Daphne twisted around in the chair. “We were working on sums!” But before she could further object, the children had jumped from the table and flew out the back door. “They are so bad at sums!” She looked back at him, frowning, then her frown slipped away. “Something is wrong.”
Ren didn’t answer at first, for he still didn’t know what he would say. He went to the fire and used the poker to turn the hot coals, sending a shower of sparks across the hearth. As he watched flames burst to life, the answer found him. So this . . . this was minding the Light, he supposed. Guidance from above, in the nick of time.
From his pocket, he pulled Tristram’s letter, scrunched it into a ball, and tossed it into the fire. Deep-sixed. As if swallowed up in the fathomless depth of the ocean. He waited until it was completely in ashes, gone to dust, before turning to face Daphne. His throat had grown so tight, he could barely say the words. “I received word of Tristram’s whereabouts. He is . . . ,” his voice a hoarse croak, “Daphne, our Tristram is . . . no longer.”
Her breath gusted out in a small gasp. “Oh no. No, no, no.” Her hands flew to her face. “But how? Mayhap ’tis mistaken tidings.”
“There’s no mistake,” Ren said. “I received it from an authority.”
“But . . . how? What happened to him?”
Ren went over to the table and stood behind her. “Daphne, ’tis too terrible to tell more. ’Tis best to remember Tristram as he was, not as he . . . ,” his voice was low and ragged, “. . . is now. Trust me on this. Please ask me nothing more.”
She nodded, slowly.
His hand hovered over her shoulder, and then he touched her. She leaned in to him, and his arms went around her, and he was holding her, holding her close while she wept.
Winter was Daphne’s favorite season on Nantucket. As the hustle and bustle of the whaling industry settled down, an all-too-brief tranquility covered the island. It was the quiet she loved best. As she walked toward Centre Street early one morning, the wharves were silent. The only sounds were the chirps of the cardinals, one of the few birds that braved winter’s cold and didn’t flee south.
Ren was waiting outside the house, standing with his feet braced apart and his hands clasped at the small of his back, as if he stood on his quarterdeck. His dark eyes were snapping with excitement.
She smiled as she approached him. “What’s happened?”
“I received word that the Illumine is complete. At long last!”
Her heart sank. She had always known this moment was coming. He would sail away from Nantucket . . . for who knew how many years this time? She tried to keep her voice light. “So, then, thee will make plans to be under way this spring . . .” She stopped, unable to go on. She didn’t want him to be under way. She wanted him to stay on island, though she knew that was an impossible dream.
“Yes and no.” He laughed at the confused look on her face. “Elias Derby, the shipbuilder, has a buyer for the ship. I will receive back the down payment, and Elias will take the profit. Rather substantial, he said. But good enough for him.”
“Then . . . thee will set sail on the Endeavour?” She knew he’d been giving it a complete overhaul. Tristram had wanted to sell it.
“Not I,” he said, grinning. “I have been working on an idea this winter, Daphne, and thee is the first to hear. I am going to take on Tristram’s role as investor and manager. And I am going to hire a captain and crew to sail the Endeavour.”
“Thee has someone in mind?”
“Indeed. Abraham.”
“Abraham! Ren, would a crew sign on?”
“I believe so. Especially if the crew were all black men.”
An all-black ship? It was an astonishing thought. Word of it would ripple through the entire whaling community—New Bedford, the Azores, Newfoundland.
“Risky, I know. Yet Abraham is a better captain than most. I have confidence in him. I’m not sure Nantucket investors will, but after the first successful voyage, it will go easier.”
Risk. It was an interesting thing, risk. Essential to move forward in life, but there was calculated risk, and then there was careless risk. Ren, she’d learned, took on calculated risk. Tristram took careless risks. There was a difference.
He brought himself right up to her. “Well? Any thoughts?”
So many thoughts! First, Ren would not be leaving Nantucket, a thought she had dreaded. The children would have their father home. And she could go on seeing him, as she had been, nearly every day. And then there was Abraham—what a wonderful step forward for him, for others, so worthy of the work. She drew in a deep breath, easing it out again slowly. “I think it will test the mettle of Nantucket Quakers.”
