It was Jeremiah who finally convinced Ren to call it off when streaks of lightning began in the gloomy sky, and the searchers reluctantly agreed, turning their bows toward shore. “Tide’s starting to turn, slowly creeping up,” Jeremiah said. “No sense waiting here. Go home, go to your family, get dry clothes on. Have something to eat. I’ll stay here and send word.”
The news, Ren knew, would be grim either way—whether bodies came in on the tide or not.
He didn’t know how he could face Hitty, or Daphne. Or Patience. If only he could turn the clock back, to that moment when Moser banged on the door and, in the chaos, he overlooked noticing that Henry had followed Abraham out the door. He was swamped with remorse.
Ren caught sight of a woman standing on the dock, a distance apart from the sailors. He squinted, thinking for a shocking moment that it was Jane waiting for him, then he recognized the small figure to be Patience, with a black shawl clutched tightly around her shoulders. When he reached the dock, his father called out to him to hold up. He waited impatiently for Jeremiah to climb out of the boat.
His father put a hand on Ren’s shoulder and steered him to a man tying a boat to the cleats. “This is the fisherman who spearheaded the search.”
Ren reached a hand out to him. “I thank you. I thank you for your help.” His voice was perilously shaky. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Mitchell. Dan Mitchell.”
Ren jerked his head up. “Be y’ kin to Dr. Mitchell?”
“Aye. His grandson.”
The two men eyed each other and Ren was fairly confident he knew what was going through Dan’s mind: the doctor, he had heard just last night, had been hauled off to gaol by the sheriff, accused of being responsible for Jane Macy’s unfortunate death as well as the death of two stevedores. “Again, I am grateful to you.”
“It’s what we do for each other on the island. We help each other.”
An eddy of discomfort made its way through Ren, but now was not the time to examine it. He nodded to Dan Mitchell and hurried down the dock to Patience. He searched her face, hoping for news, but her face was inscrutable, as usual. Was that good? “Have you any news of Henry?”
“Captain, Miss Daphne asked that you come to the house. Straightaway.”
Ren turned to his father. “Come with us. Please.”
Father and son started down the deck, aware that Patience would not walk beside them even if invited to. Ren scanned the few faces that remained on the dock in the beating rain. He was looking for Moser who, thankfully, was nowhere in sight. Ren thought he might tear the man apart. A sympathetic hand here and there touched his shoulder as he passed by. Not now, Ren wanted to say, shrugging off their pity. Not yet!
They strode up Main Street and hurried down Centre Street to the narrow gray saltbox when he heard Patience call out from several rods behind him. “Captain! Captain! Not to the home. To the house.”
He stopped and waited for her to catch up with him. “To Orange Street?”
“To Miss Lillian’s house.”
Jeremiah’s eyebrows lifted. “Say what?”
“To Lillian Coffin’s house?” Ren repeated disbelievingly. He stared at Patience. “You must be jesting.”
“No, sir. Miss Daphne is waiting for you there.”
Ren could not bring himself to move. He could not face Lillian today, not on his best day and certainly not on this worst of all days. “I want to change into dry clothes.”
“No, sir.”
“No?”
“Miss Daphne said to not delay.”
Thunder rumbled around them, and still he could not make himself budge. At last he could put it off no longer, so he started back toward Main Street and up the road to the grand house. When he arrived at the massive front door, he took off his dripping wet peacoat and set it on the ground. He smoothed his hair down, took a deep breath, and just as he knocked on the door, Daphne opened it, a smile lighting up her face. “Ren! Hurry! Follow me.”
“What’s happened, Daphne?”
“Come. See for thyself.”
He followed behind her, Jeremiah and Patience trailing behind him. There, in the kitchen, seated at the trestle table next to Hitty, sat Henry. And standing against the wall, in the shadows, was Abraham.
Seeing Henry there, safe and warm, something cracked in Ren’s heart. And something in that sight broke Henry too, for he jumped off the chair and was on his feet.
