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The following morning Marin was stirred awake by the calm, much like one would after having fallen asleep in a moving carriage, only to wake when it stops. Feeling vaguely unsettled and somewhat out of sorts, he brushed the feeling aside and ventured out into a bright, crisp Newport morning. There was a dusting of snow powdering the ground, and the calm cold air lathered his face as he walked the short distance to his mother’s house. As he stood at the front door he wasn’t sure whether he should knock or simply open the door and enter. What a strange feeling it was to stand at one’s own front door and ponder if it was acceptable to simply push down the latch, and go through. He decided to knock.
Miss Downing opened the door, and with a subtle tilt of her head, gave Marin a quizzical look.
“Who is it, Opaline?” Phillipe called out from another room.
“It is your brother,” she said in a curious voice.
Phillipe came to the door and said, “You needn’t knock, dear brother. This is your home as well.”
Marin came through the door, peeled off his gloves, coat and hat, and asked, “How is mother?”
“Not much has changed, I’m afraid,” Phillipe replied, “Have you had your breakfast?
“No, I haven’t. I hope I am not intruding.”
“Marin,” Phillipe said with a measure of impatience, “again, this is your home. No one considers you an intrusion.”
Miss Downing gave a quick, courteous half-smile, and left the foyer.
“Come on into the kitchen,” Phillipe said. “I’ll make you some eggs and ham.”
As Phillipe stood over the stove cooking Marin’s breakfast, Marin asked, “Why do you continue to keep a lantern in the window?”
Phillipe looked up from the frying pan as if the question were too obvious to warrant an answer.
“Surely it is not for father,” Marin continued.
“And what if it is?”
“Oh Phillipe. You can’t possibly believe he will return. Without doubt, he is lost to the sea, dear brother.
“You’re the Doubting Thomas, Marin. Where is your proof?”
“Well, he’s either dead or he’s hiding from us. Which do you prefer?”
“Nei-ther,” Phillipe said with an emphasis on both syllables. “Tea?” he added.
“Please,” Marin answered.
Marin drank his tea and considered the options he had just offered. Given only the two, he would prefer his father dead. But of course, in fairness to Phillipe, there was a chance their father was stranded somewhere, although Marin considered it unlikely.
Placing Marin’s breakfast on the table, Phillipe said, “I am sorry we are out of garnish. Presentation makes the dish.”
“Looks fine to me,” Marin said.
Phillipe remained bent over, and asked, “Marin, may I confide in you?”
“Of course, you may. I am your brother.”
Phillipe looked nervously around, then moved in even closer to his brother’s side and whispered into his ear. “I saw Opaline naked.”
Marin smiled wide, and then replied, “...and?”
“...and...she was standing before her mirror running her comb through her unbridled hair?”
“Unbridled?”
“Yes. It ran down the length of her back all the way to her...well...the length of her back.”
“To her ass, then,” Marin added, in an ornery tease.
Phillip raised his whisper, “Must you be so indelicate?”
“So, did she see you?”
“No,” Phillipe whispered shaking his head excitedly. “Do you think I should tell her?”
“What? No. What do you mean, should you tell her? Why would you tell her?”
“I feel so ashamed, Marin.”
“This was by accident ...correct?”
“Oh completely,” Phillipe said.
“Well, no harm done. You needn’t feel guilty ...and you definitely should not mention it to her,” Marin advised.
“I feel as if I have violated her,” Phillipe continued. “Well telling her isn’t going to—”
“I have never seen a woman naked before,” Phillipe confessed.
“WHAT?” Marin said, pulling back in surprise.
“I mean in paintings, sure, but never ...” and lowering his whisper to a murmur, he added, “in the flesh.”
“Hmmm,” Marin offered, “perhaps it is time for me to introduce you to my friend, Ruthie.”
“No, no ...Marin. You don’t understand.”
“What is it I don’t understand?”
“It wasn’t that kind of feeling...”
Marin thought for a moment, took a quick breath as if to say something, but then exhaled again. He looked at Phillipe, whose eyes, full of suspense, were locked upon Marin waiting for a response. Marin, with a cautious approach, asked, “Well ...then ...what sort of feeling was it?”
“I felt as if were about to vomit.” Phillipe erupted.
“Vomit?” Marin repeated for the sake of clarification.
Phillipe nodded, then added, “I felt so very queasy. That isn’t a normal reaction ...is it?” he asked.
