by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis
“They jailed him overnight, but he’s engaged an attorney from Boston and is out on bail. I expect he’ll be tried when the judge comes here next month.”
“And the rest of the crew?”
“Most of the men admitted they knew about it but felt they had no choice. I’ll go over the roster with you tomorrow. There are a few I think we’d be better off without, but most of the fellows are probably all right. However, Mr. Daniels agrees we should prosecute Stuart and Rankin to the fullest.”
Edward nodded. “Good. We’ll talk about it in the morning.” He saw his stocky uncle Felix silhouetted in the doorway of the house, seeming too large for the little dwelling.
“Whattaya doin’, wastin’ money on a hack?” Felix roared.
“Tell him I’m paying!” Edward called to Jacob through the window.
Jacob turned back and grinned at his cousin. “Been at the ale, I’d say.” He faced his father and shouted, “Hush, Father! It’s Edward’s money. Now, let’s get inside.”
Chapter 15
Edward walked from the harbor to Dr. Bowman’s surgery the next morning. The small building on Union Street had been erected as a wheelwright’s shop, but after the owner’s untimely death, the doctor had bought it and refurbished it as a place to attend his patients. He’d kept the wide double door, but instead of wagons and buggies, it now admitted the injured and ill people who sought his services.
Edward entered, pulling off his hat, and looked around. Two women sat stone-faced on a bench near the door, one of them holding a fretful infant. A curtain of linen sheets stitched together stretched across the room, and from behind it, he heard the murmur of voices.
“Is the doctor in?” he asked the older woman, and she nodded toward the curtain.
Edward hesitated, then sat down on the far end of the bench.
A moan came from behind the sheets, followed by Dr. Bowman’s hearty, “There, now, that’s fine. Just keep the bandage on until you see me again. Come back Friday.”
A man in tattered sailor’s garb appeared from behind the curtain, holding his left forearm with his other hand. His dirty shirt was stained with blood, and he walked a bit unsteadily. The woman with the baby stood up and walked with him to the door.
A gangly young man who seemed hardly out of his teens poked his head from behind the curtain and looked at the other woman. “Dr. Bowman’s ready to see you, mum.”
The doctor appeared next, carrying a few instruments and some soiled linen. He dumped the linen into a large basket in the corner and set his tools on a small table, then poured water from a china pitcher into a washbowl and immersed his hands in it.
As he dried his hands, he looked around and saw Edward sitting on the bench.
“Well, lad, this is a surprise. Not ill, I hope.”
“No,” Edward said, rising. “I only wanted a word with you, sir.”
The young man who assisted the doctor was taking fresh linen from a cupboard. Dr. Bowman glanced at the middle-aged woman who was waddling toward the curtained area. “I’ll be right with you, Mrs. Atfield.”
“I’m next in line, Doctor,” she retorted.
“Yes, I’m well aware of that. I shan’t be long.” He smiled at Edward and whispered, “Here, let’s step into my private office.”
He opened a door in the side wall, and Edward chuckled, stepping out into a tiny backyard.
“Mrs. Atfield comes at least once a week for her dyspepsia,” the doctor said. “It will still be there after we’ve had our say. How can I help you?”
Edward drew a breath; the tangy salt air seemed inadequate, and he felt a bit lightheaded.
“Sir, I came to ask permission to court your daughter.”
Dr. Bowman stared at him, and though Edward feared for a moment he was going to be censured, slowly the man’s mouth curved and his eyes began to dance.
“I’ve heard that from you before.”
“Yes, sir, you have. I was sincere then, and I am sincere now.”
“Well, since you know I’ve promised my elder daughter to your cousin, I suppose there’s only one conclusion for me to draw.”
Edward’s smile slipped out of his control. He was sure he looked the buffoon, but he couldn’t help it. “Yes, sir. It’s Deborah I’d like to court.”
