She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I was. I am! Why would thee come to my mother’s house in such a state? Soused! Like a low-rank sailor.”
He lifted his shoulders and shrugged in such a way that Daphne sensed an echo of the charming, lighthearted boy he had been. The boy she had admired and envied for his devil-may-care attitude, the boy she had loved and adored.
“I was nervous. I came to speak to thee about our . . . future.”
Her anger started to slip away. “We can discuss it some other time, Tristram. There’s certainly no need for haste.” How her mother would shudder to hear those words spoken aloud!
Relief flooded his eyes, which did not surprise her. For whatever reason, she knew he was not keen to wed, despite her mother’s steady prodding. But then what next poured out of Tristram’s mouth did surprise her. More than surprise, it disoriented her because it was the last thing she expected from him.
“But there is reason enough to hurry. ’Tis time we made plans, Daph. I want us to be married before I sail away.”
She squinted in confusion. “Before thee sets sail? Where to?”
“I’m going to captain the Illumine’s maiden voyage. I thought thee knew. Nantucket’s small for secrets. I was sure Ren would have told thee.”
“So Ren isn’t leaving?”
“Nay. He wants to stay on island, at least until next spring, so he said. But I am doubtful. He seems to have lost the fire in his belly for seafaring.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful news!”
“Which news?” Tristram narrowed his eyes in confusion. “That I’m leaving? Or that he’s staying?”
“I meant . . . ’tis wonderful for the children’s sake. They need him here.” She tried to redirect the conversation. “When does thee plan to embark?”
“As soon as possible. To return before winter sets in. So we could wed in December.”
“December? This December?”
“Too soon?”
“Of course it’s too soon! Mother would never allow it. Far too suspect. She will require a year’s engagement, at the very least. Mayhap longer.” Her mother could not, would not be dissuaded from believing Jane’s elopement was done to save face, to hide a pregnancy. And it was not true! But Daphne would go overboard in the other direction, just to avoid unnecessary backlash.
He gave her a patronizing smile. “But I’m not marrying Lillian. I’m marrying thee.” Before she could object, he added, “Trust me, I thoroughly understand thy mother’s way of thinking. So then . . . we will compromise. Promise me we will wed as soon as I return from the maiden voyage.”
The sun rose over the trees behind Trist, casting its first rays on the day. “Let’s give it some serious consideration.” She was anxious to be on her way, to catch Ren and explain about her absence last night.
“Daphne, I’m not fooling around here. Thee said it thyself, we are like a canoe stuck circling in the water. It’s time we started to paddle together, in the same direction.” He grabbed her shoulders, wanting her to face him. “Don’t look at me as if I’m prattling away in Chinese. I am asking thee to be my wife.”
Behind Tristram was the grand house, and Daphne caught sight of her mother standing at an upstairs window, watching them, hands clasped as if in prayer.
Here it was. The moment she—and her mother!—had been waiting for, yet now that it was here, she didn’t know what to say. Or what to feel.
She risked a look at him.
He was limned by the sun behind him, adding to the moment’s solemnity. His eyes, albeit bloodshot by last night’s overindulging, were the clear blue of pond ice, his hair, albeit musty and in need of a combing, the brown of polished mahogany. He was considered a handsome and charming man by all who knew him. Were he to have benefited from inherited wealth like so many others had, he might have been considered Nantucket’s most eligible bachelor. Even without the inheritance, he came from solid ancestry, from one of the island’s founders, Thomas Macy. And his skillful and determined avoidance of matrimony only added to his intrigue.
Daphne had known Tristram all her life. They’d always felt at ease in each other’s company, always free to share whatever was on their minds, but right now, she had no idea at all whether she wanted to marry him. Did she love him? Did he love her?
“Daphne,” he said again, impatient now, “don’t keep me hanging off the mast here.” But he didn’t really expect her to turn him down. No one did.
She tried not to look past him to the upstairs window in the grand house, but she couldn’t help herself. Yes, her mother was still there.
