Nathaniel didn’t pack a bag. Not a wallet or a satchel. He carried nothing on his way to the train this morning but the weight of his father’s request, a weight he wanted to leave in Yarmouth Port. He watched for Finn, then spied him pacing by the ticket counter of the tiny train station, waving two tickets in his hand. Nathaniel picked up his pace to meet his brother.
“I knew you’d be late,” Finn said. “The five thirty train’s already boarding.”
Nathaniel followed his brother onto the car closest to them, and they walked down the aisle until two seats were available near the back of the car. Nathaniel felt the tug of motion as the train started out of the station. He listened to the sound of the whistle that he often heard from down at the harbor. As they pulled out of Yarmouth Port and traveled toward Barnstable, his mind relaxed, and he turned to his brother. “I went to see Father,” he said.
“I need to work.” Finn scratched at his ledger with a sharp pencil. He bent over the book that he believed contained the answer to his future. Nathaniel had always known that Finn struggled with his numbers, and he watched him go up and down the columns of his ledger over and over again as they made their way off the Cape.
“Why do you bring that? What if it gets wet on the boat?”
“It’s only a copy.”
Nathaniel nodded, and they rode in silence until they reached Plymouth. Finn looked up from the ledger and tapped his pencil against the paper. “What’s on your mind?”
“I told you. I went to see Father.”
“I don’t want to hear about it,” Finn said. “Whatever happened is between you and him.” Finn’s eyes drifted back to the ledger, but Nathaniel persisted.
He glanced out the window at the wind-bent scrub pines that lined the railroad tracks. He watched the backs of houses, a woman hanging clothes on a line, a boy gliding high in the air on a swing, couples walking the path by the water’s edge. When he felt himself thinking about Meredith’s skirts blowing in the wind as she walked toward the water, he looked at his brother, who was lost in his own thoughts. “Whenever he calls me up to the house, he has some scheme for getting me in off the marsh. I’m tired of having to stick up for myself. He needs to accept my life the way it is.”
Now Finn faced him full on. “You’re kidding, right?”
“You’re taking his side?”
“Nathaniel, you live in the marsh, one meal to the next. This trip will bring you the most money you’ve made in your life, and you probably won’t spend it.”
“What’s your point?”
“You’ve been out there since Jacob died.” Finn put his pencil down and gave Nathaniel his full attention. “When are you going to give it up, come in from there and try to make a life?”
“I don’t want a life like yours, Finn. Kids and a wife, working all day in the shop. That’s not for me. Even if Jacob hadn’t died. Even if that accident had never happened, I’d live differently than you do.”
Finn said, “I’m not going to be in that fish shop forever. You know that I’m saving money to buy a fleet of fishing boats, and I’m going to ask Father to invest in my business plan.”
“I don’t know which is worse, me expecting Father to accept my life or you thinking he’ll invest money in your fleet.”
“There’s a chance—”
“Not really,” Nathaniel said. “You know how he is about money.”
“I’ve got a good plan for turning a profit. He’ll want to invest once he sees the numbers.” Finn went back to running his finger up and down columns of numbers in the book spread across his lap. Nathaniel had always known that Finn wanted to build a fishing fleet—he loved the sea and had spent years fishing as a young man. He hadn’t wanted to open the fish shop, but his father wouldn’t invest in a fleet until Finn had proven himself. That was why Finn constantly worked on his business proposal, with columns of numbers, expenses, projected profits. He reviewed the numbers over and over until he was sure that his plans added up. Finn hadn’t needed their father to help him with the fish shop. He’d used his savings to pay rent and purchase stock from the fishermen to sell to the townsfolk who didn’t want to get dirty negotiating with the fishermen on the docks.
Nathaniel wished their father would help Finn, buy him a single schooner to get him started, or at least support Finn’s ideas, but their father had never been one to offer support beyond what he wanted his sons to do.
When Finn looked up from his ledgers, he reached below his seat for the satchel his wife had packed with lunch. Finn shared the sandwiches. Knowing that Nathaniel wouldn’t bring anything for himself to eat, Elizabeth had made four turkey sandwiches with cheese and butter.
In Boston, exhaust drifted around the train, and Nathaniel watched the flow of passengers moving along the platform, in and around those waiting for the train back to the Cape.
“Come on, let’s go,” Finn said.
Nathaniel handed him the leather satchel he’d stashed beneath the seat in front of them. Finn slid his ledger inside, fastened the clasp, and shouldered the bag. He held it close to his body, as if it was full of the money he needed to buy his fishing fleet. But it was only a bag of paperwork that Finn couldn’t let go of and that Nathaniel didn’t understand. He followed Finn along the sidewalk, where they picked up a hansom cab that smelled of cigar smoke and musky cologne.
The driver led them along the waterfront toward Long Wharf. Fish delivery vehicles clogged the intersections, and the processing plants where the fish was filleted and salted for delivery lined the road. Nathaniel sat up tall to watch masts sticking up behind buildings, a familiar sight that he used to ground himself in the cacophony of human traffic. Soon they would be on the boat, and his leg would stop bouncing up and down with nerves.
Finn put his hand on Nathaniel’s leg to stop the vibration. “We’re almost there.”
“I’m fine,” Nathaniel said. Once they were out of the cab and searching the crowd for Edwin George, he felt a physical relief from his anxiety.
