People oppress people. It is in their nature.
16 April 1661
Nathaniel returned a tool to Father. I invited him in for tea and, to my delight, he said yes. He sat with Granny Joan and was very polite to her, asking after her health. I remembered that James brought a newspaper from Boston and thought to show it to Nathaniel. I pointed to an article about the hanging of two Quaker boys. “How can that be? They were just boys.”
Nathaniel jumped up so fast he spilled his tea. “I’d better be off before the rain starts.”
There was not a cloud in the sky.
“What do you make of that?” I asked Granny Joan, as I watched Nathaniel hurry down the lane.
“Remember, little Mary, why God provided Eve to Adam in the Garden. She was to be his partner, not his superior.”
Superior? When have I ever thought Nathaniel to be lesser than me? Never!
I told her as much, of my heart’s longing for Nathaniel, yet how frustrating and exasperating he could be. “Like just now!”
She smiled then, a lovely smile, warm and kind. “God made you the way you are for a reason, my dear,” she added, “but you must learn to to bridle your mouth.”
And then, before I could ask what she meant, in walked Father and James and Mother, the table was laid for supper, and my opportunity was lost.
17 April 1661
Granny Joan’s words have rankled me, for I think I know what she was aiming at.
How can I survive if I am not myself?
22 April 1661
I took Granny Joan on a long walk today, as the weather is fine and fair. She says she will return to Boston soon with Peter. I showed her my favorite tree, the one that does not lose its leaves, even in the midst of a bitter cold winter. We sat under it for a long while, enjoying its shade. I told her to savor it, because when Father finds this tree, he will cut it down by sunset. And that will break my heart.
“Well, Mary Coffin,” she said in her matter-of-fact way. “You’d better think of some way to dissuade him. For this is no ordinary tree and you are no ordinary girl.”
25 April 1661
There is some talk among the Swains and Husseys of bringing a permanent minister to Nantucket Island. They fancy themselves to be the religious leaders on the island, which I find amusing because they are the most argumentative, literal-minded ones.
Every now and then, an itinerant minister sails in and tries to establish a ministry here, but he does not last long. I am hopeful the Swain and Hussey faction will not persuade a minister to move here. I have no patience for paid clergy. They might start their preaching with the best of intentions, but it will not be long before they demand obedience to their rules and regulations. And then they will pass out fines for disobedience, and stocks will be built for public humiliation. And it will start all over again.
This is why Father left England, why he left Massachusetts and came to Nantucket Island. If this island turns into those other places, I fear there is no place left for us to go.
I said as much to Peter Foulger and he said, “There is always Rhode Island.” That is a colony tolerant of dissenters. There was a time when he fled there with his family because he was under scrutiny by the Court of Law.
Peter Foulger is quite knowledgeable about all things, including matters of religion. I find myself often saving up questions to ask him when he stops by the house. We have very stimulating discussions about religion, and others listen carefully. If Peter Foulger were to establish a church here, I might be persuaded to attend even though he has radical views.
11 May 1661
I have not written in a long while. Preparing the garden for summer has taken all our time. I went out to tend to the sheep this afternoon. The stark beauty of this wonderful, fierce island overwhelmed me, and I stopped by my beautiful tree to soak it all in.
As I stood under the tree, gazing upward, my mind aflame with wonder, I heard a voice call out, “Is something amiss, miss?”
Startled by such an odd greeting, I turned to see a stranger loping toward me. Despite the brisk wind, he wore no hat and his jacket looked uncomfortably thin. His gait was so rhythmic that it was oddly graceful. As he drew near, I recognized him as Peter Foulger’s son.
“Good morning,” I said. “Eleazer, isn’t it?”
“The very one,” he said cheerfully. “And you are Mary Coffin.” He glanced up at the tree. “Is there something up in the tree that you’ve lost? Something that needs fetching?”
I laughed. “Nay. Just the opposite. I am intrigued that it does not lose its leaves.”
“A live oak.”
