5
Ren and Abraham went down toward the wharf to Tristram’s loft, a small rented room above a cordage factory on Water Street. Once again, Abraham deferred, choosing to remain outside and wait for Ren to conclude his business.
Ren climbed the steep stairs to the loft and paused at the open door’s threshold. The loft faced Nantucket Harbor with a row of windows that brought in the sea air, clearing out the stink of rendering whale oil that infused so much of the island near the waterfront. Nearly seven years ago, he and his cousin had shaken hands on the start of their business venture in this very room.
He found Tristram seated at his desk—a vastly different desk than the one they had lugged into the small space at the start of their venture. That battered desk had belonged to their great-grandfather Barnabas Starbuck. It was nothing fancy, but there was history in it. This one was a partner’s desk, three times the size, made of walnut, with ornately carved legs, and it dominated the room. Tristram’s chair was made of forest-green leather with a steep back. For a split second, Ren felt what it must be like to be summoned to meet the king.
His cousin looked up in surprise. “Ren! I didn’t expect thee. How does our Jane fare today?”
Ren took a moment to decide how to respond. Before leaving the house this morning, he had sat by Jane’s bed and noticed the husky blue on her fingernails had spread from the cuticles to the tips of her fingers. What could that mean? He wasn’t sure, but he knew it was not an improvement. “She was sleeping as I left the house.”
Tristram’s face brightened with relief. “Excellent! Sleep is just what she needs. A day or two of rest will cure her overexcitement.”
“Overexcitement?”
“With thy return. That’s what Lillian diagnosed. She said Jane was overwrought with thy arrival. Daphne hinted it might be more than that.” He seemed sincerely concerned.
Ren hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to say, or to whom. His reluctance was not for the protection of Dr. Mitchell, but to shelter the reputation of his beloved Jane. “Mayhap I will find her improved when I finish my business in town and return home.”
Tristram nodded as if he understood, but Ren did not think it possible. His cousin’s mind was like a hummingbird, flitting from one thing to another, never tarrying too long.
Trist waved at the chair opposite him. “Please, have a chair.”
Ren remained standing. “There seems to be a problem at the countinghouse.”
“The countinghouse?”
“The countinghouse,” Ren repeated, expressionless.
Tristram busied himself with some papers on his desk. “What seems to be the problem?”
“William Rotch said he is unable to distribute lays to the Endeavour’s crew.”
Trist kept his head down, but lifted his eyes at Ren. “There’s a small glitch.”
“A small glitch? This is a crew that has worked tirelessly for six years. Six years, Tristram! And the reason they can’t collect their lays, according to Rotch, is because you’ve already spent the haul by commissioning a ship!”
The tension between them grew as thick as the fog that covered Nantucket on this morning. Tristram bit his lip, pausing, then put the palms of his hands on the arms of his chair and hoisted himself up. “Sit down, Ren. We can talk this through.” He hurried to the other side of the partner desk and pulled out a wooden chair. That one Ren recognized. “Look, there’s a spot waiting for thee.”
Ren still refused to sit. He was accustomed to facing trouble on his feet, head on. “You are the one who has talking to do. What of this new ship?”
“I was waiting for the right moment to tell thee. It’s all good, Ren. Thee has nothing to worry about.”
If that were true, Ren wondered, then why did Tristram’s voice sound so strained? Why did he seem so nervous, so anxious?
“The Endeavour is a doughty old ship. A hulk. Thee has said so thyself. It’s a wonder she’s lasted these six years. The time has come to sell her and move on.”
“I well know the wear and tear of m’ own ship.” Yet Tristram was not wrong. The Endeavour needed extensive repairs before she would be ready for another voyage. But sell her? The thought had never crossed Ren’s mind, not once.
“I was hoping the new ship would be here by the time thee returned.” Trist’s eyes lit with excitement. “And she is a beauty, Ren. A vessel more grand than any coming in and out of port. It’s the start of our fleet.”
“Our fleet? Tristram, are ye daft, man? One successful voyage does not guarantee the next.”
“It was a success, yes, but imagine if thee had sailed on a bigger ship. Imagine the haul thee could have brought in. Ren, listen to me. Spermaceti oil is the export that will make us rich. Ambergris, too. Wealthy beyond our wildest dreams.”
“What dreams are you talking of?”