“Dear God,” Ren started with a sob, “my boy, my son.” He went to Henry and bent down on his knees, pulling the boy tight against his chest. “You’re safe.”
His eyes met Daphne’s and they shared the moment without words—the two people on earth who loved this child with all their hearts.
Then he noticed his father and Lillian, standing by the back stairs in silence, each considering the other, with a peculiar inquisitiveness in their eyes. Lillian, fingering the stiff lace at her throat, with her smooth, pale cheeks flushed with pleasure, and a shine of excitement on her face. His father, stoic as always, though his eyes had grown tender.
Over bowls of clam chowder, Henry told his father the whole story of how the capsizing of the dory had transpired. Daphne remained quiet at the far seat of the dining room, silently absorbing the turn of the day’s events with such joy in her heart. Henry was here, safe and sound, as was Abraham. And her mother, while not welcoming, was not cold or, worse, hostile. She thought it had something to do with Jeremiah’s presence, though Daphne had no idea why. Lillian suggested that the two of them take their nourishment in the drawing room, and Jeremiah accepted the invitation without hesitation. As they left the room, Ren’s dark eyebrows lifted quizzically and Daphne answered back with a shrug.
“’Twas Abraham’s idea to capsize the dory and trick the bounty hunter,” Henry explained. “We saw him coming to the wharf. So Abraham had the idea of tipping the dory over and swimming to shore.”
“But, son, thee can’t swim!”
“Abraham can. I clung to his back. We did just fine.” He looked so delighted with himself that Daphne couldn’t stop smiling. “Then we ran to Aunt Daphne’s sloop and sailed it. We thought about going to the Endeavour, but there were too many people near the wharf. They might’ve seen us. We sailed out in the cove until the storm got worse, then we figured the coast was clear.”
“The Endeavour?” Ren said. “Why would thee have thought to go there?”
“Thee said that no man can board a ship without permission. I thought Abraham would be safe on the Endeavour.”
“Henry,” Ren said, but it was all he could manage. He leaned over and wrapped his arms around Henry, holding him tight, so tight. “Thee did the right thing. Certainly, thee has a brave and generous heart, Henry Macy. I am proud to be thy father.”
Henry squirmed to get out of his embrace, tried to pull free, but Ren tightened his grip and finally the boy stopped fighting. There was no denying the pleased look on Henry’s round face.
A curious thought circled through Daphne’s mind: Did Ren even realize he had picked up the Quaker speech?
By the time sunset spilled over the island, the storm had blown through and the sky was filled with streaks of gold. The sandpipers hurried to their nests while the piping plovers played their last evening song. The wind disappeared, and the gentle lap of the water against the dock seemed the world’s only sound. Daphne had slipped out the door to follow the path through the trees to the beach where her little sloop was docked. It had been left with sails lowered but not furled, sheets tangled on the deck, and she was too dedicated a sailor to leave her sloop in such condition overnight.
“Daphne, I’d like a word with you.”
She turned and waited for Ren. He walked down the shell path toward her, his boots crunching as he approached. He brought himself right up to her and she felt oddly nervous. Why? Why should she suddenly be uncomfortable around Ren?
“Henry has given me a fine idea. I can hide Abraham out on the Endeavour until we ge
t things sorted out with Moser and the magistrate.” He looked at her sloop. “May I borrow it tonight?”
She smiled. “Of course,” she said. “Of course! Patience and I will gather food for him.” She wished she had more to offer. There was no male clothing at her mother’s house. After her father’s death, her mother ordered everything he once wore to be given away.
Ren stopped and let his gaze roam slowly up the two-story house. “Daphne, it is best if as few people as possible know of Abraham’s whereabouts.” He hesitated.
“Thee means my mother.” She lifted a hand when he started to explain. “I know. My mother can be . . . quite unpredictable. Worry thee not. I will distract her when thee departs.” All she would need to do is ask her about wedding preparations, or where she and Tristram should live after they marry, and her mother would become thoroughly absorbed in endless details.