Marin was bound, speechless. When Phillipe could wait no longer for a response, he broke down in tears and crumbled to the floor. Marin felt he should say or do something, anything, but for the moment all he could do was stare down at his younger brother. Finally, he managed to assemble a few crumbled questions.
“Is this the first ...I mean have you suspected that you ...has this come as a complete surprise to you?”
Phillipe couldn’t speak for the sobbing, and he hid his face in the fold of his elbow.
“Oh, dear brother,” Marin added, “I don’t know what to say.”
Opaline appeared on the scene as if she had descended from another plane. She bent down beside Phillipe and said, “Phillipe, listen to me. You need not be ashamed of your innocent encounter. As for your reaction, well, I am uncertain as to what to make of it. But for now, I think it best you keep this whole incident between the three of us.”
“I am so sorry, Opaline,” Phillipe said, hiding his face again.
Opaline wrapped her arms around him and said, “You need to pull yourself together, Phillipe.”
“You heard the whole thing?” Marin asked her.
“I heard enough,” she said, drying the tears from Phillipe’s cheeks with the cuff of her sleeve. “He is in for a rough time of it and your support will be very important.” With a turn of mood, she added, “And I doubt that your ‘friend’, Ruthie, will be of any help ...to anyone.”
Marin broke a mild grin and helped Opaline pull Phillipe to his feet. Phillipe gave Opaline a careful hug.
“Thank you, Opaline. You are such a comfort,” he said. He gave a quick darting glance toward Marin, and threw his head back, straightened his collar, brushed back the sides of his long blond hair as if to regain his dignity, and said to Marin, “I need to go to the market this morning. Is there anything in particular you need?”
“Can’t think of a thing,” Marin uttered, somewhat stunned at the sudden transformation.
“Opaline?”
“Perhaps some garnish,” she said with a wink as he passed by her.
“Listen, Marin,” he said, donning his coat, “why don’t you stay here for a while instead of sleeping on that drafty old boat of yours.
“And where would I sleep?” Marin asked.
“We could clear out all of the junk from father’s old study and bring the old brass bed down from the attic. It would have to be more comfortable than that manger you call a bed aboard the Magister Maris.”
“Father’s study shares a door with the room Miss Downing is occupying,” Marin said, and giving her a coy sidewise glance, he added, “I doubt that she would find such an arrangement ...comforting.”
“I think if Captain Carpenter were to stay in his own house, he should sleep in his own room,” she said, adding, “I can make other arrangements.”
“Nonsense,” Marin exclaimed, almost cutting her off. Giving each word its own space, Phillipe said, “The. door. locks.” Neither Marin nor Opaline responded. “It’s settled then. I am off to market,” Phillipe said, on his way out the door.
Marin looked up at Opaline, inviting comment.
“This is your home, Mister Carpenter, and I am occupying your room. I will—”
“No,” Marin interrupted. “The Magister Maris is my home. But, because she is about to be put into dry dock, I will be sleeping in my father’s study ...behind a locked door.”
“As you please,” Opaline said, before leaving the room.
Marin went up into his father’s study, sat down in an old dusty armchair and looked around at the mounds of clutter: boxes of Christmas ornaments, a crate filled with old shoes, a huge chest overflowing with toys from Marin and Phillipe’s childhood, and clothes strewn about. His father’s desk was piled high with ledgers and assorted paper work. He got up and set about cleaning out the room. After Marin had taken most of the stuff up to the attic and brought down the old brass bed, he began cleaning out the closet. It was mostly filled with his father’s clothes, but there were a few articles of old clothing belonging to Marin and Phillipe. Among them was a well-worn pea jacket Marin had favored as a boy. He took it from the closet and draped it over his widened shoulders, recalling how his mother had constantly complained about him having outgrown it and insisting his father buy him a new one. He remembered his father finally taking him to buy a new one, along with a Monmouth Cap, right around the time his father had disappeared. Marin put his hands into the old coat’s pockets and noticed a hole in the back lining of the left pocket. As he removed the coat from his shoulders he felt a solid object in the hem brush against his hip. He managed to locate the object by feeling around the layer between the wool exterior and the lining. He inched it up to pocket level and squeezed it through the small hole. It was his compass! He sat back down in his father’s chair, flipped open the facing and read the inscription:
As you sail, know thee well your destination, do not fail to keep detail of your location. Trust the stars, but should they hide, keep your compass by your side.
