by Lisa Norato
And when he thought of those he’d be leaving behind… .
Johnny wished Iris would lift her head and look at him. He longed to gaze into her eyes. She once claimed she loved him. Had her love been real or the confused feelings of a little sea urchin confronted with her imaginary friend? Life had only recently quieted down enough for them to begin to get to know one another as adults, and now Johnny was being asked to leave.
And to leave on the next stage, with barely time for goodbye.
What did Iris feel for him at this moment? he wondered.
These past weeks, Johnny had kept his manner slightly reserved around her, careful of her delicate, emotional state. She had nearly lost her father, and her own life had come into peril. Under those circumstances, it would have been unfair to press his romantic attentions, especially when he had nothing to offer a wife.
Johnny pulled himself out of his thoughts with the realization that everyone had been staring at him in anticipation of a response.
Captain Moon’s strong, authoritative voice broke the silence. “Gentlemen, I can arrange for my nephew Lud to drive you all back into town. And Johnny, I assume you’ll wish to say goodbye to the Websters and Benjamin Bliss. Remember, Salem is not so very far away, but then I imagine you shall be quite busy.”
“Oh, indeed he shall be well occupied, Captain,” said Attorney Read. “Very busy indeed. Mr. Mayne, how long do you anticipate it shall take you to gather your belongings? The sooner we are able to catch a stage the better.”
“All of my possessions were destroyed in the lighthouse fire. I came to Pilgrim Light with nothing but the clothes on my back and my mother’s bible. It appears I shall be leaving the same way, but there is something I need to do first. Iris, would you feed Salty with me one last time?” His throat tightened.
She glanced up then, but Johnny saw through her smile to the solemn mood brewing in her blue-gray eyes. “Yes,” she said simply. “I would like that.”
Shortly thereafter, dressed for the weather, Iris in her hooded cloak and white knitted mittens, they walked the bluff outside Nook House, while the captain and Nurse Hastings entertained the Salem lawyers over tea in the sitting room.
A light coating of freshly fallen snow covered the landscape. Frozen reed grasses crunched beneath their soles. Overhead, the sky shone a crisp winter’s blue.
Johnny drank in the view, resolving to commit it to memory as they waited for Salty to arrive. Iris had been accompanying him each morning, and his heart ached at the thought this would be the last time in a very long while before he might start his morning with Iris and his seabird friend. She belonged here at Nook House with the father she’d nearly lost, while he belonged in Salem.
She pulled a strip of bacon from her pocket and draped it over the opened palm of her white mitten, holding it up as though expecting Salty to catch its scent. She bit the lower half of her cherry red lips as she waited. A few, loose strands of her pale ash blond hair escaped the scarlet hood to swirl on a sea breeze. She stood tall and anchored with a vista of the sea behind her, and Johnny thought then that surely there was no more beautiful sight in the entire world.
“Will you look after Salty for me when I’m gone?” he asked. “Will you see that he continues to get his special breakfast and does not grow lonely?”
“I will,” she promised without turning to look at him.
“I shall miss these mornings.” He hoped she understood he included her in the sentiment. But if she did, she did not say nor return the feeling.
A hawking cry signaled Salty’s arrival. He circled once overhead before descending with wings spread to make a graceful landing on a nearby boulder. Balancing on his one leg, he cocked his head, first in Iris’s direction and then in Johnny’s. He quickly noticed it was Iris who held his breakfast and greeted her with a loud squawk.
“Good morning, Salty,” she said.
The gull gave his black-tipped tail a shake then politely stretched forth with opened beak. Iris stepped closer to drop the fatty strip inside, and as Salty gulped it down, she removed her glove to retrieve the remaining meat from her pocket.
“He fairly snatches the bacon from my hand, yet he is very well behaved when it is you who is feeding him, Iris. I believe you may have stolen Salty’s affection from me.”
“Nonsense, no one shall ever replace you in his heart.”