“That might not be necessary,” Ren said with a grin. “It seems she and Jeremiah have much to discuss. I didn’t realize they were acquainted.”
“Nor did I. But then, how could they not? They were both born on island.”
The wind came up from the water and tore at her untied hair covering, pulling it free of its pins. Ren’s eyes followed the swirl of her loose hair as it lifted in the wind and she reached up to capture her hair, coiling it around her wrist. She knew they should return to the house before someone went looking for them. They should . . . and yet they both stood unmoving, as if they might have been the only two people on earth, until a seagull wheeled and cried overhead, breaking the moment. They hurried up to the house and into the kitchen, to find Abraham teaching the children to carve scrimshaw.
As the coming night cast its dark shadows, Ren made a noisy show of taking the children home for a hot bath and bed. As soon as he, Jeremiah, Abraham, Patience, and the children crossed the threshold of the massive front door, Daphne took a glass of warm milk to her mother in the drawing room and peppered her with questions about the wedding. In reality, Patience swept the children off to their Centre Street home, while Ren, Jeremiah, and Abraham quietly went down to the dock behind Lillian’s house to set sail for the Endeavour on Daphne’s sloop.
Gaslight flickered in the transom above her mother’s door. Impatiently, Daphne waited until it went out and she knew her mother was comfortably settled in for the night. Then she tapped down the stairs, clicked the door shut behind her, and crossed the green lawn rather than risk the crunch of quahog shells.
When she got to the edge of the lawn, she turned and looked back to make sure the light in her mother’s corner bedroom had remained snuffed out. The full moon shone down on the two-story house, square and solid, typical of the homes of the day. As a young bride, Lillian Swain Coffin had commissioned and overseen the building of it, ensuring results that would make it the most stately home on the island. Sea breezes and snowstorms had weathered its shingled walls to a delicate silver gray. The house was enchanting, grand and majestic. It was also cold and empty.
Daphne turned her back on the house and hurried down the road toward town, toward the cozy Centre Street house, covered with pink roses, that she loved so well. Ren hadn’t returned yet, so after letting Patience know she was downstairs, she set a teakettle on the trammel to boil and waited.
An hour later, Ren opened the door and stopped midstep when he saw her. His face softened, becoming tender and solicitous, then he recovered his surprise and went straight to the fire to rub his hands. “What a day. Full of twists and turns.”
“Did anyone see thee?”
“’Tis a night with still waters. We made haste, there and back again.”
She poured a mug of tea and handed it to him. “At least thee is ending tonight with a problem solved.”
He cupped the mug with both hands, relishing its heat. “Not solved, Daphne. Just postponed.” He sat down at the table. “I’ll speak to the magistrate tomorrow about a legal way to stop Silas Moser.”
“Tomorrow is First Day. The magistrate will not be in his office.”
Ren sighed.
“But he will be in Meeting. Thee could speak to him there.”
He threw his head back dramatically, his eyes scanning the ceiling above. “Heaven help us! Women are always finding sly ways to get their men to Meeting.”
Their men, he had said. The words warmed her. But to him, she feigned innocence, making her eyes go all wide and innocent. “Hardly that. I’m just telling thee of an option to see the magistrate. Thee could always wait until Second Day . . . if thee thinks Abraham’s situation can wait.” She knew the answer.
He ran a finger around the rim of the tea mug. “Long ago, my father took me to a Quaker meetinghouse. On Arch Street in Philadelphia.”
She waited, knowing there was a reason he was telling her this information. Ren did not draw from his past without reason. When he didn’t continue, she prompted him. “There are many Friends in Philadelphia. ’Tis a large meetinghouse, I’ve heard.”
“Very large. Crowded, too. But there was an empty pew. Any idea why?”
She said nothing, but waited.
“They said it was the Negro pew. For black Quakers. None came, mind you. My father wanted me to see. To remember the irony that Friends who claim equality for all would separate black members in that way. They deserved God’s love but not social equality with their white neighbors.”
