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The following day Maria lay in an ornate coffin in the parlor. From the back of the room Marin observed Phillipe sitting in a chair in front of the coffin as the townspeople, friends and a few relatives passed by offering their condolences. They would occasionally glance over at Maria, but the majority of their time was spent bent over facing an inconsolable Phillipe.
As Opaline came to Marin’s side, he said, “One might wonder for whom this service was intended.”
“Should you not be there beside him?” was Opaline’s dry reply.
“I’m not acquainted with most of the people here,” he informed her.
“That is hardly the point, Captain Carpenter,” she said, walking away.
Marin moseyed through the crowd to the front of the room and stood at the foot of the coffin as people filed by. Most people simply gave Marin a nod as they skirted around him on their way to console Phillipe.
“Marin?” an elderly lady said, reaching out and grasping his arm.
“Yes,” Marin confirmed.
“I am your Great Aunt Belle, your Grandfather Carpenter’s sister.”
Marin stood mute.
“I haven’t seen you since you were a child,” she said.
“And yet, you recognized me?” he asked.
“You are the living image of your grandfather,” she said, smiling. She reached out her hands to him, and said, “I was so sorry to hear about your mother.” He accepted both of her hands into his. “You know your Grandfather passed at about the same time your father went missing. I was so hoping that you and Phillipe would come to his funeral. Of course, I realize that Nova Scotia is quite a distance from here, but—”
“I had no idea,” Marin interrupted. “I know nothing about my father’s family, other than a few tales he told me concerning growing up in Nova Scotia. Grandfather’s name was, Columbus, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, after the explorer. Your Grandmother Louisa passed away before you were born.” Marin held a vacant expression. “Phillipe has written to me saying that you were following the family tradition of being a sailor and that you owned your own ship - sailing the world gathering spices. How exciting.”
“Well, after a while it’s... Phillipe wrote to you?”
She cast her eyes to the floor, cautiously glanced over at Maria as if she were afraid of being overheard, and in a disengaged tone, replied, “Yes. On occasion.”
“I take it mother did not approve of the correspondence.”
“Well, I seem to be holding up the line,” she said.
“Oh, let them go ‘round,” Marin scoffed.
“Perhaps we can talk later,” she said, pulling him toward her and kissing his cheek. “My grandniece and I have come down from Providence to visit an old friend of mine and we heard about Maria. We are so sorry.”
“Where will you be staying?” Marin asked.
“We are at The Taylor Inn.”
Marin casually glanced around the room.
“She didn’t come to the service,” Aunt Belle said, referring to her grandniece. “She is back at The Inn. We may be going back to Providence tomorrow morning. Phillipe has the address.”
“Well of course he does,” Marin said.
As Aunt Belle left to approach Phillipe, Marin glanced down the long line of people and, not recognizing any of them, walked out of the room and into the kitchen where Opaline sat drinking a cup of tea. He sat down across from her but said nothing as they exchanged glances. Then, thinking out loud, he said,
“You know, I never realized ...I mean I always felt somewhat removed, but I never really realized how...” and stopping to choose the right word before continuing, “marooned I am from my own family.”
Opaline’s eyebrows raised and the hint of a wry smile crossed her face.
“What?” Marin asked of her reaction.
She gave a, ‘never mind’, shake of her head.
“What?” Marin repeated. “What are you thinking?”
“If you are, in fact, marooned, Captain, I cannot help but believe it is the result of your own navigation,” she said, and she got up from the table and placed her cup on the counter.
Marin clasped his hands together and considered the comment for a moment. She wasn’t witness to his reaction as she stood at the counter with her back to him.
“You don’t think very much of me, do you?” he asked.
“I rarely think of you at all,” she replied.
“No, I wouldn’t imagine you would. But when I do cross your mind...”
Turning to face him, but with unsettled eyes, she stammered, “Mister ...eh, Captain Carpenter, I...” and she paused to wipe her hands on her skirt before continuing, “It matters little what I think.”
“It does to me,” he uttered.
“I should be getting back,” she said, whisking herself from the room.
“The service is about to begin,” Marin heard someone say.
With hesitant step, he returned to the main room and sat down in the last row of seats.
