My stomach did a cartwheel and I felt color surge to my face. Pure jealousy! One of the worst sins.
But I was outraged that Miss Mouse had made a claim on the man I’d considered to be mine most of my life.
5 July 1661
Another shearing took place yesterday at Washing Pond. It was called by the Hussey clan who asked for help to fleece their flocks. Later in the summer than we would like, but we have had a cold spring and summer. Hopefully, we will have a late-coming autumn so the poor woolies have plenty of time to grow their fleece before wintertide.
Earmarks were the only dispute, as the earmarks were not easy to identify after a hard winter’s exposure. I will have to think on that.
The day turned out to be a perfect day. Clear, calm, blue sky, water the same, and full of sunshine, with a lady’s wind blowing through the reeds, wafting wild rose petals and perfume. Soap seethed up in the pond, bubbles caught in the gentle wind and floated over the men’s heads as they scrubbed the lowing sheep. It was enchanting.
After a supper served by the women, the men participated in games. They threw the bar, hurled stones, had footraces, and threw the discus by using Mother’s wooden chargers for disks (when she realized whose chargers they were using, she was not happy). Folks cheered their favorites, laughter sang through the air, and it was all such good fun!
Nathaniel Starbuck came off the hero of the day, winning all but the footrace, which went to Eleazer Foulger, who is lean and lanky, swift and long legged. Nathaniel is strong muscled with fine shoulders, and not so tall. Just tall enough.
I congratulated Eleazer and brought him a mug of mint water sweetened with honey. He smiled warmly at me. As I returned to the table, Nathaniel locked eyes with me. “Must you seek the attention of every man on the island?”
Humph! “Eleazer Foulger is a newcomer to the island. I was being sociable. I try to be a friend to all.” And then I added something I shouldn’t have. “Mayhap you should try being sociable sometime!”
Nathaniel turned away without reply. I looked after him, biting my lip, astonished by his insult to my character. Downright unmannerly! But on top of that came anger with myself for lashing out. I leaned my back against the tabletop. Mother sidled up to me. “He has won every single race,” I told her. “Was that not enough?”
“Jealousy, Mary. That is what makes him speak to you that way.”
“Jealousy? Of Eleazer?”
“Not just Eleazer. Of all the men on the island. They notice you and they like what they see. Mind you, I do not mean to make you proud. But you should know that you have blossomed fully into womanhood, and men take notice of such things.”
I am not entirely unaware of how men act around me. Boasting, talking overloud when I am near, stealing looks to see if I see them. And yet, I do NOT seek out the attention of men. Nathaniel offended me greatly by such a remark. “What of his dalliance with the fair Elizabeth Macy?”
“She might be fair, but she does not have your fire.”
I wasn’t at all sure Nathaniel liked my fire. And I wasn’t at all sure I could be tied to a man who tried to douse it.
6 July 1661
When Nathaniel dropped by today to borrow Father’s plow, I told myself not to say a word about it. To be wise, for once, Mary Coffin. That’s what I told myself.
Instead I said, “You’ve been seeing Elizabeth Macy.”
His face was somber, and he studied me as if he was trying to decide how to answer. “I have . . . a few times.”
My heart raced, and I could not stop myself from asking, “Do you enjoy being with her?”
He shot me a sharp look. “What makes you ask such a thing?”
I knew he was courting Elizabeth, and he need not say another word for me to know why he was. Elizabeth Macy is meek and mild and a fair lady.
So I told Nathaniel that I was not destined to be a meek and quiet fine lady. If he is wanting a fine and meek and quiet lady, then he should just go off and spend all his time with Elizabeth Macy because I will be an endless disappointment to him. I have a fire inside me and I have a hunger inside me and I know it. I told him God made me the way I was for a reason. I can’t help it. But I know I want a man who is not trying to continually extinguish the fire inside me. I would rather not ever get married than have a man always trying to shush me or look embarrassed for the woman he married. Or worse, disappointed, the way Nathaniel looks sometimes when I speak my mind.
The most mournful look came over him and his eyes grew ever-so-slightly watery. “Mary, ’tis not you I’m disappointed in.”