She kept her eyes on his. “Is that what has kept thee from God?”
“Nay, Daphne, not from God. Only from a meetinghouse. The sea is my church. The ocean preaches the best sermons.”
“I don’t disagree with thee. God’s nature is to communicate, though not always in words. An evening sunset like tonight’s fills me with wonder of his glory.”
Ren rose and refilled his tea. “There’s something I don’t understand about being a Friend.”
Daphne looked up.
“You sit in silence. Why?”
“We are listening.”
“For what?”
“For God. For his guidance. It’s easier to listen to God in silence, much less distracting. The quiet allows one truly to listen to what is deep inside. We call it ‘waiting in expectation.’”
“Doesn’t your mind wander off and down the street? I would be making a list in my mind of all the repairs still to do on the Endeavour.”
Daphne nearly laughed, but caught herself. His question was an earnest one, she could tell by his eyes. So often, his eyes could be guarded, or even slightly mocking, but other times, like now, his eyes were soft, open. “Sometimes I think about the children at the Cent School. Or about sailing on my sloop. It takes time to clear the mind of everyday thoughts.” She tried to think of words to explain what she felt during Meetings. “When my mind does clear, I turn inward and sink into a deep stillness. There is peace there, and a strong sense of being held by the Inner Spirit, or the Inner Light.”
“Silence is the same anywhere, is it not?”
“It helps to be with others also waiting in expectation for God’s guidance.”
He rose and went back to stand by the fire, facing it, legs splayed wide. It was his customary stance, as if he was absorbing the roll of the ship on the waves even though he was on solid ground. He let out a defeated sigh, asking, “What would that mean? To become a Nantucket Quaker.”
He startled her at times, the way he thought, the things he said. She had hoped he would come but once to Meeting, and yet Ren didn’t do anything halfway. She appraised his worldly clothing. “To start, I suppose, with different clothing.”
He glanced down at his shirt front. “Oh no . . . not the somber clothing and ridiculous-looking hat.”
“And speech. Soon, I believe, thee will find the outward changes bring about the inward ones. To seek the Light within.”
“Mayhap that is the problem with many Friends. They should have started with seeking the Light first, and worry last about the outward appearance.”
“Thee is speaking of my mother, I believe. Not all
Friends are like her. Most aren’t.”
“And yet they did not befriend Jane.”
“Mother is an elder. ’Tis not many who dare to brave her censure.” Daphne knew it could be brutal. Outside, she heard the town crier walk through the street, calling out the hour. “I must go.” She grabbed her cloak, and suddenly Ren was beside her, wrapping it around her shoulders, so close that only a hand’s space separated them.
“I’m grateful to you, Daphne, for this day.” His voice sounded rusty, as if he hadn’t used it for a long while.
Her head fell back as she looked up at him. There was something so compelling about his face, or mayhap it was his eyes. Brave but somehow broken eyes, and she could not pull herself away from them. He stared down into her upturned face, and she waited with her heart pounding loud, feeling a rushing well of excitement rise inside her.
For what, Daphne? Waiting for what?
Then the moment ended when his eyes glanced up the stairwell. “’Twas a day that could have turned out quite very differently.”
Of course. Of course! The children.
Ren burst into his father’s small cooperage as early as he dared. “Drink yer coffee, old man. We’re going to Meeting.”
Jeremiah nearly spilled his coffee all over the barrel that served as a table. “We’re what?!”
“If I go, you go. You’re to blame for not taking me to Meeting as a lad.”
“I took y’ to Meeting. I clearly remember.”
“Once.” Ren pivoted in a circle to scan the room. “Have you anything that resembles Friends’ clothing?”
Not budging from his stool, Jeremiah swallowed down the last of his coffee. “I’m sure I’ve got some funeral clothes around here somewhere.”
Ren appraised him. “Did that shirt you’re wearing used to be white?”
Minding the Light Page 18