Chapter Seventeen

Nantucket Island

The sun descended below the horizon before the Firm Resolve slid into port, met by a few shore hands and some family members of the crew.

In the twilight, the crew could see their wooden whaler had the distinction of being the only whaler in the bay. Before the popularity of kerosene, the port would have been clogged with whalers. A market still existed for the cargo they unloaded in New Bedford—spermaceti for perfume and high-quality oil, baleen for corsets, and barrels of rendered blubber that continued to be desired by some. All the men had money in their pockets. Still, the Firm Resolve numbered among a dying breed, due to both petroleum and the increasing difficulty of finding whales.

The steam-driven tug released them, and shore crew and deckhands tied off the ship.

Back after eight months at sea, Captain Chandler stood on the forecastle and assembled all the crew on the main deck below him, as he always did when they put into port. “Those with no homes, or whose wives throw you out, may use the ship as a rooming house for a dollar a night, but there’s to be no fornicating aboard my ship.”

“Does that include sea lions?” asked one of his best harpoon men.

“If you can coax one into your hammock, I may make an exception.” The captain grinned. “Now off with you!”

Louis and the rest of the crew fled to meet the women and children at the end of the wharf. They clambered down the gangplank and along the dock on legs made rubbery from their long voyage. Shouts of good cheer arose, cries of delight, and people embracing all around him. Louis waded into the sea of people. He looked for Katty in the fading light.

Nowhere to be seen.

What the hell?

Humiliated, Louis broke free of the crowd and ran across town to his and Katty’s home on Bayview Street. He discovered a dark house, locked up tight. Louis pounded on the door but got no answer. He pounded again before he kicked it open. The wood around the latch shattered and the door swung into the darkness within.

Louis stepped through the doorway and fumbled around for the tin lamp and box of lucifers on the small table to the left. He lit the lamp and held it aloft.

Deserted. Could she be out visiting? No. She would’ve known, like the others, of their arrival.

The flowers on the dining table proved she’d been here recently. But now, no Katty and no note.

Where could she be? Had she left him? When the cat’s away…

Louis swung his free arm across the tabletop and sent the jar of flowers sailing across the room to smash on the wall. Water, glass shards, and chrysanthemums flew in every direction. To make sure, he stepped into the bedroom and confirmed no one was there. He turned back and set the lamp down on the dining table. Louis scratched his chin and considered his next move. Suddenly, without much thought, he grabbed the lamp and threw it against the wall. Its glass chimney shattered, and the tin base, still aflame, bounced off the wall and rolled on the floor to where several wet chrysanthemums extinguished the light.

Darkness enveloped him, but moonlight shone through the doorway to guide his way. However, as he exited, Louis stumbled into the rocking chair and he pitched it aside with such force the chair flew across the room. It hit something which then fell. Probably the family Bible. He didn’t care.

Outside, he halted on the flagstones and looked around. Where was the bitch? The moon illuminated the flowers Katty tended in front of the house. He took a few moments to stomp them into oblivion.

An hour later, Louis nursed his fourth glass of rum at Davy Jones’ Locker, a decrepit dockside pub. Some crewmates in the place at first tried to cheer him, but after being told to fuck off enough times, they left him to brood at the bar.

Babette Didion and Mamma White from the Snug entered the pub shortly before ten, arm in arm, laughing at some intimate joke. They came up to the bar next to Louis and ordered gin and a bowl of sugar cubes. When the drinks arrived, they put a cube into each other’s mouth. Before drinking, Mamma White lifted her glass to Louis as a way of hello and smiled, the sugar cube held between her teeth.

After a long drink, Mamma White set her glass down and faced him. “So, Mr. Baldwin, why are you not home pleasuring your wife? Can it be you don’t find women in a motherly way attractive?”

“She’s with child?”

Babette leaned over the bar to see Louis around Mamma White. “Oh yes, man. That or she’s carrying a watermelon under her dress!”

The two ladies laughed.

Momma White added, “When we saw her this morning with Reverend Davis and Carmilla, your Katty looked big enough to burst. I kidded the reverend about having two women in tow.”

Louis’s voice became steel-hard. “Is that so?” He tossed back the last of the rum and slammed the glass down onto the counter. He pushed off from the bar and headed for the door.

“Hey!” yelled the bartender. “You haven’t paid!”

Louis did not turn around nor slow his stride. A very dark, bald-headed bouncer, with huge biceps and a thick chest, suddenly appeared before him. He carried a sap.

“Settle up, or else,” the bouncer snarled.

Louis kicked out with sudden savagery and his heavy boot connected with the bouncer’s crotch. The bouncer collapsed to the floor and held his privates. He curled into a fetal position and emitted a strangled groan.

Louis staggered out onto the street. Bands of fog seemed to reach up from the bay to stop his progress, but they were no more effective than the bouncer. Louis set his course for the Pleasant Street Baptist Church.

The fucking bitch! He cursed as he stormed down the street. And with the preacher! He dealt with her being untrue after his last voyage with a well-placed blow. He’d do a whole lot more this time—to all three of them.

After several blocks, he reached his destination, but the church, a gray square building, had its doors locked and no light in its windows. However, the small white-washed parsonage next door had its windows lit up, acting as a beacon for his wrath.

****

Carmilla looked at the clock again—ten-seventeen. Only four minutes later than the last time she checked. Where could Malcolm be? He’d never been this late without having sent some word. Katty lay in the small bedroom, snoring, exhausted by the day’s events, but Carmilla was on edge. She decided to warm some milk.

As she stirred the milk on the stove, the door to their home crashed open behind her. She jumped and screamed, knocking over the pot. A hissing sound arose as the milk spread across the cast-iron stove and burned. She involuntarily put a hand to her mouth and swung around to see the madman in the doorway.

The stink of burning milk filled the room.

Carmilla forced her hand down, stood erect, and tried to put some power into her voice. “Louis Baldwin, what in God’s name are you doing?”

“You know damn well! Where’s my wife?” The man looked filthy and sweaty. His thick brows knit together in anger.

She took a step toward him. “We got her a safe place to stay while she decides what to do next. Turn your tail around and get out of my doorway. The police already know of your violence toward women.” She attempted to push him out. “Get on out of here before you dig your hole any deeper!”

Louis backhanded Carmilla across the face. She flew against the dining table and scattered the place setting for the minister’s uneaten meal. Carmilla fell to the floor, dragging the checkered tablecloth and everything on it down with her.

****

“Stop, Louis!”

Louis looked up to see Katty in the bedroom doorway holding a pistol before her. Katty’s hands shook. She tried to stop the shakes, but they would not cooperate.

Louis edged toward her.

“Is it the minister’s?” he said as he pointed at her swollen belly. “What were the three of you doing while I was away?”

“It’s yours—I swear. I’m not going to let you hurt it, or me, or anybody else. Stop or believe me I’ll shoot.” The gun shook more as she said this and Louis smiled.

He dove forward, reaching for the pistol.

The gun fired with a deafening blast. Its kick caused Katty to fall backward to the floor. The weapon flew behind her and slid beneath the bed.

Katty tried to scream, but nothing came out. The fall knocked the wind from her. She fought to regain her breath and clawed her way across the wood floor to retrieve the pistol. She grabbed it and swung around on her knees. She held the gun out before her with both hands, the shaking gone.

A few feet in front of her, in the bedroom doorway, Louis also knelt.

“Get out!” she screamed.

Louis didn’t move. He appeared to cry as a red drop ran from his mangled eye and down his cheek. More followed, and soon a torrent. Louis swayed and toppled over.

Dead.