“There are seats available in the front for the immediate family,” Reverend Wright said, reaching his screeching voice to the rear of the room. Everyone turned to witness Marin leaving his chosen seat and casually making his way to the front of the room and sitting down beside Aunt Belle.
“Let us pray,” the Reverend mewled.
Marin sat with his head tilted down, but his eyes were wide open, watching the Reverend Mister Wright scan the room as he led the prayer. The words washed over Marin’s head like so much prattle; the murmured ‘amen’s’ brought little relief. The Reverend grabbed hold of both sides of the lectern and began to bray the eulogy.
“We are here today to remember Alyce Maria Lawrence Carpenter, and to send her home to her Lord. She was born on Easter morning, Seventeen and Forty-Five to Squire Albert Tennyson Lawrence and his loving wife, Katherine, in the Borough of Bristol in Pennsylvania. She lost both of her parents before reaching the age of seven, and was subsequently raised by her Uncle Archibald Lawrence who was a Minister with the First Church of the Resurrection in Providence. She met her husband, Mister Erik Marin Carpenter, who was five years her junior, and married him a few months later in February of Seventeen and Sixty-Six. She was the spiritual head of the household, and with her husband at sea most of the time, she raised her two boys, Martin and Phillipe, in the right Christian manner befitting a God-fearing woman.”
Someone approached the Reverend Mister Wright and whispered something into his ear.
He gave a quick nod to the person, and continued. “Did I say ‘Martin’? I meant to say Marin,” he corrected himself, without apology to Marin.
Marin dispensed of the petty indignity by rolling his eyes and wondered how anyone could make a living proselytizing with such an annoying voice. Noticing that the following sermon had turned decidedly away from Maria in favor of Jesus, Marin’s thoughts turned to Phillipe, who sat audibly weeping throughout the liturgy. His little brother seemed so helpless, and yet, full of certainty. How could the two coincide? What was to become of him now that he has lost his precious mother? Would her absence lift him to manhood, or reduce him to the status of orphan? Marin’s ear reverted back to the shrill voice of the right Reverend Mister Wright when he heard,
“...and there are those who are lost to a faithless sea of doubt, wandering from port to port for earthly riches and looking to the stars for direction, but not to the heavens for guidance. God calls out to them, but do they heed his call? Nay, they go wherever the wind may blow, and it blows them hither and yon on a journey to nowhere, for their course is not set by their faith in the Lord. They are lost on a vast ocean of doubt, holding a compass pointing north. Little they know, they are doomed to the depths.”
Aunt Belle reached over to take Marin’s hand, but he pulled it away as he left his seat and defiantly walked out of the room and exited the house. Aunt Belle was quick to rise from her chair and follow him as swiftly as her ancient legs could accompany her. Opaline too, gave chase. From the front porch, Aunt Belle called out to Marin in a faint and failing voice,
“Marin, please come back.”
Opaline sped past Aunt Belle, and without breaking stride, she raced down the porch steps in pursuit of Marin. With her arms fluttering out to her side as if in flight, she struggled to keep her balance on the slick layer of snow that covered the sloping front lawn. When she was within an arm’s length of him, her feet flew straight out in front of her. The sound of her surrendering shriek, followed by the subsequent ‘plop’ of her butt to the ground, slowed Marin’s pace, but he did not stop.
“Marin Carpenter,” she called out as she fell back, arms spread wide, into the powdery snow.
Marin coasted to a stop. He pivoted slowly around to view Opaline sprawled out flat on the white earth, her blue eyes wide open staring skyward, and her long red hair spilling out across a canvas of pearl white snow. Aunt Belle stood on the porch waving her arms about. He walked back toward Opaline, bent down and extended his arm to assist her. Refusing his hand, she sat up, rolled to her side and struggled to her feet.
Brushing the snow from her clothing, she said, “I am so disappointed and bewildered by you. You let that little man get the best of you. He insults you, and you turn your back on your own mother’s funeral and run away. Shame on you. If you have half the character I thought you possessed, you would walk right back into that house, seat yourself in the front row, and maybe, I repeat, maybe, if you can find the courage, you will get up in front of the gathering and say a few kind words about your dear, departed mother.” And with that she turned her back to him and marched off.
Aunt Belle, looked out toward Marin with her eyes propped wide open and her head aslant, as if to say, ‘Well?’
