by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis
Abigail flushed once more, and he felt the blood rush to his own cheeks. Perhaps a change of subject was in order.
“I saw Henry Mitchell in the warehouse today. When I left, he was only a boy. Twelve years old then, he told me. Now he’s a laborer for Hunter Shipping.”
“His father was one of those who didn’t return from the Egret’s voyage,” Deborah said.
Edward nodded and bowed his head for a moment. “I know. Amos Mitchell was in the longboat with me and the others. But he … didn’t survive our journey to the island.”
“I’m sorry,” Deborah said. “That must have been a terrible time.”
“It was. We started out with eight, but only four of us made it ashore. Captain Trowbridge died soon after. He’s buried there.” Edward ran a hand through his hair. “I must go around to see his widow soon.”
“Mrs. Trowbridge seemed despondent at first,” Deborah said. “She knew one day her husband wouldn’t return from a voyage, she said. But after the first year, she regained her vim. Her daughter Prudy and her family live with her in the big house now.”
A sudden thought disturbed Edward. “I hope my returning hasn’t given anyone false hope for their loved ones.”
“No, I’m sure it hasn’t.”
“I must visit her tomorrow,” he said, more to himself than to the ladies. How awful for the captain’s wife to resign herself to her husband’s death and then, four years later, to hear that one of the men she thought drowned with him had survived. For four years, Edward had lived with his failure to keep Captain Trowbridge alive. He’d respected the man and wished he could have done more to help him, but by the time they reached the island and fresh water, it was too late.
After a moment of heavy silence, Edward wondered if he ought to leave. It seemed every conversation led to depressing memories. He didn’t want to throw the household into gloom, but neither did he want to make his exit without learning how Abigail felt toward him.
Deborah shifted and smoothed a ruffle on her skirt. “If you mind my asking, do say so, Edward, but I’ve been wondering….”
“Yes?” He met her rich brown eyes and saw a twinkle there not unlike the expression she used to don when he teased her.
“Whatever did you eat on that island?”
He laughed. “At first, we thought we’d starve. But there were shellfish, and we caught some other fish. Gideon Bramwell became quite good at killing birds with a slingshot.”
“Young Gideon was with you on the island?” Abigail stared at him in surprise.
“Yes, for the first two years. I … regret to say that he fell from a cliff while trying to raid a bird’s nest for some eggs.” He sighed and closed his eyes against the image of the plucky boy’s mangled body lying in the surf below. Making a mental note to visit Gideon’s mother as well, he strove for a more cheerful note. “We landed there in midsummer, and soon the fruit began to ripen. That was providential. And we found a few roots we could eat, and the leaves of one tree made a passable tea.”
“So you weren’t starving,” Deborah said with a satisfied nod.
“No, although sometimes our rations were short. But as soon as we saw that we had fresh water and could find enough nourishment, we knew we could live there until a ship found us.”
Abigail’s brow furrowed. “Why did it take them so long?”
“From what I’ve heard, the first search was arduous but didn’t extend to beyond where we’d actually drifted in the storm. They didn’t think we could have gotten so far, but we had a sail. After we rode out the gale and had better weather, we made good headway. Even so, we were off the usual shipping routes by several hundred miles. No one would ever go to that island on purpose.”
“But it had fresh water,” Deborah mused.
“Yes, and that’s exactly why the Gladiator came there and found me a few months ago. She had run into some corsairs and taken some heavy damage. Afterward, her captain didn’t think he could make it to the next port, Santiago. So he consulted his charts for a place to drop anchor, do some repairs, and restock the water supply. I thank God he chose my island.”
“But you were alone by then,” Deborah said softly.
Edward nodded. “Yes. Captain Trowbridge was feverish when we landed, and he didn’t last more than a few days. John Webber, Gideon Bramwell, and I kept each other company for more than a year. Then John cut himself badly while skinning a shark. His wound became infected. We tried everything we thought might help, but he died a few weeks later after much suffering.”