“Ours! The same dreams we’ve always talked of, ever since we were boys. Sailing ships around the world, chasing the mighty leviathan. Shipbuilding is a booming business. If I hadn’t made a decision when I did, it would’ve been a wait of another year or two.” He paused his speech to let Ren take it all in, all the while pacing the small room until he finally stopped moving and stood under the small window. The morning sun streamed over Tristram’s head, limning him in sunlight. Briefly, Ren wondered if he’d done it for effect.
“So I used the Endeavour’s haul as down payment,” Tristram continued, “to order the building of the new ship.”
“You knew nothing of the hold! How long has this been under way? A ship takes as long as a baby to make.”
“But I did! The Deborah came in last year with news that the Endeavour had been spotted in the Caribbean, plowing deep in the water. When word came in, ’twas not difficult to make plans for the future, nor to persuade the right people.”
“Who are the right people?”
“The investors! They are willing to wait for their return until after the next ship returns. They have confidence in us, Ren. They understand it takes money to make money.” Trist paced back and forth, back and forth. “How can I make thee see the light? Just one more voyage will put us in fine fettle.”
“One more voyage?” Ren looked at him, astounded. “Tristram—I have been home but two days. Another voyage could not be farther from my thoughts.”
Tristram’s face went blank. “Most of the crew has already signed up. I met them on Straight Wharf as the lighters came in from the ship. They gave me their word. All but the first mate and some fellow named Abraham. And thy father. He says he is done loving the sea, that ’tis always an unrequited love. I don’t know what he meant by that, but I think he can be persuaded to reconsider.”
“Signed up the crew? Signed up!” Ren’s voice bellowed throughout the small room. “Before the crew was told they would not be receiving their lay from this last voyage? And you must have known all that, Tristram. Have you lost your senses?”
“We’ll get it all straightened out.”
“Do you have the money to pay the crew’s lay?”
A pause. “Nay. I’m a bit short of cash myself these days. I sunk all that I had saved into the new ship.”
“How much is the cost of this new ship?”
“Three hundred pounds sterling.”
At this point, Ren eased himself down in the hard wooden chair. “Tristram, what have you done?” He felt a trickle of fear run through him. Fear was not an unknown feeling to him. He had sailed nearly to Cape Horn in a creaky old vessel, turning back only when he was convinced the seam of the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans would tear the Endeavour in two. Another time, he’d fallen overboard during a severe tempest and could’ve—should’ve—died. Yet he had never felt fear like what he’d felt since arriving in Nantucket. Jane’s collapse caused a new kind of fear. And now this. Life felt desperately out of control.
First things first. It was the way his mind worked, keeping calm in a panic, quickly arranging the order of tasks. It was a great asset at sea; surely it would carry him through this storm on land. Slowly, he rose from the chair. “I will go to the bank now and see what can be done to pay the crew.”
A look of relief swept over Tristram. “Excellent, cousin. They will listen to thee.”
“When is this new ship due in?”
“She’s a bit late on the tide.”
“When, exactly?”
“Next month.” He turned to face the window and mumbled, “Perhaps the month after that.”
Ren heard.
Tristram whirled around. “The Illumine.”
“What?”
“That’s the name of the ship. Jane named it. She wanted thee to have this new ship. She gave me her blessing. Wipe that skeptical look off thy face. She did!” He sat down in his chair. “Cousin, forget not . . . thee was gone for six long years, with hardly a word from thee. Decisions had to be made in thy absence. Thee must understand. Jane did.” He paused. “Life had to carry on without thee.”
Ren did not disagree, he sympathized far more than Tristram gave him credit for. But it was the shifting of principles that he did not approve of, the borrowing on the future. “Is it true that Jane did not have a stipend for her expenses?”
“Nay, not true! She did, she did. At least . . . up until the ship was commissioned. With Jane’s blessing, mind thee.” He frowned. “Ren, don’t look at me as if I squandered thy earnings. All will be well.”
“Nay, Tristram. All will not be well. Six years of hard work has disappeared.”
“Disappeared? Hardly! It has been transferred to the new ship. Ren, I am trying to plan for the long haul. It takes risk, vision. Thee must not be shortsighted.”
Shortsighted. A soft description. Ren wondered how his crew might respond if he told them he could not pay them because he was a bit shortsighted. Mutinies occurred for lesser crimes.