“The only one on the island that I’ve encountered so far.”
“All the more rare and remarkable,” he said, smiling warmly at me.
I felt a flush suffuse my cheeks as I realized, by his steady gaze, that he was no longer speaking of the tree.
12 May 1661
Eleazer Foulger joined me down on the beach this afternoon, when I was gathering driftwood. “Finding anything special?” he asked me.
“Anything and everything,” I told him. “I’m interested in most things.”
Turns out, so is Eleazer.
24 May 1661
Eleazer joins me most every afternoon, as I go beachcombing. We get along very well, the two of us. We both like to read and learn about new things, and he isn’t afraid of a woman with a mind of her own, unlike a Certain Someone.
16 June 1661
Today was a day I will never forget.
Let me start at the beginning.
All around the island of Nantucket are treacherous shoals, churning, shallow waters. Heavy fog makes those shoals particularly hazardous, causing ships to run afoul. Usually, fishing ships.
There had been a wreck in the Tuckernuck shoals during a bad storm a few weeks past and odd things were still appearing on the shore.
The flotsam and jetsam on the beach looked like they came from an old ship, not a fishing boat. On the beach, I started a pile of peculiar finds, and then I heard someone call out to me. I looked up and there was Eleazer Foulger, waving at me, his face wreathed in his big grin.
I was glad he had come down to the beach. I’d been watching a shimmering object stuck between two rocks, bobbing up each time the waves hit it. I pointed it out to Eleazer and he went wading out after it and brought it back. It took him a long time and he was soaked through when he got back to the beach, carrying the box in his arms. It was about the size of a loaf of bread and made of dark wood, but silvery flashes indicated it was inlaid with some special material. Despite gentle prying, the lid refused to open. Eleazer created a makeshift lever out of two iron pieces from the shipwreck, which I thought was rather clever of him. When he was finally able to pry open the lid, inside were silver coins. We both gasped, as if struck by lightning!
He held one up and squinted to read the Spanish inscription. “Well . . . I’ll be . . .” He looked at me with eyes widened in disbelief. “Mary, this is Spanish treasure!” Laughing, he sunk his hands down into the coins and lifted them up, palms full of wet, slippery, tarnished coins. “Spanish pieces of eight!”
I was glad Eleazer could laugh over it, because my thoughts were troubled ones. Who did this chest belong to? Pirates? Was it stolen treasure? Would the owners return for it? Or mayhap they had drowned in the shipwreck. “Eleazer, what should we do with it?”
“Scavenger rule is such that whoever finds it, gets it.” He looked up at me. “You found it, Mary. ’Tis all yours.”
That didn’t seem right. “You’re the one who went out for it.”
“I wouldn’t have even seen it. It belongs to you, Mary Coffin.”
“Should we report it? Show it to our fathers?”
“Nay! If I did, people would come to Nantucket for all the wrong reasons. They’d be after my father too. He’s already got the Puritans hounding after him. The last thing he needs is to wave around pirate’s booty.”
So he had the same thought. I,
too, thought it was silver from pirates. “My father would be under similar scrutiny.”
After a long moment, Eleazer lifted his head. “Let’s bury it, then. And if one or the other of us has need for it, then we will dig it up.”
So we did. We buried the treasure, Eleazer and I. We buried it under my special tree, so we would always know where it was. I walked six paces from the trunk, to the farthest branch, to not disturb its roots. And we made a promise to each other not to tell anyone else about those Spanish silver coins.
There aren’t many men (or women, for that matter) who could refuse riches. I felt rather impressed with Eleazer for suggesting it.
It was the right decision, and I feel good, deep in my soul, knowing that there is treasure if ever I need it. Or if he needs it. Or better still, that it is waiting for someone worthy. I told him so, and he said, “Mary, I think you are the only treasure a man needs.”
He is starting to remind me of his father.
