17
Buried treasure. Late in the night, Daphne read that entry in Great Mary’s journal, rose from her bed to hold it close to the candlelight, squinting, and reread it. The Starbuck family had passed along the legend of Great Mary’s buried treasure to each generation, but no one thought of it as anything more than that—a family legend.
Then again, the Starbuck family had considered the existence of Great Mary’s journal as nothing more than hearsay too, and yet Daphne was holding it in her hands.
If there was treasure buried on this island, if Spanish silver still remained in that chest, then this might be the way to buy Abraham’s freedom.
Under an oak tree. Of course, of course! It was so obvious. It was the oak tree in the Founders’ Burial Ground, the one that Great Mary was buried beside. She knew the tree well. She and Jane used to climb in it when they were children.
She had not a surfeit of time to explore. Now that Silas Moser knew Abraham was hiding on the Endeavour, he would no doubt find a way to capture him.
She wrote down instructions in the journal about how many lengths to stride away from the tree before starting to dig. This, it was an overwhelming task, and she did not think she could do it alone. If only Ren were here, or Tristram, but they had yet to return from Salem.
She went to the window, holding tight to her elbows. It was a full moon and a clear, warm night, after two days of rain. The ground would be soft, malleable enough for a woman to dig. It would be dawn in a few hours, providing just enough light to see where she was going, not enough light to alert anyone to her task. Patience was asleep upstairs in the children’s room. Resolve filled Daphne. Now was the time to act.
She gathered a shovel and hoe, found an old sack, and just before she left the house, she remembered the instructions she’d written down from Great Mary’s journal. She went back upstairs and found them by her bedside. As she tiptoed down the stairs, there stood Henry, dressed, at the bottom of the stairwell, hand covering the mortgage button on the newel post. “Wherever you’re going,” he said, “I’m going with you.”
They stood under the tree. The largest branch was the one Daphne and Jane used to climb on, because it was the only one they could reach. How odd to think that treasure had been resting underneath them, all those years! She walked six paces out—woman-sized, not man-sized, because she thought that was what Great Mary would have done and she felt she was starting to understand how Great Mary thought. “All right, Henry. Six paces from the trunk to the farthest branch, to not disturb its roots. Then, we start to dig.”
Two hours later, as the sun was cresting the tops of the trees and Daphne thought this effort was futile—if there had been any treasure, surely, someone had made off with it—her shovel made a thudding sound. She and Henry looked at each other, eyes wide.
“Is that what you’re looking for?” he asked.
“It might be.” With a renewed vigor, they both started digging around the sides to enlarge the hole. The ground was soft, which made it easy to dig down but also heavy with mud. When they finally got the four edges exposed, they struggled and wrestled to get it up. Daphne looked at Henry, covered in mud, his spectacles smudged, but working hard to help her. With one last yank, the box lifted an inch, then another. Henry on one side, Daphne on the other, and they pulled. And pulled. And pulled. Finally, the metal box eased upward with a strange sucking sound, then a pop. They got it up, away from the mound of dirt they’d made, and fell backward, out of breath.
Henry recovered first. He pushed his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose and peered at Daphne. “Grandmother Lillian would be upset with thee.”
Daphne glanced down at her dress, her hands, her feet. She looked a fright, covered with mud, sweating like she’d never sweated. “Oh, thee is right! She would be furious.” What a delightful thought! She scrambled up on her knees and put two hands on the metal box. “Henry, I’m not sure what is inside. Is thee ready?”
Henry looked all around the cemetery. “Better hurry. The sun is waking up.”
Daphne eased the latch open and held her breath. Henry gasped. Inside were bags filled with Spanish silver, pieces of eight, just as Great Mary had said. Underneath the bags of silver was a linen sack. She wiped her hands on her petticoat and opened the sack. It was filled with notes written in faded ink, mementos from those who had dipped into the treasure, and for what reason. She nearly cried as she read each one aloud, handling it carefully and putting it back inside the linen sack. They were such purposeful uses, all meant to benefit someone. Nothing frivolous, all for a greater purpose of moving a person forward in life.
“What are we going to do?”
Out of her apron pocket, Daphne pulled the note of instructions she’d written to find the treasure. “I need something to write with.” She looked around the tree. “I should’ve thought.”
