Phoebe's Light

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Phoebe swept past him to go inside, leaned against a barrel, heaved an enormous sigh, and said in a shaky voice, “Thy daughter Sarah paid a visit to me. She said she will not permit me to live in thy house at Orange Street.”

  The captain’s eyes remained fixed on the tops of his shiny boots. He motioned for Hiram Hoyt to stand by the door, before turning to Phoebe with a lowered voice. “I told her of our engagement earlier today. She did not take the news well.” He glanced uneasily around the warehouse. “Perhaps I have made a mistake of letting her run the ship. ’Tis not easy to make changes to the crew, mid-ocean.”

  That was a ridiculous notion! They weren’t talking about a ship in the ocean. They were talking about an overly coddled young woman who resented her father’s choice of a bride.

  “Phoebe, my dear, try to understand. The home on Orange Street belonged to my first wife. ’Twas her childhood home. Filled with memories.” Pain darkened his eyes. “Sarah was very close to her mother.”

  How well Phoebe remembered. Sarah and her mother were mirror images, closer than sisters. Even their voices were similar—a sharp minor key.

  He tapped her gently on the nose. “Thee can remain at thy father’s home until I return again. Everyone understands that Barnabas needs tending to.”

  “I fear that is not possible. My father . . . mortgaged the house and defaulted on the loan. If it is not taken care of, he will be evicted.” We will be evicted.

  The captain looked at her, expressionless. “Evicted,” he repeated. He rubbed his forehead, folded his arms, then dropped them to his sides. “It might be prudent to allow Barnabas time to feel the consequences of his indebtedness. Look at Matthew Macy, town cooper. I daresay that time in the gaol has improved his sour disposition.”

  “Captain, ’tis a poor reflection on thee.”

  “Me? How so?”

  “’Tis not fitting for a sea captain’s wife to be kept from her husband’s home. By his own daughter! People will . . . talk. And imagine what will be said when it is disclosed that the captain allowed his father-in-law to be declared Town Poor.”

  He frowned—the slightest crease of his forehead, his eyebrows tugging together briefly. “How much is the loan?”

  “If thee could provide a hundred pounds on account for him, that would suffice.”

  A long moment passed without any response. Phoebe dared not look at him.

  “Very well, my dear. Thy concern for thy father is admirable. And I will do anything to make thy lovely smile return again.” He reached out and took both of her hands in his. “I will meet with the bank manager and pay off the mortgage on thy father’s home.” He squeezed her hands. “Give Sarah some time to get used to the idea, Phoebe. She’ll come around. She had not expected this news today and she was in shock. Thy own father seems skeptical.”

  “My father? Thee has spoken to him?”

  “He came to the warehouse. Not an hour ago.”

  Phoebe’s heart sunk. “What did he have to say?”

  “He wanted to be sure I am aware thee has no dowry.”

  Disappointed, she rocked back against the barrel. How could her father do such a thing? “Captain, has such resistance caused thee to change thy mind?” She glanced up at him. “Tell me, is thee wobbling?”

  He laughed and her eyes flew to his. “Nay. I am not wobbling, Phoebe dear. I need no dowry to convince me to take thee as my bride.”

  Phoebe nearly sagged with relief.

  “And thee? Has this resistance caused thee to wobble?”

  “Not for a moment.”

  He gave her a warm smile. “Another quality to admire in thee, Phoebe Starbuck. Such courage and conviction. I look forward to discovering more and more fine qualities in thee.”

  She swallowed, wanting nothing so much as to fling her arms about his neck and kiss him right then and there, for all to see. But of course, her hands remained at her side. “And we will marry before thee sets sail?”

  He laughed again and it broke the spell. He reached out for her hand and squeezed it, whispering, “Aye. And I will speak to Sarah about her . . . uncharitable behavior.”

  There now, he did love Phoebe. She knew he must! “I believe Sarah has inadvertently done us a great favor,” she said, with an uncommon boldness. She inhaled a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “Captain, if go thee must, take me with thee.”

  At first the captain looked at her as if she’d offered to do cartwheels down Straight Wharf. Then his eyes widened in disbelief as he realized she was serious. And she was! “That is not possible.”

