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Marin woke at the first light of day with Opaline cradled in his arm. He lie still-breath still, not wanting to disturb her. He sensed a warmth in the air that had not been present since his arrival in Newport, and he could hear the drip-drip-drip of melting snow outside the thin walls of the barn.
His thoughts turned to unfinished business concerning the Magister Maris, household matters, Opaline’s pending decision, and the undeniable fact that he had to pee. The first three didn’t require him to disturb Opaline. The fourth, however, won out. She stirred as he slid his arm from under her neck. As he pulled it free, she rolled toward him and placed her arm around him, without waking. He lay still for a moment, but only a moment, before gently lifting her arm and tucking it to her breast. He rolled away from her, stood and quickly walked to the corner of the barn and began relieving himself.
“What are you doing?” came Opaline’s voice.
“Is it not obvious?” he replied.
“Oh-h,” she said, rolling to face the other direction. When he was finished, he came over and sat down beside her. “My turn,” she said. Marin’s eyes widened. She looked into them and said, “We have needs as well.”
She got up, walked to the same corner, and squatted down. She gave him a moment to look away before she pulled down her bottoms. Marin, however, continued to stare, as if locked in a daze. Opaline cocked her head to the side in a quizzical manner.
“Are you bound to watch?” she asked.
Marin shook his head as if regaining consciousness, got to his feet and walked outside.
The sun was halfway up across the calm sea horizon. The snow was still waist high in the yard, but the roadway was passable. Great chunks of snow had slid from the roof of both the house and barn. The air felt sticky with warmth, and as Marin breathed in a lung full, he heard two Northern Cardinals calling out to one another, presumably in a desirable fashion.
Opaline arrived at his side, and said, “I should go in before you.”
“We haven’t any reason to be discreet, have we?” Marin asked.
“Yet, and still,” she appealed.
“Well, if we are to be judged as guilty, we may as well be worthy of the judgment,” Marin declared, taking hold of her hand and pulling her back toward the barn. She easily coaxed her arm from his grasp, laughed and turned toward the house. Marin watched as she walked toward the sun, appearing to melt into its orange warmth. He waited a polite pause before returning to the house.
As he entered, he saw Phillipe sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea. Marin casually glanced into the parlor and library on his way into the kitchen.
“She went to her room,” Phillipe informed him in curt fashion.
Marin ignored the comment as he poured himself a cup of tea, and asked Phillipe, “Did you sleep well?”
“I would think you would rather avoid that subject?” Phillipe snipped.
Marin gave a tilt of his head aside and lowered his brow.
“Did you and Opaline sleep at all?” Phillipe asked.
Marin took a drink of his tea while considering his response. Before his swallow was completed, Phillipe burst forth with admonishment.
“For shame, Marin! Like two barnyard animals wallowing in the muck, yielding to the basest of beastly desires. I would expect no less from you ...but Opaline? Tell me, dear brother, by what witchery do you lure your victims into debauchery.”
Marin was patient with his reply, lips placed on the rim of his cup, sipping tea. He knew his delayed response only served to agitate Phillipe further, and he waited until Phillipe drew a breath before he finally commented.
“If I had a manual, Phillipe, it would be wasted on you. As for Opaline, I’ll let her speak for herself,” and he called out to her, “OPALINE.”
“What are you doing?” Phillipe reacted, eyes pulled wide.
“OPALINE.” Marin called out again while staring at Phillipe, who jumped up from the table in an attempt to flee the kitchen just as Opaline arrived.
“What is all the excitement?” she asked.
“Phillipe has a question you.”
Phillipe, staring at his own feet frozen to the floor, refused to look up.
Marin asked, “What is the matter, brother? Have you lost the Lord’s courage? Very well, I’ll ask her for you.”
“No, Marin,” Phillipe said, “Please.” He glanced up at Opaline, but his eyes fell to her feet. “Opaline ...I am distressed concerning ...that is ...I cannot reconcile myself to the sort of behavior that goes against ...I don’t blame you ...you’re not the first woman to...” And he left off for want of words.
“To what?” she asked.
Phillipe found himself unable to address the matter while in her presence.
“He wants to know what sorcery I used to seduce you,” Marin contributed.
