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The full morning sun lit Phillipe’s way to the barn, and he pushed open the big red door to bring the horses some fresh water. Seeing Marin and Opaline lying side by side under a pile of covers with their clothing in a pile on the hay-covered floor, he placed the bucket down in the snow, turned, and walked back to the house.
The full stream of light and the frigid breeze coming through the open door woke Opaline. She shook Marin. He came to with a shiver.
“Someone has opened the barn door,” she said.
“Must have been Phillipe,” Marin said.
Opaline pulled the covers up closer to her neck and asked, “Could you gather my clothing?”
Marin gave her a blank stare.
“Everything is right there in a pile beside you,” she urged.
Marin turned on his side, reached out, and grabbed a handful of articles.
Opaline sorted through them and asked. “Where are my drawers?”
Marin felt something wadded up in a ball down by his feet. He ducked under the covers and grabbed the undergarment, and while he was submerged, he took ample time to behold Opaline’s naked body ...until she called out to him.
“What are you doing?”
“Admiring the view,” he replied. He pushed the delicate article up through the covers, navigating it between her breasts.
She grabbed her drawers from his hand and dashed them back under the covers in an attempt to put them on by feel ...and then, in a sudden move, she lifted the covers and slid under them. Snuggling up close to Marin, she whispered, “There is someone coming toward the barn.”
Marin peeked his head out from under the covers in time to see Jonathan Berry standing outside the open door.
“Your brother told me I could find Opaline here,” he said. “I hope you will pardon the intrusion.” He lowered his head and added, “I have an urgent message for her. I will wait in my carriage.”
Marin returned back under the covers.
“Was that Jonathan?” she gasped.
“It was,” Marin answered.
“Well, what...” but she blunted her question and struggled to dress herself while remaining under the covers.
“Why are you getting dressed under the covers?” he asked her.
“Could you leave me to it?”
Marin climbed out of their makeshift bed and hurriedly threw on his clothes. He grabbed the bucket of water Phillipe had left, closed the barn door, and brought it to the horses.
Opaline emerged from under the covers, her clothing haphazardly askew. She did her best to twist things back into some semblance of symmetry and attempted to wrestle her bountiful shock of hair into a presentable form.
“I must look a horrid mess,” she said.
Marin looked at the wild array of reddish-orange hair and her flush pink cheeks, and said lovingly, “You look ablaze.”
It took a moment, but a smile turned up the corners of her mouth and she held out her hand to him. He kissed it, tucked her arm through the fold of his elbow, and accompanied her out of the barn.
Coming around the corner of the house, they spotted Jonathan’s carriage parked in front. Jonathan sat with his back to them, waiting.
“I’ll meet you inside,” Opaline said.
Marin’s eyes fell in unison with his nod. He departed from her side and went into the house, where he found Phillipe sorting through a few books in the library.
Phillipe turned to Marin with a guarded look.
“Why would you do that?” Marin scorned. “Why would you expose Opaline in that manner ...and to Jonathan Berry?”
“He asked where he might find her.”
“And you felt the pride of your honesty transcended your sense of common decency?”
Phillipe stood dumbstruck.
“Why, Phillipe, after opening the barn door, did you choose to leave it open? Do you believe it is your Christian duty to expose everything you personally consider immoral to the light of day? Has privacy no passage in your gospel?”
With no response from Phillipe, Marin left him to his silence.
In the kitchen, Jude sat drinking a mug of strong tea. He looked up at Marin with a blurry smile.
“Mornin’ Captain,” he said hesitantly. Marin walked past Jude without responding and poured himself a mug of tea. Jude turned his head to Marin, and said, “We’ve a busy day, Captain.”
Marin nodded and asked, “How is Phoebe?”
“She’s a bit upset. Have you told Opaline?”
Marin looked into his tea and shook his head.
Jude turned back to his tea, and as soon as his cup came to his lips, he caught sight of Opaline approaching the kitchen.
“Marin, I need to speak with you,” she said.
“Tea?” Marin asked her.
“Alone,” she replied, disappearing again.
He pursued her up the stairs to her room where they found Phoebe sitting in bed crying.
Marin stopped at the threshold.
“What is wrong, Phoebe?” Opaline asked.
“They’re leaving tomorrow,” she sobbed.
“What?” seeped from Opaline’s lips. She turned to Marin and asked, “Is this true?”
He had to look away.
“And just when were you planning on telling me?” she called out to him.
“Just now,” Marin answered.
Opaline sat on the side of the bed and folded herself over into her own lap.
As Marin edged toward her, he noticed an envelope, more resting than held, in her hand. Pausing an arm’s reach from her, he said, “Opaline, I only found out last night.”
She eased upright and reminded him, “But you knew before we...” and she caught herself.