Henry came up with the idea of making ink of mud and using a small twig for a pencil. Carefully, Daphne wrote the date, Sixth Day, Ninth Month, in the year 1821, and her initials, and then, Ransom to free a runaway slave.
“Oh! Aunt Daphne, so that’s why we’re here! To save Abraham.”
Daphne looked up at him. “Henry, thee must keep this all a secret, just between us.”
Henry put a hand on his heart. “Hand over heart. I can do it.”
“Not even tell Hitty.”
“I’d never tell Hitty. She can’t keep a secret.”
Daphne blew the mud dry. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best she could do. She filled her pockets with as much Spanish silver as they could hold, tucked her note into the linen sack, set the silver bags on top, closed the treasure chest, and returned it to its resting place. The sky was lighting the clouds as they replaced the dirt, shovelful by shovelful, patched the sod back together, and patted the area with the backs of their shovels. It looked a mess, though she didn’t think many people ventured into the cemetery. But they did pass by it along the road, and she didn’t want to bring any attention to it. She felt one raindrop, then a few more, and soon a steady drizzle began.
Henry stamped on top of the dirt pile to press it down. He looked up. “Uh-oh. Rain!”
Daphne smiled. “Henry, this rain is a gift from God. It will cover up our dirt, keep people away from the cemetery, and if it keeps up, we will return home looking like we fell in that creek.” They picked up their shovels and hurried toward Centre Street, listening carefully to the wailing tone of the town crier as he declared the hour of seven o’clock, taking care to avoid him.
When Daphne and Henry arrived back at the cottage, they found Patience waiting for them by the door, as if she knew to expect them, though the look on her face was one of astonishment.
“Don’t ask, Patience.”
And she didn’t. She took one look at them and went to the hearth fire, first to stoke it, then to start a kettle of water for baths. Daphne hurried upstairs to Ren’s empty room and grabbed a pillowcase from his bed. She dumped the pillow out and filled it with the Spanish coins. She had no idea what they were worth, or whether she’d gathered the amount needed for Abraham’s ransom. One thousand dollars! She didn’t care if she was giving Moser more than one thousand dollars . . . only that she had enough. She took the pillowcase of coins and hid it under Ren’s bed, then went back downstairs. “I need to borrow one of your dresses, Patience. And if you don’t mind washing mine as quickly as possible, I would appreciate it.”
Patience bit her lip, appraised Daphne with a long sweeping glance, and went to the storeroom. Moments later, she emerged with one of Jane’s dresses, a blue linen, loose fitting, with a white apron to cover it. “This will fit. ’Tis better than one of mine.”
Daphne lifted the dress. Why, she remembered it as one of Jane’s maternity dresses! A laugh burst out of her. She knew she was bigger than Jane, but she had never thought of herself as that much bigger.
Late in the day, after Daphne’s brown dress was washed and pressed, she fetched the pillowcase from under Ren’s bed, stuffed it into her drawing bag, and stopped for a moment to check her hair in the small mirror above his wash basin. She noticed his soap mug, his razor, sitting beside his pitcher. It felt a little strange to be observing the daily details of a man’s life. She lifted the soap mug and smelled the scent of Ren. She was not a worrier by nature, not like her sister was, but she did wonder if something had happened to Ren, to Jeremiah, and to Tristram, for certainly they should have returned by now. She wondered about Abraham too, if he had enough supplies on the Endeavour. It wasn’t time to worry, not yet, for there was nothing she could do for those men other than prayer, and there was a pressing thing she needed to do. Now was the time to find Silas Moser.
As she went to the door, Patience stopped her, a beseeching look in her eyes. “Patience, worry thee not. When I return, I hope to have good tidings to tell thee.” She smiled and patted Patience’s arm. “And thee can tell Abraham.”
She found Silas Moser in the Seven Seas Tavern. She sent a passing sailor in to fetch Moser, and when the uncouth man stumbled out, his eyes squinted in the daylight. “Well, it’s the Quaker lady.” Moser was breathing heavily, slurring his words, and she could smell the rank odor of his breath. “So you do lie, after all. I finally rowed myself out to the captain’s ship. It was empty.”
Empty? Then where was Abraham? Ren must have taken him to Salem, she surmised. Thank God for that! “I brought thee money. Ransom money.”
Moser wavered, then his eyes focused in on her. “You’ve got one thousand dollars?”