16
8th day of the eleventh month in the year 1767
Phoebe thought she heard rumblings of male voices, rising and dropping in vehemence, outside the window of the house where she was staying. When her eyes flickered open, she realized that the captain was here. He had come into the room. Silo followed him in, his large brown eyes fixed on Phoebe, filled with worry.
The captain stood by the side of her cot, feet spraddled, the palm of one hand clasping the back of the other over his lower abdomen. “’Tis so peaceful here. Phoebe, my child, I think it best if you recuperate here, on this lovely, tranquil island.”
Her mind felt filled with cotton. Slowly, the intent of the captain sunk in. Did he truly mean to leave her on this island to fend for herself?
He pressed a small vial into her palm and closed her hand around it, kissing it. “I wish thee safe harbor, my dear.”
She stared at him, shocked by the look that came into the captain’s eyes. A look of sheer relief. Tears tore at her throat, but she remained silent. How she longed for him to apologize, to express regret, to plead for her forgiveness. But instead he turned and left without bothering to close the door behind him, barking an order at Silo to follow. The boy slowly obeyed with his chin hanging against his chest. The front door slammed abruptly, leaving an absence so profound it seemed about to swallow her. It took several minutes before she believed he was actually gone.
She had ceased to exist for the captain.
After the captain and Silo and the first mate returned to the Fortuna, Matthew went into the room and sat in a chair beside Phoebe. She leaned upon an elbow and handed him a vial of medicine.
He held it up and read the small label. “Sea Calm? Phoebe, this is laudanum. Opium.” Taking laudanum was not uncommon, thought by many to be harmless, but he had seen many a man bound to it, a costly habit, unable to live without it. In London it was fed to the workers to keep them at their benches. “Is . . . this what’s making you so sick? Oh Phoebe, have you become dependent on it?”
“I fear I have,” she whispered. “At first, it gave me such relief from seasickness. I thought it was harmless. He promised me it was harmless.” She swallowed. “I needed more and more of it to get the same relief, to sleep away the seasickness. And then the vial ran out. I realized I had become dependent on it.”
“When did you run out?” He had to repeat the question, for her eyes closed and he thought she had fallen asleep.
Her eyes blinked open. “Not yesterday, but the day before.”
“Did you not think to ask the captain for more?”
“He said he had no more to give.”
Something was starting to click in Matthew’s mind. “Did the captain leave this vial with you just now?”
She gave a brief nod.
“How many days have you abstained?” Again, she took such a long time to answer that he thought she had nodded off, but now he realized she was thinking, sorting through the fogginess in her mind.
“One day. No . . . one day plus one half day.”
Just before the captain decided to make land. The ship did not need to be watered. Matthew, as cooper, knew exactly how much water remained in the barrels. Cook did not yet need provisions. “He did this to you.”
She took a deep breath. “I am aware what he has done. At first, I believe he was trying to help my seasickness. And then, when I found out about his deception . . .” She closed her eyes. “The Sea Calm seemed so harmless at first, so helpful. And before I knew it, it was my master.” Her eyes opened again, and he saw a bit of the old Phoebe in them. “I am determined to break free of its hold on me.”
“Phoebe, this is going to worsen before it gets better. I’ve seen men try to withdraw from poppy sauce. ’Tis ghastly symptoms.”
“Take it away from me. Throw it in the sea. I do not want to die beholden to it.”
There. There was his Phoebe. Strong, courageous, determined. “All right, then.”
“Does thee promise?”
“I promise.” He stroked hair off her forehead. “I won’t leave your side.”
“Thee should go, Matthew. Go join the Fortuna before it sets sail.”
“I’ll jump on board when it returns for you.”
She turned her head toward the wall. “The ship will not be returning for me.”
What could he say to that? She was right. “Phoebe . . . what did you mean when you said you had found out a deception? Did it have to do with the Pearl? With my father?”
Slowly, she turned to face him. “The Pearl? Thy Pearl? Nay, I know nothing of that. Nor of thy father.”
Matthew was quiet for a while. “Then what deception did you mean?”