“Yes. Would it have made a difference?” Marin asked, in a falling voice. When Opaline didn’t answer, he captured his breath and turned to leave.
Reaching out to him with a delicate voice, she breathed his name, “Marin.”
He turned back to face her as she held out the envelope. He noticed it was addressed to Jonathan Berry, c/o Ovid Berry at Thomas Hamm and Associates, Newport, Rhode Island. It was from Doctor Elijah L. Graham, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Marin glanced up at Opaline. Her chin began to quiver. He took his place beside her on the bed, and pulled the note from the envelope. It was dated Thursday, December 19th, 1811. It read:
Dear Jonathan: I stopped by to see you on a matter of urgent importance and your secretary informed me you had left for Newport. It is my hope that you have the knowledge and means to contact Miss Opaline Downing. I would not impose upon you if it were not a matter of dire consequence. Miss Downing’s mother is extremely ill, and I fear she will not survive more than a few days. If it is in your power to inform Miss Downing of this grave news, I beg you, do so post haste. Please inform me when you are back in Philadelphia. -Sincerely, Doctor Elijah L. Graham
Marin handed the letter back to her, awaiting comment.
“I have to leave for Philadelphia,” she said.
“When?”
“As soon as possible. Jonathan has offered to take me back with him.”
“And you would go?”
“What am I to do, Marin? Emma lay dying. Are you going to take me?”
“I cannot be in two places at the same time,” he answered.
Opaline cocked her head, and her eyes widened. “Correct, Marin. You have to choose,” she said.
“Would you have me surrender the Magister Maris?”
“This is not about the Magister Maris,” she shot back.
Marin leaned away, stunned.
“She is but a boat, Marin,” she said.
“No.”
“You yourself confessed it. You said you would sell her if you were able. It is not the Magister Maris that binds you ...it is the sea.” And in a faltering voice, she added, “The sea is your home, Marin.”
He reached out for her hand, but she pulled back. “What are you saying, Opaline?”
She looked down at the letter and closed her eyes. Tears fell. Making no attempt to wipe them away, she addressed him with all the courage of a broken heart. “I do not share your love of the sea ...and I have no intention of spending my life staring out at it. If the sea were but your livelihood and home were your destination, I might feel differently. But the sea is your livelihood, your destination, and your home. This house, your family, this town ...everything that makes this place a home, amount to nothing more than another familiar port to you.”
Marin, momentarily at odds with himself, confessed, “That may have been true, Opaline, but...”
“But what? What has changed?”
It took him a moment, but out it came, “Everything.”
“Prove it,” she said.
“When I come back.”
“No, Marin. I am going to see Emma for what will be the last time. I am asking you for the comfort of your presence during that journey.”
Marin sat in irons.
“I will leave you to your thoughts,” she concluded, and left the room.
Phoebe murmured something that fell short of Marin’s ear. He stared out through his childhood’s bedroom window at the offing, his thoughts sprawling out over the horizon. Everything felt so far away, almost imaginary, as if he had never sailed out into the further reaches of his childhood wonderings ...but he had. He had sailed the world around, and yet, at this moment, he sat looking out to sea wondering what was out there ...except now it is—
Phoebe reached out and touched him, breaking the spell. “What’s to become of me?” she asked.
Marin struggled for a moment to change his focus to Phoebe. “Oh yes, Phoebe ...well ...do you think you could stay here and manage the house ...just until ...someone returns?”
“By myself?” she asked, faint of heart.
“Just until someone returns. I will see to it that you have everything you need.”
Phoebe drew her smallish, white folded hands up to her mouth, and in a frightened child’s voice, said, “But I don’t know how to do anything...”
Marin, ill-equipped to deal with such a pathetic comment, simply said, “We will sort it out, Phoebe,” and he rose from the bed and went to his room.
When Opaline entered the kitchen, Jude was speaking with Phillipe, while trying his best to temper the blunt with the civil.
“It doesn’t work that way, lad. There won’t be much time for you ta be spoutin’ yer sermons about the here-ever-after. Yer ta be busy - workin’ aside, eatin’ aside, and sleepin’ aside yer shipmates. Whatever free time ya might carve out for yerself, and there won’t be much of it, you’ll be spendin’ it by yer lonesome, that is, if you want to keep yer bearings about ya.”
“There is always time for the good news,” Phillipe asserted.
Jude, feeling the civil slipping away, walked out of the kitchen with Opaline practically stalking behind him.
“Jude,” she called out from behind.
He stopped and turned to her.
“I know you have concerns about this mission,” she said, then drawing a deep breath for nerve, asked, “Do you think you could perhaps convince Marin—”
“I’ve tried, ma’am, but he’s the Captain.”
“Yes, but you two are also friends.”
“We’re Captain and sailor type friends.”