Opaline drew a deep breath. A stir of emotions swirled in her chest. She understood how appearances could lead to the conclusion that something salacious had transpired in the barn the night before, but to assume she would have been seduced ...that riled her. She recalled Marin asking her, ‘What are you doing out here?’ and it occurred to her that perhaps she had secretly desired to seduce him. She smiled at the possibility. A calm came over her as she spoke to Phillipe.
“Phillipe, I am disappointed in you. I have always imagined you to be pure in thought, so I cannot help but wonder, what is the source of such polluted assumptions. Have you been in consort with Lucifer?”
Phillipe pulled himself erect, stiffened by his own piety. “I need to prepare for church,” he said, and passing by Opaline, he added, “Perhaps you would like to join me?”
They listened to the sound of Phillipe’s footsteps clopping up the stairs, followed by the slamming of his bedroom door.
“I think I am forever diminished in his eyes,” she remarked, with a hint of remorse.
“He’ll get over it. In Phillipe’s eyes, women are either angels or whores. You are an angel - once an angel, always an angel. I, however, am the sinner who must answer for your temporary fall from grace. You must go forth and sin no more,” Marin said, placing his open palm on top of Opaline’s head and bringing a saintly smile to her face. “He is, after all, MaMa’s Phillipe,” Marin concluded.
“Your brother says you are, ‘just like your father’. What does he mean by that?” she asked him.
“Yes, I’ve heard that all my life.”
“And...?”
“I am my father’s son, but I doubt that I am, ‘just like him’. He was a one off. He was not a liberally educated man, but he was wise to the world and knew well his own dimensions. He was old beyond his years, only thirty-one when he died,” adding with a soft breath, “if he died.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only that I sometimes wonder. Seems every time he went to sea he stayed a little longer. I don’t believe he considered himself very married.”
“Very married?”
“He was but a boy when he married mother. I think it was a rather urgent contract; they were married in April and I was born in October,” he said with a knowing nod. “He wasted no time in taking to the sea, going to work on the bigger fishing boats. He would be gone for long spells by a child’s watch. My earliest memories have him gone ...and me staring out to sea. It all seemed so mysterious in the mind of a child. Later, when he owned his own trawler, he would sometimes take me down to the docks on a Sunday afternoon while he attended repairs. Come every autumn, Mother wanted the sea salt scrubbed from me and so she hauled me off to the Polytechnic for a proper education.” Marin laughed, and then continued. “I finished a little too well-educated in the temporal ways of this world for our dear MaMa. I think that is why she sent poor Phillipe off to seminary school instead, poor little fellow. Later, when father earned rank, he shipped out on the cargo ships, gone for months at a time. I grew older without him.”
“Did you ever go out to sea with your father?”
“A couple of times on his sailboat. I remember the first time he took me out beyond the sight of land,” and he paused with a reflective chuckle, “...that was when I first knew...” Marin paused again to regain the moment. “I felt a letting go so foreign to my being, unbound, as if I were flying. I looked into my father’s eyes as he held the boom with the sail spread out across the sky, a huge wing catching the wind. He sat staring at the horizon as if distance were an illusion. He was the horizon. Every appearance worn by my father, that had ever been familiar to me, vanished. He became mythical. Transformed before my eyes into a Poseidon-like god ...small ‘g’ ...and yet he was mortal, and I was his son - although I had no idea then, nor am I any the wiser now, as to what any of that means.”
Opaline’s eyes had not left Marin’s reflective stare throughout his inward journey.
The sound of Phillipe’s feet descending the stairs brought Marin full-way-round to the present. “So, tell me,” Marin asked, “are you your mother’s daughter, or are you daddy’s girl?”
She looked up at Phillipe, his coat draped over his left arm and his Bible in his right hand, as he stood eves-dropping from the kitchen doorway.
“What am I, Phillipe?” she asked.
“You are a child of God,” Phillipe answered, holding Opaline’s ‘confession’ in his confidence. He handed Marin his Bible, put on his coat, retrieved the Good Book from Marin’s outstretched arm, smiled at Opaline, gave Marin a good-bye tilt of his head, and departed.
***
The house having warmed up considerably by mid-morning, Marin was opening up the parlor and stoking the fire when Opaline informed him he had a visitor. Jude Prince entered the parlor, hat in hand.