  “Other captains take their wives along.”

  He dropped her hand and tugged the hem of his waistcoat down. “Not many.”

  “But some do. I would like to start our marriage off right, Captain, and not be separated for a long duration.”

  His tanned skin became mottled. “Thee has no idea what thee is asking. The Fortuna is not outfitted for a woman.”

  “Oh, I don’t need much.” She smiled and gave a brief nod of her head. “My needs are simple, my wants are few.”

  “Phoebe . . . the crew . . . they are skittish with changes.” His voice grew faint.

  “There will be no need for any changes at all! They will hardly notice I am on the ship!” She gave him a beaming smile. “So then, we are in agreement. ’Tis a settled matter.” And she swept toward the door before he could object. As Hiram Hoyt held it open for her, he puffed on his pipe and grunted, “Uh-oh!”

  But as Phoebe left the captain’s warehouse, she saw blue peeking through the clouds. It seemed the storm had changed its mind and shifted course.

  Mary Coffin

  20 June 1659

  Thomas Macy, Edward Starbuck, and Father plan to sail to Nantucket Island to meet with Thomas Macy’s cousin, Thomas Mayhew (from Martha’s Vineyard). Thomas Macy has been considering a move there with his family for a long time, to start a new community outside of Puritan control. Father is going along to seek out business ventures. He wonders if settling the island might provide a fine opportunity to expand my brother Peter’s lumber trade.

  4 July 1659

  Father returned from Nantucket today full of good cheer. He says they were able to purchase the west end of the island for 30 pounds and two beaver hats. He said there is no lack of fish, clams, scallops, and other seafood on this fine island. Father thinks we should move to the island too. He said he is tired of Puritan neighbors poking their long noses into everybody’s business. “We will not go hungry,” he told Mother. She did not look at all convinced.

  “Did you see Indians?” she asked.

  “Aye, a few. Peaceable ones. Thomas Mayhew assured me of that. Peter Foulger has Christianized many of them.” He gave her a patronizing look. “’Tis not the howling wilderness of your imagination, Dionis.”

  “What would we live on? How would we survive?”

  “Fish,” he said. “We can harvest the sea. Plow the water rather than the land.”

  I wonder of that thinking. I do not think Father would last long on a seafood diet. He is fond of his jams and jellies and puddings.

  18 September 1659

  We are living in tumultuous times. That’s what Edward Starbuck told Father last night and I believe he is right.

  Thomas and Sarah Macy are in much trouble. First of all, a while back they joined the Anabaptists and were baptized again. They were fined for not attending the regular Sunday meetings and Thomas was charged with “disorderly” practice for holding meetings without hired clergy.

  But it gets worse.

  Not long ago, in a storm, four cold and wet people sought shelter from the rain and knocked on the Macys’ door. Thomas took pity and let them in. The shower soon passed, and off they went with scarcely a word. But a neighbor had been watching. Reverend Rodgers.

  Those four people were Quakers!

  Reverend Rodgers went straight to the constable to make a report and soon Thomas was commanded to appear in court to face the c
riminal charge of harbouring Quakers. He was fined 30 shillings.

  Father says it is the last feather that breaks the horse’s neck. I am not sure what that will mean, but I think our family might be facing our own tumultuous times.

  27 October 1659

  This morning, Thomas and Sarah Macy left Salisbury behind for Nantucket, taking their five children with them. The sky was blue as they filled the little boat in Great Harbour, but not long after they sailed out of sight of us, clouds darkened the sky, rain began to pound, and the wind whipped up the waves. I fear they will have a frightful sea journey.

  Father is keen to move, as well. It is all he talks about.

  4 November 1659

  Mother is inconsolable. Father is adamant. He says we are moving to Nantucket.

  Mother thinks Father will never be satisfied and will always believe happiness is in another place. First we leave England for the New World. After settling in Salisbury, Father moves us to Pentucket, then Newbury, and back again to Salisbury!

  “You have itchy feet,” Mother told him and, oh my!, he did not like that remark at all.