He took her hand up to his mouth and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. He looked up at her, his blue eyes full of expression, of longing, of eagerness. Mayhap he did love her the way she wanted to be loved. “Yes,” she said, surprised by the conviction in her voice. “Yes, of course I will marry thee, Tristram Macy.”
Daphne arrived so early that no light was on in the keeping room of Centre Street yet. She knocked gently on the door until Ren opened it, a surprised look on his sleepy face. “I’m so sorry, Ren. I tried to leave yesterday afternoon, but Mother, she . . . she shanghaied me. I couldn’t break away.”
“No need to apologize.” He backed away from the door to let her in. “It worked out rather well.”
Oh. Daphne felt a tinge of disappointment, though she wasn’t sure why.
“It’s you I have to thank, Daphne. You pointed out to me what was needed.” Ren fanned the flames of the fire and set the teakettle on the trammel. “Look how self-sufficient I’ve become. Soon I won’t need you or Patience.”
Another tweak of disappointment. “Where is Patience?”
“Today is Saturday. Her day off.” He poured her a cup of tea. “The very day, I’ve been told, that you promised to take the children clamming.”
Daphne bit her lip. How kerfuffling! She thought it was only Sixth Day. She thought the children would arrive in an hour’s time for the day’s Cent School. She felt a rosy bloom creep up her cheeks. She’d woken Ren up for no good reason. She thought of telling him about the conversation she’d just had with Tristram, that they were now officially betrothed, but something held her back. She would let Tristram tell him. “I’d told Henry and Hitty that I would take them clamming over in the salt marsh during low tide on Seventh Day.”
Ren took a pitcher off the shelf, filled the tea into the small, screened scoop, and poured boiling water over the filter. He waited patiently—as long as he could—before pouring the tea into two china cups. Clearly pleased with himself, he handed Daphne a cup of hot, pale-colored tea. “I’ve had a serious hankering for clam chowder lately. Might anyone object if I tagged along?”
Daphne sipped her tea to hide her smile. The tea tasted like hot water, but her disappointment in the day vanished like the steam rising from her cup. “I think not.”
Ren found clamming rakes in the yard, and after a hurried breakfast of bread and soft-boiled eggs, the four of them walked over to the marsh. Salt breezes swept across the sand, carrying the fragrance of bayberries and beach plums. Henry and Hitty set right to work. They pulled off their shoes and stockings, and ran down to the water’s edge to start digging. Ren set them up with buckets, and showed them how to find clams: as soon as the undertow pulled a wave back, revealing a soft sand, dig when a bubbling hole emerged. Clams!
Daphne stayed a few rods distance, holding a clamming rake, watching them. Something had changed between Ren and his children. Or was starting to change? Whenever, whatever, it pleased her to see their comfort grow with each other.
Ren walked back toward her and plopped down on the sand. He scooped sand in his hand and let it fall. Something was on his mind, she had learned that much about him. “I heard the magistrate will return to Nantucket by week’s end. I plan to speak to him about Dr. Mitchell. He is still seeing patients. I have come across him a number of times.”
Nantucket was a small town, with only one doctor. Did Ren really expect
anything different? But she didn’t respond, not until he finally looked up at her. “Does thee truly intend to grasp this nettle?”
“A nettle? Hardly that.”
“Friends are known for peace. Jane put much effort into mending the world.”
“And yet I would not honor Jane if I let this pass over. I don’t believe in that kind of Quaker thinking—don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t even think about it. Jane deserves better.” Hitty and Henry had lost interest in clamming and chased after each other by the water’s edge. “My children should not be growing up without their mother. The doctor should be held accountable for this.”
Daphne made a swirl in the sand beside her with her finger. “Dr. Mitchell is a kind man.”
“I don’t argue that. But kindness isn’t what’s on the stand here. The issue is causing harm to a patient, someone who trusted him. Surely you can see my point.”
Could she? Because she didn’t seem to be able to. “I think any man is capable of making mistakes. Mayhap he caused Jane’s death, mayhap not. Surely, it was not intentional.”