“Such a pity,” Abigail murmured.
“Yes. And then last year, I lost Gideon.” Edward sighed. “That was my darkest hour. I thought I would die there as well, and no one would ever know what became of us. Our struggles in the storm and survival for so long were in vain. I fully expected to meet my end alone on that desolate shore.”
“Did you remain in such low spirits for a year?” Deborah asked.
He recalled the turmoil and despair that had racked his heart, and the manner in which God had lifted it. “No. God is good, and He did not forsake me. He brought me another friend.”
“A friend?” Abigail asked, and Deborah’s eyes glittered with anticipation.
“Aye. His name was Kufu.”
Both young women leaned forward, eager to hear his explanation.
“A native man?” Abigail asked.
“No.”
“A monkey?” guessed Deborah.
“No, Kufu was a seagull. He arrived with a storm, and from how far he came over the sea, I’ve no way of knowing. His strength was spent, and he flew into my hut for sanctuary. He startled me, but when I saw that he was about done in, I let him rest and offered him some fish entrails and fruit. Before long, he was eating out of my hand.”
“He stayed there with you?” Deborah’s eyes lit up in delight.
“Yes. I gave him a name I’d heard a sailor call his parrot once, and Kufu was my constant companion from then until the Gladiator came.”
“Why didn’t you bring him home with you?” Deborah asked.
“Alas, he made the choice. He rode out to the ship with me in her longboat, riding on my shoulder. But once we were aboard and the crew raised anchor, he left me and flew back to the island.”
They sat in silence for a moment; then Abigail asked, “Do you miss him?”
“I did at first, but now that I’m home again, I can’t help feeling it is for the best. No doubt he will find others of his kind. He’s strong again now. He has probably already left the island and flown back to wherever he came from. But I can’t help believing God sent him to me when He did as a distraction and an encouragement. You see, Kufu needed me at first, so I fought to live. I had no idea how long I’d remain there.”
“Four years,” Deborah said.
“Yes. Well, close to that. More than three and a half years on that little piece of earth. And the last year alone, save for Kufu. But with God’s help, I could have stayed there longer if necessary. So long as I remembered His goodness, I was willing to wait.”
“That’s a remarkable tale,” Deborah said.
Abigail nodded. “Thank you for telling us. I … feel I understand things a bit better now.”
Deborah stood. “Let me bring in some refreshment. I think we could all use a cup of tea.”
“Not for me,” Edward said quickly.
“Sweet cider, then?” Deborah asked.
“Yes, thank you.” That sounded much better than anything hot. Edward leaned back in his chair and watched her bustle out the doorway.
It took him a second to realize that at last he was alone with Abigail.
As Deborah opened the kitchen door, her mother looked up from pouring hot water into her teapot.
“Time for a bit of refreshment in the parlor,” Deborah explained. “You’ve left them alone?”
Deborah chuckled at her grimace. “Yes, but both were calm when I made my retreat. I hope Abby is sensible enough to use this time to tell
Edward what transpired between her and Jacob last night.”
“Well, here, you can have this tea.”
“No, Edward’s feeling the heat, I think, though Abby might welcome a cup. I’ll take some cool cider with Edward.”
“There’s a jug in the washroom.”
Deborah opened the back door and stepped down into the cool, earthen-floored room at the rear of the house. Here was where the Bowman women and Elizabeth, the hired girl, did the family’s laundry. Dug down into the ground two feet and well shaded, the washroom stayed a bit cooler than the kitchen on hot summer days, and Mrs. Bowman stored her milk and butter here, along with any other foods she wanted to keep cool.
Deborah found a jug of sweet cider nestled between the butter crock and the vinegar jug and carried it back into the kitchen.
“Take some of this gingerbread, too,” her mother said. “I’ll cut it for you.”
Deborah brought dishes and forks to add to her tray. “Be sure to save some for Father.”
“I will.”