“I was about to come looking for you,” Marin said. “I’m sure you noticed the porch roof is no longer located above the porch, and I was wondering if you could help me gather it into a pile in the side yard.”
“Of course,” Jude replied. “I’ve come ta tell ya the Magister is ta be sent ta dry dock tomorrow. They’ve not asked the help of our own ship’s carpenter, Mister Oscar. When I offered them a list a-things needin’ attended to, they left it in my hand. I don’t like this, Captain. I don’t like even one small speck of it.” Marin sat down upright on the edge of a chair as Jude continued. “The men are all a-stir, Sir. They’re havin’ doubts about the mission, and talk is turnin’ poison. Our own Mister Scully hails from far north Maine, and he says Lubec Naval Base is nothin’ more than a scatterin’ o’ sailors and an old washtub of a ship. Why would the United States Navy, with a whole fleet a-ships, commission the Magister Maris ta carry a boatload a cottonballs and bandages to a nearly deserted Naval Station, in the dead o’ winter, when there isn’t even a war on? And out o’ Newport yet, when they have a base at Portsmouth, Maine?”
Marin placed his face squarely into the palms of his two hands and moved them about as if he were washing away his troubles. He folded his hands under his chin and said, “I don’t know what to tell you, Mister Prince. I think if I could sell her, I would. I would buy a fishing rig and learn the ways of a fisherman. Alas, too late I fear. I have been conscripted. I won’t hold you to sail alongside me, should your doubts win out. But I’m afraid I have to carry through.”
“Sell her?” Jude blurted out, “Beggin’ the Captain’s pardon, you’ve given her away. Still, I’m beside ya Captain; ya can rest yer worries on that. Might be ya could talk to the crew, sir. I’m sure, if they’re ta be rallied, it’ll be by yer reveille.”
“I’ll go and talk to the men tomorrow. I would like to get aboard the Magister and look her over one last time before she goes into dry dock.”
Jude gave his head a quick shake.
“What?” Marin asked.
“Better ya see for yourself, Captain. I’ll round up the men at the pub for ya,” and with a smile to change the mood, he added, “Ruthie’s been askin’ after ya.”
“Has she now?” Marin replied, noticing Opaline standing in the foyer. “Can we first attend to the rubble on the porch, Mister Prince?”
As the two men passed by Opaline, Marin felt her icy stare follow him to the front door.
After they had placed the fallen pieces of wood into the deep snow of the side yard, Marin stood back and looked at the bare platform of a porch and remembered the time Phillipe had jumped off of the porch roof and broke his ankle. He recalled the times when a young Marin would stand on the roof over the porch and pretend he was on the Poop Deck staring out at a trail of sea in his wake. He thought about the time he helped his father paint the six posts that held the roof aloft. Jude Prince’s eyes dashed back and forth between the house and Marin, as Marin reminisced.
“Ya gonna rebuild her?” Jude asked.
Marin didn’t answer right away. Instead, he appeared to examine the whole front of the house before answering.
“Needs a lot of work,” Marin said.
Jude nodded, and then added, dismissively, “It’ll take a mess a time and money ta put her shipshape, Sir.”
Marin gave the house another once over, and said, “More than just time and money, I fear.” Marin slapped Jude on the back and they went back inside for bit of lunch.
Opaline stood over the hearth stirring the kettle, and as they entered the kitchen she pivoted her back toward them.
“Smells good, Opaline,” Marin offered.
“M-m-m,” Jude added.
Opaline did not reply.
“You’ll have a biscuit with a slice of ham?” Marin asked Jude. Jude nodded. “And a cup of ale,” Marin said, pouring the liquid into a mug and setting it in front of him. “We’ve cleaned the rubble off the porch and surveyed the damage, Opaline.”
Again ...no reply.
Jude raised his eyebrows at Marin. Marin gave a shake of his head.
“I don’t believe you two have been properly introduced,” Marin said. “Mister Prince, the lovely lady with her back to us is Miss Opaline Downing. She is a midwife with considerable medical skills. She graciously agreed to attend to mother in her final days. Phillipe and I are hoping she will stay on and run her affairs from our house.”
Opaline remained turned away from the pair, stirring the stew.
“Opaline, this my First Mate and best friend, Mister Jude Prince.”