It had been thirty years since he had held it in his hands. He gazed at the dial pointing north, directly toward his heart. Remembering a gold fob attached to an old watch he had kept in his bedroom desk drawer, he murmured,
“I won’t be losing you again.”
He tapped on the door separating his father’s study from Opaline’s room. No answer. He put his ear to the door and listened. All was silent. Satisfied she wasn’t in the room, he tried to open the door; it was locked. He tucked the compass into his pocket and went down the hall to the other door into his old room. Opening the door, he saw Opaline lying in peaceful repose on his old bed, her eyes closed, her hands holding her open diary face down in her lap. As he eased the door shut, he kept her in view, pausing for a moment before letting her disappear from his view. As the door clicked shut, Opaline opened her eyes and made a quick entry into the diary.
Phillipe was back from the market and was in the parlor talking with an older gentleman as Marin passed by.
Phillipe called out to him. “Marin, could you come into the parlor for a moment? I want you to meet MaMa’s doctor.” Marin entered the room and extended his hand. “This is Doctor Myers. Doctor Myers, this is my older brother, Marin.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” the Doctor said.
Marin simply nodded.
“Phillipe tells me you are a Captain and own your own ship.”
Marin nodded again.
“What do you call your ship, and how long have you owned her?” the Doctor inquired.
Marin glanced at Phillipe while answering the doctor, “The Magister Maris ...about ten years.”
“U-m-m,” the Doctor muttered. “Was she new when you purchased her, or...”
Marin interrupted the Doctor’s pause, saying, “I doubt that we are gathered here to discuss my ship, Doctor. What news have you as concerns mother.”
“MARIN,” Phillipe scolded.
“Sorry,” the Doctor offered. “I was only—”
“Making small talk.” Marin finished. “What can you tell me about our mother?”
The Doctor looked to Phillipe, who answered by saying, “Nothing has changed, Marin.”
“I don’t know what that means. People keep saying, ‘nothing has changed’. What is it exactly, that hasn’t changed? Does anyone even know what is wrong with her? What the hell is, ‘Winter Fever’?”
“She’s got the dropsy,” the Doctor proclaimed.
“Edema caused by pneumonia,” Opaline clarified as she entered the room, adding, “Your mother’s lungs are filling with fluid.”
Marin, somewhat startled by Opaline’s sudden appearance, summarized, “So, she’s drowning.”
“Not quite,” Doctor Myers said with haughty smile while shaking his head.
“Yes,” Opaline countered, “she is drowning.”
“One parent drowns at sea, the other on land,” Marin contemplated aloud, and without offering pardon, he left the room.
Opaline followed him out into the foyer. “Captain Carpenter,” she called to him. “I have thought it through and have decided to take advantage of your offer to stay in your room for the remainder of my stay. I was wondering as to the location of the key to the hallway door.”
With a broken smile attempting to cover his annoyance at her mistrust, he addressed her with eyes of steel, “You would have to ask Phillipe, Miss Downing.”
Marin then scampered up the stairs and entered his old bedroom, leaving the door ajar. Opaline went to the base of the stairway and watched as he stood at his old desk and opened a drawer. She saw him pull out a gold chain, detach it from something and close the drawer. As he walked back down the stairs, he pulled his compass from his pocket and attached it to the gold fob. Walking past her, he entered the parlor and handed Phillipe the old watch.
“Here, mother always wanted you to have this,” he said. “And look, I found my compass.”
Phillipe leaned back into his chair. “Well I’ll be...” he said, without finish.
“It was down inside the lining of my old pea coat,” he said, tucking the compass safely inside his pocket. Acknowledging the Doctor’s presence again, he asked, “So then, nothing more can be done for our mother. Do you concur, doctor?”
“I am afraid she is in—”
“God’s hands,” Marin finished. “Yes, I know. Perhaps I should be talking to him.” Marin noticed Philippe perk up at the idea. “I was being sarcastic, dear brother. I need to get down to the ship,” he added, and went to the foyer to grab his coat and hat. Opaline quickened her pace arriving at the coat rack before him. He gave her an inquisitive look and took his coat and hat from her extended arms.
“Will you be returning for dinner?” she asked in an inviting tone.
“No,” he said, turning away from her. “I’ll be eating at the tavern,” he added on his way out.
