The Promise Keeper: Sea Heroes of Duxbury

by Lisa Norato

  This whispering back and forth like conspirators fed Iris’s sense of adventure. Escaping to the roof before being seen was a challenge she could not resist. “We shall take the secret stairwell.” Urgency fueled her strength as she shoved away the heavy wooden plank that barred the door to the passageway. “It winds up through Nook House’s original structure against the chimney wall to the third floor.”

  “A secret stairwell?”

  She reached for the lantern on the long worktable, the only illumination in the large, dark space. Then taking Johnny by the hand, she pulled him toward the hearth.

  He pulled his hand from hers, his face darkening in confusion. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to explain to Hetty that we wish to go out on the captain’s walk? Besides, Snow is sure to give us away.”

  The old hinges squealed in protest as Iris opened the door to a pitch, narrow shaft and was greeted by a current of musty air. Inside, she could see nothing. The blackness was impenetrable. Was this what Johnny awakened to each morning? Darkness so consuming it filled her with a loneliness that seeped into her soul. A cold draft rose up to stroke her cheeks as though to lure her into the gloom.

  Iris suddenly remembered her distaste for the passage and the unsettling memories associated with it — her mother’s fear and restlessness whenever Father was away. The idea of having to seek shelter in the ancient stairwell had spooked Iris more than whatever unseen danger threatened. She hated the sound of its creaking timbers and the wind as it wailed around the chimney stack.

  Johnny’s presence had boosted her courage. It inflamed her spirit of adventure and a desire to steal away with him. She wouldn’t have thought to enter the stairwell otherwise. Perhaps she was being silly. Maybe they shouldn’t enter… .

  “Iris, tell me what is going on.”

  “I’ve gotten the door opened. You must first step over a very low sill to enter the stairwell’s landing.”

  A corner of his mouth crooked slightly. “Are you frightened, Iris?”

  She prickled at being teased and huffed with displeasure yet reached for his hand regardless. More for her own sake than his.

  Johnny pulled away. “No, it is easier if I hold onto your cloak and you direct me with your words.”

  “Very well, but take care not to stumble. The opening is narrow as are the stair treads. The winders are even narrower still. There are no handrails, but you’ll be able to brace your hand against the chimney wall as we climb.”

  Iris grabbed her lantern and tossed down another strip of bacon. “Stay, Snow,” she commanded before turning to step into the foot and a half opening. She squeezed through in her heavy cloak, the lantern’s flame casting wild shadows. They danced and flickered all around her.

  Johnny followed her inside, making far too much noise as he fumbled to close the door behind him. He clutched a fistful of her cloak from the back, and Iris began the steep climb.

  The stair treads creaked beneath their feet. Her lantern did not burn near brightly enough, so she was not aware of the spider webs until they broke across her face then clung to her lashes and lips.

  She suppressed her revulsion. Iris told Johnny the history of the house and explained the reason for the secret stairwell. He never questioned her mother’s motives or expressed confusion over what it was they might have needed to hide from.

  “Do you think Salty will be able to find you on the roof?” she asked to break his unnerving silence.

  “That is my hope. This is the longest we’ve been apart. He’s greeted me every morning, waiting on the fog bell for his breakfast of bacon. Whenever I took out the rescue boat, he’d join me. There he’d be, balancing on the stern, on his one leg, hoping this would be the day we’d go clamming.”

  Johnny’s talk of Salty was the most Iris had heard from him at one time since he’d come to Nook House.

  They had reached the third floor. Within the wainscoting was a carefully hidden door with a latch that could only be engaged from inside. Iris eased open the panel, enough to assure herself the great room was empty before leading Johnny out onto the carpeted space. She sucked in a lungful of air and shook off the eeriness of the tight, musty stairwell. A faint murmur of voices could be heard from below. Knowing it would not take Hetty long to figure out where she’d gone, Iris took Johnny’s hand, and this time he did not pull away.

  “What is this space?” he asked as they strode toward the doorway that would give them access to the roof.

