by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis
“They wouldn’t leave off calling me ‘sir’ at first,” Edward said. “Finally I told them, ‘Listen, fellows, if we’re still here fifty years from now, with our gray beards down to our belts, are you still going to dodder around calling me “sir”?’ And Gideon said, ‘I’m not sure we’ll have belts by then, sir. We may have to eat them if we don’t find a way to catch more fish.’ ”
Deborah shook with laughter, then sobered. “When you were alone after Gideon fell off the cliff, how did you go on? You told me about Kufu, the bird that came to you, but still …”
Edward settled back in his chair and sighed. “It was very difficult at first. I thought I would go mad, being alone there. I kept repeating scripture portions to myself and composing imaginary letters to my parents and my sister. And of course, to Abigail.”
“That helped you?”
“Yes. I pretended to write long letters, detailing my daily life. Gathering food, improving my shelter against the rainy season, climbing the hills to scout for sail.” He shot her a sidelong glance. “I even wrote to you once.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I thought it might amuse you. I drew a picture of my hut on a piece of bark, too, then tossed it in the surf, pretending it would float to you, along with my latest letter to …”
She smiled. “You must have floated a lot of letters to Abby.”
“Hundreds. And later I’d find them washed up on shore down the beach.” He sighed and pulled out the pocket watch that had been his father’s. “It’s getting on toward supper time. I must leave you.”
“Won’t you—”
He held up one hand to silence her invitation. “I don’t think this is the night, but thank you.”
She walked with him into the front hall and handed him his hat. It was new, she noted, not his father’s old one. His fashion consciousness was probably linked to his hope to win Abigail’s hand, but she didn’t mind. She only knew that he would hold his own in looks and good manners if dropped in the middle of a group of businessmen and statesmen. And in a roomful of eligible women? Abigail was probably the only woman who wouldn’t find him magnetic.
He stood before the door, looking down at her with a half smile on his lips, and she realized she had been staring at him again. Bad habit. She’d have to train herself out of it.
“I wonder, Deborah….”
“Yes?”
His smile spread to his gleaming brown eyes. “I wonder if you and your mother and sister would care to tour Hunter Shipping tomorrow if the weather is fine.”
She swallowed a lump that had suddenly cropped up in her throat. Had he not taken Abby seriously? She was sure he had.
“I … must discourage you, if you think my sister is not adamant in her choice.”
“I’m sure she is. But I mentioned to your mother not long ago that we have some fine fabrics in the warehouse. I thought perhaps you ladies would enjoy coming to the office, and Jacob and I could show you about.”
She stared up at him for a moment, amazed at his calmness. He bore his cousin no malice. Could she be as generous to Abby? Her heart fluttered, and she knew that her professed forgiveness of Abigail was genuine. She could give thanks to God for this turn of events. Surely this resolution was part of His greater plan.
Chapter 8
It was a bright, sunny day, and the breeze that fluttered in from Casco Bay kept the temperature comfortable. Edward rose early, unable to sleep well, and arrived at the office shortly after seven. He huddled over the ledgers, frowning and trying to find the elusive inconsistency he felt sure was there.
At five minutes to eight, he heard Daniels and the clerks enter the outer office, and a moment later he heard Jacob’s brisk step. Edward opened his door, and Jacob came toward him, grinning.
“Still friends, Ed?”
“Of course.” Edward grasped his hand. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you. I can’t tell you what it means to me that you’re taking it this way.”
Edward smiled. “I shall endeavor not to diminish your joy, cousin. What would you think of inviting all the Bowman ladies down here this afternoon?”
“I like it, but what for?”
He shrugged. “A tour of the place. Another chance to see your fiancée and to let her see you in your place of business. Let them look over the dress goods in the warehouse before we sell them all.”
“Splendid idea! Will you make the arrangements?”
“Yes.”