“What if it was a careless error? Do you want him to go unpunished? To harm another Nantucketer?”
“Of course not. But he was candid with thee. He didn’t deny that he had given her laudanum, but he believes Jane found this tincture elsewhere. What good would come from destroying Dr. Mitchell’s reputation? He has served Nantucketers for years. He’s done far more good than bad.”
“Not just bad, Daphne. Evil. The poppy sauce is an evil. Sailors think it harmless and soon they are bound to it. I will not allow it on my ship.”
“Jane took it willingly, Ren. Thee must admit that much.” He refused to face that truth. “What would it serve to bring charges against Dr. Mitchell? Ultimately, what would it give thee? Peace of mind?”
“Peace of mind that no other Nantucketer would succumb.”
“And what if the doctor is telling the truth? What if he did not give Jane that particular tincture?”
“All the evidence points to it. It came from the same flask Mitchell gave her. His initial is engraved on it.”
“What if Jane had procured it herself?”
He straightened his back and leaned in. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?”
“Nay, I did not even realize she was indulging but for that one time . . . ” She sighed. “I’m not sure thee will find what thee is looking for by prosecuting Dr. Mitchell.”
“Justice. That is what I want for Jane. So she might rest in peace.”
“Jane is resting in peace. ‘There is fullness of joy in the presence of God.’”
He said nothing, only kept his gaze fixed on two sandpipers by the water’s edge.
“Mayhap, this pursuit of justice isn’t for Jane, but for thee.”
He snapped his head around. “For me? How so?”
“Mayhap . . . peace of mind? Assurance that thee is not to blame for Jane.”
“Blame?”
“Thee might feel responsible for the undue stress Jane had been under.”
He held her gaze a moment longer, then looked away. “Other sea captains’ wives have had to make do alone. Was Jane so very unhappy?”
“Nay, I believe—I know—she was quite content. She loved her children, she looked forward to thy return. But,” she paused to watch a gull swoop down and pluck at a sand crab with its pointed yellow beak, “she did not share everything with me.” Great Mary’s journal, given to her by Father, for example. It sorely irked her that Jane had not shared news of such a meaningful gift with her.
It suddenly occurred to Daphne that Jane might not have considered the journal to be as meaningful as she did. When she had found the book in her sister’s nightstand, it was still bundled tight by a string, tied in a particular seaman’s knot that was characteristic of their father. Try as they might, she and Jane had never been able to reproduce that knot. It dawned on her just now . . . Jane had not even read the journal! And if so, why ever not?
Ren dug his hand into the sand, movement that startled her back to the present. “Unhappy without the Friends, I meant.” He lifted his handful of sand and splayed his fingers, so that sand poured out. “I took that from her.”
“She gave that to thee. ’Twas her choice.”
He glanced up at her. “But it was a hardship, was it not? More than I would have thought.”
“Aye, I do not deny it. ’Tis a hardship to be read out of Meeting. Especially when our own mother led the charge.” Another seagull circled above them, squawking, before flying back to stalk the ocean. “Jane had a hope thee might join her when thee returned.” She looked over at Henry and Hitty. They had grown bored of chasing each other and returned to the task of clam digging. “Would thee consider it? For their sake?”
“‘To mind the Light,’ she told you on her death bed. So that’s what Jane wanted of me?”
Daphne winced at the memory. When would she be able to think of Jane without recalling those desperate, confusing last few moments? “She did. But not just to appease her. She would only want it to come from thy heart.”
Ren rubbed a hand over his closely trimmed beard. “I am not tolerant of hypocrisy.”
She smiled. “No doubt thee will find plenty of hypocrisy in the Nantucket meetinghouse if thee is looking for it. We live on a sin-wracked island. Happily, God has not abandoned us. He is still richly present in our lives.” Ren brushed sand off his pants and she wondered if she had said too much.
