“The Endeavour is the only asset we have, but for the Centre Street cottage.”
“How is that possible?” His father was a savvy man, though he was also known as a generous man. Some would say generous to a fault.
“I suppose it all began with Tristram’s treachery. Thy father lost everything he’d earned, and was left with immense debts.”
“Uncle Tristram,” Henry said flatly. His uncle, business partner to his father, had disappeared, absconding with everything his father had earned on a six-year whaling voyage. His father had sold his Orange Street house—the prestigious captain’s street—just to provide his crew with their lay.
“Thy father has paid off every debt. There’s also been thy grandfather’s debts to settle.”
“Jeremiah?”
“He’s made some unfortunate investments in his later years. And then . . . thy father has also been the sole benefactor of the Endeavour’s voyages.”
Most ships had many investors—syndicates, they were called—to provision a ship. The Endeavour had an all-black crew, led by a black captain, Abraham, a former slave. No syndicates would back the enterprise. “But Abraham has been a successful captain.” Mayhap not as successful as other sea captains on new whaling schooners, but the Endeavour was a small ship and an old one.
“Aye, and thy father has rewarded him amply.” She smiled. “Reynolds Macy has done more for others than anyone could possibly know. So many anonymous gifts to help others. It is the way he is made—to be a blessing.”
“Daphne, why did Papa never tell me about his finances? I know you lived modestly, but so do most Quakers.”
“He never wanted thee to know.”
“But . . . my education. Prep school, then Harvard College.” He took his time graduating, too, because there were so many classes he found interesting. “He never balked at the cost.”
“He is so proud of thee, Henry, for getting an education. He left for the sea as a boy and never had a chance for proper schooling. ’Tis a regret of his, and he wanted to be sure his own son was well educated. I know that he would never want thee, nor Hitty, to know that his finances are in a dire condition. When Abraham told him he wanted to retire, it seemed like an ideal opportunity for thy father. One last voyage, to prepare for his own retirement. A greasy voyage, he hopes.” She grinned. “Greasy enough, that is, to feather our nest into old age.”
“And you really want to go along?”
“Oh, I do! I would like to see more of the world, and I truly do not want to be separated from thy father. Not for a single day.”
They walked up Main Street without talking, veering around horses and drays, vendors selling from their carts. “Daphne, were we to accept Grandmother Lillian’s fortune, I could help you and Papa.”
Daphne’s eyes went wide. “Nay! Do not accept it on our account! We have no fear of the future.”
“But you are her daughter, and she left you with nothing.” Reynolds Macy had native Bahamian blood in his veins, a trait Lillian Swain Coffin could not tolerate in a son-in-law.
“I was not surprised by that. I had no expectation.”
“Think on this, Daphne. If Hitty and I accepted her fortune, we could provide for you and Papa. Amply provide.”
“We would never accept that, Henry. But I thank thee for offering.” She squeezed his elbow. “So thee has not decided? To accept . . . or refuse it?”
How well she knew him. Decisions were difficult for Henry, small or big. Anna Gardner once told him that he was the only man she knew who could sit on a fence and watch himself walk by. “Daphne . . . if Grandmother Lillian had left her fortune to you . . . would you have accepted it?”
She did not hesitate. “I would not.”
“Because . . . ?
“Any gift from my mother comes with a very steep cost.”
The corners of Henry’s lips lifted. “Even from the grave?”
Daphne stopped, and he turned to face her. “Even then.” She reached out to take his hands. “But I dare not tell thee what to do. I would only suggest that thee give seasoning to the decision, pray long and hard, to let the Light show thee what is best.” She looked down at their joined hands. “But I worry thee has left the faith.”
He squeezed her hands and released them. It was true that he had stopped using the Quaker way of speech, stopped wearing the somber grim clothing of the Friends. He would be disowned soon if he did not make adjustments. “I’m not sure that I have left the Friends. I’m not sure that I haven’t. I suppose you might think me lost, Daphne, but I think not lost. I am only trying to discern my destiny.”
