On my way back to the house, I heard the sound of a log falling from the woodpile in the shed. It could’ve been an Indian dog, or some other animal. I could have left it at that. There was plenty of wood in the stack against the house. I didn’t need another stick.
And yet . . . I couldn’t shake that odd feeling I’d had all day, that I was not alone. So I took a deep breath, held it, and walked over to the woodshed. I pushed open the door and peered in.
The light reached only a foot or two inside the woodshed, then it was dim, leading to darkness. For a moment, I could see nothing as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. There was a narrow gap between wood and wall, for access to the stacks of piled wood. In that gap stood a man.
I stared at him and he stared at me. Heart pounding, I recognized him as Richard Swain’s Negro. He had seemed so big to me when I’d seen him those two times, but I realized with a start that he was the same height as me, and I am not considered to be tall.
“I beg you,” he whispered. “Do not turn me back to the master.”
I did not know what to say! I backed up, out of the woodshed, and hurried to the house. I paced around the kitchen, unsure of what to do. Though it was early in the day, I decided to prepare the meal, as cooking and baking always helped me settle my mind. As I set the kettle of beans on the hearth, I wondered if the Negro was hungry. When had he last eaten? How long had he been in the woodshed? When the cornbread had finished baking, I cut a large chunk of it, smeared it with butter and honey, added a few pieces of bacon that were meant for the bean pot, and wrapped it all in a handkerchief. I thought of the thin clothing he was wearing, of how cold and dark that shed was. In our bedroom, I went through Nathaniel’s clothes and grabbed a sweater that he rarely wore, for the scratchy wool gave him a rash, and some stockings I had knit for him that were much too big. At the last moment, I pulled one of the quilts off our bed and wrapped everything inside like a parcel.
I ran out to the woodshed, opened the door, and dropped it inside, then ran back to the house. When I reached the door, I felt foolish, for the Negro meant me no harm. If he had wanted to hurt me, he’d had plenty of opportunity, all day long.
In the afternoon, as the sun was setting, I realized I’d forgotten all about the chickens. If Esther found out that I’d let them out in the yard, I’d never hear the end of it. Those chickens were her babies. I wrapped my woolen shawl around my head and shoulders, and ran to the henhouse. The hens were all inside, all accounted for. The Negro had done it for me.
Not five minutes later, I heard the voices of Catherine and Esther come up the path. The first words out of Esther’s mouth were news about Richard Swain’s runaway slave. “He says he will offer a reward for the slave’s return! Two pounds sterling, he said. I looked for signs of him as we walked home.” She clapped her hands together. “I would like to have two pounds.”
I stirred the beans as she spoke and kept my gaze fixed on the bubbling pot. “And did you find any signs?”
“Nay. Not one. But I aim to keep looking.”
“Why did the slave run?”
Catherine snorted, surprising me with her answer. “I wouldn’t want to be a dog of Richard Swain’s.” She took the lid off the bean pot to stir the beans and frowned. “They’re burned! And you’ve made enough for the King’s army. What were you thinking?”
I don’t know. All day, my thoughts were like barn swallows, swooping in and out without any destination in mind.
I did not sleep well. All through the night, I kept waking up, my mind filled with one thought: “There is no way this can turn out well.”
10
Ren had been caulking cracks in the Endeavour’s top deck seams when he heard a voice call up to him. He went to the side and peered over. There was Tristram, waving his broad-brimmed hat at him from the dory down below. “Throw over a rope.”
Ren threw down the climbing rig and watched as Tristram made his way up to the railing. He gave him a hand and yanked him onto the deck. “What brings you here, cousin?”
Tristram brushed off his pants and straightened his gray double-breasted topcoat. “Lillian Coffin just paid me a call. She believes it is high time I propose marriage to Daphne and wanted to apply a bit of pressure.” He grinned. “Seemed like a very good time to make haste to the Endeavour.”
Ren kept his eyes on the tips of Tristram’s polished black boots. “So,” he said, thinking that his cousin had become quite a dandy, “you do not agree with Lillian’s assessment?”