  Father said it is God’s will to move to the island and then he gave her a stern look and that just set off her crying jag all over again.

  As for me, I am going to tell Father that I plan to live with my sister Abigail and her husband in Dover, or if they won’t have me, I’ll go to my sister Elizabeth. If I have to, I’ll even live in Newbury with Tristram Jr., and I can’t tolerate Newbury. Or Tristram Jr. I do not want to move to Nantucket and leave my dear friend Heppy. I see no good reason to move from civilization to a little island far out to sea that is filled with wild Indians.

  Nay, I will not move.

  Here is what I think: I wonder if all this tumult would be happening if Thomas and Sarah Macy would have just left those Quakers out in the rain.

  31 December 1659

  I am going to move to Nantucket. Edward Starbuck is moving there and taking his family. Nathaniel is going too.

  Elizabeth Macy is not.

  8

  30th day of the ninth month in the year 1767

  There are days in which nothing ever happens. One day looks like the day before, and the day after. And then there are days like today, a fulcrum day, on which the rest of life hinges.

  Matthew’s day started in the Nantucket gaol. Nothing unusual with that. Not until Barnabas Starbuck arrived with hot cross buns from Catherine Hussey’s beehive ovens. He looked curiously at Matthew’s face. “Thee looks like a man who has tangled with a nest of hornets.”

  He touched his split lip. “Had a little misunderstanding, ’tis all.”

  Barnabas gave him a sympathetic look. “Matthew, there is a favor I must ask of thee.”

  “And what is that?”

  “To agree to sign on to the Fortuna as the cooper. I know the captain has asked thee to.”

  Matthew took a bite of the bun, chewed, swallowed. “That is impossible for two reasons. First, Phineas Foulger has plenty of coopers to chose from, ones who actually want a chance to go to sea. Second, I vowed I would never set foot on another whale sloop. Never again.”

  “I understand all that. And yet . . . I’m asking thee to change thy mind. For my sake.”

  “Are you asking me to watch over Phoebe?”

  “So thee has heard the news.”

  “Everyone has heard.” He appeared nonchalant, but when his mother told him of Phoebe’s engagement to the captain after Meeting last Sunday, when it was announced, the news disturbed and sickened him. When the elders asked if anyone objected to this union, how was it that no one stood up? He would have, were he allowed into Meeting, which he wasn’t.

  So disturbed was he that he went straight to the nearest tavern, had a few too many tankards of ale, had the brilliant idea of sneaking into Captain Foulger’s warehouse to see if there be any truth in Henry Coffin’s apple brandy–soaked hunches, was rudely turned away by a tetchy Portuguese guard, provoked him into a fight that did not turn out well for Matthew, and ended up with another sentence of fortnights in gaol—doubled in length, for it was First Day—and a black-and-blue eye and split lip.

  He reached for another bun. They were delicious—buttery, sweet, still warm—from the best bakery on the island. The only bakery on the island. “You could refuse to give your blessing on their union. Or is it just too tempting? ‘Don’t count the teeth of a rich bridegroom,’ eh?”

  That was uncalled for. As soon as Matthew said it, he regretted his words. He had no reason to hurt Barnabas, and indeed, the older man looked injured by his sharp insinuation. His mother was always warning him to weigh his words before he spewed them out.

  “’Tisn’t that at all. Phoebe fancies herself in love with him.”

  The very thought of it rankled Matthew. “Well, then, doesn’t it all come together quite nicely.”

  Barnabas missed Matthew’s sarcasm. “Mayhap, but I am perplexed by the urgency.”

  Matthew shrugged. “Perhaps the captain is concerned that if he waits, some lad might purloin his girl.”

  “Nay, nay. Not the marriage. ’Tis not unusual to marry quickly before a ship sets sail. What I wonder is why the Fortuna must set sail, so late in the season. Thee knows how sudden and dangerous storms arise at this time of year.”

  How well Matthew knew. An unexpected squall caused the demise of his father’s beloved ship, the Pearl, after its fruitful years at sea. A powerful storm damaged both masts and sent the ship’s keel straight into a coral reef. His thoughts traveled often to those dreadful few hours, reliving them, tormenting himself with questions. Could it have been averted? Barnabas coughed politely and Matthew realized he’d been waiting for an answer to his question.