  She knew he was sensing the emptiness of the large chamber, for they walked straight across with no furnishings to bar their way. Not a hint of dawn shone through the white cotton dimity dressing the windows. In the darkness, her lantern shed light on the caramel and cranberry wallpaper of French design and the delicate moldings of the fireplace mantel.

  Grief formed a familiar lump in her throat. “When Mama was alive, we used this space as a ballroom or for large family gatherings. There is a beautiful pewter chandelier overhead, crafted in Boston especially for this room. When the candles are lit, their flames reflect and magnify the light from its etched glass chimneys. This room has also been partitioned into guest bedchambers for visitors whenever the need arose.” But, like her Mama’s bedroom, this floor was used no longer, for there’d been no family gatherings or balls after her death.

  He made no reply, and Iris sensed he’d grown as somber as she at the mention of her mother.

  At the opposite end of the room lay a small, closed door which Iris opened. Releasing Johnny’s hand, she stepped into a closeted space then reached on tiptoe to pull down a folding ladder.

  A brisk, wintery gust whirred into the shaft, blowing out her hair.

  Johnny filled his lungs and exhaled. “How I’ve missed waking to that crisp morning breeze.”

  “Just one more climb,” she said, “and you shall be breathing all the fresh sea air you desire. This climb is a ladder like on a vessel’s companionway. I’ll go first to open the hatch.”

  Once Iris had gained solid footing on the walk, she watched over Johnny as he made the climb. He waved her away as he stepped unassisted onto the roof platform.

  Iris braced her feet and raised the cloak’s hood, for it was a fresh, rigorous wind that blew up the coast. “I never tire of coming up here. When Mama was alive, we would stand together just like you and I are doing now. Listen, Johnny.”

  The surf swelled against the bluff, crashing on the rocks below, then rolled back out to sea in a low, mournful hiss. Its thunderous clamor filled her ears until her breathing began to flow in concert with its rhythm.

  “Mama loved the height, the view and the salty air. This spot gave her a sense of freedom and security she relished. I feel her spirit more keenly here than anywhere inside the house.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “I could stand here with you for hours, but our day shall be full, starting with worship service to celebrate the anniversary of the nativity of our Blessed Savior.”

  His brow furrowed as though he would protest.

  Iris spoke up before he could. “The Ladies Sewing Society didn’t take time out of their busy schedules to sew you a proper shirt for church so you could while away the morning alone in Father’s rocker.”

  “And I won’t let you use a shirt as an excuse to drag me out for public display, so all Duxbury Town might have a look at their unfortunate, blind keeper. I won’t stand by as they gather around to offer sympathy and a show of support, only to walk away whispering words of gratitude that it was not themselves whose lives were destroyed.”

  Johnny questioned his faith. It was understandable, and yet it pierced Iris with a tremendous stab of disappointment and sorrow.

  A flock of gulls circled above with hawking cries, and Johnny cocked his head, listening.

  Iris searched for a bird with one leg.

  Johnny removed a bacon slice from his pocket. “Take me to the railing,” he said, holding forth his hand so Iris might lead him there.

  Nook House was
built facing south in order that it might take full advantage of the sun. She escorted Johnny eastward in the direction of the Gurnet so he might feel the sun’s warmth on his face once it rose. “Here we are,” she said as she brought him to the edge.

  He reached out to grab onto the waist high rails and lifted his face to the sea. “Is it dawn yet?”

  Iris smiled, only too happy to be his eyes. “When we arrived, I saw a pinkish glow at the horizon along Massachusetts Bay where sky meets sea. But now that pink has taken on a peachy hue, and brilliant beams of milky light are reaching into the heavens in the form of an arc. I see shades of orange and lavender reflected in the clouds. Beyond them, the sky is a crisp winter’s blue. The bay waters are a dusky blue gray, but even now the sun’s reflection has begun to stream a path of light across the waves to shore.”

  The firm, grim line of Johnny’s mouth crooked slightly.

  “Thank you for bringing me here, Iris.”