Opaline returned to the parlor where Doctor Myers was speaking softly to Phillipe. The doctor stopped midsentence and addressed Opaline.
“I was just telling Phillipe that it is perhaps time to make the final arrangements for Missus Carpenter. I fear she hasn’t much time left.”
“But we don’t know that for certain, do we?” Phillipe asserted.
“No, only God knows the day and time,” the Doctor replied.
Opaline excused herself and went to attend to Maria. As she was preparing a bed bath, Phillipe entered the room.
“I cannot bear the thought of losing dear MaMa,” he said.
Opaline said nothing.
“Is your mother still with us?” he asked.
“I have no idea,” she said.
“Are you and your mother estranged?”
“We were never acquainted. She abandoned me,” she said, pulling the covers down from around Maria’s shoulders.
“Oh ...I’m so sorry. That must have been terrible for you.”
“Not really,” she said. “The midwife that delivered me took me in. I would have been doomed had I been raised by my mother.” She placed her arms under Maria’s arms and tried to pull her up into a sitting position.
“Why do you say that?” Phillipe asked.
Opaline paused, placed her index finger lightly across her lips, and, as if distracted, answered, “My mother was a whore.” She bent over and placed her ear to Maria’s chest. After a still moment, she rose back up and opened one of the woman’s eyelids.
“What is it?” Phillipe pressed.
Opaline placed the palm of her hand on Maria’s stomach and held it there as Phillipe came close to her side.
“The doctor has left. Should I run after him?” he asked.
“No,” she said softly. “I doubt we will be in further need of him. I am so terribly sorry, Phillipe,” and she reached out to draw him near.
***
When Marin arrived at the dock he found his First Mate, Mister Prince, aboard the Magister Maris preparing her for dry dock.
“She’s gonna need more than a slap-a repairs, Captain,” he said.
“Well then, unless otherwise informed,” Marin replied, “we’ve plenty of time. Hopefully, I’ll not be taking her out again until spring. Perhaps I’ll rent a Brixham trawler and we’ll do some fishing this winter.”
“Whatta we know ‘bout fishin’ that’d fill a thimble?” Jude asked, laughing.
“We’ll hire a crew and stay below drinking rum. Speaking of rum, would you care to come below and tip a glass?”
Jude dropped the line he was holding and followed the captain down the narrow passage into his quarters.
“Martinique rum, Mister Prince,” Marin said, toasting Jude, “if there’s a finer rum, it has never crossed my lips.”
“Ah...to live an’ die in Martinique. The only place I’ve never wanted to leave.”
“Cherchez la femme,” Marin replied. “Her name escapes me.”
“Malika,” Jude said, leaning back as if propelled by the word. “And you, Captain, yer dear Angeline.”
“To the women of Martinique,” Marin said, holding high his glass of rum. “I think of her often.”
“Let’s go fetch her,” Jude cheered, leaning in.
“Don’t think I haven’t considered it.”
“Well let’s go. I know of a little Bermuda sloop off Narragansett. The man’s in my debt. We could hug the coast and then island hop to Martinique. Stay the winter, bring back a little sugar cane to pay for our adventure and be back in time to make a spring run ta the Far East.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Of course. After all, I’ve promised Malika I would return.”
“You’ve made that promise to a thousand Malikas.”
“Aye ...but only one in Martinique.”
Marin’s quick smile faded and his mood turned somber. “Mother is dying,” he said.
First a silence, and then, “How’s a mate ta reply?” Jude said.
“No need,” Marin said, and tipping his glass to Jude, he asked, “Do you know if your—”
“No way a-knowin’,” Jude said.
“How’s a mate to reply?” Marin returned.
“Words quench no thirst, Captain,” Jude said before tossing back the remainder of his rum. “I should be getting’ back topside. There’s work ta be done. See ya at the tavern later?”
Marin nodded and stayed below as Jude went topside. He turned the pages of the ship’s log back to his last visit to Martinique, sipped his rum, and reminisced.
Memories sufficiently renewed, Marin repaired to the tavern. Four hours in the bar, eating and drinking to the swell of tall tales, had put Marin in a buoyant mood. He was singing along with his shipmates to an old sea shanty called, ‘The Holy Ground Once More’: Oh, now the storm is raging
and we are far from shore;
The poor old ship she's sinking fast
and the riggings they are tore.
