Fare you well . . . the words sat like a stone on her spirit as she walked back into the house.
* * *
She never meant to go to the meeting, but at the back of her mind was a reluctance to disappoint the young man who had been, after all, a kind and well-meaning friend. No good will come of it! a voice inside whispered. Despite his gentle ways, do you not despise what he stands for? Has Verity, with all her integrity, all her trying, been able in good conscience to be baptized a Mormon herself? Why did she have this weakness where Nicholas Todd was concerned? she agonized. You see qualities in him you admire, she reasoned, forcing herself to honesty, qualities that would make a good husband. Do not be deceived! Mormonism would spoil that—perhaps it has already. There is no future, no future in thinking about him at all.
So the weary battle continued within her all day. And then, in the end, the decision about attending the meeting was taken from her.
Luther came himself to invite her to the festivities: a fish bake and dancing in the moonlight to celebrate his ship coming in. He would be there to walk her to Stage Fort Park at seven, and if she had any of her fresh blackberry preserves left, she could bring them along.
“I’ll make up some sourdough bread to go with them,” she offered. What else could she do? Feeling guilty for the relief that surged through her at having the whole troublesome matter taken out of her hands, she turned with renewed energy to the tasks of the day and promise of laughter and enjoyment when evening came.
Swordfish was one of the specialties of the Cape Ann area, and August was the prime time to find the big fish, by trolling with mackerel, herring, or even squid for a bait. The succulent white steaks, simmering over glowing coals, made one’s mouth water.
Millie, with her arm tucked into Luther’s, was surprised to see so many people swarming over Fisherman’s Field. She wondered what the original Pilgrim settlers would think if they could see the Cape Ann coast today. In old times the fishermen dried their catches here on a stage. Later they built the fortification called Stage Fort, which was never officially used. That had been long before the Revolution, before men had any real notion of what life in this new land would be. She would like to have seen the field then, and the men who worked there—the first white men to cast lines and nets into this vast fertile sea.
“Millie, you’re so quiet. I’ve been among surly seamen for these many months.” It was a gentle, well-deserved remonstrance.
“I was just wondering what the men were like who fished here, who raised Stage Fort and built their homes here.”
“Not much different from us, I’d guess,” said Luther. “Aren’t all seamen cut out of the same cloth since time began?”
Millie sighed; he had missed her point altogether. “I’m hungry, Luther,” she said. “Let’s go fill our plates before all those delicate little pastries are gone.”
“There’s chowder in plenty, and that’s all I care about,” Luther chimed as he followed her.
“You mean to tell me your mouth is not watering for some of your mother’s lemon cake after all that time at sea? Or the blueberry pie I baked for you at the last minute—”
Luther surprised her by putting his hands around her waist and lifting her clear off her feet. “It’s the sight of you I’ve had a hunger for these many months. This blue dress against your white skin—like a summer’s sky against the white of the clouds . . .” He whirled her around before setting her on her feet again, but she was so close to him she could feel the gentle rising of his chest as he breathed and could smell the sweet rum scent of his body. “You do try a man, Millie!” As he spoke, she suddenly felt his warm breath on her cheek. She knew what he was about, but for some reason she did not stop him. When his lips covered hers she was surprised at the tremor of delight that moved through her, seeming to warm her from the inside out.
She laughed and pushed him away. He let it go at that, and they walked together toward the big, steaming pots set in the sand and the long tables laden with food, their bare feet leaving a trail, wet and iridescent, on the soft, sun-warmed beach.
It was late, very late, when Millie walked with Luther back to her cottage. They moved slowly across the sand, now cool to their touch; there was no need to hurry. The waning night was languid and still. The memory of the sunset meeting the sea in a line of fire was still with them, the warmth of bellies filled with good food, skin cooled by the sweet ocean air, then heated again by the touch of flesh against flesh, strange and new in the darkness. Millie had never been kissed before, at least not properly. Luther took no undue liberties with her, yet she found his lips seeking hers several times through the heat of the dancing, when every nerve in her body was tingling, and again later, sitting in the glow of the fires that dotted the beach, while the townsfolk sang the old, old songs of the sea and of the men who had sea eyes and sea ways.
Farewell to my comrades, for awhile we must part,
And likewise the dear lass who first won my heart,
The cold coast of Greenland my love will not chill,
And the longer my absence, more loving she’ll feel . . .
Melancholy thick as sea-mist in every word:
We’re bound out for Greenland and ready to sail,
In hopes to find riches in following the whale . . .
Death and danger were a part of life, not to be shunned or ignored. Silent as these sea folk were, there was a strength to them that was more ancient than time and memory. Millie felt it course through her veins and knew it was an integral part of her being, something she could never ignore or deny. The question she must ask herself was, how much was Luther a part of that life, that essential essence—or had he nothing to do with it at all?
A voice calling outside her window awakened her. She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes, wondering why Nicholas was calling her. Then she remembered, and put her hands to her face.
“Miss Cooper, answer me! ’Tis a small thing I’m asking, Miss Cooper.”