“Ma’am,” Jude said behind her back.
Opaline hung the ladle on a hook above the hearth, turned and nodded to Mister Prince as she exited the kitchen. Mister Prince wore a blank expression as he stared at Marin. Marin simply shrugged.
“After this little sojourn, Captain, what say we take that trip to Martinique and spend the winter in the sun?” Marin’s lack of a response was not lost on Mister Prince. “Well?” Jude prompted.
“There is so much to be done here,” Marin replied.
Jude propped back on the rear legs on his chair and mimicked a fisherman with a catch on his line. “Yer bein’ reeled in, aren’t cha Captain?” he said.
***
A few hours after Jude left, Marin sat dozing by the fire when he heard the front door slam shut, followed by the heavy fall of footsteps ascending a flight of stairs; it was Phillipe returning from church in the middle of the afternoon. This being a Sunday, it was unusual for him to arrive back home from church before 9 p.m., and judging from the sound of yet another door being slammed against the jamb, he was in a foul mood.
At church that after noon, Phillipe had given a sermon titled, ‘Our Home In The House Of The Lord’. In it he talked about our childhood home as a temporary residence which serves to nurture and care for us until we are old enough to be initiated into the Christian religion, wherein, God is our father, the church is our mother, and our fellow parishioners our brothers and sisters. Our purpose here is to prepare for our home in the hereafter, and may the circle be unbroken.
After he had delivered his preachment, he was called into Reverend Wright’s office and advised that, because his mother was no longer financing his services at the church, he would be released of his duties as youth minister. It was hoped he would remain a faithful and valuable member of the church, and Reverend Wright looked forward to his continued attendance and generous contributions. A stunned Phillipe sat blurry-eyed and confused before the Reverend, far past the delicate opportunity to take his leave.
Breaking the uncomfortable silence, Reverend Wright concluded with, “That will be all, Phillipe.”
Phillipe pushed himself up from the chair, at first with his arms, and as his legs gained the strength to stand firm on his own two feet, he addressed the reverend.
“No, that will not be all, Reverend Wright. You are only now informing me that MaMa has been paying my salary all along? For two years you have been leading me to believe I am a valued servant of God, working His will as an ordained clergy, serving under your tutelage, when all along I was simply a source of revenue—and you, and my dear MaMa, have been partners in this deceit. MaMa, for the love of her son; you, in order to extract even more money from her already more than generous contributions to this church. My services to the young men of this congregation have meant nothing to you but additional monies into your coffers. My brother was right about you, you are a ...wait a minute, that’s what this is really about, isn’t it? This is your getting even with my brother.”
“The church doesn’t dally in revenge, Mister Carpenter, although you must admit, your brother treated me, and by my authority, the church, quite shabbily at your MaMa’s funeral service.”
“You, and your church, can go to hell, Mister Wright,” Phillipe declared, and left the church for the last time.
Sitting now in his room, Phillipe heard a knock at his door.
“Go away,” he yelled. The door opened, and he saw Marin’s face peeking in.
“It’s awfully cold in here,” Marin said.
“I have nothing to say to you, Marin.”
“I only came to say—”
“I do not care to hear anything you have to say, Marin.”
Marin eased a little further into the room and asked, “What brought all this on?”
“Did you know MaMa was paying my salary at church?”
“I only recently discovered it while going—”
“When were you going to tell me ...when I was all grown up? Why does everyone treat me like a child? I AM NOT A BLOODY CHILD!”
“Then stop acting like one,” Opaline called out from the hallway.
Marin looked into the hallway in time to see Opaline walk into her room and slam her door.
“Does the Bible have anything to say about the slamming of doors?” Marin asked.
“Go away, Marin,” Phillipe said, and threw himself prostrate onto his bed.
Marin returned downstairs and pulled a chair up in front of the hearth. He poured himself a ladle of the stew Phillipe and Opaline had made the day before. Time had improved their combined efforts, and Marin savored every spoonful. When he had finished, he thought about returning upstairs to have a chat with Opaline concerning her behavior in front of, or rather with her back toward, Jude. Why was she so standoffish in his presence? A number of scenarios ran through his mind, and he decided to save the inquiry for another time. He wrapped himself in his winter garb and set off to see Ruthie.