Marin trudged back to the house, and accompanied by Aunt Belle he stepped into the parlor and stood at the rear as Reverend Wright bawled,
“...and so, dear friends and loved ones, let us pray for the immortal soul of Alyce Maria Lawrence Carpenter. May God look into her soul and find the faith that he commands of all of us. For only by the strongest of faith in God Almighty shall you be granted passage. It is not enough for a child of God to say, ‘I am a good person Father. I have obeyed your commandments and done unto others as I would have them do unto me.’ The Lord is not impressed by your mere obedience to the law, for you were born into original sin, and unless you fall to your knees and tremble before the Lord and beg for His divine forgiveness; unless you give yourself completely unto your Master, you will be cast aside and deemed unworthy.”
“NONSENSE,” Marin shouted.
A communal gasp absorbed the air from the room. The Reverend Wright fell silent with astonishment.
Marin stepped forward and addressed the Reverend directly. “I don’t know if my mother, ‘fell to her knees and trembled before the Lord’, or not, nor do I care. She was a good person, not a perfect person, but a good person. If there is a God in His heaven, and my mother were denied admission, then I would say, ‘To Hell with your heaven.’ You say we are God’s children, but I know of no mother or father who would demand such idiotic idolatry from a child.” He turned to the gathering and addressed them, saying, “And any parent that would treat a child in such a manner should be confined to an asylum.”
“How dare you compare the ways of man to the ways of God?’ the reverend squawked from behind the pulpit.
Marin turned to face him. “How dare I?” Marin said, and approaching the podium he seized it from the other side. “Because I would expect at least as much love and understanding from a perfect God as I would from any imperfect parent; otherwise, why do I need Him?”
Marin moved around to the front of the pulpit and bumped the reverend aside. “This service is concluded,” he said.
“May God find it in his heart to forgive you,” the Reverend Mister Wright squeaked, reaching in to grab his Bible before fleeing.
Everyone remained seated and silent. Phillipe was leaning against Aunt Belle with his eyes closed.
Opaline approached Marin, laid her hand gently on his shoulder and said, as a soft offering, “I do not know about God, but it is going to be a while before most of these people forgive you.”
Marin smiled and said, “Well, who knows? Maybe they will pray for me.”
Gradually, folks began to gather their coats and hats and file out of the house.
Mrs. Robertson, a long-time friend of Maria’s, paused on her way out, and said to Marin, “Your mother used to say of you, ‘The Devil and the Lord are going to have quite a skirmish over that boy,’” and then she leaned in and whispered in his ear, “I wish you Godspeed, Marin Carpenter,” and she closed with a kiss on his cheek.
Aunt Bell sat deserted, propping up Phillipe’s listless body.
“Is he asleep?” Marin asked.
“I’m not sure what you would call this state of being,” Aunt Belle answered.
Opaline smiled and took Phillipe’s wrist, tamely feeling for a pulse. Her smile relaxed as she placed her other hand on his neck.
“Well?” Marin asked with a start.
“His pulse is a little weak,” Opaline said. “I think he is spent. We should get him into bed.”
Aunt Belle excused herself and went off to the luncheon being held in remembrance at Maria’s church. Marin carried Phillipe up the stairs to Phillipe’s room and placed him on the bed. Opaline removed Phillipe’s shoes and then his shirt. As she began to unbuckle his belt, Marin placed his hands over top of hers.
“I can take it from here,” he said.
She held her hands in place and tilted her head up to look at Marin. Turning her palms up, and with the lightest of touch, she took Marin’s hands into her own and murmured, “As you prefer.” Gradually, and ever so gently, she slid her hands from underneath Marin’s. He drew in a slow stabilizing breath. She looked down at her open hands still extended before her, slowly folded them into a loose fist, and turned to walk away.
“Miss Downing...” Marin said.
Stopping, but without turning back to him, she replied, “Opaline.”
“Opaline,” he repeated, as if using a secret password for the first time, “I sometimes forget you are a professional.”
He walked over to her and stood close behind her. She could feel the intermittent touch of his warm breath as it reached down the nape of her neck.
“Perhaps you should proceed with the removal of clothing,” he said.
“Perhaps you could assist me,” she replied with broken breath.