He wouldn’t explain what he meant by that. He just left. Good riddance to him. I hope I never see him again, as long as I do live.
I don’t mean it. I’ve been crying all afternoon.
18
29th day of the eleventh month in the year 1767
From Boston, Matthew found a schooner that was setting sail for Martha’s Vineyard, then Nantucket. As the ship rounded Tuckernuck Island, Matthew and Phoebe stood side by side on the bow. Her seasickness had returned with a vengeance as the merchant ship sailed in open seas, though it was a blessedly squall-free sailing. These shorter trips, from Boston to the Vineyard, from the Vineyard to Nantucket, made it slightly more manageable. A little. Her skin still had a greenish-gray hue and he hadn’t seen a smile from her since they left Abacos. But she was determined to get home, and that gave her the stamina she needed to endure the voyage.
“There she is,” he said quietly.
The midday sun was casting her light over Nantucket, dissolving the fog that hovered so restlessly over the island.
Ah, Nantucket. How Matthew loved this island.
“Home.” Relief covered Phoebe’s face. “As soon as my feet touch Nantucket, that blessed, beloved island, I will never leave its sandy soil again. I will never, ever step foot in another boat. I never want to hear the words ‘hunker down’ again.”
He laughed.
“Matthew, I thank thee for all thee has done for me. Were it not for thee, I don’t know what would have become of me.”
He returned his gaze to the approaching island. Here and there, he could see smoke wisping out of chimneys. Home. “That’s what friends are for.”
“Thee is more than a friend to me. Thee is a Weighty Friend.”
“Was. Once I was much more to you.” He glanced at her. “You were right, Phoebe. We were much too young to marry. Too young to make that kind of decision.”
“If things were different . . . if thee had remained . . .”
“Quaker.”
“If thee had not abandoned thy faith, perhaps things might have been different between us.”
“I didn’t abandon my faith, Phoebe. I needed to sort it out on my own, without all of the thees and thous and rules and regulations.”
“And has thee? Sorted it out.”
“Starting to, I think.” He thought of the pact he had made with God on the beach of Abacos. Let Phoebe live and I will make my peace with thee. God held up his end of the bargain. Against all odds, Phoebe was standing right beside him, Nantucket approaching in front of them. He would need to make good on his end, though he wasn’t really sure what that could mean. He supposed he’d have to apologize to the elders.
She smiled, but her smile was sad, as if she sensed his confusion. “I’m glad, Matthew. I want only happiness for thee.”
“And you, Phoebe? Are you happy?” He cupped her elbow with his hand. She looked pale and green. He nearly smiled. She was not a woman destined for a life at sea.
“I am . . . happy to be heading home.”
“Heading home as the wealthy and illustrious captain’s wife. Without the captain. Well, it should be nice to have a few shillings in your pocket, assuming Sarah will share some with you. Probably not after you tell her that her father has another wife.” He glanced over at Phoebe and realized he’d said too much, too bluntly. The look on her face was one of shock and despair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean t
o be glib.”
“I was so foolish.”
“You were filled with hope and dreams for a bright future. The captain is one man in the meetinghouse, another one entirely on the ship. ’Tis not so uncommon. Angelic on land, devilish with a cat-o’-nine in his hand.”
“I had been warned.”
“By whom?”
“My father. He was concerned the captain would harm me.”
“Barnabas should have forbidden the marriage.”
“He knew I was determined.”
“You’re going to tell people about Lindeza, aren’t you?”
She gave him a grave look. “Matthew, I do not want to bring humiliation to the captain.”
“He left you for dead, Phoebe!”
“Even still. I will deal with the captain quietly, when the time is right. When he returns from the voyage.” She lifted a hand as he objected. “I know that could be years from now. I must seek God’s guidance on this. Before I do anything, or say anything. I do not intend to cause others pain.”
“Like who?”
“Sarah, for one. She would be mortified.”
He scoffed. “Sarah Foulger would not concern herself about you. Not in the least.”
“I realize that. But I cannot let the actions of others change me, Matthew.” She gave him a direct look. “Thee must promise me not to tell anyone about Lindeza. This is my trial to deal with, not thine.”