Millie threw on a long paisley shawl over her nightdress and went to the window, pushing it open just a fraction.
“What do you want so early in the morning?” She did not have to pretend to sound tired; her voice was muffled and still warm with sleep.
“Early in the morning? It’s past nine o’clock.” His voice was cheerful, and she could hear no anger in it. “So you had a good time on the beach late last night?” She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her with a shake of his head, quickly adding, “Never mind about the meeting. It doesn’t matter now. But you will come and bid us farewell? We’ve no one else but yourself and Mr. Hammond, and I’ve heard it’s ill luck to leave on a long journey with no well-wishers at all.”
“Of course I’ll come. Are you glad to be going? Aren’t you frightened at all?”
“Frightened of what?” His voice was calm, and his eyes burned with a confidence that drew her. “If I do what I know to be right, I have nothing to fear. I believe God’s power will help me.”
The words were too gentle and humble to be offensive. “Good,” Millie replied. “I am glad of it.” She did not wish to quarrel with him on his last day. Indeed, a vague sense of loss had begun to rise up from within her. “When does your ship sail?”
“One of the afternoon, I’ve been told.”
“I’ll be there,” she promised.
He nodded slightly. She could read the pleasure in his eyes. “Thank you.” There was a little silence between them. She could see in his face that he wished to say more.
“What is it?” She felt no disposition to be harsh with him now.
“Miss Cooper, may I write to you? And if I do, will you answer my letters?”
Millicent stood still, considering the unexpected request. What harm could it do? she asked herself. But the voice of warning chanted, Look what happened to Judith, look what happened to Verity! “You believe I am still ‘
convert material,’ Mr. Todd, despite all?” She asked the question in a casual, almost teasing manner.
His expression did not waver. “That is not the reason I had in mind when I made my request, Miss Cooper.”
Millie dropped her eyes, afraid the telltale color would rise to her cheeks and betray her. He stood unmoving; she knew he wanted an answer, and would wait for one.
“Yes,” she said, feeling free and light as she spoke the word. “Yes, you may write, and I shall reply to your letters and tell you what things of interest I can.” Good heavens, he was only a young person, much like herself, going halfway around the world and, despite his assertions, probably feeling a bit unsure of himself and his future right now. If she had not enough inner stamina and purpose of her own to combat any subtle Mormon influences he might exert against her, then she was a sorry case indeed. She had never cared much for organized religion of any kind; she was not like Judith, looking for a creed and a cause. Nor was she like Verity, forced to mold her life to another’s. No, she had little to fear.
He was watching her still. She attempted a cheerful, friendly smile.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice and face solemn. “This means more than you know.”
She could say nothing, and she dared not meet his gaze directly. “Off with you,” she said, “or I won’t be through with my chores in time to come down to the wharf.”
It worked. A slow smile spread over his features, and Millie thought again, He isn’t quite handsome, but he has such an interesting face, an air that invites confidence, unstifled and open. She did not watch him walk away. She closed the window and began to make up her bed, refusing to allow herself to think of what the coming hours would hold.
It was difficult; she had feared it would be difficult. The sun was warm on their heads, the smell of the sea ripe in their nostrils. His friend, still thin and quite without color, stood a short distance away. “Will he be able to stand the journey?” she asked, glancing over at him.
“Elder Howlitt? He’s fine. He looks like that all the time—you should have seen him when he was really ill!”
They laughed together, and it helped a little. “This is for you,” Millie said, drawing out the hamper of food she had prepared for him. He was moved by her kindness; she realized with dismay that he was fighting back tears. The ship’s whistle blew; Elder Howlitt took a few steps toward the gangway and called out, “Make haste, Nicholas.”
Millie held out her hand. He lifted it gently and held it as he would a small bird or a rare, precious shell. “There is so much I would say that I cannot,” he murmured. His eyes were dark with a suffering that reached out to her. She felt her whole being tremble. “I shall take the beauty of your spirit with me,” he said. His voice was firm and sure now. “And I shall pray for you, Millicent, day and night.” He bent over and kissed the hand he was stroking. “God keep you,” he said.
Her throat felt dry and constricted. She had no words to say to answer the music of his. But for a moment her eyes met his freely, and she did not hold back whatever might be revealed in her gaze. She knew not what he saw there as he turned and left her. She knew not what she thought or what she felt. Something within her was refusing the impressions and feelings that seethed through her like a damp, cloud-driven storm. She stood alone, staring at the ship, staring at the water, staring at nothing at all. She stood until the ache in the small of her back and the strain in her eyes, half-blinded by the glare of sun striking water, bit into her awareness. Then she turned, feeling heavy and tired, and walked slowly home.
Chapter Nine
It has happened, Millicent! And I know you will not believe it any more than I did.
What in the world could Verity be talking about? Millie held the letter to her a moment, fearful of what might lurk within its innocent-appearing pages. But she could bear the agony of not knowing for only a few seconds. Hungrily she started reading again.