“Better than American dollars. I’ve got Spanish silver. More than enough.” She held out one Spanish piece of eight for him to examine.
He rubbed it between his fingers, held it up to the sunlight, examined front and back, and then bit down hard on it with his back molars. “Well, well, I’ll be blowed.”
“Thee is welcome to take the coin to the bank manager.” She hoped he wouldn’t, though, as she didn’t want to draw attention on the island to the rare coins.
“Give me the money.”
“As soon as thee provides Abraham’s freedom papers.”
“Hold on, missy. You sure you got enough for one thousand dollars?”
“Probably more,” she said, although she could hear the lie in her words. She had no idea what the coins were worth. “If there is more, then thee is welcome to it. Mayhap thee can use it to find employment that is honorable, so that thy soul will not spend eternity anguishing in darkness.”
His eyes widened in what Daphne recognized as fear, before quickly narrowing to slits. “You quit that holy nonsense. Wait here.” He went back inside the tavern. A long time passed before he returned with an envelope. “Give me the money.”
“First, the paperwork.” She took it from him, opened the envelope and read aloud from the paper within:
I hereby certify that Abraham, property of Captain Willard Scott, was on the 6th day of September, 1821, admitted into the freedom of Nantucket Island, and his ransom has been paid in full.
Silas Moser, Bounty Hunter
“Surprisingly good penmanship for such an unlearned, uncouth man.”
Moser scowled at her.
“It will do.” She knew enough that it was legitimate. She bent down to her drawstring purse and tucked it in. With two hands, she pulled out the pillowcase of coins and handed it to him. “A deal is a deal.”
He took the sack like a starving man, opened it, and stuffed his face into it. She left him, breathing in the moldy scent of Great Mary’s treasured coins. She had barely crossed the street when she heard Moser call her name. She thought of ignoring him, of breaking into a run, but instead she turned around slowly.
“You asked me how I found out the slave was hiding out on that ship. I didn’t answer, but I’ll tell you now.” His lips lifted in a sneering smile. “Your mother. She told me where he was. She’s the one who brought me to Nantucket in the first place. She sought me out in Boston and paid my passage here.”
Ren, Jeremiah, and Abraham spent two days searching for Tristram, first in Salem, then they went to Boston, despite some risk to Abraham. Ren and Jeremiah left Abraham on the sloop, where he would go unnoticed. Jeremiah had bought a Boston newspaper that had a page full of rewards offered for runaway slaves, and although the city was crowded, they didn’t want to alert any other bounty hunters to Abraham’s presence.
They spoke to shipping agents, to dockworkers, but no one recalled seeing Tristram Macy. No schooner had gone missing recently. Jeremiah suggested Ren go to the local authorities, in the event of foul play. The police had no information about a Tristram Macy, and even took Ren to the jail to have a look at the more recently arrested inmates. Ren considered himself fairly hardened after a life at sea, but what he saw in those crowded and depressing prison cells turned his stomach into a tight knot.
When he met up with Jeremiah and Abraham on the docks, he said, “I don’t know what else to do. Where else could we look? I can’t think of any other stone to turn over.”
“One more, son. The cabinetmaker.”
Abraham gave him a curious look. “A cabinetmaker?”
Jeremiah puffed on his pipe. “In most places, they double as the coroners. A coffin is just another type of cabinet.”
So the last stop Ren made in Boston was with the cabinetmaker who, indeed, also worked as the city coroner. Ren’s stomach clenched again when the undertaker took him to the cellar to view an unidentified body that the police had brought to him. He braced himself as the coroner pulled back the sheet, but the body did not belong to his cousin.
“How could a man simply vanish?”
“Was he a simpleton?” the coroner asked. “Sometimes, those fellows end up shanghaied. Get ’em drunk, drugged, and stashed away on a ship bound for another land.”
“Nay, nay. He was . . . he is . . . a clever man.”
“I see. Well, in that case, sometimes very clever men do not want to be found.”
Ren startled at that. It was not a foreign thought to him. Most men at sea were escaping from someone, or somewhere. But Tristram was not like those men. He didn’t even want to be at sea. He preferred being on land, behind a desk. He had no reason to not want to be found.
Finally, Ren and Jeremiah decided to return to Nantucket, with hopes that Tristram had returned in their absence. If not, Ren would seek out whichever vessel it was that had delivered his cousin to the mainland.