  “Competition, I suspect, is the reason for the urgency. The captain and his investors have a fondness for a chock-full hold. Same with his loyal crew.”

  “His crew? Thee hasn’t heard? The loyal crew has abandoned him. And still, the captain insists on setting sail. He is signing a new crew as we speak.”

  “The entire crew? Walked off? What did he do to sour the crew?”

  “Alas, ’tis word of Phoebe’s presence on board. I overheard a sailor say it was tempting God’s wrath. Something does not sit well with me.” Barnabas walked to the window and peered over the sill at the captain’s warehouse. “Thee spoke to Henry Coffin?”

  “I did. Nothing to prove.”

  He turned. “Still, I am asking for thy help.”

  “To tag along the Fortuna as Phoebe’s minder?”

  “I need the help of someone who loves her. Thee loved her once. Mayhap thee loves her still.”

  Must he do everything? He refused to put himself in such a humiliating spot. “Barnabas, why would I put myself in such a position? Why would any man?”

  Barnabas crossed his arms. “It shames me to use this, but do, I must. I am asking for thy help . . . because of the time I saved thy father’s life.”

  Matthew’s eyes squeezed shut. He knew well this story: Barnabas Starbuck and Isaac Macy were the best of friends. Isaac was born for the sea; Barnabas eschewed it. Isaac convinced Barnabas to go fishing with him early one morning. The weather shifted, as it could do, the wind whipped the waves, and the boat suddenly capsized. The mast hit Isaac on the head, knocking him unconscious. Barnabas held on to Isaac, turned the boat upright, somehow hauled Isaac into the boat, and rowed them to shore in the squall.

  Matthew’s father had knighted Barnabas Starbuck as his brother for that brave act, claiming he owed him his life. And he did, for Barnabas was brave—he could not swim.

  Barnabas held the trump card and well he knew it. “Cheer up, Matthew. Knowing the savvy captain, thee will get wealthy in the process.”

  Savvy, indeed.

  The day ended with Captain Foulger arriving in the cooperage, just as Barnabas predicted, and asking Matthew for his final decision. “I need to know now. The Fortuna sets sail tomorrow. I’ve had to sign on a new crew.”

>   “So I heard. They all walked off?”

  “All but my first mate and the mute cabin boy.” He frowned. “Superstitious fools. Thee knows how skittish seamen can be about a woman on board.”

  “Why not tell Phoebe she must stay put?”

  The captain whirled to face Matthew with a strange look in his eyes. “And let a crew know they can master the captain? Let all Nantucket wag their tongues over it?”

  Ah, saving face. “Then, why not wait until spring to head out? That would allow time to find a worthy crew.”

  “Spoken like a man who has no shipowner investors to please. I have created a greedy monster in that syndicate. They are still licking their chops from the last greasy voyage. They want more of the same.” The captain gazed around the cooperage before turning his attention back to Matthew. “The investors want thee as cooper. They are willing to increase thy lay to one-twelfth. Unheard of for a cooper.” He pounded the tip of his finger against the top of the workbench. “Thee will return a wealthy man.”

  “Captain, even if I agreed, I still have a fortnight owed to the constable.”

  The captain waved it away. “I’ll make it disappear. But since we’re on that topic, I have one more term for thee. No imbibing while thee is in my employ. Even in port. The indulging stops.” The captain walked over to the door. “Let me know thy decision by day’s end or I’ll find another cooper.”

  Even though Matthew was twenty-one years old, he had an overwhelming urge to seek advice from his mother. Libby Macy was an astute woman, solid and steady, who met life as it came to her. He found her in the small kitchen of the Macy home on Easy Street, the room filled with the woody scent of simmering bayberries. He stood by the open door, watching her for a moment as she carefully set a wick into each candle mold before pouring hot wax into the forms. She smiled when she noticed he was there. “Something’s on thy mind. ’Tis written on thy face. Just like thy father. Everything churning in the mind is written on thy face.” She set the pot of hot wax on the crane. “So sit down and spill.”