I know not how to prepare you, so I shall just bluntly tell. Simon Gardner, with his red beard and his great head of auburn hair, has asked Mother to marry him, and she consented. He has, I fear, been giddy as a schoolboy ever since. When I at last worked up courage to ask Mother what in the world she was thinking of, she laughed sweetly and said, “Dear heart, I could never love Simon as I loved your father—as I love him still. But I am fond of the man, and he loves me. We need him, Verity, and I can make him happy, and that ought to suffice.” By the time you receive this letter they will be man and wife, Millicent. And, what is more—to prove how strange life can truly be—big, gentle Edgar Gray has asked Leah to marry him. “How delightful!” she says. “Mother and I can have a double wedding. Think of it, Verity.” He, too, seems pleased with his choice, but I wonder about Leah. “Do you love him?” I asked her. “Of course I love him,” she replied, her cheeks still pink with the delight of the adventure. “He is so kind to me, and I believe he adores me, Verity.” That was her only response. It chilled me a little, so I demanded bluntly, “Do you love him? Do you desire to make him happy?” She looked at me a bit blankly. “You worry too much, Verity,” she replied. “I told you I loved him, didn’t I?” So I left it at that. I shall give away both my mother and sister to husbands, and be left an old maid myself. And for this I sacrificed all that was dear to me!
Millie choked on the words, as though they had been uttered from the depths of her own heart and the pain was somehow her own. She longed to rush to her friend, to fly as the sea birds, high and strong against the blue, immense sky, and rescue Verity and make everything right. How clumsy and earthbound and powerless she felt! With a sinking heart she read on.
Marriages ought to presage a happy, prosperous future. But I feel none of that under the circumstances, which include an increasing tension between the Mormons and their enemies. On the sixth of this month an election was held at Gallatin, and the old settlers made up their minds that the Mormons should not vote. They started first with threats and bullying which, like wildfire in a wind, soon became an all-out attack. Now the Missourians are arming themselves against the Mormons, gathering support from every county. Does it not seem insane, Millie? Joseph Smith and the other leaders are doing all they can to achieve peace, but it is obvious that some men are simply out for their blood. The small, scattered settlements fear the most. Here in Far West, surely, we will be safe. Such is the feeling we cling to. We go about our activities as usual, but this cloud of fear and injustice, like a black weight lowering closer and closer, shadows all that we do.
By the way, in July, less than a month ago, Joseph Smith said he received a revelation giving him a means to finance the struggling Church. He has asked his people to pay a tithe, one-tenth of all their increase—and, Millie, they do it! In the midst of sacrifice and persecution and pressing needs on every hand, these people accept his word as the word of God. It would astound you to see it. In truth, there is a power when people unite in this way. And, lest you picture this modern prophet as monstrous, inhuman, and conniving in his power, let me in all fairness say that he is none of those things. His power is real, and you feel it whenever you are near him. But such love emanates from his gaze, such kindness, such virtue! Do not laugh at my defense of him; I feel bound to tell what seems true and right. Children flock to him, and that alone is an indicator of something rare and good in a man. I do not know. I live in amazement each hour and try to take one day at a time, in faith, remembering my promise to Father. Sometimes I fancy him near, yearning over me, loving me and helping me. ’Tis a sweet sensation indeed. Do you ever feel thus with your dear lost mother, Millie? I hope that you do. I hope there is some tender power hovering near to comfort and bless you. That is the prayer of your loving friend and sister in spirit,
Verity
Millie could not hold still. With the letter clutched in her hand she paced the room, prey to sensations and feelings that she could not give name to or understand. Then abruptly she stopped, aware of the words Verity had w
ritten as though someone had spoken them aloud. “Do you ever feel thus with your dear lost mother . . . some tender power hovering near to comfort and bless you . . .”
The sun coming in the small leaded panes of glass spread a rosy glow throughout the room, drawing sparkles like a gleaming gem from the cranberry glass pitcher, a wedding gift to her mother, sitting proud on its shelf. Close beside it was the small oval likeness of her father and mother, a rough, unskilled pen sketch fashioned by one of her father’s shipmates. Her parents both looked very young. What expression the man had caught in their eyes revealed an innocence that astounded Millie. The proportion of features was not accurate, but the artist had managed the aquiline line of her mother’s nose and the gentle curve of her cheek. The color of her hair, soft and light as new honey, was still fresh in Millie’s own memory, as well as the sound of her laughter, resonant and melodic as the murmur of the sea at low tide. For a moment, just the space of a heartbeat, she could feel what Verity had spoken of: a gentle influence, an unheard singing around her, a sense of peace and wholeness, as though someone had uttered a prayer.
“Mother!” She spoke the word aloud. Peace and warmth flowed through her, so that she sat down on the settle and rested her face in her hands, longing to hold onto what she felt, to hug it fiercely near. The loss and loneliness waited like a chasm to engulf her once the feeling had passed.
“Millie, what’s going on? What does this mean?”
Luther had not bothered to knock but had walked into her house unbidden.
Millie looked up from the vegetables she was cleaning, annoyed. “What are you talking about?”
The Heart that Truly Loves Page 8