How could she be so . . . pure? Especially after being wronged? He turned toward her. “Phoebe, the captain will get what he deserves—”
“Land ho!”
The quiet moment was interrupted by sailors hustling to trim the sails as the small ship darted through the infamous Tuckernuck shoals.
When the small schooner rounded the bend to sail into Nantucket Harbor, Phoebe and Matthew had the same shock. There sat the Fortuna, anchored and empty.
Constable Zacchaeus Coleman stood on the docks, waiting for them as they disembarked from the lighter, a blank look on his mutton-chopped face. “Phoebe Starbuck,” he said in a stunned tone. “Thee is supposed to be dead.”
“But I’m not, Zacchaeus. I’m very much alive.” Phoebe reached for his hand to help her climb out of the lighter onto the dock. “Tell me, why has the Fortuna had a broken voyage?”
“She was severely damaged in a storm. She’s a splintered mess.”
Matthew stared at the ship. Several sails, including the topgallant and the studding sail, had been torn into useless tatters. Phoebe’s little cuddy was gone. The whaleboats that had been hung off the port side of the ship were missing from their davits.
“The first mate declared they would have to return to Nantucket for repairs.”
Phoebe spun around. “The first mate? What of the captain?”
Zacchaeus avoided her question and fixed his eyes on Matthew. “Matthew, cousin, I’m sorry to be the one to bear this unfortunate news, but I have a warrant to arrest thee. I’m . . . surprised thee didn’t just stay away.”
“Arrest me? I just arrived! And I promise to stay clear of the taverns.”
“It’s not the drinkin’ this time.” A frown settled over the constable’s round features, and he hooked his thumbs in his waistcoast pockets as he studied Matthew. “The first mate said thee was seen coming out of the captain’s cabin just before the ship made sail. Thee was heard arguing with him, by several deckhands. The warrant was written up the day the Fortuna sailed in.”
“So I argued with him.” He glanced at Phoebe. “Why is that a concern?”
He quirked a bushy eyebrow. “So thee admits it?”
“Admit what, Zacchaeus?”
“That thee was the last one in the captain’s cabin.”
Matthew felt Phoebe glance sharply at him. “What are you talking about? Why would it matter?”
“Because the captain was found mortally wounded in his cabin.”
The news hit Matthew like a fist in the solar plexus. No, no, it’s not possible. He was gripped by a sick feeling of dread, a dread much stronger than any he’d experienced on the Pearl, even worse than when the ship was dismembered and his father sent him off in a whaleboat, refusing to leave until the entire crew was accounted for.
“Captain Foulger . . . he’s . . . dead?” Phoebe swayed and Zacchaeus, standing closest to her, caught her.
Sharp needles of creeping heat began to crawl up Matthew’s spine, but outwardly he remained stoic. He turned his gaze directly into Phoebe’s shocked eyes, trying to reassure her that he did not do this deed, then pulled his eyes away from her to answer. “Zacchaeus, do you really think I would return to the island, this very island, if I had murdered a Nantucket sea captain?”
Zacchaeus seemed momentarily nonplussed. “It does seem a bit foolhardy, but I’m just paid to carry out orders. I’m sorry, cousin. Thee will need to come with me.” His grip was firm on Matthew’s upper arm.
Matthew ground the edges of his teeth together and said nothing. He watched Phoebe struggle for control, watched her momentarily lose and regain it.
He shrugged his cousin’s hand off of his arm and clutched Phoebe’s shoulders. “I didn’t do it, Phoebe. You believe me, don’t you?”
“Your hand. There was blood on it after thee returned. After thee had received thy lay from the captain—” She stopped herself, glancing at Zacchaeus, then lowered her eyes.
In that moment of hesitation, Matthew drew back. Panic tore through him. “Phoebe, you—of all people—you must believe me.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Phoebe, the crew said thee had succumbed on an island. But thy father refused to have a funeral service alongside the captain’s. He said he would know in his heart if his own daughter had left this earth. I see he is right. He’ll be pleased to see thee.”
She seemed to come out of her stupor, tears coursing down her face. “My father. I need to see my father.”
