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Marin awoke in a shiver, lying on Phillipe’s bed. His lantern had burnt out, and a just a thin hint of light hung in the room. He got out of bed and looked out through the cathedral window, his view diffused by a thick dolphin- grey fog.
He guided his way out of the room and down the stairs, put on his coat and hat, and opened the front door to behold a blank canvas of dull and edgeless dawn, as if he had been transported back to Genesis 1:3: And God said, ‘Let there be light” and there was light.’, even though there was nothing to illuminate.
Marin stepped out into the visual void and felt as if he had been absorbed. He probed his way down the steps and paused midway thinking perhaps he should turn back, but the brisk morning air felt good against his face and had a bracing effect upon his posture, pulling him upright and sturdy. The call of seagulls and the lapping of the high tide lured him to the seaside, guiding him through the fog. As he reached the waterfront he could see the yellow aura of a lantern spilling a splash of color into the mist, and he heard the unmistakable voice of Mister Walter singing:
“Come all you young sailormen, listen to me
And I’ll sing you a song of the fish in the sea,
And its windy weather boys, stormy weather, boys,
When the wind blows, we’re all together, boys.
Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow
Jolly sou’wester, boys, steady she goes.”
“Mister Walter,” Marin called out. “Could that be you piping out a tune?”
The yellow glow began to move back and forth, and he heard Mister Walter shout out an answer, “Mister Carpenter the younger, I presume. Step careful lad.”
As Marin approached the Merry Maiden, he strained to see the outline of the bow through the yellow blur. He felt his way along the starboard side until a hand grabbed the arm of his coat and gave it a tug.
“Step aboard laddie, I’m about ta have me tea.”
Marin heaved himself aboard, and said, “Surely you are not sailing out into this pea soup.”
“It’ll thin ta broth before slack tide. C’mon inside the cabin while nature mops up this mess.”
Mister Walter poured a couple of mugs of strong black tea and sat down across the table from Marin. Leaning in as if he harbored a secret, he said, “I found ya a small sloop, if yer still interested.” Marin leaned back and lowered his eyes. “It’s just across the bay in Jamestown. She’s a twenty- footer, ain’t but a couple years old. The man bought it for his son, but the boy’s a landlubber. We could sail over and take a look, if you’d like.”
“Why not,” Marin said, taking a small sip of his hot black tea while taking special notice of the cozy confines of the hutch Mister Walter had built aboard his vessel.
“Now ya understand, she ain’t decked out like mine. If ya want a little livin’ quarter on it, you’d have to build that yerself. Nor is it yet equipped for makin a livin’ as a fisherman; yer going to have to dress her up proper before ya introduce her ta the fishes.” Thinking it odd that Marin’s expression had hardly changed, he leaned in a little futher and said in a near whisper, “Of course, if yer a few bob short...”
“It’s not that,” Marin said. “It is not that at all.” He paused and looked directly into Mister Walter’s eyes, waiting for his full attention to shine. “I do not believe I was cut out to be a fisherman.”
Mister Walter leaned back as far as his chair would allow. “Well then, let me give ya some advice, lad ...do not become a fisherman. The work’s too hard, the hours endless, and the money as fickle as the weather.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“’Cause I’m a fisherman. A man has to be who he is.”
“What am I, then?” Marin said, more rhetoric than question, as he stared out of the small window of the hutch into the fog.
“Well I’m not one to tell a man what he is, but as for you, any fool could tell ya; yer a Captain – in every sense a the word. Now take yer own sweet pappy as a sample; he was no fisherman. Oh, he could fish all right, but as soon as he launched of a mornin’, all he was thinkin ‘bout was the evenin’ ...wasn’t much of a fisherman, ya see. And, if ya don’t already know, I think it’s high time somebody tell ya, yer father was not a captain; that was but a nickname I gave him. He was a sailor, damn good one. Made First Mate, much like your Mister Prince. But he was no captain ...had no desire ta be a captain.”
“I am not so sure I was cut out to be a captain either.”
“And why would ya say that ...Captain?”
Marin smiled wide, but it dissolved with the words, “I’m not so sure I want another ship. The sea seems to have lost her allure.”