“Father’s not home yet?” Deborah asked as she worked.
“No.”
“He missed luncheon.”
“Yes. He sent Peter round to tell me Mrs. Reading delivered a son, but the doctor was called almost immediately after the birth to the Collins farm, where one of the children met with an accident.”
“Oh, dear. I hope it’s not serious.”
“That is my prayer,” Mother said. “Do you suppose Abigail has made up her mind?”
“If so, she hasn’t confided in me.” Deborah carefully poured two glasses of cider and corked the jug. “I don’t mind admitting that I hope she’ll choose Edward. He has first claim, after all, and I always found him great fun.”
“Hardly a reason to marry a man,” her mother said. “Edward’s a good lad. He’s a hard worker, too. But then, so is Jacob. Your father’s come to like Jacob a lot. He’s steady.”
“Edward’s steady.”
“Well, he was,” she agreed, “but is he still? We don’t know, do we?”
“Oh, come now, Mother. You know he was always a true friend and faithful in churchgoing. His father was training him in business, and he always obeyed and treated his parents with respect.”
“That’s true. They say a man will treat his wife the way he treats his mother, and I’ve no complaints about how Mrs. Hunter’s son treated her before he … went away.”
Deborah looked into her worried eyes and smiled. “Awkward, isn’t it?”
“Yes, a bit. And if I’m having a hard time coming to terms with his being dead, then alive again, I guess we can’t blame Abby for needing some time to settle her mind.”
“Well, I have nothing against Jacob. He’s a fine man, too. But Edward is different. I always thought he was special.”
Her mother shot her an inquisitive glance, and for no reason, Deborah felt her cheeks redden. Her laden tray was ready, and she picked it up and escaped into the hallway. She paused at the open parlor door, hearing Abigail’s soft tone.
“And so, I honestly don’t know yet what I shall do,” she said, a catch in her voice. “It’s true I loved you dearly, but it’s been a very long time; it’s also true that I’ve developed feelings for your cousin. At first I thought it was wrong, but Mother and Father both assured me it was not sinful to … find love again after … losing the one I …”
She faltered, and Edward’s low voice came. “I’m sorry I put you in such distress, Abby.”
“I beg you to be patient, Edward, while I seek God’s will in the matter.”
“I shall,” he replied. “And I’ll pray for your peace where this is concerned.”
“Thank you.”
Abigail choked a bit on the words, and Deborah stepped forward. She hated to break in on them, but the weight of the tray was causing her wrists to ache.
When he spied her, Edward leaped up from the sofa where he’d been seated beside Abigail and took the tray from her, setting it on the side table. Deborah noted his grave expression as he looked to her for direction.
“Thank you. Abby, I brought you tea; I hope that’s your preference.”
She handed Edward his cider and gingerbread and settled back on the sofa with Abigail, placing her own cup and dish close at hand.
“Father’s been called out to the Collins place,” she announced. “The boy studying medicine with him brought Mother a message. I doubt he’ll be home before evening.”
Abigail’s taut face smoothed into serenity. “Poor Father. He works too hard.”
“He thrives on it,” Deborah said.
“Your father is a remarkable man.” Edward took the chair he’d occupied earlier and sipped his cider, then placed the cup on the table. “Won’t you tell me about the folks in the neighborhood? Is Pastor Jordan still at the church?”
For the next half hour, they brought him up to date on the doings of their mutual acquaintances, and Deborah was pleased to see Abigail join in with a few anecdotes. She even laughed once, a musical chuckle, and Edward’s eyes sparkled when he heard it.
Deborah longed to learn more about his exile on the distant island, but since she knew reverting to that subject would upset Abigail again, she tucked her questions away. Someday she would have a chance to talk to Edward privately. She had no doubt he would reveal the details of his sojourn to her. But for Abby, the topic was best put aside. Her quiet, well-ordered life had become chaos, and Deborah knew her sister needed time to sort it out.