“I . . . suppose . . . I do . . . ,” he said slowly, distractedly. “But,” he grinned, “what is the need for hurry?”
“Lillian’s fortune, for one.”
“Oh, cousin. Does thee think I would marry any girl for money?”
“Daphne’s not just any girl.”
Tristram stopped. “Nay, she is not. Daphne is . . . well, she’s Daphne. One of a kind.”
“She’d make any man a fine wife.”
Trist gave Ren a hard, tight smile. “I did not row all the way out here to discuss the impending risk to my beloved bachelorhood. Nay!” And he gave his cousin’s shoulder a little shove, relaxing his face. “I come bearing tidings.”
“Good tidings, I hope. I’m weary of bad news.”
“Excellent news. The Illumine is nearing completion, but for some details in the captain’s quarters that I thought thee might like the final say on. After all, the cabin will be thy home for the next few years. I hoped we could go together to Salem to inspect it.”
Ren hesitated, crossing his arms against his chest, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “I’ve been thinking on this, Tristram. I think you should captain the Illumine for her maiden voyage.”
Trist’s face, alit with delight only seconds ago, suddenly lost its smile. “Me?” His voice rose an octave.
“You wouldn’t have to stay out long, mayhap six months or so. Seek out right whales. They’re slow and cumbersome and stay in a pod. Most every sailor cuts his teeth on a right whale. There’s a reason they were given that name.”
“Me?” he repeated dumbly.
“Or go north, capture minke whales, if you can catch them. They’re small, but plentiful. They can be evasive, I agree, but I’ll give you an advantage that few seamen know. When a very big squall is in the makings, the minkes launch up in the air like a cannon ball, and give away their position. Most ships batten down the hatch, but that’s the time to hunt.”
Tristram’s face blanched. “And then thee has a very big squall to deal with.” He stood silently for a long time, hands tucked under his crossed arms. “What’s changed thy mind? Why wouldn’t thee want to go?”
“I do want to. But I can’t leave the children after what they’ve been through. Not so soon after Jane’s death.”
“Yet they will be well cared for. Daphne will mind them. She’s like a second mother to them. This island is full of second mothers. I myself was raised by my two dotty great aunts.”
“It’s just that . . . Jane’s death came so suddenly. So unexpectedly.”
Tristram grew solemn, turning the brim of his hat around and around in his hands. He swallowed before saying, “’Tis hard to understand why God took someone so young.”
“I’m not at all sure ’twas God’s doing.” Now was the time, Ren thought, to tell Tristram of his suspicions. “I’m convinced Jane was poisoned.”
“Poisoned.” The hat held in Tristram’s hand slipped to the deck and landed with a soft swish. “Poisoned? How could that be?”
“Apparently, she’d been taking a sedative from Dr. Mitchell, just for now and then, mind you. Unfortunately, ’twas a tainted tincture.”
“Tainted?” he echoed in a half moan.
“Far too much ethanol was added. Something was awry in what she took. Filled her body with poison. Caused her to go into respiratory distress.” He glanced at Tristram. “I’m not wanting that information to get around town, please understand. For Jane’s sake.”
T
ristram gripped the rail, shocked by the revelation. For a long time, he didn’t speak, didn’t move a muscle. Then he cleared his throat. “Of course, of course. I won’t speak of it. Not to anyone.”
“As for Dr. Mitchell, I plan to talk to the magistrate when he returns from the mainland. ’Tis another reason that compels me to remain on island for a spell.”
“Magistrate?”
“To press charges against the doctor. I have no doubt he’s the one who gave her the tainted tincture. I recently learned that two others succumbed to the tincture. The very same week that Jane died.”
“What?” Tristram’s eyes went wide in alarm. “Where did thee hear of that? I’ve heard nothing of the sort.”
“My father learned of it. Two stevedores. You don’t hear of such things, Trist, because you only leave the loft to go to Salem and fuss over that ship of yours.”
Tristram loosened his collar. A bead of sweat ran down his temple and along his cheek, though it was not a particularly warm day. “Two stevedores, thee says?”