“Well, now. Sensible lad.” Dr. Bowman slapped him on the shoulder. “I almost felt the family had taken a grievous loss last month when Abigail chose Jacob. But I see I was early in my conclusion. We get to keep both you boys.” He nodded. “I’m pleased. So will Mrs. Bowman be.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And I don’t have to ask how Debbie feels.”
“You don’t, sir?”
“No, she’s championed your cause from the start.”
“That means a lot to me. We’ve been friends a long time, and I see a staunch loyalty in her, not to mention she’s a lovely young woman now.”
“Just don’t ever let her feel she’s your second choice, son.”
Edward nodded. “I shall endeavor to let her know that she will be first in my heart from here on.”
“Good. Very good.” The doctor sighed. “And now I suppose I must get back to Mrs. Atfield. Why don’t you join us for dinner this evening?”
“Thank you very much, sir.” Edward shook the doctor’s hand and watched him go back through the door. He walked around the corner of the building and headed for the harbor, smiling.
He had been thinking on and off for a week about Deborah’s charity for sailors’ widows, and his mind returned to it as he walked toward the wharves. He’d seen some of the poverty in the shabbier parts of town. Deborah didn’t despair about it. She set about to alleviate the worst of it. Through careful inquiries, he’d learned that she not only gave food to those in need, but she also helped the women learn new skills and had even found jobs for a few.
She was like the biblical Ruth, he thought, who gleaned grain for the widowed Naomi. Willing to work hard to help others.
He’d intended to visit the widow of Abijah Crowe, one of the men who fled the Egret in the longboat with him and the only one whose family he had not yet contacted. To his surprise, he had heard Deborah mention the name Crowe the day he’d given her the wagonload of provisions, and now he wanted to learn whether Abijah Crowe’s wife was one of the women to whom Deborah ministered. He decided the staff at Hunter Shipping would not miss him if he stayed away another hour.
He recalled the directions Deborah had given the day she collected her goods at the warehouse. By asking about in the neighborhood, he soon found the Crowe house. The humble cottage looked in need of repair; however, the front stoop was neat, and bright curtains hung at the window that faced the street. He knocked, wishing he had dressed differently—not in the tailed coat he wore to the office most days. But it was too late. The door creaked open, and he looked into the face of a thin woman with dull brown hair. Her cheeks were hollow and her hands bony.
“Hello,” he said.
“What do you want?” Her eyes narrowed as she looked him over.
“Mrs. Crowe?”
“I be her.”
“I’m Edward Hunter.”
She stared at him blankly, and he thought she did not recognize the name.
He said, “I heard your name mentioned by Miss Bowman. Deborah Bowman.”
The woman drew her shoulders back and scowled at him. “And?”
“Well, I wondered if you were possibly related to Abijah Crowe.”
Her gaze pierced him, and he stared back.
“He were my late husband.”
Edward sighed. “I was with Abijah on the Egret.”
“I know it. I heared you came back after all this time.”
He nodded. “After our ship sank, Abijah was with me and a few others in the ship’s longboat.”
She said nothing but continued to watch him, unblinking.
“I … meant to come and visit you earlier. I’ve tried to visit the families of all the men who w
ere in my boat.”
“Nancy Webber told me you came to see her.”
“Yes. Her John and I were together on the island for quite some time, and we got along well. I was glad I could tell her what her husband meant to me in those days.” Edward removed his hat and wiped the perspiration from his brow. It was nearing noon, and the sun’s rays made him uncomfortably warm.
“Do you want to set a spell?” she asked.
“I should be glad to if you’ve no objection.”
Mrs. Crowe turned and shuffled into the cottage, and he followed. Two children about five and seven years old scuttled out of the way and tumbled onto a bunk, where they crouched and stared at him.
Edward took the stool the woman indicated near the cold hearth, and she sat opposite him.
“Thought you weren’t going to come here,” she said.
“I’m sorry I put it off, ma’am. It took me awhile to get used to being home again, and I’ve been back at work the past few weeks. But I believe I’ve gotten round to all the other families. I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.”