***
Marin was in the library going through the family finances when Opaline peeked her head through the door and said, “Mister Jude Prince is here to see you.”
“Show him in please, Miss ...Opaline.”
Jude came into the room holding his hat in one hand and his smoking pipe in the other. “Sorry ‘bout yer mother, Captain. I’m sure she was quite the lady.”
“Quite so,” Marin replied, holding up a pile of papers. “But I’m afraid she was a little too generous. She left the family finances in a one hell of a mess.”
Jude’s head moved toward ‘yes’ and then nodded, ‘no’ and finally settled in bowed position.
“Sorry, Jude. I didn’t mean to involve you in such matters. It’s just that, well, you’re like family to me.”
“Yes sir,” Jude replied. “Perhaps this ain’t ...well, I should be runnin’ along. We can chat later.”
“What’s on your mind, Mister Prince? Now is as good a time as any.”
“It’s Mister Reynolds, sir, the man from the Navy. He’s been sniffin’ ‘round the ship lookin’ for ya. I been avoidin’ him as best I can, but it’s only a matter a time ‘till he comes a knockin’. He has the papers for the commission of the Magister Maris.”
“Oh, does he?” Marin said, tossing a handful of papers onto the desk. “Well next time you see him, bring him around. We are burying mother tomorrow, and I’ll be a few days sorting out this mess.”
“Yes sir,” Jude said.
“Have you finished your inspection of the Magister Maris?”
“I have.”
“And?”
“She’s in sad shape, sir.”
“Do you have a tally of needed repairs?”
“Starboard aft hull needs a-patchin’ if she’s to stay afloat. Mizzen mast has a crack wide enough ta pinch yer thumb. The spanker sail’s but a rag, and much of the rigging’s seen better days. The rudder—”
“Alright. How long do you suppose she needs to be in dry dock?”
“Hard ta say, captain. At least a month.”
“Could you give me a complete list of needed repairs?”
“I left it in yer cabin, sir.”
“Thank you, Jude. Will you stay for dinner?”
“I’d love to, but beggin’ the captain’s pardon, I have ...an engagement.”
“Well, first things first, Mister Prince,” Marin said, smiling.
“I’ll let m’self out,” Jude said, backing toward the door. “And again, sir, sorry ‘bout yer mum.”
“Thank you, Jude.”
Marin turned his attention back to the family finances. Both, Maria’s father and uncle, had left her a sizable fortune, and she had been quite frugal with the money as concerns the family, but the church was another matter. She had donated the money for the construction of several additions to the church, including a bell tower, all new stained-glass windows, new pews and a pipe organ. Her monthly donation was generous beyond reason and, unknown to Phillipe, she was paying his salary as an assistant youth pastor at the church. Marin became increasingly weary as he sorted through the various receipts and outstanding bills. As his attention waned, he laid his head down on the mound of paper and dozed off.
He awoke to the sensation of a throw being placed around his shoulders. He smiled and reached up to hold what he believed to be Opaline’s hand, but as he touched it, he heard Aunt Belle’s voice,
“Oh, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
His eyes thrust open and he sat up. The fading glint of dusk through the library window provided the only illumination.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Half past five,” she replied.
“Oh, have I missed dinner?”
“I couldn’t say. I have only just arrived from church to find the house dim and all but deserted.”
“Oh. I wonder where...umm...how was the reception?”
“Were your ears burning?” Aunt Belle replied, adding with a mischievous smile, “and I haven’t seen Miss Downing.”
“Would you look at this mess?” Marin said. “My mother was penny wise and tithe foolish. If she had continued to prop up that church she would have been turned away as a pauper in two years. No wonder the streets of heaven are paved with gold.”
“Oh my,” Aunt Belle said, “as bad as all that?”
“It’s salvageable. There is a tidy sum remaining, and she owns land in Pennsylvania as well as assorted other things we can sell if needs be, but I am cutting the church off. What concerns me is that I fear Phillipe was given his position as assistant pastor, quid pro quo. I know for certain mother was secretly paying his salary. How will the church respond when the funds stop flowing? I’m all but certain they’ll betray Phillipe once I refuse them, their, ‘thirty pieces of silver’.”
“Is it necessary to cut them off all together? Perhaps you could spare your brother.”