Along his way, he passed by the Magister Maris. A Naval guard was standing watch on the gangplank leading to her deck. He thought of approaching and requesting permission to board, but couldn’t entirely adjust to the idea of asking for the liberty to step foot on his own ship. With the sun setting behind him, he stood at a distance from the ship, watching the golden light bathe her against the darkening sky and purple sea. With her imperfections made invisible by the dying of the light, she etched out a beautiful presence against the fading horizon. But perhaps he held his admiring gaze too long, for as the sky inked a more haunting hue, she took on a wraith-like quality, and a gust of wind cried out through the skeletal mast in a fading siren-like voice, such as a ghost might wish to do. Startled by his own imaginings, he snapped back from his unawares in time to notice a guard approaching him.
“Is there something I might help you with?” the guard inquired.
“No, just admiring that magnificent ship,” Marin replied.
“Best judge her in the light of day,” the man said, punctuated with a scornful laugh.
Marin gave the man a challenging glare before turning away.
Street lamps were aglow by the time Marin arrived at the bordello, and as he entered he saw Ruthie sitting in the parlor knitting. She looked over and called out to him,
“Marin, my darling boy, come kiss me on the cheek.” Marin obliged her. “I have missed you. Jude told me you have been back nearly a week now, and I said, ‘Oh ...it cannot be so; he would have come to see his Ruthie by now’. You naughty boy.” She extended her arm to him as she rose to her feet. “Come, let us seek some privacy,” she said. “Sophie, come mind the store. I’ve a caller.”
Inside the Madam’s dimly lit lair, she led him to a long red velvet covered couch. She pivoted to face him and placed her folded hands upon his lap.
“So now tell me, how have you been?” she asked.
“All was well until I sailed into Newport.”
“Jude told me about the loss of your mother. I am so sorry to hear of that.”
“I may be losing the Magister Maris as well.”
“Oh dear. Whatever is the trouble?” she said, masquerading ignorance.
“Oh, it isn’t worth going over at the moment. I need your advice on something else.”
Ruth smiled. “A woman, no doubt.”
“Why do you conclude that so quickly?”
“Because Captain Marin Carpenter is not known for seeking anyone’s advice on matters of the mind, I must therefore conclude it is an affair of the heart.”
“Yes,” Marin said, his focus captured by the twinkle in Ruth’s sage and charismatic eyes.
“Well, mind you, you’re talking to an old strumpet,” she said, “and my expertise as to the desires of men lies somewhere south of the heart.”
“We are long way gone from that relationship, my dear Ruthie.”
“Yes. But not so far gone that I can’t recall the night you paid me to take your innocence. You were a mere lad of sixteen, and I, an old maid of thirty-four. Why you chose me continues a mystery.”
“I told you then, I tell you now; I find kindne... comfort in your eyes.”
“Only a love starved boy or a weary-hearted widower would come to a whore for the kindness, or the comfort, in her eyes.”
“It was what I needed most. I believe it is what I am in need of now.”
“Oh, but Marin,” she said, feigning modesty while unfolding her fan as a faux shield, “I have retired from the profession. I am but an old woman on the verge of repent.”
Marin laughed, as an old friend would. “You have not lost a dram of charm, Ruthie. Not in this sailor’s eyes.”
“Flattery and a five-dollar gold piece will get you whatever you wish, my dear. But tell me, what is the young lady’s name?”
“Her name is Opaline.”
“Oh. And here I thought you were falling for one of our own.”
“Aja?” he asked.
“Her name is Keiza.”
“Yes, I know, and I am fond of her, despite your thinly veiled jealousy.”
“I wasn’t aware I was veiling it at all.”
“How is she?”
“I’ll call her and you can ask her yourself,” Ruth said, turning her head away.
“That won’t be necessary,” Marin said, taking her by the loose flesh of her chin and turning her head toward him. “Perhaps you are not the person I should confide in concerning another woman.”
Ruth’s eyes quickly glanced at Marin as if to scold him. “I should be ashamed to be jealous, but I gave up on shame a long time ago. Tell me about her ...but spare me the good parts. Tell me what it is you don’t like about her?”