“Never ta a sailor,” the old man said, turning away and picking up a piece of thick fishing line. He twirled the end back and forth between his fingers and reached over into a drawer and pulled out a hook. He threaded the line through the eye in a single pass, tied it off, and bit off the excess. “Interestin’ word, allure. I would think it comes from the word, ‘lure’. Ya see, a good fisherman knows how ta lure the fish ta his lines.”
“Yes. You once told me you could teach me to think like a fish.”
“And I could. But there’s no point, ya see. Yer not a fisherman. And yer not a sailor. If ya were, the sea couldn’t lose her allure. Still, yer a captain. And the sea has served as yer bait. But your bein’ a captain may or may not involve the briny blue.”
Marin’s reply crept from his lips, “I am not sure I follow you.”
“Tell me about yer crew,” the old fisherman said, applying another hook to a line.
“Ah, me hearties,” Marin said, as if to mimic Mister Prince. “Never a better set of sailors ever sailed the seven seas. There have been times when I wondered if they even needed me. Odd, but it is then that I am most proud as a captain.”
“Do ya hear yerself speakin’ ta yerself, laddie? How deaf can a man be? Give a listen ta the captain in ya. Ya don’t need the sea ta be a captain, Captain. Ya can be a captain anywhere, land or sea. Listen to me lad,” he said, as a father would to a son, “I know a few a yer mates - they respect ya ta a man. They look up ta ya for direction, guidance,” and he paused to lean in for emphasis, “...inspiration. And why do ya think that is? Well I’ll tell ya, it’s ‘cause yer born to the breed. It’s who ya are. I’m a fisherman. That’s what ya might call, ‘me purpose’. It’s what I do. Yer a captain. That seems to be yer purpose. Go and be a captain, wherever yer needed. Times a waistin’, Captain Carpenter, time ta get busy. Fisherman Walter has ta set sail and lure some fish, if I’m ta earn me keep.”
“Thank you, Mister Walter,” Marin said, extending his arm out across the table. Mister Walter reached out and firmly grasped Marin’s hand.
“Good Luck to ya, Captain,” he said. “And ya can just call me, Walter.”
“Is Walter your first name, then?”
Mister Walter stood up and escorted Marin to the cabin door. He opened it, peeked his head out and said, “Looks like the fog’s beginnin’ ta thin. I believe I can just make out yer mother’s ...that is ta say, yer home from here.”
Marin gave a long look into Mister Walter’s eyes, smiled and left the little cabin.
As he made his way back down the pier toward shore, the view through the fog had softened the edges of the closer objects, and blurred beyond recognition the view into the distance. It was an odd feeling, knowing well the landscape that lay before him, and yet, not being able to make out the finer points ...as if he were walking into a rough sketch of things to come.
He walked in the direction of what he knew to be The Red Boar. His eyes felt their way along the street as he gave each building along the path a closer look than usual. He came to a building with two separate entrances with and a sign in the window that read: TO LET: SINGLE OR DOUBLE STOREFRONT – INQUIRE NEXT DOOR. He leaned his head against the window, cupped his hands around his eyes and looked into the dim, open and empty space. His mind began to furnish the vacant room, and he suddenly knew what he had to do.
Marin enquired next door, and half an hour later he had signed a one-year lease on the building.
He walked past The Red Boar and continued on his way to the Maison Des Plaisirs. Entering the brothel, the bell above the door rang out in vain, lingering in want of a response. He spotted Sophie cuddled up under a blanket, stretched out on a divan. He tiptoed over and tapped her on the shoulder. She stirred, coughed, and rolled onto her side, all without leaving her slumber.
Miss Ruth appeared a moment later, looked first at Marin, then Sophie, and said, “Not what a gentleman wishes to see upon entering a brothel. But I assume you are not here to employ the pleasures of Miss Sophie. What can I do for you, Marin?”
“I was wondering if Aja was available.” Ruth held an expressionless stare that pulled an explanation from Marin. “I would like to take her to breakfast,” he explained.
“Breakfast,” Ruthie repeated, as if Marin was using the word as a metaphor. She shook her head, turned to leave the room, and said, “Let me check with her.”