“Spare him from what, the truth? He will find out sooner or later when he takes over the family finances, which he should attend to, and the sooner the better. There hasn’t been an entry in this ledger for several weeks,” he said, slamming shut the ledger. “I’m sorry, Aunt Belle, I shouldn’t burden you with the family business. Why don’t I put on a kettle of tea and you can tell me all about my grandfather?”
“Oh, I would love that, but it is getting dark, and Emily will be worried about me.”
“Oh yes, your grandniece. Why don’t I accompany you back to the Inn?”
“How kind of you, Marin.” she replied.
“Not at all,” he said.
Marin and Aunt Belle left the house and walked the three blocks to The Taylor Inn. Along the way, he explained the situation concerning the Magister Maris to her. She commented that her niece’s husband might be of some help in the matter. Midway, Marin paused to point out the main mast of the Magister Maris, faintly etched in the dying light of the cold December evening.
Aunt Belle squinted her eyes and thrust her head forward saying, “I am sorry Marin, but I don’t see a thing.”
“I guess you have to know what you’re looking for,” he said.
***
“Emily?” Aunt Belle called out as she and Marin entered the hotel room. Emily came around the corner wearing only her nightclothes, and when she spotted Marin she gathered her breasts into her folded arms and ducked back out of sight.
“Oh dear,” said Aunt Belle. “I am so sorry, Emily. I should have announced that I brought someone with me.”
“No harm done,” she said, re-entering, warm with blush, and wrapped in a robe.
“Marin, this is my grandniece, Miss Emily Wallace. Emily, this is Marin. He is your ...I mean you are his ...oh dear me, what would the daughter of your grandmother’s sister’s daughter be called? She would be your...”
Everyone paused to ponder the relationship. At last, Marin offered,
“My Emily.”
Aunt Belle and Emily both laughed, but Emily’s laugh was set apart by an inviting warmth and an accompanying smile.
“Well it’s nice to meet you, Marin,” she said.
“The pleasure is mine,” Marin said, with a welcoming smile and eyes aglow.
“Emily is the daughter of Senator Horace Wallace of Rhode Island, who is married to my niece,” and noticing Emily and Marin’s eyes entangled in one another’s, she added in a slow and measured rhythm, “and she has recently received a proposal of marriage from ...what is the gentleman’s name, Emily?” she asked, feigning a strain to remember.
The smile fell from Emily’s lips, as her eyes broke free from Marin. “John Henry Eliot,” she said, and regaining her composure, she glanced back to Marin, and added, “But I have yet to accept.”
Aunt Belle winced and glanced back and forth between the two of them, their eyes joined in an enchanted embrace. “Marin, perhaps we should go down to the restaurant and order some food,” Aunt Belle said in an attempt to break the spell.
“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Marin said, as if Emily were the only one that could hear him.
Emily said nothing. She didn’t have to.
***
Marin sat across from Aunt Belle thinking about his encounter with Emily as Aunt Belle busied herself with the menu. When the waiter came, she turned her attention to Marin and asked,
“Have you figured out what you want?”
He looked up at her as if she had been reading his thoughts. “No,” he said, and smiling at the waiter, he gave his order. “I’ll have a crab cake and an ale.”
“I’ll have a whiskey,” Aunt Belle said.
“Ma’am?” the waiter said with a start.
“Whiskey. Neat,” Aunt Belle replied.
The waiter glanced at Marin, bowed and retreated.
“You seemed quite taken by my dearest Emily,” she said, fiddling with the silverware before her.
“She is quite beautiful,” he replied, watching Aunt Belle deftly unfold her napkin and place it upon her lap.
“...and young.” Aunt Belle finished.
“Yes. I noticed,” Marin replied, smiling at the thought of Aunt Belle ordering only a whiskey and placing a napkin upon her nap.
“Did you?” she said, looking up at him.
“I just said I did. She is young and beautiful.”
“And spoken for,” Aunt Belle added.
“Not yet,” Marin amended.
The arrival of the waiter bringing their drinks stalled Aunt Belle’s initial response.
After the waiter had departed, she said in a calm and reflective tone, “You remind me of my brother, your grandfather, Columbus.”
“How so?”