She closed her eyes and turned away. “The captain has another wife, Matthew. A woman in the Bahamas. She is soon to give birth to his child. That is how I know he will not be returning for me.”
Another wife! Matthew rocked back in his chair. He felt enraged. Look at what that man had done to Phoebe. She lay at death’s door. He clenched his fists.
Phoebe’s eyes flew open, as if a thought had just flown into her fuzzy mind and landed. “Matthew, I need thy help. Please go to the ship and find Great Mary’s journal.” Her voice was stronger than he had heard it in days. “’Tis hidden in the cuddy. There’s a floorboard that I have worked loose. Under the bunk. Lift it and thee will find the journal. It is imperative that the captain not see thee.”
“I’ll go. I’ll go right now.”
She took his hand and held it in a bone-crushing grip, stronger than he thought her capable. “If anything happens to me, thee must promise that the journal be returned to my father.”
“Why is it so important?”
“I read something in it recently that I don’t want the captain to discover. He would benefit unjustly from the knowledge.”
“In that case, I give you my solemn promise. Anything that benefits Captain Foulger is an anathema to me.” He cupped their joined hands with his other hand. “And I also promise that nothing is going to happen to you. You will survive this.”
She dropped back onto the cot, as if she had used all the energy she had. “How does thee know that?”
“Because you’re far too bullheaded to die. Look at this situation . . . giving me orders from your deathbed.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t you dare die on me, Phoebe Starbuck.”
As he closed the door, he leaned his head against it. He wasn’t at all sure she would be alive when he returned.
Momentarily, Phoebe felt bolstered by Matthew’s certainty. Normally, he was the skeptic and she was the one who never wavered. They had flip-flopped. Now, she was the one filled with doubts and he was the one who sounded so sure.
Her throat ached. Her head pounded. Her stomach cramped. Her teeth clenched. Her legs twitched.
“I won’t leave your side.” Matthew didn’t say more but his meaning was clear. It was more touching than any words of love.
She had fully expected to see contempt in Matthew’s eyes when she conf
essed she’d grown dependent on the Sea Calm. Instead, he was compassionate, nonjudgmental. She was the one who judged herself, who loathed what she’d become. Stupid, stupid girl! How foolish she was. She had fallen for the captain for all the wrong reasons. She dashed headlong into a loveless marriage without ever letting God’s Light guide her. Had she ever once stopped to hold the question of marriage to the Light? To allow time for seasoning? Nay! She’d been so certain, so captivated, so headstrong . . . she never once bothered to ask the Lord God for guidance. And in doing so, she’d walked right into a trap of her own making.
When would she ever learn? She kept exchanging one set of problems for another.
A few hours later, Matthew stood on the beach, watching the Fortuna’s sails hoist as the ship glided out of the harbor. He hurried down the narrow lane to the midwife’s house. Carefully, he opened the door to Phoebe’s room and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her struggling to lift her head.
“Did thee find it?”
He pulled it from under his shirt. “Here it is.”
“Matthew, thee is bleeding.”
He held out his hand and looked at it. He had wrapped a rag around it to stop the bleeding, but it had seeped through the rag as well as his shirt. He hadn’t wanted her to see his cuts. He had done what he had to do. “Ah, it’s nothing. I scraped myself on the board as I pulled it up.”
Worry creased her forehead. “And the captain did not see thee?”
“He did not see me search for the journal.”
“But he saw thee?”
“I spoke to him in his cabin. I received my lay. And then I . . . told him exactly what I thought of him.”
It was the first genuine smile he had seen on Phoebe’s face in nigh two months. She reached out to squeeze his forearm. “Dearest Matthew. Go to the Fortuna. Sail on with them and return to Nantucket. This is not thy trial.”
“Mayhap not, but thee is my trial.” Besides, that ship had sailed in more ways than one.
“Matthew Macy, did thee just hear thyself?” Her eyelids slid closed. “Thee is still a Friend to God.”
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