He smiled. “Aye! Make them put their money where their mouth is.”
“Thee does not mind staying on island?”
“Nay. I need to be here. For the sake of my children.” He took a step even closer to her. “For the sake of myself.”
“For thyself?”
He reached out to take her hands in his. His weight shifted from foot to foot, as if nervous. “How can a man court a woman when he is thousands of miles away at sea?”
“Court . . . a woman?” Then his meaning dawned and her voice rose an octave. “Me? Thee wants to court me?”
He smiled. “Aye, thee. Daphne Coffin, thee is the beat of my heart.”
Daphne looked at him, into his eyes. She had always loved his eyes. And the moment was so wonderful, she was afraid that if she so much as breathed it would spill over, and she would lose some of its happiness. But she felt her chin tremble, and suddenly Ren’s image seemed to grow wavery while she tried her hardest to keep the tears from showing. But Ren saw the glisten, and a minute later she was crushed against his chest.
Mary Coffin Starbuck
4 July 1663
Not long after moving to Nantucket, I had sewn up a gash in a young Wampanoag boy’s foot. Peter Foulger was the reason I had done it, knowing full well Father would strongly disapprove. The Indian was clamming in our waters, and Father has always been very firm about boundaries.
Peter has always encouraged me to think for myself, and I knew it was the right thing to help someone in need, regardless of any circumstances.
Yesterday, that truth returned to me. I had brought baby Mary to the store to work. She had been fussy all morning, and we both needed some fresh air, so when the store emptied, I took her down to the beach. The sound of the waves had a calming effect on little Mary and soon she fell asleep. That should not have surprised me. She is a true islander, the first white baby born on Nantucket.
I spread my shawl on the sand and sat down, carefully easing the baby down on the shawl so that she would remain sleeping. It is astonishing to me how precious sleep has become. I can’t even recall the last time I slept through the night. It has taken a toll on me, as has Jethro’s death. I am very weepy, and overly sensitive. Esther snapped at me this morning, for the baby’s crying had kept her awake. I ran from the kitchen into our bedroom, bursting into tears. When Nathaniel came in, I told him that we must move from this house. I expected him to try to pacify me, for I knew he wanted to wait another year or two, but he surprised me by agreeing.
I wiped my tears and asked why he had said yes so readily. Such a response was not typical of my husband. He hems and haws before making a decision, as if it causes him pain to come to a conclusion.
He looked sheepishly at me. “My mother has told me the same thing.”
“She told you that she wants us to leave this house?”
He nodded.
It should have made me glad, for mayhap that was what Nathaniel needed to hear to move forward, but instead it made me cry all over again.
I sat on the beach, reviewing the morning’s conversation, when a shadow covered me. I shielded my eyes, looked up, startled, to see a boy standing beside me. For a split second, I thought it was Jethro and my heart leaped. Then I saw it was a Wampanoag boy, about the same age as Jethro. He held out his bare f
oot to me with a broad smile on his face. “All good,” he said. “All good.”
I stared at the brown foot for the length of a few heartbeats before it dawned on me that I recognized this foot! It belonged to the Indian whose foot I had sewn. It was the jagged scar that tipped me off. Sewing a straight line with even stitches was never my forte.
“God has a great and good future for you.” He lifted an arm toward the sky, and toward the sea. “Can you not see? God surrounds with his protection, with his presence. Like Eye-Lish-Ah. Eyes closed,” and he waved his hand in front of his face and closed his eyes. He waved his hand in front of his face again, and his eyes went wide. “Can you not see? All around.” He nodded, dipping his chin in that characteristic way of all Wampanoags, and went on his way down the beach.
Eye-Lish-Ah. Eyelishah. Oh! Elisha! I realized he must be one of the Christianized Indians to whom Edward and Peter have taught Bible stories. Elisha was a prophet whose eyes were unveiled so that he could see the heavenly host that surrounded him. ’Tis one of my favorite Bible stories. I have oft pondered how Elisha might have been changed, forevermore, after that one moment of utter clarity.