A few minutes later, Aja came into the entrance of the parlor, clad in red silk pajamas, furry booties, and a long Persian lamb coat draped over her right arm. She paused in the archway and asked Marin, “Why breakfast?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” Marin smiled.
Showing no appearance of amusement, she walked over, handed Marin her coat, turned her back to him, and dangled her right arm out awaiting his assistance. The gentleman obliged her and they departed, walking arm in arm to The Red Boar.
“The Red Boar?” she asked as they arrived. “I thought we were to dine at the South Wind House.”
“And we shall,” Marin replied, “...one day.”
He opened the door and escorted her into the tavern. After they had settled at a table and ordered breakfast, Marin stared at Aja until she surrendered her attention to him.
“I have a proposition for you,” he said.
“Money usually works best,” she said, sporting a pawnbroker’s smile.
“Good,” Marin countered, “this involves money.”
“Whose money ...yours or mine?” she was quick to ask.
“Ours,” he said in rhythm. As she leaned away from him, he slanted in toward her. “Ruthie once told me that it was you that picked out the furnishings at the brothel. She said you had an instinct for quality and value.”
Aja clasped her hands together and placed them on the table.
“What if,” Marin continued, folding his hands together and placing them before hers, “I was willing to set you up in a business of your own, dealing antique furniture?”
“What’s the catch?”
“There isn’t one. I have rented a storefront on Spring Street, and I have a roomful of vintage European furniture that I would like to bid, ‘good riddance’. I would like for you to sell it. The rent is paid up for a year. We split everything, sixty-forty in your favor.”
“Why are you doing this? You owe me nothing.”
“This has nothing to do with debts - real or imagined; promises - assumed or implied. I am simply offering you an opportunity, for no other reason than I believe you can best take advantage of it. I am going to put Phoebe next door to you so that she can have a space of her own to create and sell her apparel. I am going to offer her the same deal. So, what do you think? You have to admit; the offer is quite tempting.”
The waiter brought two cups of coffee, and Aja wrapped her fingers around her cup and drew it close to her, as if to warm her hands. She stared into the dark black liquid without saying anything. Marin knew it best to give her plenty of margin, and she knew how to best use the space.
As if the conversation had started a new paragraph, she lifted the cup to her lips and held it there before taking a sip. Her eyes drifted up to meet Marin. “I have always found it somewhat disheartening,” she said, “that the tempting aroma of coffee, makes promises that the taste cannot keep.” She tipped her cup and took a sip.
“So then, why do you wear perfume?”
Aja smiled wide, and took another sip of her coffee. The meal was served, and they dined, having agreed to meet again that evening for dinner at Marin’s house.
***
After he dropped Aja off at Ruthie’s, he walked to Mister Prince’s house. As he approached, he saw Jude and Phoebe exiting.
“Just the two I was looking for,” Marin called out.
“We’re on our way ta the tavern for a little chow, Captain. Care to join us?” Jude said.
“I just ate,” Marin informed him, “but keep an appetite for dinner at my house at six.”
“We’ll come a little early if that suits ya.”
“Good then. Bon Appetite. Oh, and Phoebe, tell Missus Robertson she is welcome as well.” Phoebe nodded, and Marin continued on his way.
He stopped at The Taylor House in hopes of finding Aunt Belle, Senator Wallace and Emily. When he spotted them in the dining area, he approached the table.
“Marin,” Aunt Belle said, welcoming him. “We are about to finish up here, but won’t you join us for coffee?”
“I thank you for the invite, but I am on my way to the market to gather the ingredients for a dinner tonight, and I would like to invite each of you.”
The Senator looked first at Aunt Belle for her reaction, but Emily reacted first.
“Oh let’s,” she said. “We can take the early coach in the morning.”
Aunt Belle looked up at Marin, and smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said. “But I insist on helping with the preparations.”
“I was hoping you would say that,” Marin said.
“What are we having,” she asked.
Marin could not help but laugh. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said.
“Let me accompany you to the market, then. Henry, you and Emily can go and make arrangements for our departure tomorrow. Give Marin and I an hour or so, and meet us back at the house.”