“The tide is coming in.” He called out to the children to bring their buckets, for they must be on their way home, and they gave him a disappointed look. “I will consider it, Daphne. If for nothing else, think of the look on Lillian Coffin’s face when her pagan son-in-law strolls into Meeting.” He regretted the words as soon as he caught the shocked look on her face. “I am sorry. That was uncalled for.”
A laugh burst out of Daphne, and she clapped her hands over her mouth but couldn’t stop giggling. His face broke into a smile, and she couldn’t help smiling in return. She would not have imagined having such easy, candid conversations with Ren. And then it was the strangest thing—she suddenly felt as though she could have talked to him, laughed with him, for a long, long time. She made herself look up, wondering if he had the same thought. Their eyes met. Met and held. And then he touched her face gently with his fingers. She heard her heart drumming in her ears; it seemed to have run amok, her heart, run aground, gone astray. And then, like all such moments, it came to an end.
“Sand,” he said.
“Hmm?”
“You have sand on your face.”
Abruptly, he stretched to his feet, took her by the arm to help her stand, the children came running up, and then they were on their way home.
Late afternoon, Ren arrived at the cordage factory, feeling thoroughly satisfied with his conversation with the magistrate—back on Nantucket at long last!—that resulted in pressing charges against the doctor. He took the stairs two at a time to reach the loft and found Tristram seated at the ornate partner’s desk, surrounded by paperwork.
Tristram looked up at him with a scowl. “Where has thee been? I expected thee hours ago.”
“Clamming. With the children. Daphne had promised to take them, and I tagged along to help.”
Tristram frowned, pointing to a stack of folders he had put on Ren’s desk. “While I’m gone, thee must conduct some trading matters, and finish up contracts to outfit the Illumine.”
Ren cocked his head to one side. “I would have thought you’d be grinning from ear to ear to go get this ship of yours and sail it into Nantucket Harbour. And yet you seem all at sea.”
“There’s been rather a lot to take care of while thee was off on a morning frolic. I’ve got much to order: ropes and tar and leather and candles. Food supplies, clothing for the crew. More, apparently, than thee can bother thyself about.”
Ren startled at Tristram’s impatient tone. “You’re not bothered Daphne and I took the childre
n clamming, are you?”
“Thee spends a good bit of time with Daphne.”
“With my children, you mean. Daphne is my children’s aunt. She’s been a tremendous help to me.” He tipped his head. Trist’s suspicions sounded much like Lillian’s influence. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
Tristram stopped and looked up. “Should I be?”
“Of course not! Daphne’s always been your girl. Everybody knows that. I can’t understand why you haven’t made it official. I’m sure Lillian is most eager to have you in the family.”
Tristram did not respond.
“So why haven’t you?”
Tristram stared at him, a curious look on his face. “Thee just spent the entire morning with Daphne. Did she not speak of me? Of us?”
“We talked, but not of you. We talked mostly about Jane.” He thumped his fist on the partner’s desk. “About pressing charges against Dr. Mitchell.”
Tristram swayed back in his great chair, as if Ren’s words were a blow to his body. “Cousin, I have advised thee to let this matter rest.”
“Never.”
“Why must thee rock the boat?”
Rock the boat? As if he was creating a nuisance? “For the sake of my wife, that’s why.”
Tristram said nothing to that, though Ren sensed there was something on his mind. Chin tucked down, he picked up the quill and dipped it in the ink, then added his signature to a letter. “Thee will need to get the crew to sign articles, twenty-one men. And no greenhands, I beg thee. Experienced hands only.”
“Tristram, it will cost twenty thousand dollars to outfit a ship. Where will that money come from?”
“That’s why thee must sell the Endeavour, as quickly as possible.”
“I’ve told you I don’t want to sell her. Besides, she wouldn’t bring in much.”
Tristram set down the quill. “Let me take care of finding money. That’s always been my job and I do it well.”
Ren might take issue with that. “How? Or rather, who? Who do you plan to persuade to give you money to outfit a ship that you don’t even have?”
Minding the Light Page 14