What might shift in my heart if God were to unveil my eyes and show me that despite my fears and uncertainties, I’m actually surrounded by his powerful protection and presence?
This Wampanoag had given me a great blessing. He reminded me to not fear the future, but to embrace it. To welcome whatever will come with open arms. For we are not alone on this journey.
19
Two weddings were planned on Nantucket Island during the winter of 1821, but only one wedding actually transpired.
Jeremiah Macy and Lillian Swain Coffin set a wedding date for early January, with a large and luxurious reception planned at the grand house.
The day before her mother’s wedding to Jeremiah, Daphne learned some disturbing news from Ren. She sought out her mother and found her upstairs in the bedchamber, with the seamstress finishing up a few small adjustments on the dress Lillian would wear tomorrow. The door to the bedchamber was partway open and Daphne paused on the threshold before going in. A pale winter sunlight slanted through the window directly onto her mother, washing her in sunlight. She was exquisite, Lillian Swain Coffin was, like an ice carving. Daphne asked the seamstress to give them a private moment, which irritated her mother.
“What is of such utmost importance that it could not wait ten minutes until a task is completed?”
“This matter is of utmost importance.”
Her mother stepped off the dress box and sighed. “What is it now?”
“Why are Ren and Henry and Hitty not invited to the reception tomorrow?”
Her mother ignored her question, and focused on smoothing out her blue silk dress.
“Why are they excluded from this silly party?” Daphne said.
“Silly party? Silly party! ’Tis the reception I had planned for thee and Tristram!”
“Answer my question, Mother. How can thee persist in not acknowledging thy own grandchildren? Jeremiah’s son, his very own grandchildren!”
Her mother said something in a low voice, so calm and cold that Daphne decided she hadn’t heard her right. “What did thee say?”
“I said,” Lillian’s voice projected boldly, “that they will always belong to her. They even look like her.”
“Angelica? Oh Mother! Jeremiah has given thee a second chance at love. Can thee not forgive the past and receive it with open hands and an open heart?”
“I am receiving it!”
“Not with forgiveness. Thee is still aiming arrows at Ren. That’s why thee won’t include them tomorrow. That’s why thee did such a horrible thing to Abraham. ’Twas not thy conscience that led thee. ’Twas revenge.”
The door pushed open and a man’s voice spoke out. “Lily, what did you do to Abraham?”
“Jeremiah!” Lillian exclaimed, a wary surprise in her voice. “I didn’t hear you announced.”
“I brought you lilies.” In Jeremiah’s hand was a large bouquet of white lilies. “Had them imported from the Azores in time for the wedding. I remember how you liked them.”
“Oh, I do. I do love lilies! How sweet of thee, Jeremiah. Let’s take them to the kitchen and get a vase for them.”
“Hold on. First, Lillian, I want to know what you did to Abraham.”
“Nothing. Thee knows how dramatic Daphne can be.”
Jeremiah looked at Daphne. “What did she do?”
Daphne pivoted around to her mother. “Tell him. Or I will.”
Lillian crossed her arms against her waist and tucked her chin to one side. Like a stubborn child, she was not going to speak. Daphne swallowed. She couldn’t bear to look at Jeremiah for the shame she felt for her mother’s actions. “While in Boston, Mother sought out the bounty hunter, that Silas Moser. She brought him to Nantucket with the intent to capture Abraham. Later, she informed him that Abraham was hiding on the Endeavour.”
“Lily, why?” Jeremiah’s voice cracked with emotion. “How could you do such a thing to another human being? A man who did you no harm?” He lifted his hands. “He’s done no man any harm.”
Belligerent, Lillian refused to face him. She went to the windows, looking out at the water in the bay, smooth and gray under the winter sky, though Daphne didn’t think she really saw it. She knew her mother well enough to know she was focused inward, to a place deep inside her.
“Do you know why I chose Angelica over you? It wasn’t her beauty, for there’s no one on this island or anywhere else who can hold a candle to that impossibly perfect face God gave you. But Angelica was kind, Lily. So very, very kind.”
With that, Lillian shuddered, breaking her stillness. She spun around, hissing, “But she was a half blood!” She cast a dark glance at Daphne. “And so is Reynolds.” In a voice thick with anger and disgust, she added, “As are those mongrels of his.”
