The Sister Wife

by Diane Noble

  He looked up to the quarterdeck. Hosea met his eyes and nodded, looking proud.

  The crew shouted, sending up still more whoops and hollers and whistles as the parade of boats reached them, then turned to escort the Sea Hawk into harbor.

  He looked back to the quarterdeck to give the captain a victory salute but Hosea had left, likely for his cabin.

  Gabe patted his jacket pocket, where he’d tucked Enid’s letter. Even the thought of it weighed heavy on him. He wished there was another way. But he had given Enid his word.

  He gave Mary Rose’s hand a squeeze, and said, “I have business with the captain. I’m not sure how long it will take. But I’ll return as soon as I can.”

  She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said.

  “Lady did it again,” Ruby whispered in a loud voice. “She’th going to be kithing Mithter MacKay all the time now.”

  Gabe entered the captain’s quarters, and Hosea stood to greet him. “We did it, sir,” he said, shaking his friend’s hand. “Cunard will be ecstatic when he finds out.”

  “And more competitive than ever.” Hosea grinned. “Your leaving Cunard, the ship, overshadows the triumph, Gabe. It won’t be the same.”

  Gabe looked down, studying his hands. “I know I’ve made the right choice for a lot of reasons.” He was thinking about Enid as he spoke. After Hosea read the letter, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to work with him on the return voyage.

  “You look troubled, Gabe. Certainly not like a man who’s just married the woman of his dreams.”

  Gabe looked up, trying to find the words to soften Enid’s disclosure.

  Hosea leaned forward. “What is it, man? You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here right now. What’s going on?”

  Gabe reached into his coat pocket and drew out the letter.

  “Your letter of resignation to Cunard.” Hosea chuckled as he reached for it. “Don’t tell me you changed your mind…” He looked at the handwriting on the envelope and frowned. “Enid…?”

  Gabe sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, unable to bear taking in Hosea’s expression as he read.

  A cold silence dominated the room.

  He heard Hosea put the pages down, and looked up.

  “She had a baby out of wedlock.” He dropped his head into his hands and held it there, his fingers splayed in his hair. “Did you know this?”

  “Not until I saw her in Halifax, sir.” Gabe’s heart pounded, knowing the confession he needed to make and how it would change everything.

  When he lifted his eyes the captain’s gaze was boring in on him. “Why did she need to tell you? She says in her letter she was sixteen. You knew her then; you would have been aware…” An unnatural light came from someplace behind the captain’s eyes and he leaned forward. “I can think of only one reason she told you—and I would imagine it was not in Halifax. I would imagine it was on the island. Do you know why I think this?” His voice was low, but filled with anger, disappointment, and brokenness, a tone that Gabe had never heard in it before.

  “You are wrong, sir. I didn’t know until Halifax, until that day we spoke. She gave me the letter to deliver to you and told me its contents.”

  “Because you were the father of that child.” His words were clipped.

  “I didn’t know about the child, sir. Enid told me he died in her arms just hours after his birth.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Gabe drew in a deep breath and released it as if it were his soul spilling out in front of his friend. “Yes, he was my son.”

  “You had a son with my wife, and as close as our friendship has been all these years, you never uttered a word about it. You never told me you bedded her. You said you were friends. I knew you loved her, but I never imagined…”

  “Sir, I swear to you I didn’t know about the child. What happened all those years ago never happened again. We never even spoke of it.”

  Hosea stared at Gabe as if he were a stranger. His eyes had turned to ice. He stood formally as if to dismiss a crew member.

  Gabe tried to regain his emotional bearings. “Sir, how could I have told you? It’s not something I could just drop into one of our conversations. You’re my friend as no other has been. What we’ve been through together should count for something.”

  The silence was unbearable.

  “Please forgive me,” he said with a heavy sigh, dropping his head into his hands. “Forgive us both. It happened long before she met you…”

  “Did you love her?”