Jacob nodded. “Then I’ll be in my office.” He headed for the far corner of the large room, where two workmen were erecting a wall to enclose a cubicle for his new oak desk. He swung around, still smiling. “I don’t suppose this will be finished by the time they get here? And decorated?”
Edward laughed. “Hardly. Would you rather wait until it’s done?”
“No, no. Let’s invite them today.”
By way of an apprentice who swept the floors and sorted bins of hardware, Edward sent a note around to the Bowman house, asking the ladies if they would care to see the improvements at Hunter Shipping, in company with the owner and Mr. Price, and take tea afterward in the office.
The boy came back forty minutes later with a brief but courteous reply. Both the misses Bowman would await him at one o’clock. Their mother was otherwise engaged.
Edward hired a hack after lunch. He and Jacob arrived at the Bowman residence to find the ladies waiting. Abigail was dressed in a burgundy silk walking dress with a feathered hat and white gloves. Deborah’s dress was a plain, dark blue cotton, topped with a crocheted shawl and a straw bonnet. Edward was not sure who was prettier—the elegant, refined lady Abigail or the wholesome, restless Deborah. Abigail seemed pleased that they would not have to walk all the way to the docks and back. Although it was a swift twenty-minute stroll for Edward, the commercial district near the harbor was not one that ladies frequented on foot.
“Riding will save you ladies from wearing out your slippers and making the strenuous uphill walk on the way home,” Jacob said as he handed Abigail up into the enclosed carriage.
Deborah smiled at that, placing her sturdy leather shoe on the step and hopping up beside her sister, barely putting pressure on Edward’s hand for assistance. He could almost read her thoughts: She was not one to glide about in delicate slippers and tire from a brisk walk.
As they rode slowly along the streets, Edward commented on how much the population and commerce of the town had increased during his five years’ absence. He was glad he’d worn the new suit he’d had made at his mother’s insistence. His hair was neatly trimmed now, too. Still, he could see that Jacob outdid him so far as Abigail was concerned. The greater part of her attention was devoted to his cousin.
When they reached their destination, Edward learned that Abigail had never been onto the wharf. Deborah, it seemed, had ventured there under escort. By whom, Edward did not ask. Abigail shrank from the edge, preferring to be safely flanked by Jacob and Deborah as they walked out past the tinker’s shop and the dry goods, hardware, and candle shops to the company’s large store. Edward followed a step behind. Sailors and stevedores passed them and stared. The ladies flushed, and Abigail clutched Jacob’s arm.
Edward stared down the worst of the oglers and stepped forward to touch Deborah’s sleeve.
“Miss Bowman?” He offered his arm. She hesitated only a moment, then laid her hand lightly in the crook of his elbow.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
It felt odd having a lady other than his mother on his arm once more, but Edward decided it was pleasant. Deborah’s eager anticipation spilled over in her face, and he knew few women he would rather squire about Portland.
As soon as they were inside the store, she pulled away from him, apparently feeling secure on her own now, and wandered about, examining everything. Abigail, however, clung to Jacob’s arm and looked about timidly.
Deborah’s fascination with the chandlery pleased Edward. She was a practical girl, and he
r face brightened as she surveyed the mounds of rope and canvas, piles of bolts and pins, and barrels of victuals suitable for ships’ crews.
“Your father was a man of great foresight to build his store right on the wharf,” she said.
“Actually, my grandfather started the chandlery here with a little shack that offered the most basic supplies. Father improved the establishment, and I have to give my cousin credit for the latest expansion. This entire section is new.” He stretched out one arm, indicating the wing Jacob had added to house a wider selection of foods, containers, tools, and hardware.
“Do lots of people come here to buy?” Abigail’s voice squeaked. She squeezed nearer to Jacob as a burly seaman pushed past them, nodding and eyeing the ladies.
“Yes,” Jacob told her. “The store was begun to outfit Hunter ships and any others that docked at this wharf, but we’re open to all customers.”