Marin, beginning with a laugh, said, “The same things I love about her; she’s feisty, belligerent, sarcastic and annoyingly independent, but ...there is such comfort in her eyes.”
“Well, Captain, you’ve met your match. Is she a sailor as well?” Ruth asked in jest.
“She is a midwife.”
“A midwife? And how old is the lady?”
“I am not sure,” Marin said, surprising even himself, “I would guess but few days either side of thirty.”
“Well, your Ruthie has less that a little experience with matters of amore’. I am sorry, Marin.”
“Just as well. I am troubled about another matter. It concerns my brother, Phillip.”
Ruth’s wide smile was quick to react.
“What?” Marin asked.
“Nothing. Continue.”
“Well...” and as Marin searched for words, Ruth found a few of her own.
“You aren’t thinking of bringing him around?” Marin’s silence gave her pause. “Listen to me, Marin ...this I know; people are who they are. You don’t go changing the color of someone’s eyes.”
“So, you think that Phillipe—”
“Let me add this ...my girls and I have nothing to offer Phillipe. But you do. You can love him for who he is and help him love himself as well. And I’ll be damned ashamed of you should you fail him.”
Marin drew her to him in a hug, and whispered, “Thank you, Ruthie.”
“I am sure Keiza would like to see you,” she said, interrupting the moment.
“I don’t know, Ruthie. As much as I would like the company of a woman...”
“Not Aja, Keiza.” She stood up and extended her hand to Marin. “Come, let’s find her.”
They went back out to the lobby, and Ruth asked Sophie to fetch Aja.
“I’m afraid she is ...busy, Ma’am.”
“Oh,” Ruth replied, and turning to Marin she said, “Business first, I’m afraid. And speaking of business, it occurs to me I may have some business for your Opaline. Sophie, fetch Phoebe.”
Sophie returned with a young, cherubic, fair-skinned young woman who resembled Emily in every feature ...except one.
“Phoebe, this gentleman is a personal friend of mine. Marin, this is Phoebe.”
Phoebe took a step back, wrapped her arms around her considerably pregnant midriff, and turned a frightened eye to Ruth.
“Oh no, my darling. Not that,” Ruth said, reaching out for her. “Mister Marin is going to provide you with a midwife.” She wrapped her arm around Phoebe’s shoulder and turned to Marin. “She isn’t far from due, so the sooner you bring Miss Opaline around, the better.”
“I will let her know,” Marin assured her. “Nice meeting you, Phoebe,” he said, leaning in to kiss Ruth on the cheek. Phoebe released a half smile and laid her head against Ruth’s shoulder. “You certainly know how to find the pretty ones, Ruthie,” Marin said, pausing at the door.
“They find me,” she said, with a parting smile.
Returning home, Marin was eager to speak with both Opaline and Phillipe. Finding Opaline in the library cozied up before the fire reading a book, he quietly came to her side. If she was aware of his presence, she favored her book. He noticed a pot of tea sitting on the table beside her and so he asked, “Mind if I grab a cup and join you?”
Her eyes remained focused on her book as she replied, “I would prefer you not disturb me.”
He stood for a moment, nursing the wounding remark before leaving.
Walking into the kitchen, he saw Phillipe sitting at the table writing. A pot of tea sat in front of him, and so Marin asked, “Mind if I pour a cup of tea?”
“Get your own pot,” Phillipe snapped.
“So much for the friendly pot of tea,” Marin said, and he looked about the kitchen for another teapot. Coming up empty, he went to the back room and pulled out an old teapot from Maria’s antique china cabinet. Returning to the kitchen, he was greeted with a gasp from Phillip.
“You are not to use that teapot,” he demanded, as if calling upon his inner Maria.
Marin ignored him.
“Marin, that teapot is valuable in the extreme. It is from the Ming Dynasty in China. MaMa never intended for it to be used.”
Marin poured the loose tea into the pot, and followed with hot water from the kettle.
“No-no-no, Marin. Here, have my teapot,” Phillipe pleaded.
“Too late,” Marin said, walking out of the kitchen and into the parlor. He settled into a comfortable chair and began reading, The Tempest. Act One, Scene One. On a ship at sea: a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning heard.
The three of them passed the evening in three separate rooms, drinking tea from three separate pots, alone together, together alone - three intertwined, and yet separate, lives.