Ren bent down and picked up Tristram’s hat. “If Mitchell is the one who doled out that tainted tincture, I’ll see that he pays for it.”
“What does that mean?” His eyes widened as understanding dawned on him. “Don’t tell me thee means to see him hang!”
Ren handed Tristram’s hat to him and took his time answering. “I don’t know what the punishment would bring—that’s up to the court.”
“The magistrate would never accept the charges. Dr. Mitchell has been a Nantucket fixture as long as I have been alive. And the only islanders who end up getting hung are Wampanoags. Thee would be wasting time and effort.” He squeezed the brim of his hat. “I strongly encourage thee to drop the matter.”
“I cannot. I will not.”
“But Ren, Jane is gone! What good would it do? What purpose would it serve, other than satisfy a husband’s need for revenge?” Tristram’s voice was nearly pleading.
“I simply can’t tolerate the thought that another might suffer because of what he freely doles out as harmless. I’ve seen too much damage from what the poppy sauce does to sailors. ’Tis an evil. I won’t rest until justice is served. I owe Jane that much.”
But then a deep grunt interrupted. “Ren?” Jeremiah gave a wordless greeting to Tristram with a nod of his head. “Found a rotten board down in the bilge,” he said. “Need yer help to figure out what t’ do.”
The rotting bilge board discussion took longer than expected, and when Ren returned to the upper deck, he was surprised to find Tristram still aboard, standing at the bow of the ship, staring out at the gray-green water. The bow was pointing away from the harbor, out toward the ocean. “Still here? I thought you’d rowed back by now.”
Tristram kept his eyes on the ever moving water, frowning.
“Are you all right? You look a little . . . seasick.”
Tristram startled and seemed to come to his senses, like he just realized where he was and who he was with. “Cousin,” he said, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, right before punching his right hand into his left palm, making a sound like a pistol shot, “I’ve decided I will take thee up on thy offer. I’ll captain the Illumine’s maiden voyage.”
Sixth Day dawned sunny, warm, with a gentle southwestwardly wind. After the last child was picked up from the Cent School, Daphne left Henry and Hitty in Patience’s care and hurried to her mother’s house to change her clothes. She’d been excited about the trip to the Endeavour; she’d been looking forward to it all week. Ships fascinated her, and she was eager to see what it might feel like to be on a whaler. She’d never been invited onto a whaler before. She was almost disappointed that the day had been so sunny and calm, the sea so still.
Her mother met her at the door. “Daphne! Thee is finally home.”
“I can’t stay long,” she said, probably too quickly.
Her mother narrowed her eyes. “Thee is up to something.”
“Nothing new, Mama.”
“Look at me,” Lillian said, and Daphne did as she was told, to avoid a scene that would only delay her plans. Experience had taught her that it was always best to go along with her mother, or at least let her think so. “Hear me, daughter. Tristram Macy is paying a call tonight and thee must be at home to receive him.”
Daphne narrowed her eyes. “How does thee know what Tristram plans to do?”
Her mother replied without looking up. “I saw him in town this morning.”
“Thee saw him—where?”
Here Lillian did look up, a challenge in her blue eyes. “It matters not where.”
“Oh Mother, did thee go to his loft again?”
Lillian gave Daphne a cat-that-swallowed-a-canary smile. “He said he is most eager to have a private chat with thee. That he has tidings to tell.”
Tristram Macy suited her mother’s criteria perfectly: he was island-born, he was well-educated, good-looking, and unlike most Nantucketers, had no ambition to be a sea captain. Tristram minded the home office and did not have a longing to escape to sea, which delighted Lillian Coffin. She wanted nothing more than to clip every bird’s wings.
Daphne looked at her mother’s smiling face, buoyed by bright hope for her youngest daughter. “He said that?” She’d hardly seen much of Tristram in the last few weeks, not since Jane’s passing. If he’d wanted a private chat with her, he could’ve always sought her out. He knew where she was.
“Indeed!”
“Well, he will have to come another day. I’ve made plans with Hitty and Henry.”
“Plans that will have to be postponed.”