Edward nodded. “That’s right. We’ve built a reputation for offering a wide variety of goods. Of course, we’re competing for the business of ships that aren’t owned locally. When a vessel comes in from another port—say, Buenos Aires or New York or Amsterdam—we hope it will choose Hunter’s Wharf for unloading and selling its cargo.”
They left the store and ambled along the wharf toward the city. Abigail seemed more at ease and chatted quietly with Jacob. As they approached the street, Edward pointed up the hill toward the distant observatory tower, built a dozen years previously in Captain Moody’s sheep pasture on Munjoy Hill.
“Look! See that flag? There’s a ship coming in to dock.”
“Is it one of your ships?” Deborah asked.
“I don’t know yet. I hope it’s the Prosper. We’ll find out soon enough.”
They crossed the busy street that ran along the waterfront, then entered the warehouse.
“This is where we stow outgoing cargo until it’s loaded, and incoming until it’s sold.” Edward guided them out of the way of two men rolling casks down the aisle of crates and barrels. The containers were piled high, and he felt a little claustrophobic when walking between them. He glanced anxiously at Deborah, to see if she was feeling the closeness, but she took in the scene with glittering eyes.
“Well, now. If it isn’t my beautiful future daughter-in-law.”
They all turned and saw brawny Felix Price approaching with a grin splitting his tanned face. Beads of sweat stood on his brow, and he wiped his hands on his homespun trousers.
“Oh, Mr. Price.” Abigail’s breathless words were lost in the cavernous warehouse. She ducked her head in acknowledgment of Felix’s boisterous greeting.
“I broke the news to my parents last night,” Jacob said, his cheeks nearly as red as Abigail’s.
“Afternoon, Uncle Felix,” Edward said easily, but he kept a sharp watch on the man. Uncle Felix was rough enough that he wouldn’t care whether he’d embarrassed his son and his employer or not. That didn’t bother Edward, but he was concerned that his uncle had mortified Abigail by calling out such a teasing declaration before the workmen. Several of the laborers paused in their work and cast glances their way but turned back to their tasks when they saw Edward’s stern gaze upon then.
“Hello.” Abigail’s face was by now crimson, but she took the meaty hand extended to her and dipped a curtsy.
Deborah greeted Felix with a charming smile. “Good day, Mr. Price.”
“Well, Miss Debbie. What are you doing here? It’s not Thursday.”
Edward wondered what that meant, but Deborah merely told him, “We’re touring Hunter Shipping.”
“Well, now, ain’t we grand?”
Deborah laughed, but Edward saw Jacob wince as Abigail squeezed his arm. He wondered if her fingernails were digging through Jacob’s sleeve into his skin. Felix Price frightened her with his loud, breezy manner, it seemed. Edward wondered what that would bode when Abigail married Jacob.
It was true that his uncle was unpolished. Felix had been known as a ruffian in his youth. He’d fished for years, hauling a living from the ocean by brute force, and was known in those days for drinking quantities of ale when on land and occasionally using his fists in blustery tavern brawls. But Aunt Ruth had fallen in love with him. Though her social status and manner of living were lowered considerably on her wedding day, she still appeared to love him thirty years later and put up with him when his coarseness flared up. Somehow she’d maintained her gentility and was so well liked that Portland’s most prestigious women still welcomed her into their parlors.
Felix was another story, and his friends were for the most part fishermen and dockworkers. His employment at Hunter Shipping for the past ten years gave him limited approval. Of course, he was always welcome in the Hunter home, but Felix did not presume on his in-laws’ goodness and, for the most part, kept to his own circle. He was good at his job in the warehouse, the men respected him, and he kept the vast quantities of supplies in order.
“We’re heading over to the office for tea, Uncle Felix,” Edward said.
“Ah, tea for the ladies. I expect you gents have peppermint cakes and gingersnaps with your drinkables.” Felix turned to the expanse of the warehouse and shouted, “Come, lads, clear the floor there! We’ve a ship docking in an hour’s time! Look lively!”
They hustled Abigail and Deborah toward the steps leading up to the office, and Edward was thankful to shut the door and the noise behind them.