She nodded once and reached behind her for a ball of yarn and a carved wooden hook. As she began to crochet, Edward studied the yarn. It looked very familiar.
“My Abijah died in that boat,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am, he did. I’m sorry. He was a good man and a good sailor.”
She frowned but kept on hooking the yarn through the endless loops.
“He spoke of you and the children.”
Her hands stilled, and she sniffed. “What did he say?”
“He asked the captain, at the end, to remember him to you. And he said he didn’t want the children to grow up fatherless.”
“The captain died, too,” she said, not looking at him.
“Yes, ma’am, he did. Several days later. But I tried to remember all the messages the men had given him in case I ever made it home.”
“How did he die?”
“Abijah?” Edward asked.
She nodded.
“I’m afraid it was lack of water, ma’am. We started out with very little, and we all suffered from it.”
“It’s a terrible death.” Her ball of yarn dropped from her lap and skittered across the floor, and Edward jumped to catch it.
He took it back to Mrs. Crowe and handed it to her. “Deborah Bowman brought you this yarn.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “You’re the man who owned the ship. The man Miss Abigail was going to marry.”
“You know her?”
“Surely. She comes here with her sister and helps with the sewing and tells stories to the kiddies.”
He sat down again. “My father owned the Egret. And yes, I was betrothed to Abigail Bowman when I left here five years ago.”
“But she found some other fellow she liked more.” She shook her head. “I thought better of her than that.”
Edward cleared his throat. “It wasn’t quite like that, Mrs. Crowe. You see, my cousin was also on the ship with your husband and me, but when the Egret went down, he was in the other boat. His boat was picked up, and my cousin Mr. Price came home thinking I was dead. After several years of believing I had perished, Miss Bowman agreed to marry Mr. Price.”
“She shouldn’t, though. Not now that you’re here.”
“Well, I thought so myself at first, but God has shown me a better plan.”
“A better plan?”
“Yes. I believe our heavenly Father brought them together in their grief and that He has another woman chosen to be my wife.”
“Oh?” She looked doubtful, and he smiled.
“Yes, ma’am. This morning I’ve been making arrangements to call upon another young lady. Someone I think you’d approve of.”
“I?”
He nodded.
“Not Miss Debbie?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Crowe began to smile at last. “She be a fine young lady.”
“Indeed she is.”
“She gets victuals for those as can’t buy them, and she sews togs for the little ones. She even brought me fine cotton for curtains.” The woman nodded toward her small window, and Edward turned to observe the red calico fabric that hung there.
He smiled at her. “She told me that she had friends down here.”
Mrs. Crowe’s chin came up several inches. “She does. And she ain’t ashamed to claim them. Miss Debbie says anyone who believes in Jesus is her sister.”
Edward nodded. He could almost hear her saying that. “I’m so glad she is your friend, and I wanted to bring you something.” He reached into his coat pocket and brought out a small pouch of coins. “Mrs. Crowe, Hunter Shipping has made a gift to the family of each man who died when the Egret sank.”
“Don’t want no gifts.”
“But, ma’am, your husband served the company well.”
“Don’t need no charity. Now Miss Debbie, she comes down here, she shares with us, and she sits and stitches with us. She shows us how to do things. She taught me to spin raw wool, she did. The food she brings is for them that’s starving. This family’s not starving.”
“I’m glad to hear that. How do you live, ma’am?”
“My older son, John, goes out with Abe Fuller fishing every day, and Thomas, the next one down, he runs errands for the haberdasher and the butcher, and sometimes Captain Moody. We get by.”
“That’s commendable. I’m glad your sons are able to work. But this money that I’ve brought you isn’t charity. It’s coming to you for your husband’s good service. He did his job on the Egret until the day she foundered, and if he’d made it home, he’d have been paid for every day of that work. Hunter Shipping owes your husband money, Mrs. Crowe. But since he’s not here to receive it, I would like to give it to his heirs, meaning you and the children. It’s the pay he would have gotten for the days he worked, not a penny more.”
