is sound advice for us all,” said Uncle Alden. He pushed his empty mug away and rose. “Let us get along home, Lud, and bring Keeper Mayne. Between the two of us, we should be able to find him a warm change of clothes.”

  “Your kindness is greatly appreciated, Mr. Webster.” The handsome keeper reached for his pea jacket, preparing to follow. “And then I must return promptly to the light to check on the lamps and hopefully catch a few hours sleep before they need to be lit again.”

  Iris thought of him out there alone, protecting their shores and keeping Duxbury’s citizens safe.

  So it pleased her when Lud also arose from the table to say, “I shall return with him, Father. That is, if you approve, Uncle Ezra. It has been a long few days at the light with this storm, and I’m sure Johnny could use an extra pair of hands.”

  “I think it a fine idea.” Iris’s father heaved his bulk out of his rocker with a small groan to see them to the door.

  Keeper Mayne clapped a hand on her cousin’s broad, muscular shoulder. “That is very charitable of you, Lud. You have my gratitude. I could indeed use your assistance.”

  Aunt Mary went to fetch her coat, hanging on a peg by the door. “Then I shall return home, as well. While you change, I will prepare a hearty meal for you young lads to take back to Clark’s Island. I’m sure neither of you will feel like cooking for yourselves come evening.”

  Iris filled a basket with loaves of the freshly baked bread while the family collected their outerwear and gave the Vulture’s crew their best wishes. She passed the basket to her Aunt Mary on her way out. Standing by the door as they filed out, she thanked them personally for their efforts in making the rescue possible. Keeper Mayne was last to leave, and as he stepped through the doorway Iris followed him out into the cold.

  “Sir, wait. You’ve forgotten your cap.” She closed the door behind her and presented the keeper with his watch cap. “I noticed you dropped it when you first arrived so I dried it for you by the fire.”

  “That was kind of you,” he said, accepting the cap. “Thank you.”

  “Iris, my gel, no coat!” Hetty stood in the opened doorway. “You shall freeze! Oh, was there ever such a girl? You’ve been long enough out in this weather. Come inside now, for I need you healthy to help me roast sausages. We’ve still a kitchen of hungry lads yet to feed.”

  “Obey your nursemaid, Iris Moon.” The keeper turned to follow the Websters to their home further down along the bluff. In farewell, he called out behind him, “Little sea urchin.”

  Iris stood frozen, not from the cold but by confoundedness. She didn’t notice the raw wind on her cheeks or the chill air seeping through her wool gown. She had never feared the elements. She never minded the wind wreaking havoc with her coiffure nor the cold mist seeping through her garments or snow crunching beneath her boots. “A sea urchin? Why do you address me so, as if you know me?” she cried after him. “I am not diminutive, but a full-grown woman who stands quite tall, nearly as tall as you. Do I know you, sir?”

  Of course, by now, he was well out of hearing distance, so Iris muttered to herself, “I feel I know you, Johnny Mayne, and yet that cannot be. We have never met until recently.”

  In the doorway, Iris turned back for one last look at his dwindling figure before he disappeared down the snowy slope. “Nook House shall see you again, sir. You can depend upon it.”

  “You’re talking to yourself now,” Hetty chided, pulling her inside. “I reckon, Iris, my fanciful girl, you credit too romantic a history to our solitary keeper, when he likely be no more than a poor sod trying to earn a crust and guard his privacy.”

  Iris did not accept that. And she didn’t think Hetty believed it either. Something about her tone was not quite convincing. Keeper Mayne was no poor sod. No, he was someone much more relevant. But what or rather who he was … well, therein lay the mystery.

  Chapter

  8

  For a while there was nothing but the steady creak of the oars and the slosh of water against the hull as Lud repeatedly dragged the paddles through ripples of cold seawater. But even as they sallied across Duxbury Bay, Johnny’s thoughts kept pulling him back to Nook House.

  His pulse had not stopped racing since he’d first walked through its doors. Sadly, Lady Moon had passed, and yet she was not entirely gone, for Johnny could see that her exquisite beauty and kind, gentle nature lived on in her daughter.

  Iris Moon, his little sea urchin, once his playmate and charge, had grown into an image of her mother. In his opinion, one of the most beautiful women in the world.

  “So it’s true you sailed with my uncle,” Lud broke into the silence, his breath rising in a vapor before his face.

  Johnny nodded. “A long time ago. I was a green lad when Captain Moon took me on as his ship’s boy.”