“Well, for one, as I mentioned earlier, you resemble him. Those dark, piercing and sentient eyes that break through the clutter, aiming straight to the heart,” and she paused knowing she might have ended the sentence right there, but she added, “of the matter.” The pause was not lost on Marin as she continued, “Those thin agile lips ready to pronounce a response to the narrowest of invitations, or provocations; a confident swagger and beguiling sway ...all topped off with a stream of dark wavy hair that begs for a woman’s fingers.” She gazed at Marin for a moment before turning her attention to her glass of whiskey. Marin watched as she tossed the shot of whiskey straight down, brought the napkin from her lap and patted her lips dry. After she had replaced her napkin onto her lap, Marin waited for her to give him her full attention before asking,
“Do you imagine that I would attempt to seduce your grandniece, grand-aunty Belle?”
“I would imagine you could not help yourself, Marin. Nor could your grandfather. Charm is a powerful magic, dear grand-nephew. And like any magic, it can betray the magician.”
“Is that what happened to my grandfather? Was he poisoned by his own potion, so to speak?” Marin said in jest.
“To speak precisely, he was shot through by a woman who left her husband for him, only to find Columbus no longer interested in her.”
Marin froze his position for a moment before saying, “How sad. I’m sorry, Aunt Belle. And you fear I am following in my grandfather’s footsteps?”
“Marin, I am not a fool,” she said, leaning forward across the small table and lowering her voice. “You appear quite taken by both Opaline and our Emily. Opaline, the older and wiser of the two, understands your bewitchery and is careful in her step. My young grandniece is easily charmed.”
“Well, as I understand it, you and my ‘kissing cousin’, are leaving for Providence after the burial tomorrow, so...”
“You poor fool. Do you not understand the power of your own magnetism?”
“Ma’am?” Marin quizzed.
“You are a sailor; I would imagine you own a compass.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How close to the North Pole do you have to be before its magnetism acts upon it?”
“Has Mister Eliot no charm of his own?”
“I am not going to answer that question. I can only hope you are chivalrous enough to let the young lady pass.”
“I think you make much too much of this, aunty, but if it pleases you, I will keep my distance.”
Aunt Belle looked at him skeptically, withholding comment.
“And when, may I ask, do you plan on returning to Nova Scotia?” he inquired, as if changing the subject.
***
Returning to the house, Marin was lured toward the library by the flickering golden light of the fireplace. Opaline sat fireside reading a book of poetry as the shadows danced about the room and the fire’s radiant light painted her aglow, as if by Rembrandt’s brush. He stood quietly in the darkened doorway, spellbound. He read her every move as she turned page after page. Without her eyes leaving her book, she called out to him.
“Is there something you want, Marin?”
“That is precisely what I was wondering,” he replied.
She laid her book face down into her lap and turned to him. “Must you be so mysterious?”
“Do you find me mysterious?” he asked, remaining in the shadows.
“I find you oblique,” she answered. “Come into the light.”
Marin held his spot. “Do you believe in magic, Opaline?”
“Define magic.”
Marin thought for a moment. “Well, I am not sure magic can be defined.”
“Well then, how am I to know whether I believe in it or not? Have you just come from the pub?” she asked.
“No. I am quite sober.”
“So then, what is all this nonsense about magic? What are you getting at, Marin?”
“I am asking about invisible forces that guide us.”
“Give me an example ...and would you please come into the light?”
Marin stepped forward into the amber light revealing the right side of his face, while the left side fell softly into the darkness. “A compass,” he said, pulling his compass from his pocket. He watched as the needle settled its point toward Opaline.
“I do not consider a compass, magic”, she said. “The needle is merely responding to magnetic attraction,”
“Yes, I know,” he was quick to add, “but what is magnetic attraction? Isn’t it possible that people possess a certain magnetic attraction that draws them to one another?”
“Perhaps. But I would remind you that repulsion is a magnetic property as well. Why are you asking me all of this?”
“Because ...I am...” and he swallowed the remaining fragment, leaving an elastic silence stretched out taught between the two of them. Marin surrendered with, “...simply tired and in need of sleep.”
Opaline closed her book, stood up and followed Marin up the stairs. Stopping outside her bedroom door, she said,
“Good Night, Marin. May the stars be kind to you.”