She pursed her lips together. “My man was a good man.”
“Yes, he was.” Edward set the little pouch on the table near her, and she did not protest.
“You say he died in that boat before the captain died.”
“Yes.” Edward rubbed a hand across his forehead. The harsh memories deluged him once more, and he sent up a silent prayer for peace. “We were in the boat for a fortnight, ma’am. Your husband lasted ten days, I believe. Longer than a couple of the others.”
“Was he in distress?” she whispered.
“We all were. I won’t lie to you, ma’am. It was awful.”
She nodded. “And he’s buried at sea?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He reached into his pocket again. “I believe this was his.” He held out a small knife he had removed from Abijah Crowe’s pocket before they lowered him over the side of the boat. “I used it during my time on the island and was thankful to have it. Very useful it was. In fact, I might not be alive now if it weren’t for this. But now … well, I thought your older boy might like to have it.”
She took the knife in her hand and stared down at it. It was a poorly forged blade with a handle of deer’s antler. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “ ‘Twas Abijah’s all right. Thank you.”
Edward left after wishing her well. He walked along the shore, surveying the wharves and boats without seeing them. After ten minutes he stopped, realizing he had come to Hunter’s Wharf. Instead of heading across the street to the office, he walked all the way to the end of the wharf, past several moored vessels and the shops and chandlery. At the end of the wharf, he halted and stood gazing down into the water that swirled around the massive pilings.
At last his duty to the families was concluded, though he knew he would have dealings with many of them again. Amos Mitchell’s son was now his employee. He prayed he would never have to face Mrs. Mitchell again on such an errand.
He recalled Mrs. Crowe’s face as she looked down at her dead husband’s knife. He’d seen similar reactions when he had delivered mementos to other families. The captain’s wife had acce
pted his compass and quadrant with dignity, but even so, her face had crumpled as she examined the items. Davy Wilkes hadn’t had anything in his pockets, and Edward had sliced a button from his coat before they eased his body overboard. His mother had wept over that, saying she’d stitched it to his woolen coat a few days before he’d sailed.
For Gideon Bramwell’s parents, he’d delivered the key the boy wore on a thong around his neck. Edward had thought it belonged to Gideon’s sea chest, which was now at the bottom of the ocean, but his mother told him it belonged to the chest that the girl he loved had filled with household items and vowed never to open until he returned with the key.
For each one of the seven men in the boat with him, he’d managed to preserve some small item to convey back to their families. John Webber had carved a wooden chain from a piece of driftwood he found on the island. It was more than two feet long when he died. Edward had chopped off the excess wood and carried the chain home to Mrs. Webber. With Amos Mitchell, who was lost out of the small boat in high seas, Edward had only a misshapen hat left behind where he’d sat. For Isaac Towers, they’d found pinned inside his pocket a small emerald brooch he’d bought in Rio and was planning to take home to his wife.
What would they have brought home if it were me? Edward wondered. The trinkets he’d bought for Abigail and his mother were sunk and gone. His clothes had gone to rags, and the few tools he’d had on the island had belonged to others. In his excitement on being rescued, he’d brought only the grass pouch he’d woven to hold the mementos of the men. Just one other thing had made it home with him from the long adventure. He shoved his hand in his pocket and rubbed his thumb over the smooth, rounded shell he’d carried for several months now. He’d stooped to pick it up from the sand one morning, and when he straightened and glanced toward the sea, there, incredibly, was a ship under sail, making for his island. His ordeal was over. He had thrust the smooth shell into his pocket and run toward the surf, shouting and waving his arms. His isolation had ended.
He closed his eyes and inhaled the salty air, feeling the breeze on his face and the sun on his shoulders. It didn’t matter that he’d lost all. What mattered was the way he handled what God had given back to him.