  “You know perfectly well I was bound for the captain’s walk the moment the weather allowed, but it is much more enjoyable to be standing here with you. From that first morning you took up your post at Pilgrim Light, you have engaged my imagination and kept me company from across the bay.”

  “I wouldn’t be here with you now if not for the loss of my sight. I’d be on the deck of the lantern room and we’d still be separated by the bay.”

  “Something separates us still. You make your heart like a stone against me. Why? I know you don’t dislike my company. I won’t believe you if you try to tell me otherwise. I wish you’d just come out with whatever it is you’re keeping secret. It torments you, Johnny. I know it does.”

  He turned to face her with an earnest expression. “Don’t ask me to open my heart to you, Iris. Nothing is harder to live with than false hope. Isn’t it enough reason that my blindness separates us?”

  “I don’t care about your blindness.” She pressed closer until their faces were but inches apart. She felt deeply for Johnny, feelings of affection and devotion, feelings that had lived dormant inside her since childhood and which recently had been set free. “This has nothing to do with your ability to see.”

  “It has everything to do with it. You deserve a man with all his faculties, a man who can provide for you, protect and take proper care of you. Don’t waste your affections on a light keeper who lives in the dark.”

  “But Johnny, I see how hard you try, how well you are learning to do things for yourself. You walk with more confidence every day. And I love you for it.”

  The words burst from her heart. She could not have quelled them if she’d wanted. “It may not be a ladylike thing to say to a fellow who hasn’t declared his intentions, but this love shines so bright within me, I cannot contain it. You said so yourself once. I am no lady but a spirited hoyden, and now you have proof.”

  Johnny grinned. “I was wrong. You are more lady than I know what to do with, Iris Moon.”

  Moments passed and his smile faded. “But you wish for something that simply cannot be. I am said to be a cursed man. Shall I tell you the reason I was sent to prison?”

  Chapter 17

  Johnny’s words weighed on Iris’s heart. He was a good man, a Bible-reading man, a man who risked his life to save others, including hers. He didn’t really believe he was cursed, did he?

  He remained resolute, his face fixed like a stone, his mouth a grim line, as he waited for her answer. Iris could see he was struggling to contain his emotion.

  “Please tell me everything. I wish you would.” In a bold impulse, Iris grabbed his rough, woolen lapels. “I cannot believe you would ever do anything deserving of a prison sentence.”

  Johnny stiffened, but she held on tightly, even though his mouth remained cold and unyielding.

  “I was sent to debtor’s jail,” he said.

  Iris didn’t know what she had been expecting to hear, but not that. Now she understood, at least in part, why he’d kept to himself. He hadn’t wanted anyone to know of his shame. “What happened?”

  “I suppose it best to start at the beginning.” Backing out of her grasp, he stepped away and turned his face toward the first rays of sun. Presently, he said, “Too much confidence can be a dangerous thing. At least for me, it was. It bred ambition and greed. You see, I’d become successful in my endeavors. I believed I couldn’t fail. The future was mine, and one day I would be rich and powerful. I had determined I should be married to the prettiest girl in town. Her name was Augusta.”

  Iris was struck with a bitter pang of jealousy. Augusta. The name rang in her ears until she could barely focus on what else Johnny was saying. She chided herself for her pettiness, that she should allow this faceless girl to overwhelm her thoughts, but it could not quell her disappointment in learning Johnny had once loved someone who was not her.

  She forced herself to give him her full attention.

  “… an adventurous young life sailing with your father, visiting foreign ports and exotic sights most schoolboys only read about. I had the good fortune to receive my education on board a merchant ship while learning a trade and earning a fair wage. I enjoyed a place of honor with my captain and was treated as family. And I seem to remember a sprite, pale-haired minx who practically worshiped the deck I walked on.”

  He grinned, waiting for a reaction, but Iris, knowing it was true and that her feelings for him remained the same, could do no more than admit softly, “Yes, I remember now.”