She watched him for a long while, thinking something through before she spoke again. He knew what was coming was significant. That was Daphne’s way.
“Henry, when thee was a boy, thee helped me find a way to save Abraham from the bounty hunter who tried to return him to his slave master.”
He grinned. “I well remember that night. Digging for a buried treasure.” He took off his hat and spun the brim in his hands. “I wonder if it’s still there. I hope it is. I hope it stays hidden. A Nantucket secret.”
“Thee has kept our secret all these years.”
“Of course. Of course I have.”
“I learned of the treasure through a family heirloom that thy mother gave to me before she passed. ’Tis a journal, Henry, of a well-lived life. It’s brought me much wisdom over the years.” She gave him a gentle smile. “I think the time has come to pass it to thee.”
“Me? Why not keep it for yourself? Take it with you on the sea voyage.” He leaned in to whisper, “You’ll have a surfeit of time for reading, that I can guarantee.”
Slowly, she shook her head. “The journal is meant to be passed along to the next generation.” She reached into her drawstring purse and pulled out a worn-out sheepskin journal. She held it out to him with both hands, as if it was made of spun sugar. “I carry this with me wherever I go. Henry, ’tis Mary Coffin Starbuck’s journal. Thy ancestor, and mine.”
Henry’s eyes went wide. “Great Mary? ’Tis her journal? I thought this was the stuff of legends! And you’ve kept it secret all this time?”
Mary Coffin Starbuck was one of the first settlers to Nantucket, considered by all to be a wise and influential woman, mayhap the most significant individual who had ever lived on the island. He almost felt nervous to touch it, as if he should first wash up from the sea journey. But Daphne continued to hold it out to him, waiting for him to accept this gift. He took it from her outstretched hands and was surprised at how light it was. The cover was cracking, the pages were yellowed with age. It was so very . . . old.
“The journal has a way of ending up in the right hands. Thee will see why, when thee reads it. I believe thee will find Great Mary to be a Weighty Friend to thee.” Lowering her voice, she added, “But I must ask thee to keep it a secret.”
“You can trust me on that.” Then he looked up. “Hold on. Even from Hitty?”
“Especially from Hitty.” Daphne sighed. “Years ago, as a child, Hitty took a pair of scissors to this journal.” She squeezed her eyes shut as if the memory hurt her still. “I cannot give it to her for safekeeping. Even now, she would not care for a cherished book the way thee will.”
And he would. He would cherish this journal. He put an arm around her shoulders. “Daphne, have I ever told you that you . . .” his voice sounded perilously shaky, even to his own ears, “ . . . that you are the greatest gift that Papa, Hitty, and I . . . were ever given?”
Daphne tipped her chin down so that her bonnet shaded her face, and he realized she was trying not to cry. “And to me, Henry Macy. Thee is a gift to me, as well.” She wiped her cheeks, one after the other, and lifted her face. “Henry, thy father would not have done anything differently. Not a thing. We may not be rich, yet we are rich indeed.”
As they crossed Main Street to head toward Centre Street, Henry felt the fog lift—a fog that was so much a part of him that he hadn’t known it re
sted so heavily on his shoulders. His head felt cleared of cobwebs. For the first time in his life, he knew what to do next. He was going to persuade his sister Hitty that they should accept their grandmother’s fortune.
Mary Coffin Starbuck
28 March 1683
Stephen Hussey came into the store this afternoon. He settled into Father’s rocking chair by the fire and drank gallons of my mullein tea, talking to every person who came in. He carried his ear trumpet with him, which struck me as ironic for he has little need of it. Despite being a Quaker, he is not fond of listening, only of talking. Stephen Hussey never had a thought that he couldn’t turn into a sermon.
Today, though, he remained oddly quiet until the store was brimming over with customers. Then he rose to his feet and announced in his loud, shrill voice, “I have a riddle for thee, Mary Starbuck!”
The store grew quiet, all eyes turned to Stephen, as everyone enjoyed a good riddle, and he enjoyed a good audience.
