The Downeaster: Deadly Voyage

by Paul Thomas Fuhrman

  Israel Dunrow interrupted. “Show him the pistol I sold you—go ahead, Captain Griffin.” Dunrow was proud of his sale.

  “Can you take it out of its box for me, Israel?” He held up his gloved right hand.

  “See? It’s a Smith and Wesson Russian, big .44 caliber. You can club a man with it or shoot him. Here’s what I like.”

  Griffin took the heavy blue steel revolver by its walnut stocks, holding it in his left hand. He then jammed the barrel down between his shirt and trousers on his right side. “Watch this.”

  Using only his left thumb and index finger, he opened the break-top mechanism and showed Captain Bray how the case ejectors worked. “All I got to do now is pick a few cartridges from my pocket, and it’s loaded. That’s not all. I’ll ask a saddlemaker to fashion a shoulder harness for me. The barrel will go straight down under my armpit and tie onto my belt.”

  “Can I show you something, Captain Bray?” Israel Dunrow asked.

  “Naw, not today. Got my old Navy Colt. Converted it.”

  “I’ll take a trade.”

  Not sharing the clerk’s enthusiasm for selling firearms, Griffin asked, “Bray, do you know Peleg Carver?”

  “I do. He’s a full fathom tall, fists as big as hams, and carries them down at his sides like he’s ready for a fight; you know, his shoulders lean forward like this, like he’s saying, ‘Come on, lad, try me.’ ”

  Griffin nodded gently to let Bray know he understood him.

  “What kind of sailor is he?”

  Bray replied, “First-rate. Proud of his ship, too. Has had a master’s ticket for years.”

  “Why doesn’t he have his own ship?”

  Griffin saw nothing on Bray’s face to indicate surprise or deceit.

  “He and his family are all deep-water men. About all that’s been available are coastal schooners. His damned pride! He could have a big five- or six-master if he wanted but says he’s a ship-rigged man and goes to sea. He’s concerned about his family’s tradition, all Searsport men for generations, all masters. Carver ain’t starving as a mate.”

  Bray chuckled as he said “ain’t starving.”

  “Is that it, Bray?”

  “Well, no. I’ve heard he’s got a superstitious streak in him like an old johnny. I’ve also heard he won’t abide someone crossing him. But as long as we have to ship men by American rules, he’s as good as it gets. He can make them see the light about deserting ship before payout, and he can make a sailorman out of a mule.”

  Griffin nodded. “He’s going to be my first mate going round the Horn. Lennon will be second mate, but he doesn’t know celestial. He’s learning, though.”

  Captain Bray smiled. “Well, Carver’s a Maine man. He’ll suit you fine. By the way, a group of us is going to the Belle and Maiden Friday; an association dinner is what I told my missus, no business, just cards and cigars.”

  Griffin smiled toward his friend. “Can’t. Kicking Billy’s having me over for dinner. Miss Hanna, Junior’s wife, will have a suffragette friend for me to meet.”

  Captain Bray looked at his friend and winked. “A real looker, I’ll bet.”

  Griffin smirked.

  Four

  A Dinner Party

  Whenas in silks my Julia goes,

  Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows

  The liquefaction of her clothes.

  Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see

  That brave vibration each way free,

  Oh, how that glittering taketh me.

  —Robert Herrick

  Friday, March 29, 1872

  Boston

  Griffin looked at his pocket watch to assure himself he would be neither late nor too early for the dinner party. His day had been busy. Besides meeting with William Jr., he had taken his chronometers to be cleaned and registered. He had bought a new set of oilskins and sea-boots from James Bliss and Company. He had bought gifts for Hanna Christison and Kayleigh MacKenna, a novel by an English author, a woman. The bookseller’s attractive clerk had assured him it would please any gentlewoman. So of that much he was confident; it was his favorite bookstore.

  Jimmy Meehan, his cook and yacht keeper, had helped him into his evening clothes, particularly with his white tie. Jimmy also had reminded him, to his irritation, what his mother had taught him. A gentleman always approached the plainest or the most elderly female first. He assumed he would approach her first and tell her of his delight in meeting her. All the better, he thought, if she happened to be a redhead. His only concern, nay fear, was his inability with polite but meaningless talk.