***
A little past noon the fog lifted, and the markets being suddenly crowded, shopping took much longer than they had anticipated. After an hour or so of dealing with the various merchants, Aunt Belle needed to rest, so they took a little break sitting outside the fruit vendor’s display. Marin took advantage of the breather to ask her a few questions that had been circling around in his head since his meeting with Mister Walter earlier that morning.
“I was talking to Mister Walter earlier today,” he said, leaving a pause for a nibble of response from her, but she left the comment in place, so he asked her, “How long have you known Mister Walter?”
“Oh-h, a good long time, I suspect,” she answered, her face a telling blank.
“How did you come to know him?” Marin advanced.
“Well, that’s a long story. He has known your father for a very long time.”
“Yes, I gathered that. But how long have you known him?”
“Well...” she said, sounding more like stalling than recalling, “Mister Walter—”
“You call him, ‘Mister Walter?’” Marin interjected.
“Y-e-s...” she said.
“But that is not his surname ...is it? He said today that I can call him, simply, ‘Walter’. But when I asked him if that was his first name, he did not respond. So now, tell me Aunty, who is this man we call, ‘Mister Walter’?”
Aunt Belle squirmed a little before turning to Marin. She placed her hands on his knee and said, “He is Walter Carpenter, your father’s older half-brother. You and Phillipe were never to know. Your Grandmother Louisa kept word of what she called, ‘Columbus’ bastard son’, below a whisper.”
“Well-well ...bring the devil into the light. Did Maria know?”
“Well of course she knew. Secrets born of pride are deeper than they are wide. She would be aghast if she thought you and Phillipe knew.”
Marin straddled the bench, leaned into her ear, and whispered, “Well then, we mustn’t tell her.” He sat back upright, and said, “C’mon Aunty, out with it.”
She took a deep breath before continuing. “Walter brought your father down to Rhode Island when Erik was just bloomin’ buds. They started a little fishing business, and around the time Erik turned sixteen, he found he could make more money working the pleasure craft in the summer. Your mother’s uncle, Archibald, hired him on as a crew member aboard his schooner; that was how he met Maria. One thing led to another, all of which led to you. “Walter and Maria always appeared at odds with one another,” and she paused to give a riddling smile. “but ...there were those that believed that was all masquerade.”
“Masquerade? Interesting. What did father think?”
“Truth is, I do not believe he cared.” She stood up and said, “I have said enough. I should get back and start this dinner if we are to eat at a decent time.”
“Let me hire you a coach. I would like to go down to the dock and wait for Mister Wal–...Carpenter. Perhaps he would consent to come to dinner tonight.
My apologies, Aunty; it looks as if I have left all the preparations to you.”
“I would have swept you out from under foot anyway, my dear.”
***
Marin waited by the dock, watching the sun sink in the winter’s early afternoon sky. A couple of fishing boats drifted into the harbor, and he was asked if he would like to earn a little money helping to unload the catch. To pass the time he took advantage of a few offers, but refused payment. As the sun surrendered to the near-full cold moon in the southwest, and the deserted harbor showed no signs of the Merry Maiden, Marin began making his way back toward the house.
A thin gauze of fog rolling in from the ocean accompanied Marin on his stroll up the slight grade, and the light of the moon in front of him provided just enough light to navigate his way. Inside the tumbling fog, a faint figure began to emerge from the porch, gathering form against the lunar glow. His heart beat faster with each step forward...
“Opaline,” Marin gasped. She opened her arms to him as he hurried into her embrace. They stood wrapped in one another’s arms within winter’s perfect silence, until she whispered into his ear,
“Come. Come home with me, Marin. We have so much to discuss.”
As they entered the house, arm in arm, they were greeted by Aunt Belle, Jude Prince, Phoebe, Emily, Senator Wallace, Missus Robertson, and Aja.
“Dinner is served,” Aunt Belle said, leading everyone into the parlor, where a long table spread wide with trays, platters and bowls of food, awaited them.
After everyone had been seated, Marin asked for a moment of silence for Phillipe.