  He was damned if he said yes, damned if he said no. He’d feel more like a sniveling eijit if he tried to explain that it happened soon after his parents’ death. On her part it was meant to comfort; on his, to be comforted. It was wrong, so wrong to have given into their love for each other for those reasons. But how could he explain that to Hosea? So he didn’t answer the question.

  “We have nothing more to talk about.” The captain turned his back on Gabe.

  Gabe tried once more to get through to him. “I’ve always looked up to you and your sense of mercy and forgiveness. You’re a just man, whether as master and commander, or in dealing with other relationships.

  “Doesn’t a friend deserve such consideration? When I ask for forgiveness, or for that matter, when Enid does—as I’m sure she did in the letter—is your heart not big enough to extend to us the same mercies that you extend to others?”

  Gabe’s voice rose as he continued. “You’ve been my family—both of you—since my own died. The only crack in the wall I put up around myself when I thought that God was distant and disinterested in his people, when I shut him out of my life…” He strode around the captain’s desk and stood in front of him, unable to take the sight of his back a moment longer. “The only crack in that wall was you, Hosea. You showed me God’s unconditional mercy and compassion. I saw it in you. I wanted to be like you. I clung to the compassion for others I saw in you—it was the only reflection of God I could live with.”

  He was breathing hard, his emotions charged, not realizing until this moment how unjust Hosea’s actions toward him seemed. “Has it all been an act?”

  Hosea didn’t answer, just stared at him with those cold eyes.

  “The reading of Scripture, the talk of God’s mercy and grace? Don’t you realize that your faith was my lifeline all these years?”

  Hosea almost roared, “Then why did you forsake that God for another?”

  Gabe stepped back in surprise. So the anger wasn’t just about Enid. It was about Brigham Young, Joseph Smith, the Saints, his new faith. A different kind of betrayal that compounded the other.

  “He is the same God.”

  Hosea stepped closer to him, and for a moment Gabe thought he might grab him by the collar. His face was red, and he too was breathing hard. “The Mormons believe in a false God. They say all the right words, they pray and, yes, they somehow perform miracles, but who is the entity behind those prayers?”

  “Why haven’t you said anything about this before?”

  “I’ve only known since Halifax. While you and my wife were talking over old times in the St. Paul’s memorial garden, I spent an hour with the rector, a friend, and asked if he knew anything about the Mormons. He knew plenty. And he warned about their teachings. They believe man can become a god. They believe our God was once human, just as we are. He is not eternal, in their thinking, but he progressed to the godhead through good works on earth. It’s a false religion, Mr. MacKay.”

  Gabe backed away from the captain. “That is not true. How could the infant move into the right position in the birth canal if not for a miracle? It had to be of God.”

  “A different god, Mr. MacKay.”

  “There’s only one.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. And he is eternal, as we find in Isaiah. He calls himself by the name I AM, not I WAS or I WILL BE.”

  “The great eternal God I
thought I knew,” Gabe said, “didn’t save the ship that capsized with my parents and sister on board.”

  “You knew that ship was ready for the boneyard before it pulled anchor. You warned them. You can’t blame God for everything that goes wrong in the world. He gave man the gift of free will, and sometimes man abuses it.”

  Gabe winced. Hosea might as well have hit him in the stomach. “You feel I betrayed you because of my new faith that doesn’t match yours, not because of Enid. You think I betrayed our friendship because I have now turned to those who believe as I do. Perhaps, my captain, this has as much to do with these things as it does with your wife.”

  “You obviously have it figured out and don’t need me to help you. Go to Brigham, let him advise you.”

  “What about Enid? Can you find it in your heart to forgive her? She loves you, she told me—”

  Hosea’s laugh was bitter. “You obviously know my wife better than I do.”

  Gabe lowered his voice. “Forgive her, I beg of you, Hosea. Forgive her. She was only sixteen when this happened, and she’s been burdened with this terrible secret for all these years. She didn’t have to tell you now. Or tell me. She could have kept it to herself and never told anyone. She did it at great cost.”