  The butler opened the double doors to the parlor and announced, “Captain Isaac Griffin.”

  Perhaps it was the light in the parlor, perhaps habit from ships—low overheads—but he ducked his head. When he brought his head up again, his eyes were focused directly on a redheaded woman’s eyes, the green eyes of Kayleigh MacKenna. Griffin stumbled with the words—“Good evening”—but at least he had spoken first.

  ***

  Kayleigh MacKenna helped Hanna Christison endure that great nightmare of all mistresses of the house: the half hour spent in anticipation of her guests’ arrival and the anxiety of making sure everything was perfect. She watched Hanna confer with the housekeeper, then sit at the table to see if the height of the fresh flower arrangement obscured the vision of the person sitting across the table. She heard Hanna insist on candlelight because of its ambiance, its intimacy, and dreaded the romantic implications intended for her.

  She followed Hanna to the kitchen to oversee each course in its preparation. The footman’s livery was correct; Missus looked impeccable in her black uniform. However, most of Hanna’s attention prior to this, indeed, nearly the whole morning and the better part of the afternoon, had been directed toward Kayleigh MacKenna herself.

  “No. No. I will not wear a corset. Not that one or that one. None at all, Hanna. Don’t you have something from the artistic dress movement? Something intelligent?”

  “You mean something shaped like a circus tent? No, I have nothing of the kind. I’ve never had anything of that kind, nor will I ever have. I’m so sorry the turquoise dress doesn’t suit you. You know, as thin as you are, you just barely need the corset—no tight lacing.”

  “No, I would have to wear that thing under it, the baleen stays, no, thank you. How shall I bend or breathe?”

  “Well, dear, how about this?” Hanna then showed Kayleigh an emerald green ball gown by Worth. She held it next to Kayleigh’s arm.

  “Oh, that is wonderful.” Kayleigh was pleased.

  “Yes, it accents your complexion brilliantly—even better than the turquoise dress. Try it.”

  Hanna and a maid helped Kayleigh undress.

  “Try this tournure; it’s muslin.”

  The two women stood in front of Hanna’s full-length mirror. Kayleigh turned slowly, looking at herself first from the front, then from the back, peering over each shoulder. Then she turned to Hanna and smiled. “I do like it.”

  Once the choice of dresses was determined, Kayleigh and Hanna turned their attention to their hair. When a woman gazes upon herself in a mirror, she alone has the clarity of vision to see how the tiniest of curls or the subtlest of layers affects the faring of her beautiful face. “Oh, no, Hanna. It makes my face too long.”

  Despite such pronouncements, Kayleigh welcomed Hanna’s suggestions. In the end, the red and blond crowns of glory proclaimed the strikingly wholesome beauty of the two women. This achievement was obtained with the help of Harper’s Bazaar, two maids, and much cast-iron technology devoted to making of hair something that nature had neglected to do. The women were delighted despite the doubts they raised with questions to each other and the anxious moments spent in front of Hanna’s mirror.

  ***

  The half hour before dinner: The plate! Kayleigh watched as Hanna summoned the butler and a mismatched fish fork was replaced with a matching one. Every detail was now in place; every detail was perfect, inclu
ding Kayleigh MacKenna.

  At last the hour came, the minute arrived, and the exact second passed. The butler escorted Griffin through the great hall and to the parlor doors and announced his arrival.

  Kayleigh thought she would laugh at first. He ducked his head as he passed through the parlor doors. When he raised his head, he caught her staring at him. He formed a smile. She formed a smile. His gray eyes were indeed mesmerizing. They were not the eyes of a youth or a fool but bore witness to what he had seen, where he had been. His black hair was lightly grizzled with gray well before its time. He wore a well-trimmed beard and mustache that seemed to hide his mouth. It was his eyes that revealed the smile, the instant and honest delight he experienced at seeing her.

  He’s shy.

  William Jr. stepped forward to introduce Griffin to her. She had already determined that she would extend her hand to him. It was then she saw his right hand was covered not with a formal white glove worn with evening clothes, but in black kid leather, immobile black leather.