He then broke the silence saying, “This is the first time I have felt at home in this house, and I would like to thank each of you. I only wish my dear brother Phillipe were here. I would like to take this opportunity to announce that I have rented space for, and intend to fund, a business venture for Phoebe and Missus Carpenter. I also hope that Aja, that is Keiza, will allow me to set her up in the business of dealing antiques in an adjacent building. She can begin by selling Mama’s furniture stored in the back room so that I can put that space to use for Opaline’s midwifery service. I have also decided to publish a book I recently discovered, titled, An Offering Of Meditations, written by Phillipe.” He then turned to Opaline, and said, “I would also like to take this opportunity, in the presence of friends and family, to ask Opaline a question of great importance; My Dear Opaline, will you marry me?”
She held Marin in her gaze without answering. Her eyes began to moisten, and everyone waited, wondering what her tear-filled eyes were saying ...but Marin’s wait was the longest. As the tears began to flow down her cheeks, she said, “Yes. Of course, I will marry you.”
Marin wrapped her in his arms and kissed her, accompanied by a symphony of applause.
“Let us eat,” Aunt Belle said.
“I have an announcement as well,” the Senator said. Everyone paused.
“I think you will find this quite helpful in the financing of your various ventures,” he said, and he handed Marin a check. Marin’s eyes widened as he glanced at the amount. “While this in no way can replace your loss, Captain Carpenter, it may help to pave your way forward in the coming year.” Marin passed the check aside to Jude, who said, “You’ve enough there to buy yerself another ship, Captain.”
Marin looked at Opaline and said, “My sailing days are over, Mister Prince.” Turning back to Jude, he added, “But I certainly have enough here to buy you your own sailing ship ...Captain Prince.”
“Will ya never learn, Captain,” Jude said, placing his hand firmly on Marin’s shoulder, “I am a First Mate, a sailor, an old sea dog. Why any man would rather be a Captain in the cabin, than a First Mate on the deck, is beyond me. But I thank ya for the offer.”
“To the best damn First Mate ever to sail the seven seas,” Marin said, hoisting his glass of wine. Everyone toasted Jude Prince, and dinner was served.
After dinner, as folks helped Aunt Belle clear the table, Marin and Opaline sought a private moment in the library.
“Opaline Carpenter,” Marin said, as if measuring the fit.
Opaline Downing-Carpenter,” she corrected him, tailoring the alteration to her liking. “Marin, I wish for you to know that, Ev- ...I mean to say, my father ...my father and Doctor Graham will be moving to Boston soon. I thought you should know.”
“I am pleased to hear that. We will be able to visit them often.”
“I think father can help with the publishing of Phillipe’s book...” she said, leaving a space, as if the sentence had not been completed.
“That would be ...is there something else, M’Dear?”
“Yes. I would like to bring Jaydan to Newport.”
“I see,” Marin said. “Is there any particular reason I should object,” he asked, searching her eyes for any sign of discomfort?
“Jaydan and I were once— “
Marin pressed his finger against her lips, and said, “For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne; we’ll take a cup of kindness then, for auld lang syne.”
“I love you, Marin Columbus Carpenter,” she said, grabbing both of his hands and pulling him to her. “She will be a big help in our midwifery service. She will secure her own dwelling, of course.”
“Of course,” Marin said, “and I would like to ask Aunt Belle to come live with us. I cannot think of a single reason why she should return to Nova Scotia, and she would be a big help with the household chores.”
“I think that is a magnificent idea, Captain.”
The two of them went into the kitchen and cornered Aunt Belle as she tended to the dishes.
“Aunt Belle,” Marin said. “Opaline and I would like for you to come live with us - and before you prepare your dispute, answer me this: Do you not find comfort here? Do you not find purpose? Do you not feel at home in this house?”
Her lips began to quiver, and she brought her apron to her eyes. “And here I thought I had no more tears to cry,” she said. “Leave it to you, Marin Carpenter, to steal an old woman’s heart, and hand it back to her.”
“So, is that a yes?” Opaline asked.
“I might refuse just the one of you, but never both,” she surrendered.
The three hugged, and finished cleaning the kitchen together.
After the eggnog had been drained from the last glass, and evening’s final conversations had waned with wishes for a promising new year, everyone departed, leaving Opaline and Marin alone at last. She lit a lantern, took Marin by the hand, and began leading him up the stairs to their bedroom. She paused midway up, handed him the lantern and said,
“Best to leave a lantern in the window, for our dear Phillipe.”