“There he is,” Finn said, pointing toward the bow of a schooner docked in the middle of the fray. Nathaniel followed his brother, head focused on the ground where he watched Finn’s feet leading them forward. Edwin stood on the bowsprit, a hand on the stays holding him steady.
“Edwin,” Finn called, and Edwin swung his arm in a big wave.
Finn pushed through the crowd until they reached the schooner’s gangway. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and walked the ramp with renewed vigor. Nathaniel followed, his eyes on the rigging, the finely shined woodwork, the neatly coiled ropes.
Edwin must’ve noticed the path of Nathaniel’s eye. He said, “I think you’ll find her shipshape. She’s called Lilith, after my youngest daughter. You’d best take good care of her, boys.”
“Will do.” Finn shook the man’s hand, and Nathaniel did the same.
“You want to inspect her before you get underway?”
“I’ll take a quick look,” Finn said. “Nathaniel, will you check below for life preservers and extra lines?”
“You don’t have to tell me what to look for,” Nathaniel said.
“Just get moving. It’s nearly ten fifteen, and I want to sail as close to noon as possible.”
“That’s pushing it, don’t you think?” Edwin asked. “You’ll need to plot your course and go over the boat.”
“I’ve sailed this trip a dozen times,” Finn said. “I could do it in my sleep.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t. I’d like to see my boat back in Yarmouth Port,” Edwin said, smiling. “I know you’ve got this under control, Finn. I’ll leave you boys to it.” Edwin walked the gangway onto the pier and waved back at Finn and Nathaniel. “See you on the other side,” he said, and he disappeared into the crowd.
The brothers stood for a moment in silence, looking into the distance at nothing. “Well, let’s get to it,” Finn said.
Nathaniel ducked as he took the steps down to the small rooms below deck. He found the roll of charts and unfurled the one of Massachusetts. The course they would sail from Boston to Yarmouth Port was a straight line, pending weather. Nathaniel placed the chart on the table and held down the corners with small glass weights. He traced the line of their course with the tip of his finger, as if he could reassure himself that the body of water they were about to cross was nothing more than a few inches on a map.
He counted the life preservers, checked the first-aid kit, recoiled extra ropes, and made sure the gas to the stove was turned off and safely stowed beneath the sink. Back on deck, he uncovered the compass and rubbed the glass dome with the sleeve of his shirt.
Finn walked back from the foremast, strutting as if his gait could ensure his control of the ship and the weather and the safety of their trip across the bay. He joined Nathaniel at the helm, where he unclipped the ropes that held the wheel steady.
“You’re ready?” Nathaniel asked.
“Just let me think for a minute.” Finn swung the wheel to and fro, feeling the glide of the rudder through the water.
Nathaniel sat on the transom and watched the crowd. He felt comfortable watching from this distance and within the confines of the schooner’s rails. He didn’t notice the girl until she spoke to him directly. She had strawberry-blond hair and freckles, plump cheeks and plump breasts, and a pretty little figure that made Nathaniel want to hide her. She seemed vulnerable, exposed, and he had to look away.
“Hey, mister,” she said, but he ignored her. “Hey! Mister!” Nathaniel ignored her, but Finn came up from below and watched the girl waving toward them.
“What is it?” he said.
“I’m looking for a ride.” When the brothers didn’t respond, she said, “I’ll pay you.”
Finn looked her up and down, his hawk eyes scanning her body, which was mostly hidden beneath a long coat that looked too warm for the weather. She clutched a carpetbag close to her side. “Where to and how much?” he asked, thinking about the money as much as he thought about the girl.
“Where are you going?” the girl asked. She appeared to be considering not only her options but her destination and what she was willing to pay to get there.
“Yarmouth Port,” Finn said. “On Cape Cod.”
“I’m relocating, you see, and I need a comfortable place to get started.”
“Yarmouth Port could very well be the place,” Finn said, flirting now, but the girl wasn’t put off.
“My name is Rachel.” As she shook Finn’s fish-stinking hand, she didn’t turn from his gaze, which was amused now and curious. Nathaniel didn’t want anyone else on the boat. Wasn’t it enough that he’d agreed to make this trip in the first place? Now he was expected to make chitchat with some teenage girl?
Rachel came onboard, and Nathaniel nodded in her direction. “That’s Nathaniel,” Finn said. “You’ll get used to him. I’ll need fifty cents to get you across the bay.”
“That’s a lot.”
“Cheaper than most,” Finn said.
Rachel turned from the brothers and opened her carpetbag, her back hunched over as if to conceal her few belongings. She retrieved twelve one-dollar bills and handed them over to Finn, who turned them this way and that in his hand as if making sure the money was good.
Nathaniel went to the bow of the boat to cast off from the dock. “You’re off,” he said. As the bow of the boat swung from the dock, he raised the long jib, and the boat gently sailed into the harbor.
“Where do you want me?” Rachel asked.
“Right here, next to me,” Finn said. “You know how to sail?”
“Not nearly.” The girl didn’t let go of her bag but held it firmly in her left hand, tucked tightly into her side.
“You can stash that below,” Finn said.
“No, I’ll hold on to it.”
Finn shook his head and turned his attention to the boat. “Nathaniel, get that second jib up.”
Nathaniel did as he was told. He hauled the sail and felt the solid weight of the boat lift as the canvas filled with wind and carried them from the safety of Boston Harbor.