“What’s gray and old and likes to be everywhere at once?”
“Nantucket fog,” I said, hoping he would now go home.
“Nay. The answer is . . . Mary Coffin Starbuck!” He laughed and laughed, thoroughly amused with himself, until tears ran down his cheeks.
That man! He sorely tries my patience. He is the foremost reason I will never, ever become a Quaker.
I am too irritated to write more.
Discussion Questions
Hypocrisy is a theme that is woven through Minding the Light. Describe a few examples in the novel, such as the shallow faith of Lillian Swain Coffin, an elder to the Friends.
What kinds and what degrees of hypocrisy, from the political to the religious to the personal, occur in this novel?
Jane Coffin Macy had a small scene in this novel, though she played a significant role all the way through. What did you learn about her character through the eyes of those who remembered her? Daphne said that Jane made her a better version of herself. Who in your life has helped you become a better person?
Jane had a saying, “Love and attention make all things grow.” Daphne told Ren that the reason she participated in the Cent School was because she wanted to grow Jane’s garden. What do you think she meant by that? How did that become a reference point for everything she did?
Jane was somewhat of a landmark for Daphne, a place she always started from to get wherever she was going. For Ren and Tristram, too. Perhaps even for Lillian. What are the advantages and disadvantages of making one person such a landmark in one’s life? What burdens might it place upon that other person, and what dangers might it pose for oneself?
How would you have imagined Daphne, six years prior, when Ren and Jane were courting? In what ways did she blossom and mature? Ren, too, underwent a transformation, from a detached sea captain to a loving father. In your own life, what has been the catalyst for such growth?
In 1662, Mary Coffin Starbuck wrestled with her conscience about allowing slavery to be introduced on Nantucket Island, though it was legal. Fast forward to 1821. The Nantucket population is largely Quaker, and slavery has been outlawed on the island. Even still, Daphne Coffin must wrestle with her conscience about the intrinsic value of all human beings. While Nantucket offered political equality to blacks, they did not offer social equality. How would you explain the difference, or attitude and perception, and the consequences?
Abraham was devoted to Ren’s welfare, even to the point of putting himself in danger. His loyalty becomes clear after we learn from Patience that Captain Reynolds Macy was the first white man whom Abraham considered to be honorable. And the scope widens when we read a comment Ren made: “A ship’s crew is color-blind if the captain says so.” How does that remark still strike a chord, as a neighbor, as a parent, as a friend? Shouldn’t we all be color-blind?
What contemporary or historical parallels might there be with the attitude toward slavery in the seventeenth century or nineteenth century? Imagine if you had lived during that time. Where would you have stood on this issue?
Daphne and Jane referred to their childhood home as their mother’s house. Ren was reluctant to sell the Endeavour because it was his first true home. Later, after visiting the Salem shipyard, he sailed into Nantucket to discover Daphne and the children waiting for him, and felt yet another sense of coming home. What notion and what actuality of home were cherished by Ren and Daphne? What does the concept of home reveal about a person? How would you define home?
Lillian Swain Coffin is a character who makes it almost enjoyable to dislike her. In your opinion, which of her actions in the novel most shocked you? What was her motivation behind her action?
Would you have written a different chapter to end Lillian’s story? Say, for example, Jeremiah Macy jilts her once again? After all, it’s human nature to want a person to get what’s coming to them. Thankfully, it’s God’s nature to not give us what we deserve.
Right from the start, Ren took the evidence in front of him—that Dr. Mitchell had, indeed, prescribed and provided laudanum for Jane—and assumed he was guilty of her death. In retrospect, he forged ahead with partial information. Can you think of a time when you have acted on insufficient evidence? (And who hasn’t?) What were the results?
On Main Street of Nantucket, Dr. Mitchell shouted at Ren, for all to hear, that this should be the real question that should concern him: “Who did give Jane that tainted tincture?” What made that question so particularly fortuitous?