He lifted his chin. “I should keep forging ahead, so that I can return to Jane. Foremost on my mind is distributing the lay to my crew. I must be off to the bank and see what can be arranged.”
“Before thee goes, I should tell thee I will be under way to Salem at high tide this afternoon, to see to the Illumine. I will be gone a day or two at the most.” He smiled brightly. “And when I return, Jane will have recovered, and I will bring thee a full report of our new ship. Nothing but good tidings lie ahead of us, cousin!”
Ren stared at Tristram. His cousin’s optimistic nature was infectious, and there were many times when Ren wished he’d more of Tristram’s joie de vivre in him. His cousin was a dreamer, with extravagant ideas, and Ren loved him for it. He doubted he would’ve captained the Endeavour without Trist’s cheerful confidence in him. Yet he did it, and did it well, and he gave much credit to Tristram for providing the push he’d needed at that critical moment. He hoped his cousin’s optimism was fortuitous at this critical juncture, as well. “I pray you have second sight, Trist. Safe travels.”
At the bottom of the stairwell, Ren paused, leaning his back against the wall, to gather his thoughts before he went outside and met up with Abraham. His mind was spinning like the wheels of the Old Mill in a squall.
It distressed him greatly that Tristram had commissioned a new ship before waiting until the Endeavour returned to Nantucket. They could have lived well off the income from this last voyage. That had been Ren’s intention—to remain on island for a while. He would no longer have such a luxury of time but would need to set sail as soon as the new ship arrived from the Salem shipyard and was outfitted—certainly before winter arrived.
This new ship cost three hundred pounds sterling. The cost of insurance alone for the maiden voyage would be at least fifteen guineas. Ren had scarcely a pence left to his name but for the Orange Street house, and he had to find a means to pay his crew what was owed them. A sizable amount. A small fortune. What had Tristram been thinking? Why would Jane have given him her blessing for such an extravagant expenditure?
As he walked outside, into the bright sunlight that had burned off the morning fog, Ren felt bitten by a friendly dog.
All afternoon, there’d been a steady influx of well-meaning relatives to 15 Orange Street, to welcome Ren back and to inquire of Jane’s condition. Nearly everyone but Mother, Daphne noted. Cousins Hagar and Kezia sat in the foyer and sipped tea, waiting for their moment to visit with Jane.
They could wait as long as they pleased, for there was no way Daphne would allow those two upstairs to see Jane. They were the gloomiest pair in Nantucket. Each week, they read the obituaries, fully expecting to find their own names.
When Daphne excused herself from listening to the doomful tidings of the elderly cousins, she went into Jane’s bedchamber and nearly gasped when she saw that her sister’s skin had turned an unearthly pale color. But then, to her delight, she saw that Jane’s eyes were wide open. “Jane! Jane, thee is awake!”
Jane tried to lift her head. “Where are my children?”
“They’re downstairs, having lunch. They’re fine. We’ve been at the Cent School all morning.” Daphne pushed a loose strand of hair behind Jane’s ear. “Shall I get them for thee?”
“Nay, nay.” Her head dropped back on the pillow. “I don’t want them to see me like this.”
Daphne sat beside her and reached out to hold her sister’s hand. Cold, so cold. She cupped Jane’s hand in hers to warm it, noticing how navy blue the fingernails had become.
“Great Mary’s book,” Jane said, pushing out the words on a breath. “’Tis thine to keep.”
Daphne uttered a small exclamation of surprise to hear her sister say that, and on the heels of that feeling came . . . embarrassment. Jane must have been aware that Daphne had been reading the journal. “I’m sorry. I found it the other day. I’ve been reading through it. I know that Father gave it to thee.” She tucked the sheets over Jane’s cold hands. “Oh sister, ’tis so good to hear thy voice.”
Jane’s eyes fluttered shut and Daphne thought she’d fallen back to sleep. After a minute or two, her eyes opened and she took in another gasp of air. “My babies.” With much effort, she said, “Remember me to them. Remind them how I loved them.” She began to pant, shallow gulp. “Daphne, be their mother.”
“Jane, thee mustn’t talk like this! Thee will recover from this affliction.”
“Promise me.”
“I do. I promise. But, Sister, ’tis too early for a testament.”
“I can feel my life ebbing from me.” A tear rolled down Jane’s cheek. “Thee must tell them . . .”