  Hosea’s eyes blazed. “I am the master and commander of this ship. I can damn well do as I please. Do not tell me, sir, to forgive or not forgive, to extend mercy and justice, or not to extend either. And as master of this ship, I command you, Mr. MacKay, to take your family as far away from me as you can get as soon as we drop anchor. Be on your way to your promised land with your Saints.”

  “Hosea…”

  But the captain had turned his back once more.

  SEVENTEEN

  Halifax, Nova Scotia

  On the afternoon the Sea Hawk was scheduled to drop anchor in Halifax, Enid waited at the harbor, her trunks packed and ready for the voyage to England with Hosea. A light rain had been falling since midnight and at first those passengers milling about the harbor supposed it was the inclement weather that had put the Sea Hawk behind. But as dusk settled in, Enid’s worries increased. The rain now began falling in earnest. In the distance, lightning split open the sky, and the thunder grew closer.

  Though her parents’ town house was only a short distance away, she remained at the harbor, keeping vigil for her husband’s ship, her buggy and Firefox in the livery across from the wharf, where she stood in the doorway, which provided an expansive view of ships entering and leaving the harbor.

  When darkness fell and the storm moved onshore, she walked over to the small customs building across the street. It housed the harbormaster’s office, which she had already visited several times that day.

  The harbormaster recognized her and nodded as she came in again. “G’evenin’, Mrs. Livingstone,” he said. “Still no word. I’m sorry.” He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to her. “If you’ll write down where you’re staying, when the ship drops anchor, I’ll get word to you right away. I’d say they’ve likely laid anchor in some safe harbor on the coast, waiting till the squall passes. We probably won’t hear anything till morning, so you might as well go home.”

  Her heart heavy, Enid crossed the street to the livery and, minutes later, driving the buggy, returned to her parents’ home to wait. She spent a restless night, unable to sleep, worried about the ship, Hosea’s safety, and his reaction to the letter.

  She finally dozed off just before dawn only to be awakened by pounding at the door. The murmur of voices carried up the stairs to her bedroom and she heard the words “Sea Hawk.”

  Just as she pulled on her duster her father called for her to come downstairs. His voice was solemn, and her heart quickened. Something was wrong.

  As she reached the bottom stair she recognized Hosea’s chief mate, Mr. Thorpe. His face was etched with sorrow. Enid’s parents moved close to her, one on either side. Her mother took her hand, and her father encircled her shoulders with his arm.

  She stiffened, prepared for the worst. Why else would Mr. Thorpe be paying her a visit?

  “Mrs. Livingstone, I fear I bear the worst news possible,” he said.

  Enid backed away. “No,” she said. “It can’t be true.”

  “We came upon a sudden squall. The captain had gone aft to check on something he thought was amiss when a rogue wave crashed over the deck. No one noticed at first that he was missing, so we lost valuable time starting the search.” He shook his head. “Once the call was given, we turned back. The seas were so rough it was an impossible task from the beginning, but we spent nearly six hours looking.”

  Enid’s eyes filled. “No,” she whispered again. “It can’t be.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Mr. Thorpe said. “The entire cadre of officers and crew send their condolences. I’m sure you will also hear from Cunard as well, but it will take some time to get the news of the captain’s death to him.” His gaze met hers. “He was a good man, a good captain, Mrs. Livingstone. Admired by all who knew him. We will send one of the seamen with your husband’s things later this afternoon.”

  “Thank you,” Enid said.

  He again expressed his condolences and took his leave.

  Enid fell into the nearest chair, while her mother went into the kitchen to make her some tea. She covered her face with her hands and rocked back and forth, her agony so great the tears would not come. She tried to get the picture out of her head of what it must have been like for Hosea in the crashing waves, the frantic search for something to hang on to, watching his ship sail away from him—and her heart twisted so hard and ached so deeply, she thought the blood had surely stopped its flow.