The night is dark and dreary,
we can scarcely see the moon,
But still I live in hope to see
the Holy Ground once more.
You're the girl that I adore,
And still I live in hope to see
the Holy Ground once more.
They were about to launch into the next verse when Opaline came through the tavern door. The verse disintegrated into silence, all eyes fell upon her presence.
“Captain Carpenter, may I have a word?” she said.
Marin approached her as one would step into the darkness. “It’s mother ...isn’t it,” Marin said, more statement than question.
Opaline said nothing, but reached out for Marin’s hand.
The two of them strolled arm in arm into a winter’s night made colder by the mood. Opaline’s more hurried step had her tugging against Marin’s arm. He felt no need to hurry.
When they arrived, Phillipe was sitting on the snow-dusted step of the front porch, clad in only his drawers and nightshirt. They each took a hand and pulled him up, escorting him into the house. Marin took off his overcoat and placed it around Phillipe.
“MaMa’s gone,” Phillipe sobbed.
“I’ll make some tea,” Opaline said, retreating into the kitchen.
Marin took Phillipe into the parlor and eased him down onto the divan.
“What are we to do now, Marin?” Phillipe asked.
Marin sat down beside Phillipe, put his arm around his brother, and drew him close. “We’re to carry on, my brother. We’ve no choice but to carry on.”
His young brother broke into inconsolable weeping and Marin held him close until Opaline returned with a service of tea.
“The reverend Mister Wright will be here soon,” Opaline said, pouring Marin a hot cup of tea.
Marin said nothing, but his face expressed his sarcastic inner thought, ‘How comforting.’ She removed Marin’s coat from around Phillipe’s shoulders and replaced it with a toasty comforter she had gathered from a chair near the fireplace. A few moments later when Reverend Wright appeared, Phillipe threw off the comforter and ran to him.
“Oh, thank heaven for your prompt arrival, Reverend Wright,” Phillipe said. He led the Reverend into Maria’s bedroom and shut the door behind them.
Marin looked on as if he were but a visitor. His removed look did not escape Opaline’s notice. She began to look around without focusing on anything in particular. She wanted to say something but felt it not her place.
Marin, observing her discomfort, said, “It’s quite alright ...I’m used to it.”
Opaline, in a verbal rupture, asked, “How does one get use to such a slight?”
“Sometimes one has no choice,” he replied. “There is no malicious intent. At this point, it is merely custom.”
“Well I find it damnable,” she braved.
Marin let loose a small, almost silent, chuckle. “Miss Downing, I was wondering if you would consider staying on, now that...” Marin stopped short of finishing his sentence.
“To what purpose, Mister Carpenter? I am a midwife, not a house maid.”
“Yes. I was thinking perhaps you could continue your practice in the community, but live here.”
She stood stiff, except to straighten her blue cap. “And what might my duties be?”
“None,” Marin answered.
A tilt of her head was followed by, “And how then, specifically speaking, would I compensate you and Phillipe?”
Marin leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Comfort,” he said. “Your mere presence would be such a comfort.”
She looked down into his almost empty teacup, picked up the teapot and topped off his drink. He watched as she disappeared, teapot in hand, through the doorway. With one unfinished thought after another tumbling through his head, he sat in solitary silence wishing he weren’t quite so inebriated.
A knocking on the door a few moments later brought Marin around. He opened the door to discover Doctor Myers, but without inviting the doctor in, he said, “I’m afraid you’re more than a little late, Doctor.”
“I have come as the Coroner, Captain Carpenter,” the doctor replied, pulling himself up stiff.
Marin stood aside and let the coroner pass. He followed him to the bedroom and stepped around the doctor to tap upon the closed door. Again, he felt it odd requesting permission to enter. Doctor Myers reached around Marin and opened the door. Phillipe was kneeled beside the bed. The Reverend stood behind him, hands on Phillipe’s sunken shoulders. The doctor went to the other side of the bed and placed the back of his hand under Maria’s nose. Opaline came and stood beside Marin, both gazing into the room. After a few seconds, the doctor removed his hand and drew the covers over Maria’s face. He walked to the nightstand, drew a piece of paper from his valise, and scribbled across the page as one would fill out any ordinary form. He put the paper back into his valise and said in an obligatory manner,
“I’m sorry.”
Everyone stood silent.
“I will let myself out,” the doctor said.
No one moved except for Opaline, turning aside to let him pass.