Her words—that one word, mongrel—fell into a heavy silence. The room became so quiet Daphne could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the downstairs foyer. Outside, a gust of wind blew through the leafless trees. A storm was coming, Daphne realized, both outside and in.
Jeremiah’s eyes glistened with tears, which pierced Daphne’s heart, for it was not at all like him to show feelings. He lifted the bouquet of lilies a few inches, looked at them, and gently set them down on top of the seamstress’s box, almost in a bow. “Ah, Lily, and here I thought that after a few hard blows from this life, your heart had changed.” He shook his head sadly. “You’re the same selfish girl who crowned herself queen over the school yard.”
Lillian was looking at him now in silence, as though dazed. He started toward the door. “But thee made me a promise! Thee can’t just—” Her voice broke.
“Oh, but I can.” He dropped his chin to his chest and quietly left the room.
Lillian picked up the skirts of her wedding gown and hurried to the top of the stairwell. “Jeremiah, don’t be like this!”
But it was too late. He was already out the door, his boots crunching quahog shells on the path. Daphne slipped around her mother and went down the stairs. At the newel post, she put her hand over the mortgage button for the last time, a habit she and Jane had always done, “for good luck,” they told each other, and looked back over her shoulder. She saw her mother standing at the top of the stairwell, with her hands hanging empty at her sides.
“Daphne, if thee leaves now,” her mother said, her face hardening, her words all the more cutting because they were said softly, not shouted, “if thee plans to carry out this folly and marry Reynolds Macy, do not ever come back.”
Daphne stared at her mother. She felt a sudden desire to cry, and she had to swallow hard to hold it back. So much of her relationship with her mother circled around mending the ruptures Lillian created. Her mother coped with life by pushing love away, and Daphne countered with efforts to coax her back into the clan of family. But in that moment, a wall the size of a mountain rose bet
ween them. “Thee knows where to find me, Mama.”
Daphne walked out the door and down the porch steps, onto the drive paved with crushed shells. She only stopped once, when she reached the street, to look back at the grand, barren, cold house. She felt a sad wrenching to leave this place, the house where she and Jane had been raised, where her father had come and gone on his sea voyages. She knew she would never return to it.
The second wedding did transpire, just a few weeks later, in late January. Captain Reynolds Macy took Daphne Coffin as his bride, and mother to his children. After the simple ceremony during First Day, Ren and Daphne celebrated by taking the children for a sail in Daphne’s sloop. The day was bitter, the cold bit at Daphne’s nose and cheeks, and the wind in her face felt wonderful.
She watched Ren hoist the sails and cast off, turning his face to the sea breeze, and she thought again how handsome he was, how fine and noble a man. She let her head fall back and closed her eyes, listening to the creak of the hull, the flutter of the sails as they filled with wind, the tilt and pitch of the deck beneath her. When she opened them, she realized Ren had moved to sit in the cockpit, his hand on the tiller. She smiled at him. “This sloop must seem so small after the Endeavour.”
“Small, but just large enough to fit our family.”
Our family. She looked over at Hitty and Henry, heads together, peering over the stern of the sloop. They were a family. Such a realization filled her heart, nearly to the point of overflowing.
“The Centre Street cottage, now that is small quarters.” His gaze searched her face. “Thee is certain we should remain at Centre Street?” He had moved to Jeremiah’s after Daphne left her mother’s home, so that she could settle into Centre Street until the wedding. While he was eager to return, he complained the cottage was not much bigger than his father’s cooperage.
“Small,” she said, “but large enough to fit us, for it is our home.”
“And the Cent School?”
Last fall, with Ren’s encouragement, Daphne had integrated the Cent School with black and Indian children. Nearly all the white children had been promptly disenrolled by their parents. Integration was a concept that Nantucket Island was not ready to embrace. While Friends championed political freedom for blacks, their enthusiasm dimmed when it came to interacting socially with black Nantucketers. “The Cent School must continue,” Daphne said. “I am determined to grow Jane’s garden.”
Minding the Light Page 24