  “Then you knew my Aunt Eleanor? Were you there when they were married aboard ship? My mother has never forgiven Uncle Ezra for not waiting until they reached Duxbury so she could be present at their wedding.”

  Johnny grinned at his helper and friend. “Inquisitiveness runs in the family, I see.” It was not, nor had it ever been, his place to answer such questions. He responded with a simple comment. “I found Eleanor Moon always to be the truest of ladies.”

  Lud’s eyes sparked with a devilish glint of amusement. “Nothing like my bold and headstrong cousin, do you mean?”

  A smile came to him naturally at the thought of Iris. “Even you must admit, Lud, she has a genuine sweetness to her. She greatly resembles her mother, but after a short time in her company, it is clear she is a unique individual in her own right.”

  He realized he was beginning to think of Iris in a much different way than memory served. The child he once knew had now been replaced in his mind by a mature woman — a woman with the exceptional beauty of Lady Eleanor and the courageous heart of Captain Moon. It made for a heady combination.

  A man could easily fall for such a woman. Suddenly, Johnny understood why Captain Moon had risked everything for his Eleanor, to have her, to save her, for Lady Moon’s story had not always been romantic, but one fraught with danger and fear.

  Lud dragged in the oars to rest their handles across his lap. As they sat unmoving upon the gently lapping water, he doffed his cut-brim round hat to Johnny. “I’ve seen that look in a fellow’s eye before, and if you have taken a fancy to my cousin Iris, then, sir, you are an even braver fellow than I first believed.”

  Johnny chuckled along with his friend but spoke no words to confirm or deny. He gazed off the port bow at the increasing cloudiness, as Lud took up his paddles and resumed rowing. What difference would it make what he felt? He could never return to Nook House.

  The sky had dulled to a gloomy gray. Johnny furrowed his brow at a massive black thunderhead rolling in from the east. He’d thought the worst had past, but the present sky did not bode well to his weather eye.

  They neared Clark’s Island’s western shores. Johnny scanned the deserted shoreline and the forest that lay beyond. Not a breath of wind touched his cheek. The cold, briny air hung eerily still in the atmosphere, creating the sensation of suspended time.

  Unexpectedly, the sky brightened and they both glanced overhead to see, not a bolt of lightning, but the heavens glowing in a sudden flash of purple and blue inside the thick clouds. Just as quickly the light flickered out. A moment or two passed and then a distant growl of thunder rumbled deep and low across the waves.

  Johnny looked to Lud and understanding passed between them. Darkness would soon be upon them. The lantern room would need attention earlier tha
n expected, and Johnny gave a silent prayer of thanksgiving for Lud’s assistance, knowing he’d not be forced to suffer yet another full day without the relief of sleep.

  High above the trees and brush arose the whitewashed lighthouse tower. Working in companionable silence, they dragged the boat up the beach to the grassy shore and then farther inland than usual before finding a safe place to secure it.

  A light, damp mist surrounded them as they tramped the path to the forty-seven foot beacon. Johnny eased open the heavy wooden door built into the stone foundation and welcomed Lud into his living quarters. The hearth fire had long gone out but the two-foot thick walls did an admirable job of retaining heat.

  Johnny hastened straightaway to make the long, winding climb and light the lamps, while Lud gathered tinder to revive the fire in the hearth. By the time Johnny returned below, his humble abode had begun to glow with light and heat. Lud seemed to have supper preparations well in hand, so Johnny headed for his easy chair and fell exhausted into the worn seat.

  He did not know how long he dozed, but he woke to the spit and crackle of a roaring fire and the savory aroma of roasted chicken, onion and herbs, wafting through the warm air.

  Johnny stretched drowsily, shifting his gaze out the window. Wet, fat snowflakes had begun to fall, melting on contact against the small panes.

  He came fully awake. “How long has it been snowing?”

  Lud shrugged, bent over the three-legged, cast iron cooking pot in the hearth, browning sausages. “I only noticed it myself a moment ago. You woke just in time. Come and sit. Supper is served.”

  Lud set two heaping plates on the table. Johnny scratched his two day’s growth of beard, as he pulled himself a seat on one of the ladder-back chairs. “This is a rare treat,” he said, allowing his assistant keeper to pour him a cup of coffee. “I cannot remember when I last tasted good Yankee home cooking, but I suspect part of my pleasure is due to the fact that, for once, I don’t have to eat alone.”