Daphne clenched her teeth. “That’s just not possible.”
Lillian reached over and squeezed her hand, pressing her thumb and fingers down hard over her palm. “Make it possible. Thee has been spending all thy time with those children. It is thy time, Daphne. Do not miss this opportunity.” She leaned closer, her eyes sparkling. “I believe Tristram is finally prepared to propose.”
Daphne pulled her hand away from her mother’s tight clasp. “I’m not at all confident that is the direction Tristram’s thoughts are going. He’s grieving, Mother, over Jane.” Unlike thee. “And he’s quite distracted with his new ship.” She walked over to the window and noticed a beautiful blue hydrangea bush in full bloom. Jane had loved hydrangeas, the iconic island flower.
She turned and found her mother frowning at her, then sighing a deep, long-suffering sigh. “Why must thee act as if any young man I approve of is not good enough for thee?”
Because they aren’t, Daphne thought. Can’t thee see, Mother? All they want is thy fortune. “Would it really be so terrible if I did not marry Tristram?”
Her mother clutched her arms as if made cold by the thought. “Don’t say such a thing, Daphne. Don’t even give voice to it. Thee are destined for each other. It has always been that way. Everyone has always seen thy bond. Why can’t thee see it?”
That was the problem. Daphne did see it. It was true she and Tristram had a unique bond. They had been close friends since childhood days. Tristram’s stutter, Daphne’s stoutness, both mercilessly teased—their vulnerabilities had brought them together, giving them a shared, unspoken understanding. “What if we don’t love each other the way a husband and wife should, the way Jane and Reynolds did?”
Daphne thought she saw a quick pain flash in her mother’s eyes, but no sooner had the thought filled her mind, and the look was gone.
“Thee has schoolgirl notions about marriage, daughter. I won’t allow thee to marry unwisely, not like thy sister did. Foolish longing for passion leads only to heartbreak.”
“Not every marriage need end like thine, Mother.”
Her mother cinched her lips together at the sting.
It wasn’t kind, to deliver truth with a barbed point. Still, Daphne had no desire to take back her words because finally, finally, she had said something her mother was listening to.
But her mother was not so easily swayed from h
er original intent. “Wear thy blue silk dress for Tristram. ’Tis his favorite.”
Daphne sighed. In her stubbornly infuriating way, her mother had beaten her again.
Ren waited as long as he could for Daphne to return to Centre Street, until it was clear she was not returning. Lillian’s doing, he suspected. He had not seen much of Daphne this week, not since the move, when she had moved her belongings back to her mother’s house. He found himself missing her—for the children’s sake, of course, as she was an enormous help and source of stability to the children. But if he were honest, he missed her for his own sake as well. Daphne was a merry person to be around, always industrious, full of plans. Full of light and good cheer.
He finally decided to go ahead and take Henry and Hitty out to the Endeavour, despite their loud objections to the outing because Daphne wasn’t with them. They spoke not a single word as he rowed the dory out to the ship. They sat across from him, eyes fixed on the water, with a look on their small faces as if their fate was doomed. He did not mind so much, for it gave him an opportunity to study them. He noticed the tiny springing curls beneath Hitty’s bonnet, her brown eyes that reminded him of Jane when she smiled—which wasn’t terribly often. Henry had a soft round face and intelligent eyes that took in everything. Something powerfully sweet started to swell in Ren’s heart, so much so that he had to blink back tears. How much he had missed! He knew too little of these two.
As he gave them a tour of the Endeavour, he could sense their curiosity growing. At one point, as they walked along the upper deck and the bow of the ship lifted in a wave, Hitty reached out for his hand and he felt his heart expand. Henry worked carefully to avoid showing interest, but as Ren let him hold a harpoon in his hands, he could see the lad’s natural inquisitiveness rise despite his best effort to tamp it down. When he took them down to the forecastle, he pointed out the hammock that belonged to the cabin boy. “I was not much older than you are now, Henry, when I sailed on m’ first whaling voyage. My father was the ship’s cooper, and I was cabin boy.”
Minding the Light Page 12