“You see that little room a-building over there?” Jacob asked Abigail, pointing to the far corner.
“Y–yes.”
He smiled down at her. “That, my dear, is my new office. In a week or two when it’s finished, I’ll bring you down here again to see it.”
“It’s … awfully small, isn’t it?”
Jacob laughed. “Well, yes, but it’s more than Mr. Daniels, the accountant, has.”
“What does he have?”
“A desk over there between the clerks and the record files.”
Edward said nothing but caught Deborah’s troubled glance. He wished he could reassure her, but he could only smile and lead them into his own office.
In the private room, one of the young clerks laid out tea for four on a small table opposite his desk.
“Abigail, would you mind pouring?” Edward asked.
“Not in the least, thank you.”
There. This was going better. While outgoing Deborah might have felt at ease among the workers, Abigail could not hide her relief at escaping into the quiet, well-appointed office. He began to tell them about the nautical artifacts displayed on the walls, and soon she seemed to have regained her composure.
“That’s a lovely painting,” Abigail said, eyeing the winter landscape.
“Thank you.” Edward glanced at his cousin. “I believe that belongs to Jacob and will find its home in his new office when it’s finished.”
“No need, Ed. Keep it in here if you like it. I only paid a few dollars for it, and it was company money.”
Edward smiled. “We’ll discuss it later.” After I look up the amount you paid for it, he told himself. He did not doubt Jacob’s word but felt he ought to go slowly in financial matters and verify what the staff told him. If all was as Jacob represented it, he would be glad to let his cousin have the pleasure of hanging the painting on the wall above his desk.
Deborah carried her cup and saucer to the window and peered out.
“You have a splendid view of the wharf and the harbor, Edward.”
“Thank you. You’ve never been here before?”
“Not in the office.”
“But you’ve seen the warehouse.”
She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Yes, but Abby hasn’t until today.”
He smiled and turned to Abigail. “What did you think? We’re a rough lot, I’m afraid.”
She stirred a spoonful of sugar into her tea and glanced up at him from beneath long lashes. “It’s … exciting, but I’m afraid I’m not used to such hubbub.”
“No, I tho
ught not. I hope our outing didn’t unsettle you.”
Jacob pulled his chair close to Abigail’s. “Edward suggested you and Deborah might want to look over the fabrics we have on hand. I can ask my father to send some boys up here with the bolts if you wish.”
“That might be nice,” Abigail said, glancing at her sister.
“By all means,” said Deborah. “I’m sure Abby will be needing some new dresses soon.”
A few minutes later, two of the laborers came in with several bolts of material. They spread them on Edward’s desk, and Abigail smiled at them.
“Mr. Price says that’s the best of ’em, sir.”
“Very good.” Edward herded the men out the door.
“Thank you,” said Abigail. “I didn’t expect this privilege.”
Edward shrugged. “You are welcome anytime, Abigail. Jacob can tell you if we get something in that he thinks you would like. When the Falcon returns from France, I expect there will be a great number of fancy goods on board.”
“Debbie, look at this rose silk.”
Deborah set her teacup down and went to join her sister at the desk.
“Edward …” Jacob was eyeing him uncertainly.
“Yes?” Edward matched his low tone.
“What do I do if she finds something to her liking?”
He shrugged. “Send it home with her, and send the bill to Dr. Bowman.”
Jacob seemed a bit relieved, and Edward wondered, not for the first time, how his return was affecting Jacob’s salary. He would have to go over the last few payrolls in detail.
A discreet knock sounded, and he went to the door.
“We’ve a ship docking, Mr. Hunter,” said Daniels.
“We saw the flag before we came in. Is it the Prosper?”
Daniels frowned. “No, sir, it’s the Annabel, out of Philadelphia. She’s bringing textiles and wheat, and she hopes to take on lumber. The master’s mate came ashore a few minutes ago in a boat. The ship will moor at our dock.”