  He moved along the balustrades, feeling his way along the railing. “I loved to carve and when I came of age, Captain Moon encouraged me to attend William Rush’s sculpture school in Philadelphia to study art and anatomy. After I graduated, I found employment in Truro as a figurehead carver. Word of my skill spread, and in time I had the freedom to pick and choose my commissions and name my price. I sought to increase my capital further by borrowing on my assets to become part owner of a two-hundred-fifty-eight ton barque bound for the merchant trade. My partner signed on to be her agent and captain, and she was christened the Augusta in honor of his daughter and my sweetheart.

  “For months I worked on a life-sized figurehead, sculpting her likeness from a half ton block of pine. I spent hours calculating her anatomy to scale. This was to be my masterpiece. Everything had to be perfect — shaping, carving, sanding and painting — to portray Augusta’s correct expression and the ripple of her gown. All of Truro came out to watch me fit the figurehead to the Augusta’s prow and then later in the days that followed to watch her sail from our Cape Cod shores, bound for the Mediterranean fruit trade. Augusta was to sail on the barque with her family, and I had in my mind that the generous return I was to receive for my money would leave me in good stead to ask for her hand. The barque sailed well to Smyrna, making good passage, for it took only forty-one days to reach her destination of the Aegean coast.”

  He swallowed and a shadow seemed to cross Johnny’s handsome features.

  “But after a successful eight-month voyage, the Augusta ran aground a short mile from Truro shores, caught in a violent, sudden, winter squall. All lives aboard were lost, including my dear girl’s. I never told her … never got the chance to properly declare my love. The barque was destroyed along with her cargo and my figurehead. Scarred, battered pieces of it washed ashore. They were all that remained of a lovely eighteen-year-old girl. Augusta’s body was never recovered. I have not carved since.”

  “Oh, Johnny.” The horror sent a chill through Iris that had nothing to do with the wintry air. She deeply regretted her jealousy for the poor, illfated Augusta.

  “I’m so deeply sorry for your loss. Is this why you shut yourself up in that tower and guarded your privacy? You have been hiding in your grief this year past? Avoiding any fellowship, never visiting Nook House or allowing Father to reveal your identity, because you knew I would insist on seeing you? It was a terrible tragedy, to be sure, but you mustn’t let it keep you from carving. It was not your fault.”

  Several moments passed in whic
h he did not utter a word, and still Iris remained by his side, keeping him company in his silent darkness, not knowing how else to encourage him, not wishing to push him overmuch.

  “The locals had a much different opinion,” he said at length. “Cape Cod is rich in folklore and its seafaring people tend to make for a superstitious lot. If they were to hear of my blindness, they would say it was further proof of my cursedness. They would say I got what I deserved, for it is believed that the custom of decorating a vessel’s prow with a figurehead gives the vessel ‘eyes’ to see through the unknown of sea and weather. A vessel at sea is looked upon as a living thing, and the ‘eyes’ of its figurehead ensure a safe passage. The wreck of the Augusta so close to home came as a grievous loss. I suppose it was either blame God or my carving.”

  “But, surely they cannot imprison you for superstition.”

  Johnny gave a dry, humorless laugh. “No, Iris. But with word spreading that my carvings were cursed, no one would commission from me, and as the surviving business partner I remained responsible for the bulk of the debt. I could not earn enough to cover it all.”

  “But was not the Augusta insured?”

  He nodded. “She was, but even the insurance could not repay all that was owed. I was ruined financially. My personal property was sold to pay creditors, including my carving tools and still it was insufficient. I was arrested and conducted to prison.”

  “But that seems so harsh. You did nothing wrong. Was there no other way?”

  “The laws are indeed, at times, harsh, Iris. I saw men much worse off than I. One fellow had been jailed over a paltry sum of eleven dollars and twenty-five cents. We shared a debtor’s compartment — a room no more than twelve-feet square — with several others. My liability was severe. I belonged there. My friend did not. But I was fortunate in having your father come to my aid. He helped me attain the post of lighthouse keeper. According to the new insolvency laws, I could declare myself destitute and be released if I had a means of working to pay off my debts. With my first earnings, I paid off my friend’s prison debt.”