Matthew turned to the constable. “Zacchaeus, let me at least get Phoebe to her father.”
A shadow passed over the constable’s face. “Thee will see him first.”
Phoebe’s head jerked up. “Is he not at home?”
Zacchaeus squinted, as if it pained him to say the words. “Nay, Phoebe. He is in the gaol. Debtor’s prison.”
Matthew seemed to be the first to recover from the shock of Zacchaeus’s news, much more quickly than Phoebe. “Let’s get, then,” he told the constable icily. “What are you waiting for?”
Tears filled Phoebe’s wide, frightened eyes, and she pressed a fist to her lips. It was all happening so fast! She knew, before Zacchaeus and Matthew disappeared off Straight Wharf and onto Main Street toward the old gaol on Vestal Street, that she had just made one of the gravest mistakes of her life—topping what she felt was quite a long list. It had lasted only a matter of seconds, but that’s all it had taken to turn Matthew cold. She had seen and felt his withdrawal like a slap in the face. And it was entirely her fault.
She had to do something to fix this. She straightened her spine and turned her terror into vigor, her despair into determination, her remorse into a promise: I will get to the bottom of this, Matthew Macy. I made this mess, and somehow, I will unmake it.
A burst of emotion flooded through her chest, and then astonishing clarity filled her mind: she had things to do. First, to gather missing pieces of information. And that would begin at the Pacific Bank.
Ten minutes later, she stood in front of Horace Russell’s desk at the Pacific Bank. His small mouth dropped in an O and his bespectacled eyes widened. “But, but . . . thee is dead,” he said.
“I am not,” she answered. “I am much alive.”
Captain Phineas Foulger, Phoebe learned from Horace Russell, had not provided funds for the defaulted mortgage on 35 Centre Street as he had promised. The morning after the Fortuna set out on its voyage, Phoebe’s father had been evicted from the house, passed from one relative to another, until his welcome ran out.
“Thee put my father into debtor’s
prison! Nantucket law allows a man one year to repay a debt, but thee put him into prison and put our Centre Street house up for sale.”
“That was not my decision, Phoebe. That is to say, yes, I did put the house up for sale to pay off his debts. But I did not instigate sending him to debtor’s prison.”
“Who did?”
“The entire Starbuck clan. Led by thy aunt Dorcas after her house was burned down by thy father’s own hand.”
Apparently, Horace explained, Barnabas had been experimenting with candle making and blew up the home of Dorcas Starbuck. Dorcas pressed charges, no one else would shelter Barnabas, and that meant the constable had no choice but to take him to debtor’s prison.
Phoebe’s spirits sank. There was one bright spot, Horace told her, nodding his head until his wattle wobbled. “The Centre Street house has not yet sold. In fact, the bank has had trouble getting any interest in it.” He came around his desk and leaned toward her, so close she could smell his breath. Horrible breath! “Everyone assumes it has bad luck.”
Phoebe felt the glimmer of a spark within her, small and flickering at first, then it grew to a flame. Her stomach did not twist and clench at the smell of horrible Horace Russell’s breath. She had two legs firmly on the ground, the horizon was not tipping and swaying, and she was not dizzy or nauseated!
She strode out of Horace Russell’s office feeling strangely emboldened. She hurried to 28 Orange Street, walked right in the front door, and ignored the startled looks on the servants’ faces. “Where is she?” she said in a loud voice. “Where is Sarah Foulger?”
Dressed in black mourning clothes, Sarah appeared at the door of the front room and gasped when she saw Phoebe. Her face blanched and her hands flew to her mouth. “Thee! Thee was . . . said . . . to be dead,” she stammered. From behind her, Hiram Hoyt appeared. His eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of Phoebe, and the perpetual pipe dropped from his mouth, spilling tobacco ash on the wooden floor.
An odd will-o’-the-wisp floated through Phoebe’s mind, but she had no time to reflect on it. Where had she seen that before? “I nearly did die. Thy father had me gone and buried. But God had a different plan. When I recovered, I returned to Nantucket as quickly as possible. Just now, as the schooner arrived, I learned of thy father’s passing.”
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