  A wooden hand?

  ***

  It was only a handshake of gloved hands. Griffin extended his left hand to her right. Their eyes met again. They smiled. The significance, the momentous effect, came when he realized that their hands remained clasped longer than they should. His left hand seemed supremely sensitive to him. He savored her warmth and the length of her fingers pressing his palm. He felt the delicious smallness of her hand, a woman’s hand. He felt her fingers grip his, relax, and then grip them again in an embrace. He should have felt uncomfortable. He should have wondered if anyone saw them do this, as should she. If anyone saw him behave so boldly with a gentlewoman he had just met. He did not care. He waited to release her hand when he felt her hand relax in his, when he saw her smile, blink her eyes quickly, and refocus their warmth on his.

  ***

  She was stunned. It was his left hand. She realized that she initially relaxed her grip from the surprise. Then she gripped his fingers with hers. Her fingers sensed the strength of his. Her palm told her how pleased he was with her. He wished to caress her, to hold her. She smiled and relaxed her grip but held the hand in place, letting his fingers trace its contours as he withdrew his hand. Once her hand and his were no longer clasped, they remained unconsciously poised to grasp each other again. Her eyes glanced to the side to see if the others were watching and returned to his eyes. She smiled. She abandoned concern for who might be looking and what they thought.

  Kayleigh knew it had taken place in a moment, many seconds short of a minute. Kayleigh was overcome with surprise and the sensations of her body reacting to this man. These instincts were both frightening and pleasant. Their warmth pushed aside her fear and stirred a hunger for more. This was the most wonderful moment of her life.

  Could he feel this way too?

  ***

  “Miss MacKenna, I’m delighted to meet you.”

  “It pleases me to meet you, Captain Griffin.”

  “Miss Hanna, Miss MacKenna, I hope these novels offer you some enjoyment. I was assured they would.” The butler gave each woman her gift, looked to Hanna for permission to leave, bowed slightly, and left the room.

  Hanna Christison spoke first. “Thank you, Captain Griffin. I can’t ever remember seeing such a lovely leather-bound edition of Pride and Prejudice. Miss MacKenna and I will treasure our gifts always.” And, with a noticeably different tone, a tone betraying apprehension, or so Griffin thought: “You will, won’t you, Kayleigh?”

  Griffin saw Hanna turn her head to watch her friend’s reaction.

  Griffin had no barometer, no sextant, not even a lead line; nothing to discover what was happening within these women’s minds. He did see Hanna raise her right hand to cover her mouth.

  What?

  Kayleigh extended her hand to touch Griffin’s forearm and gushed, “Thank you so much, Captain Griffin. This novel has always been a favorite of mine. I don’t think Mr. Darcy himself could have bought so beautiful a gift for a woman. It will always remind me of you and this evening.”

  Griffin heard Hanna exhale. The butler, who had quietly reentered the room, took the novels and set them aside.

  Again they held each other’s hands as he bowed slightly towards her. She was his sole focus. Dinner was announced. Griffin was pleased that Kayleigh took his left arm so readily and let him lead her to the dining room and help her take her seat.

  Five

  The Dinner

  But as all several souls contain

  Mixtures of things they know not what,

  Love these mix’d souls doth mix again,

  And makes both one, each this, and that.

  —John Donne

  Friday, March 29, 1872

  Boston

  Kayleigh MacKenna thoroughly enjoyed the split pea soup and poached salmon with egg sauce. She was virtually unaware of William Jr.’s attempt to maintain polite conversation as he summarized the news so far for March. Her attention was focused directly across the table, over the top of the flower arrangement.

  William Jr. commented, “I don’t recall a colder March or as much snow in my lifetime. I’m ready for spring. What about you, Griffin?”

  “I won’t see much of a New England spring. It will be winter in Antarctica and the Southern Hemisphere.”

  Kicking Billy interjected, “Keeps the fast ice frozen up to the shore of the South Shetlands. The pack ice starts to form in late August.”

  Isaac Griffin replied, “Yes, that’s my recollection.”