For a moment Johnny wondered whether there could be some deeper meaning behind her words. Dare he hope Iris felt the same in her own heart?
“Would you care to feed him the rest, since this shall be your last opportunity for a time?” She offered him the bacon slices.
“Thank you, I would.” Johnny accepted the strips. There was so much more he longed to say outside this polite conversation about Salty’s breakfast, and yet he did not know how to express what was in his heart. He did not quite understand it himself. Should he promise to visit? He couldn’t say when he’d see her again. Did she even care? If only they had been allowed more time together. But if he must go, Johnny was grateful Iris would see him leave Nook House a man of fortune and health and not escorted back to prison, blind and impoverished.
When the last of the bacon was devoured, Johnny took one last look at Salty and said goodbye with a heavy heart.
“I suppose we should return inside,” he said, turning to Iris. “The lawyers will be waiting.”
“You go on ahead, Johnny. I wish to stay here a while longer.”
Johnny swallowed. In an instant he had gone from poverty to wealth. He was a blessed man and yet he was filled with a great sorrow. His chest constricted painfully, knowing the time had come to say farewell. “I suppose this is goodbye then.”
“Goodbye, Johnny. Be well and God go with you to prosper you in all you do.”
He stepped before her and took her hands in his. “Something has always separated us. First it was the sea, when your mother took you off the Mad Colonial and brought you home to Nook House. And then we were separated by my post as keeper, which kept me across the bay in the light tower. And now, my inheritance prevents us from seeing each other every day. But separation cannot erase the memory of you. God keep you, little sea urchin, until we meet again.”
Johnny leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss on her smooth cheek, pink and cool from the frosty air. Then he turned abruptly and took his leave, and this time it was he who could not look her in the eye.
*
Iris snuggled deeper into her fur-lined hood. A flurry of snowflakes brushed her cheek with an icy sting. She did not move from the bluff, not even after Salty flew off to join his fellow gulls. She stayed, waiting for the clop of horses’ hooves on the cold frozen ground then listened as they faded away from Nook House.
She felt small and frightened. Johnny’s loss left a great void in her heart, but this time she would not be able to ease her sadness with the creation of an imaginary friend. She was no longer a child, but a grown woman forced to let the man she loved go. Johnny deserved freedom. She could not have allowed him to feel he had a responsibility to her because of her father’s promise. How was she to ever know if his affection for her had been anything more than a deathbed promise to her father or a lingering sense of loyalty to a little girl he once knew?
And so Iris had urged him to leave, though she had never expected he would be gone from their lives this soon.
Chapter 28
Duxbury, Massachusetts, Early Spring, 1826
The pewter chandelier, which for years had graced Nook House’s third floor, had been lately refitted with new chimneys of intricately cut glass that reflected the candle flames several times brighter than the former chimneys. Soft, glittering candlelight shone down on the musicians and dancers below. The fireplace was alight with a roaring blaze that further illuminated the gaiety filling the great room. Tables of refreshments held everything from hearty fare such as roasted beef, ham and turkey to lighter delicacies like wafers with whipped cream and jellies, relishes and a mult
itude of cakes and pies.
The evening outside was bleak and gray with clouds, but the spacious room was full of golden light and festive cheer and the gay colors of well-dressed ladies and gents swirling across the dance floor in an English reel. They chased each other up and down two long lines and then danced together in a sequence of whirling steps.
Nook House was hosting a ball to welcome spring, its first in many years.
Presently, the music ended and the dancers claimed new partners in anticipation of a waltz. The fiddle commenced to play its opening notes.
Iris had felt herself being watched all evening and now that a new dance had begun — a relatively modern dance for the younger attendees — Father leaned over to whisper in her ear, “It appears your young man has finally worked up the nerve to claim a dance. Ah, here he comes now. I wondered what was taking him so long. My guess is, he’s been waiting for a dance he felt familiar with.”