  Looking up at her father, she said, “The commander of a vessel never leaves the quarterdeck unless it’s for his cabin. The chief mate said that Hosea had gone aft to check on something.”

  “Aye, that he did, child.”

  “Mr. Thorpe knows that too, and perhaps that’s why he was vague about what Hosea was doing. The commander of a ship gives the order to the chief mate, who would then send a seaman to fix whatever it was that needed fixing. The commander of the ship is just that—the commander. He makes decisions, critical decisions, but he does not put himself in unnecessary danger, because the lives of all on board are in his hands.” She watched her father’s face, and saw his agreement. “Yet Hosea broke all the rules and went aft during a raging storm.”

  “What are you saying?” Her father leaned forward.

  Her mother came into the room, and stood in the doorway, holding the cup of tea. She apparently had heard Enid’s last statement and exchanged a worried glance with her father.

  “He purposely put himself in danger,” Enid said. “The question is why?”

  By late afternoon, a seaman by the name of Fitzgibbons delivered Hosea’s personal effects: three large trunks and a smaller one that Enid recognized as that which he kept under lock and key on the table in his quarters.

  The sun was fading into a red sky when she placed the small trunk on her lap in her parents’ parlor. She unlocked the box and opened it. Her letter, sent with Gabe, lay on the top. Underneath it lay another, addressed to her. Her fingers trembling, she unfolded it and began to read:

  Dear Enid,

  It was with great dismay that I read your letter. I wish you had told me in person, not in Halifax, but years ago. You have asked my forgiveness, and because of my love for you, I extend it. Forgetting your transgressions and your secret relationship with Mr. MacKay is another matter. This news is of course disquieting, to say the least, and I am uncertain what steps to take next. I will need time to sort out my feelings. I think it best that we do not see each other when the Sea Hawk drops anchor in Halifax, which of course means that I do not wish you to accompany me to London.

  I must tell you that I am considering legal proceedings to dissolve our marriage; however, I need time to search my heart regarding this matter. Betrayal is not something easily forgotten….

  The letter was
unfinished and unsigned. Enid refolded it and returned it to the small chest. She locked the chest, carried it upstairs, placed it under the bed, and then dropped the tiny brass key in her shoe. She refused to cry; she would save her tears for later. If she did start to cry, she would never stop.

  She kept her thoughts on her animals, those that were injured and needed her. She wanted to be with them, to hold on to a newborn colt, or look into the eyes of a beloved horse, or watch a child’s face after she’d healed a sick puppy or kitten. She let the images of her farm flood into her mind as she tried to crowd out the sorrow.

  It didn’t help. Almost frantic to return to Charlottetown, she dressed in the same clothes she had arrived in, asked her parents to keep Hosea’s trunks if they would, and with her head held high she strode down the street to the livery. Minutes later, she flicked the reins above Foxfire’s back and drove her buggy to the wharf to catch the next packet ship home.

  As she came over the rise above the Halifax harbor, the sunlight caught the gleaming sails of the Sea Hawk, being piloted from the harbor. She was magnificent, her sails billowing, her movement both graceful and powerful.

  It was then, watching her disappear into the horizon that Enid finally cried.

  EIGHTEEN

  It took nearly three weeks to make the necessary purchases for the long journey, join up with the immigrants who arrived by packet ship one week after the Sea Hawk, and organize the leaders to oversee the company that now numbered nearly three hundred men, women, and children. The group first made their way to Baltimore, then mustered again, preparing for the trek straight west on the Cumberland Road.

  Gabe insisted on purchasing a Conestoga with a team of oxen. The big freight wagons were notoriously clumsy and had difficulty on the trails west of the Mississippi, but the roads east of the Mississippi accommodated wagons of all sizes: carriages, farm wagons, and large freight wagons. When the company finally gathered the last week in July, the rigs were split into three divisions with a captain over each, chosen by Brigham.