As Ren let the sails fall slack to glide the sloop to the dock, he was surprised to find Daphne and the children, waiting for him, waving to him. His heart lurched within him. He had not expected such a welcome. He was coming home, and he had loved ones waiting for him. A warm feeling started deep inside, spreading throughout his body, ending with a smile. Family, he thought, it’s become the beat of my heart.
Jeremiah went to the back door of Lillian’s house and let himself in. Ren and Daphne watched him go, exchanging a puzzled look. “Wonders never cease,” Ren said, amused.
Daphne felt far less amused about anything that had to do with her mother. She let out a deep sigh and Ren noticed. “What is it? Has something happened?”
She had confronted her mother with the knowledge that the bounty hunter had admitted she had brought him from Boston, that she had revealed Abraham’s hiding place to him, and her mother did not deny it.
“Mother,” Daphne had said, “nearly every Friend on this island took part to block the bounty hunter from reaching the Endeavour. All but thee. We do not support slavery. It goes against our beliefs in the equality of all in God’s eyes. How does thee justify what thee did, as an elder in the Society of Friends? How can thy conscience let thee rest?”
Her mother’s cool response was that each one must search her own conscience over such matters.
Observing Jeremiah’s warm welcome by Lillian, Daphne wondered if he might have more influence on her mother than she or Jane—or their father—ever had. All that was in Daphne’s sigh, all that and more. Ren was watching her carefully, but she would not, could not, tell him about her mother’s duplicity. She felt too ashamed. Instead, she lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “As thee said, wonders never cease.”
Ren kept hold of Hitty’s hand as they walked to the Centre Street house, with Henry kicking stones along the way. As soon as they crossed the cottage’s threshold, Ren went upstairs to wash up and change clothes while Daphne and Patience prepared supper. By the time he came downstairs, the kitchen was empty but for Daphne. He stopped at the bottom step, his hand on the mortgage button, and she was struck by how handsome he looked. Lean, carefully erect, with a trimmed beard, and his dark curly hair, now grown in, covered his head. Soon, it would be long enough for the customary seaman’s queue.
“It appears that someone has been in my room.”
Daphne’s cheeks felt warm. “Oh?”
“A pillowcase is missing on my bed.”
Daphne busied herself with placing forks at each table setting. “I’m sure Patience can find one for thee.”
Ren sat down at the end of the table and looked around the keeping room. “Where is everyone?”
“Patience sent the children to the market for salt, and they have tarried too long, so she went looking for them.”
“I thought she might have gone looking for Abraham.”
Daphne started to poke the hearth to get the flames going, then spun around. “Where is Abraham? For he is not on the Endeavour, I know that for certain.”
“He is now. I left him on the ship. But he was with me and Jeremiah.” He eased into a chair. “I tried to persuade him to remain on the mainland. He said he could not, because of Patience.”
“Patience? Why?”
“Why?” He looked at her curiously. “Daphne, while Abraham remains on the Endeavour, he has asked me to conduct a service for Patience and him.”
She looked at him blankly. “A service?”
“A wedding service. They wish to be wed. Surely you must have noticed the amount of time they spent together.”
Surely she hadn’t! Patience never told her anything. She had noticed they were friendly, but how had she missed a blossoming romance, right under her nose? Ren, however, seemed amused by her ignorance. Nay, not ignorance. Worse than that. Naïveté.
“So if Patience goes missing one day soon, you’ll know not to be alarmed.”
Daphne stared at him. “Just like that? Thee can marry them?”
“I’m still the captain of the Endeavour.”
“But the banns. They need to be published.”
He laughed. “Why not just sail Silas Moser over to the Endeavour?”
Here was the moment she’d been waiting for. “Silas Moser is no longer a threat to Abraham.”
“Yesterday. We watched him sail away. All four of us. We cheered when his ship disappeared from the horizon.”
“How? Why?”
She handed him the envelope, then watched him read the slip of paper within it. His breath gusted out in a small gasp. “How did this happen? How in the world did this happen?”
“I was able to use some . . . some old family money . . . as his ransom.” Quickly she added, “But I’d rather no one know where the money came from. Especially Abraham. In fact, I’d like thee to give him the news of his freedom.”
“Daphne.” Ren’s voice broke a little, and his eyes glistened. “’Tis thy news to bestow.”