“Tell who?” Daphne slipped over to sit on the bed. “Jane, dearest, what does thee want to say?”
Jane’s nostrils flared with each breath, as if she was trying to capture every bit of oxygen in the room. “Do not blame him.”
“Who? For what?”
Her eyes squeezed shut. “He was . . . trying to help.” Her eyes flickered open and she took in a deep breath. “And tell . . .” Her voice drizzled off.
“Who, Jane? I don’t know who thee means to tell.”
“Ren.” She lifted her head slightly. “Ren must exert his mind toward the Light. To relinquish grievances . . . if not for his sake . . . then for the children’s.”
“He has no grievances, Jane. He only wants thee to be well again.”
“Tell Mother.”
“Mother?”
She took in another gasp of air. “I forgive her.”
“Jane, thee can tell her thyself. Thee will be fine in a day or two. Thee is so strong.”
Jane gave a slight shake of her head. “Nay.” A bead of sweat broke out on her forehead. “Pretend not with me, Sister.” She let her eyelids fall closed and struggled to pull in one more breath. “Each breath feels like . . . when we were children . . . at the beach . . . when we would bury each other in the sand. The sand . . . it’s piling up on my chest.” Her eyes flickered open. “Soon . . . there will be too much.”
Downstairs, Daphne heard a heavy rap on the door. She heard Patience open it and murmur something, then the familiar deep voice of a man. “Jane, Dr. Mitchell has come.”
“Get him.”
As Daphne hurried down the stairs, she waved to the doctor to come.
Dr. Mitchell started up the stairs, meeting Daphne halfway. “How does she fare today?”
“Better, I think. Much better.” She relaxed somewhat, but not completely. “See for thyself.” Dr. Mitchell followed behind her to the top of the stairs.
He paused at the doorjamb to Jane’s bedchamber, a startled look on his face when he took in the condition of his patient. He strode to the bed, dropped his bag, and pressed four fingers to the pulse of Jane’s wrist. He glanced at Daphne. “She’s losing strength.”
“Nay . . . nay,” Daphne said, panic rising in her throat. “Thee is wrong. She is no longer in a stupor.”
He frowned, set Jane’s hand on the sheet, and took Daphne by the elbow, gently leading her out of the room and closing the door behind her. She stood there, fidgeting like a child, pacing in the small hallway. When the door opened and Dr. Mitchell finally came out, she was alarmed by the defeated look on his face.
“Did she speak to thee? She is no longer confused. I told thee, she is getting better.”
He shook his head. “Just try and keep her comfortable. Let everyone in who wants to say their goodbyes.”
Daphne’s heart started to pound. “Goodbyes? But . . . she’s turned the corner! She spoke to me with great clarity.”
“About what?”
“About . . . about giving others a message.”
The doctor sighed. “I’ve seen this before, Daphne. Sometimes people get a burst of strength. It’s a gift from God, is my opinion, so they can finish up their business.”
“But . . . she was talking . . .”
“Lungs can only take so much. When they are pushed too far, they cannot endure. Like a punctured balloon.”
Panic tore through Daphne. Ren. Where was he? She should get him. And the children. And Mother! But she couldn’t bear to leave her sister’s side. “Would thee send for Ren? I think . . . he went to see Tristram. Or mayhap he went to the bank.” That was hours ago! Where was he?
He patted her shoulder in a fatherly way. “I’ll locate the captain and send him here at once. But thee . . . thee must stay by thy sister’s side.”
When Daphne went into Jane’s room, she realized there was a change from just a moment ago. Jane’s face was sheened with sweat. Her breath came in gasps, rapid and shallow, and there was a sharp pulling of the chest below and between the ribs with each intake. Her flesh was white and cold, her lips nearly purple.
“Jane, oh Jane, don’t go. Hold on, please hold on. Don’t leave us. Ren is coming. Please hold on.”
“Fear not, Sister,” Jane wheezed, gasping for a breath, “for God . . . is with me. And . . . with thee.”
Daphne lay beside her sister and held her in her arms, trying to match her breathing, to sustain her. The gasping ceased, and her breath seemed easier. Then there was a pause, and Jane’s breath eased out in a slight puff, as if she was releasing something.
Daphne waited for Jane to take in a breath, but it did not come.