“He is not my young man,” Iris said, feeling herself blush.
“Oh, I fear I must disagree, Daughter. Now that he’s recently returned to Duxbury, his attentions seem clearly directed towards you. I watched him approach you in the churchyard this Sunday past, and I’ve seen the way he’s been staring at you all evening.”
Her father was fully recuperated from his injury, though he still, at times, used Johnny’s old walking stick to help himself get around. Iris wasn’t certain whether he actually needed the assistance or simply enjoyed carrying around a reminder of Johnny. Father never returned to the small bedroom across the hall but moved all his belongings back into the master bedroom. Iris removed her mother’s possessions, keeping most of them for herself, gifting several items to Hetty and donating still others to charity. Father had insisted that her mother’s vanity should remain in his room undisturbed. Upon it, he kept her miniature.
He sipped from his glass of cider, swallowing thoughtfully with a crease of his brow. “I’ve overheard your Ladies Sewing Society refer to him as the handsomest fellow in Duxbury, and now with his recent advancement, I would not be surprised if he were hailed as the most eligible bachelor in town. I shall have to keep my eye on him, though I can hardly blame the fellow for his interest in you. You look radiant, Iris. A picture of your dear mother.”
“Thank you, Father. Being compared to Mama is the most generous compliment you could ever bestow me.”
She wore the colors of Nook House in honor of the occasion. A buttery yellow satin gown cut in the more fitted manner of modern fashion with a high, wide neckline that reached to her shoulders and puffed greatly at the sleeves. The full skirt was trimmed in emerald satin ribbon embroidered in a rose and leaf pattern.
She was reminded of the day Dr. Huxham had arrived to remove the bandages from Johnny’s eyes. Iris had great hopes of Johnny’s reaction to the gown she’d worn especially for the occasion, but he never did get to see it.
She glanced now at the handsome gentlemen of whom her father spoke.
Jensen Roark was crossing the room with purposeful strides straight for her. He had been advanced from first mate to captain for his bravery on the doomed Vulture and his efforts in taking command when Captain Barrell became disabled.
Young Captain Roark greeted her father, offering his hand and his compliments on the gala. He was possessed of a sly, mischievous grin that raised a dimple in his left cheek, all of which added to his boyish charm.
He turned to Iris with bright hazel eyes and a bow of acknowledgment. “Miss Moon. I was wondering if I might have the pleasure of this dance.”
She looked to her father, who was watching her with amusement. He nodded in approval and Iris took the hand Captain Roark offered. She could hardly refuse. As hostess, it was her duty to participate in the festivities, to cater to her guests, but Jensen Roark had not approached her for the cotillion or minuet or quadrille. He had waited for the more intimate waltz. The newest of the dances consisting of held hands, linked arms and the light touching of waists, all with a closeness to allow for eye contact and conversation.
Indeed, he was a most handsome fellow, Iris could not deny. But as the russet-haired seafarer led her onto the dance floor, Iris prayed he would not view their dance as anything more than a neighborly gesture in the spirit and enjoyment of the ball.
She felt no romantic interest for the fellow. Her heart lay frozen in sadness, a disappointment that unfortunately cast a pall over her evening. Johnny had been sent an invitation but never responded. Had he forgotten them so soon?
The flute played, and holding hands, she moved side-by-side with Captain Roark to its gentle notes. Advance and retreat, advance and retreat, stepping upon the balls of her feet, and then they circled around. Turning to face each other, Captain Roark smiled into her eyes, and Iris had to avert her gaze so she might focus on the steps.
They stepped forward and back once more. “How long before you take your first command, Captain?”
Then forward again. “Miss Moon, won’t you call me Jensen?”
Linking hands overhead, they placed fingertips at each other’s waist. “But I would expect you’d be delighted to hear the use of your new title, Captain,” she countered as he twirled her in a pirouette.