She shook her head. “It was thee who brought Abraham to Nantucket. Thee should be the one to give him his freedom.”
Ren folded the paper and put it back in the envelope. “I will take it to him on the morrow.” He smiled, then laughed. “What must it be like . . . to have a slip of paper give a man his freedom? Daphne, this is a wonderful thing. I don’t know how to thank thee.”
“I believe that credit belongs to God, for shedding light where I needed it the most.”
“Now there’s something I need to tell you. I hoped to meet up with Tristram in Salem, but I did not. Nor in Boston.” He put the envelope in his pocket and kept his eyes lowered. “He’s not here, by chance?”
Tristram! She’d forgotten! “On island? Nay.”
“Have you received any word from him?”
“Nay.” She bit her lip. “Where could he be?”
“I’m not quite sure.” He gave her a thin smile. “Probably looking at other shipwrights to see about expanding our fleet. I’m sure he is gainfully employed in the art of making money.”
As she turned back to stir the coals, she felt guilt roll through her body. These last few days, nay, weeks, with everything else going on, she had not given much thought to Tristram’s return.
In the morning, Hitty and Henry were dropped at Jeremiah’s, while Daphne, Ren, and Patience sailed to the Endeavour in her sloop. It was Ren’s idea. “Why wait?” he had told Daphne last night. “They can marry right away. A man’s freedom given and freedom taken, all in one day.”
She frowned at his jest. “But what is the need for the hurry?”
Ren gave her a look. “Because they are in love. Because of that, there is a need to hurry.”
His eyes were dancing as Daphne felt a blush creep up her cheeks. How childish she must seem to him. Quickly, she changed the subject. “Has thee married others?”
“Aye. Many a Nantucket sailor has a bride kept in another port. Sometimes, two or three.” When her eyes widened, he was quick to add, “’Tis not what you’re thinking. I would never agree to wed anyone whom I knew to be already married.”
“But does thee know which sailors are married and which aren’t?”
“I am trusting their word.”
“Ren, thy crew . . . they are not all Quakers!”
“And are Quakers the only ones who do not lie?” He laughed. “Daphne, I know my crew well enough to know if they are lying. Also, by the letters that are sent to them from the homefront.”
“And yet thee did not receive many of Jane’s letters.”
“True. Mail delivery at sea is not a perfect system.”
She walked to the window. “Are the rumors true? Was my father one of those who had another bride?” He didn’t respond, so she turned around to look him in the eye. “I would like to know the truth.”
“The truth?” He sighed. “The truth is, I do not know. But rumors have it that he had another woman.”
“The rumor I have heard is that she came from Nantucket. She was an Indian.”
“Aye.”
So there might be some truth to it. “Would thee happen to know anything more about her?”
He kept his chin tucked for a long time, then he lifted it with a sigh. “Ah, Daphne, why dig up an old, painful history? Your mother would be the one to suffer.”
“I just wondered . . . if mayhap I could understand more about my father. He was not partial to me. He favored Jane.”
“I remember.”
“I’d like to be able to discern why.”
“Mayhap . . . because thee seems more like thy mother’s daughter, while Jane’s temperament was more like thy father’s.” He gave her a wry smile. “Don’t look at me with such horror. There is much about Lillian’s character that is worthy of praise.”
Daphne marveled that Ren could be so charitable about her mother. “Such as?”
“Such as her strength, her determination. Her commitment. She is always so certain. Thy father was a kind and generous man, but he had none of those qualities.” He smiled. “All that is good in Lillian has passed to thee.”
Daphne glanced at him. She had two thoughts: Pleasure in Ren’s words, for they were not insights that compared her unfavorably to Jane, as Tristram often did, but compliments that recognized her for herself. And secondly, Ren had again sidled into the Quaker way with language, without even being aware of it.
The wedding on the Endeavour took place without a hitch. Abraham stood before Patience, holding her hands in his, and after Ren pronounced them husband and wife, Abraham looked around and his mouth widened with a smile as bright and glowing as a thousand lit lanterns. He looked down into Patience’s eyes with a gaze that bridged all kinds of hardships, and the look she gave back to him bespoke a promise.
How she loves him, Daphne thought. Then her eyes traveled beyond Patience and Abraham to the man standing behind them with his feet braced apart and his hands clasped at the small of his back, thoroughly at home on a quarterdeck.
How I love Ren.