  William Jr. again took the conversational helm. “Wonderful dinner, Hanna. Don’t you agree, Miss MacKenna?”

  Kayleigh replied, “The salmon was magnificent, and the Chablis—a Droin?—it pairs so well with the salmon. I think the dinner has been wonderful too.”

  She addressed Griffin almost silently. “How do you cope with being so separated from the news while you’re at sea? I would feel marooned, I am sure.”

  William Jr. droned on about a railway accident in Maine caused by the heavy snow.

  Griffin raised his eyes to hers. “The news isn’t that important, unless we declare war. We do speak with other ships at sea and exchange information. I always have at least one newspaper aboard. If the other ship is bound for New England or the Eastern Seaboard, we may give him letters to post for us. My mates often do this.”

  He watched for her response and smiled. “I do read when I can. I’m interested in ideas and questions, very few novels. When I’m ashore, I spend much time at the library—there’s so little room for books aboard ship and so little time to read.”

  Kayleigh was delighted. She now could engage Griffin in spoken conversation, a discussion to encourage further unspoken exchanges between their eyes.

  “What do you read, Captain?”

  “I bought The Descent of Man in Bath and almost finished it on the train. His ideas will be shocking to some. The book is not an altogether enjoyable read, too much biological detail. Needed, I suppose?”

  William Jr. overheard Griffin and Kayleigh. “Darwin, eh, Griffin?”

  Kayleigh noticed that Griffin looked in William Jr.’s direction and then began drumming the table slowly with the index finger of his left hand. Kayleigh addressed William Jr. “I asked the captain what he reads. Perhaps, given his circumstances at sea, he should be allowed to discuss Darwin if he pleases. Would you be offended, Hanna?”

  “Oh, no, not at all. My William has come to some interesting conclusions about Darwin. He’s read several articles on this latest book and attended a lecture at Harvard Divinity School. He speaks of it all the time.” Then she added, “I’m so proud of him.”

  Kicking Billy was not shy at all. “I’d rather talk about the Apaches and the Black Hills of Dakota—there’s the next gold rush.”

  The wild rice with chicken liver pilaf and the vegetable courses were served with a chilled Trimbach gewürztraminer.

  Kicking Billy smiled. “Hanna knows how much I love this wine. The spice! The chicken
’s good too. Never had a cook or steward at sea that could do this well. Maude tried, though.”

  Kayleigh’s eyes shifted to Kicking Billy. “Maude?”

  “My wife. She’s passed on. Consumption.” He labored with the word “consumption.”

  “I’m so sorry for you, Commodore.”

  “Maude went to sea with me. Still haven’t gotten used to sleeping alone in bed.”

  William Jr. looked around the table and gently shook his head in obvious embarrassment for his father. “Darwin has interesting things to say about the place of men and women.”

  Kayleigh asked, “He does?” Her voice was mezzo-soprano.

  Hanna smiled; she assumed polite agreement with her husband’s opinions.

  “Yes, Miss MacKenna, he certainly does. Men are superior to women in so many uncontested ways; we are the stronger, more aggressive, and more intelligent of our species because our brains are larger as well as our trunks and limbs. Why, that woman’s ideas—I mean Miss Claflin’s—are ridiculous. It is indeed my duty to protect Hanna, to provide for her and provide a home in which she can attain her natural happiness, which is to bear and nurture our children.”

  Griffin lowered his head and spoke in a near whisper. “I don’t understand his reference, this Miss Claflin? Who is she, Miss MacKenna?”

  “She believes women should have the vote.” Kayleigh motioned for Griffin to move his head closer to hers so she would not be overheard. “She’s a Libertarian and believes in free love. She’s even attempting to run a brokerage on Wall Street. They ostracized her for her ideas.”

  Griffin replied, “Free love? So? The men on the HMS Bounty mutinied because love was free in the South Pacific islands and they did not want to return to England, where it wasn’t. They took native wives and risked hanging.”

  Kayleigh asked, “You don’t consider the native women’s behavior immoral?”

  “I’m not sure morality has anything to do with it. For them, it’s simply natural. If a woman there wants a man, she is free to pursue him. If a man wants an island woman, he knows he must please her.”