Chapter 6
Four days later, Edward felt easier in his new role at Hunter Shipping. The men of the warehouse and docks, along with the sloop’s crew, all seemed happy to have a Hunter once more giving the orders. The clerks in the office appeared to be a bit more unsettled by his reappearance, but he’d taken a few minutes to thank each man for his service and assure him that, so long as he continued to do his tasks well, his position was secure. Edward had no intention of making any sweeping changes in the office.
Mr. Daniels brought him the ledgers for the previous year on Monday morning, slipping quietly into the private office and laying them on a shelf near Edward’s desk.
“The books you wished to look at, sir.”
“Thank you.” Edward glanced up from the correspondence he was reviewing. “Mr. Daniels, you saw this letter that came in from the shipwright in Bath?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you think we are in good shape to meet his needs?”
“Oh yes, sir. We’ve done quite a lot of business with him the last couple of years. Masts and spars for a small trading vessel he wants, and sails and cordage. Not a worry there, sir.”
“Good. And the extra barrels of tar he asked about?”
“We have plenty.”
“Excellent. Perhaps we should send the sloop up there this week, then.”
Daniels ducked his head. “Very good, Mr. Hunter. Will you speak to Captain Jackson?”
Edward eyed the stack of ledgers on the shelf. That job would be less interesting and more exacting. Still, he needed to do it as soon as possible. He looked up at Daniels.
“Mr. Price can handle that, I think. I’ll speak to him if he’s in the office.”
“I believe he stepped over to the wharf, sir.”
Edward nodded. “Then I’ll send a note over by one of the clerks. He can tell Captain Jackson to alert his crew and prepare to load the supplies for the shipwright.” He reached for a quill and a scrap of paper.
An hour later, he was immersed in the ledgers, flipping back and forth between the accounts. Twice he went to the door and called for Daniels to come and explain an entry to him. The older man seemed a bit amused by his intense interest in the ledgers. Edward had studied accounting only in passing during his office training as a teenager and then only at his father’s insistence. He’d been much more eager to get out on the wharf and sail up and down the coast on short trading voyages. But he knew his father had gone over the books closely at the end of each month and
had spent several days at the close of each year reconciling all the accounts.
Once again he called Daniels to his side. “Did Mr. Price examine the books this year?”
“Oh no, sir,” the older man replied, removing his pince-nez from the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Price is very good with the customers and the sailors, but he’s not much for figures. He signs off on the payroll each month, but he’s left most other matters in my hands.”
Edward frowned. “My father always prepared a summary of the previous year’s business in January.”
Daniels cleared his throat. “Well, sir, I totaled things up and reported to Mr. Price on the year’s income and expenses, and he seemed to think that was sufficient.”
Edward wondered. He found nothing amiss as he scrutinized the columns of figures, but something still seemed the slightest bit out of order. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Cargoes brought in on the sloop and the two schooners, the Prosper and the Falcon; wares bought from other ships that landed in Portland; goods sold in the chandlery and from the warehouse on market days; wages paid out to the men—the notations seemed endless.
At last he put the ledgers aside. He wondered if he could secure an interview with Abigail tonight. The week she’d told him Jacob had given her to make her decision was scarcely half over, yet he couldn’t help feeling she was close to knowing her mind. He’d stopped by the Bowmans’ modest brick house for a few minutes last evening, but he’d only had his fears confirmed. She was polite, not encouraging.
On the other hand, if he let her continue thinking it over, would his chances of coming out the victor be any better? His spirits were low, and he realized the shock of having to deal with all the changes at hand weighed heavily on him. He’d expected to come home and find his father here to guide him and Abigail ready to marry him. Instead he was bereft and lonely, and his future seemed bleak. He folded his hands on the top of the glossy walnut desk and bowed his head to pray.
He felt better when he had once again committed his future to God. Rising from the desk, he decided to amble across the street to the wharf and see if he could find Jacob.