They advanced into quick, hopping steps then came together again to hold each other at elbow length. They spun round and round on the dance floor in time with the other couples. “I am pleased, Miss Moon,” he said, “and very proud of the title, but nothing would please me more than… .”
Iris never heard anything more. As she circled around, her attention was stolen by a brief glimpse of a late arrival standing at the room’s entry — a fine, proper gentleman in a deep blue jacket with a crisp, white frill at his throat.
She danced with Captain Roark around again in another spin, and this time she saw Hetty dashing toward the new arrival.
They stepped lightly around the room in spinning circles, following the path of the other dancers, and Captain Roark was saying something about being assigned to a merchant vessel bound for a southern voyage. Opportunity allowed Iris a glance at where her father had been standing with his cup of cider, but when she searched for him, he was nowhere to be seen.
Butterflies danced in her tummy to the notes of the flute, creating such an exhilarated fluttering inside her.
It was almost more than she could manage to correctly follow the steps with her attention further split between keeping up with Captain Roark’s conversation and watching for the dance to place her in view of the room’s entry. And just when it seemed an opportunity had at last arisen, the plump Mrs. Sprague and her equally portly husband twirled right into her line of vision. Iris was unable see a thing past them.
The dance slowed and the steps brought them once again forward and back, forward and back. Then suddenly, there! By the refreshment tables, Iris spotted her father’s snowy white head. He was speaking with someone, his broad back blocking her view of just who that might be. Hetty stood alongside them and they seemed to be partaking in a toast.
The waltz ended, requiring Iris to look away so she might curtsey to Captain Roark. Likewise, he bowed and thanked her for the dance. “May I fetch you a cup of punch, Miss Moon?”
“That would be lovely, thank you,” she said, anxious to be led away to the exact spot where she’d last seen her father.
They hadn’t taken more than a few steps from the dance floor when the music started up again, this time for a simple country dance, and they were beset upon by a very excited Peter.
“Is this the dance, my lady? Mother says this is the dance. A country dance. You showed me, remember?”
“Yes, of course, I remember.” She had completely forgotten.
Peter blushed and stared shyly at her from beneath his lashes. “Will you dance with me, my lady?”
Iris swelled with pride at the young man’s courage. Initially, Peter had insisted he was not clever enough to learn to dance, but Iris had encouraged him. She knew he feared making a fool of himself, and so she had wo
rked on building his confidence, rehearsing the steps to a country dance with him each evening in the keeping room for weeks before the ball. She truly believed he could complete the dance, but she also knew that being his partner was necessary to his recollection of the steps. Everything must be exactly as they rehearsed, including her partnering him. “I’d be honored to dance with you, Peter.”
She turned apologetically to Jensen Roark. “Will you excuse us, Captain? I have been promising this particular dance to Peter.”
“I understand. But, Miss Moon, perhaps you’d honor me with another dance later?”
“I would enjoy that,” she said, even as Peter had taken her hand and began pulling her back into the cluster of dancers.
Couples made way for them in the center of the floor, some just curious, some cheering Peter on with a sweet smile. None had ever seen him dance, and there were those who presumed him incapable. A few couples intentionally left the floor, but Peter hardly noticed them as he released her hand and took his position opposite her.
Iris locked her gaze with his, silently willing him to succeed. If she could get him to continue focusing on her and not the crowd surrounding them, she knew he would triumph.
He moved through the first sequence of steps awkward and stilted. They came together locking arms and Iris whispered, “Now we swing around, just as we practiced. You’re doing fine.”
He began to relax at her encouragement. Little by little, he turned his worries over to the music and moved with less conscious effort, allowing the memory in his feet to lead him through the steps. Iris thought he danced as though the angels were guiding him, and before either of them realized it, the dance had ended and everyone was cheering in applause — Peter’s parents and siblings, the yard workers and field hands, and those Nook residents who’d been around since Peter was a child and had watched him grow.
He stood beside her flushed and dazed. “Why do they clap, my lady?”