Tristram Macy did not think he could come clean and remain on Nantucket Island. Perhaps more than any other character in the novel, he loved this island and its inhabitants, but he loved his sterling reputation even more. So rather than stay in a place he loved with people he cherished, he sailed away. What are the moral consequences of basing one’s decisions, values, and actions solely on one’s reputation?
Do you think Ren could have forgiven Tristram, had he confessed to him face-to-face, instead of in a letter after he was long gone? Why or why not?
Do you think Ren did the right thing when he crinkled up Tristram’s letter of confession and tossed it into the fire, instead of letting Daphne read it? If Daphne had been given the chance to read the letter, how might the end of the story have been altered?
Jane had a saying that Daphne and Ren adopted for their own: “Love and attention make all things grow.” When or how have you seen that saying to be true in your own life?
How would you describe the Quaker concept of “minding the Light”? What does “minding the Light” mean to you?
Historical Notes
What’s true and what’s not in this historical novel?
How likely was it that a black man could captain a Nantucket whaling vessel in the early 1800s?
Very unlikely. And yet . . . it did happen. In 1822, Absalom Boston, a freeborn native of Nantucket who ran a public inn, captained his own whaling ship and hired an all-black crew. The ship brought back a modest amount of oil, but the voyage became a significant moment of history for black Americans.
Nantucket Quakers would stop a bounty hunter from a legal claim to a runaway slave.
True. Also in 1822, the Quaker community came to the assistance of Arthur Cooper, a runaway slave who had married a free woman and fled to Nantucket. Camillus Griffith, a bounty hunter, arrived to take Cooper, his wife, and his children into slavery. A crowd of blacks and Quakers pledged that they would not let the family be removed. William Mitchell, father of astronomer Maria Mitchell, organized a citizens’ response. While he explained to Griffith that he had no authority to apprehend the Coopers, another townsperson helped the family slip out the back door. Magistrate Alfred Folger ruled that the family could not be removed from Nantucket, and Griffith left the island empty-handed.
Was the use of laudanum (opium) really so prevalent on Nantucket?
True. Laudanum was considered to be not only harmless but beneficial. Its very name in Latin is landare, which means to praise. It was used for all kinds of ailments, from sleepl
essness to menstrual cramps to treatment of chronic pain, and available without prescription up until the twentieth century, when it was found to be highly addictive. A Frenchman, Hector St. John de Crèvecoeur, visited the island in the 1770s and wrote of his observations. He noted that the physician and sheriff, Dr. Benjamin Tupper, readily admitted to taking three grains of opium every day after breakfast. He claimed that the “Asiatic custom . . . prevails here among the women.” Loyal Nantucketers vehemently denied his claim.
Are Nantucketers all related?
Mostly true in the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries. Mostly not true in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. The prosperous island was settled by a small group of families, with less than a dozen surnames: Coffin, Macy, Starbuck, Mayhew, Swain, Barnard, Pile, Smith, Coleman, Pike, Greenleaf. Those names are still common on the island.
Were Nantucket women considered to be especially beautiful?
True. In an article for the Boston Atlas (August 17, 1860) written by a Dr. Hobbs, he described Nantucket girls with a broad brushstroke, all blonde with black eyes. “Grace of carriage may also be said to be a characteristic of the Nantucket ladies; as is likewise a good development of chest. There is little consumption among them, but much of muscle, flourid cheek, and ruby lip. Some of these possessions, or all of them, added to their excellent education, refined manners, and virtuous principles, account for their meeting so readily with husbands.”
And the remarkable genetics of Nantucket Island extends to her men too. After his visit in the 1770s, Crèvecoeur wrote, “You will hardly find anywhere a community . . . exhibiting so many green old men who show their advanced age by the maturity of their wisdom rather than by the wrinkles of their faces.”
Nantucket’s Main Street is iconic, a wide boulevard of cobblestones. Was it truly not cobbled in 1821?
True. The cobblestones on Main Street were not laid until the 1830s. (Look for it in the next story!)
Was there ever such a thing as Cent Schools?
Minding the Light Page 26