“Yes, but the both of you being sailors, perhaps you could—”
“No ma’am. Mister Carpenter is a fine captain, but he’s not much of a sailor.”
Opaline tilted her head inquisitively.
“Sailors are a peculiar lot,” Jude continued, “we’re not lookin’ for anythin’ beyond the wind and the wave.”
“And Marin? You believe he is looking for something?”
“Has been for as long as I’ve known him,” he said, and he paused to smile into the lady’s eyes. “But he seems a little more settled in his search these days.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I’ve but a feelin’, Ma’am.”
“So then, what do you feel has been the nature of his search?”
“Me bein’ a man that aint lookin’ for anythin’ myself, hard for me to say. He may not have known himself what it was he was lookin’ for ...sometimes a man is simply lookin’ for what it is he’s lookin’ for.” He paused, laughed to himself, and added, “Whatever it was, seems he’s either found it or given up the lookin’.”
Opaline held Jude’s gaze long enough to ask, “Why do you believe that?”
“Just sayin’, ma’am, he seems a little more ...at latitude.”
“When did you first notice this? Recently?”
“Yes Ma’am ...recently.” Jude could see by the look in her eyes that she had left the conversation for a moment. “Could be he’s in love,” Jude prompted, sparking her return. Jude added, “Or it could be his father is no longer a mystery, and the sea has lost its charm.”
“Then why go on this mission?”
“Could be he’s just tryin’ to put it all to rest.”
From the top of the stairs, Marin called out for his brother. Phillipe trudged up the stairs and followed his brother into Marin’s room.
“Close the door,” Marin instructed. “Are you still hell-bent on taking this journey?”
“I would not categorize my desire in such a manner, but yes, I am hoping to sail tomorrow. Why do you ask?”
“Opaline is going home to Philadelphia for a while. That would leave Phoebe here alone.
“Why is Opaline going to Philadelphia?”
“Her mother is ill,” and after a reflective pause, he added, “...dying.”
“Oh my ...our poor Opaline. So then, Phoebe would be left to manage the house while we are gone? And do you imagine for even a moment, she could take care of the house for so much as a day?”
“No, I suppose not. So then, you can see our dilemma. I fear, left to her own devices, she would return to the brothel. In lieu of that, it appears we have adopted her.”
“I could ask the widow Missus Robertson if she would like to house-sit while we are away. She is currently living with her ne’er-do-well brother, and would probably relish the opportunity to get away for a while.”
“Could you take care of that, then? We also need to put our respective wills in order. I think we should bequeath the house to Opaline, should we...” And he finished with a hand gesture, causing Phillipe to sit breathlessly still. Marin stared at him for a moment before clarifying the hand gesture with the words, “...fail to return.”
Phillipe’s eyes blinked a few times. After a few beats, he clasped his hands together and asked, “Do you believe that is a distinct possibility?”
Marin, finding Phillipe’s question amusingly naive, answered him, saying, “I am not sure how distinct it is, but it is a possibility. Yes.”
Phillipe’s only response was a series of rapid, almost imperceptible, nods of his head.
“Alright then,” Marin concluded.
Phillipe remained planted in a chair as Marin left the room. As he descended the stairs he found Mister Prince standing at the front door, preparing to leave.
“I’m going down to the ship, sir. Will you be comin’ along?” Jude asked.
“I have a few things I have to take care of first, but I will join you later.” Marin accompanied Jude out onto the porch and looked around at the remnants of the roof that lay in the side yard. “I would like to have the porch roof repaired before we sail.”
“Captain, we hardly...” Jude began, but paused when he realized Marin could not hear him.
“Opaline will be going to Philadelphia to visit her ailing mother. So...”
“So, I’ll see you down at ship then,” Jude replied, wasting no further time in departing.
Marin stood on the porch watching Jude disappear into the distance as Opaline came and stood by his side. Careful in her breaking of the silence, she said, “Jonathan will be arriving at noon.”
“And you are set upon leaving with him?”
“I think it best.”
“I could hire a coach for you,” he bargained.
She moved around to face him, and taking his hands in hers, she said, “Marin, you have nothing to fear as concerns Jonathan Berry. I have already stated that I prefer you by my side. I believe you and I each have different things we need to put to rest.”
Marin’s eyes squinted as if to improve his vision. “I fail to see what you mean,” he said.
“I am not sure myself. For my part, I only know that I need to see my,” and she closed her lips as if to say, ‘mother’, but opened them again, saying, “...Emma, before...” and the words that would not come, were no longer necessary.
Marin reached out and pulled her tight against him. The wind blew her hair across his eyes, blurring his stare out to sea.
“And what is it you imagine I am putting to rest?” he whispered into her ear.
“The distance,” she softly offered.
***
After Opaline had gathered her things and placed them by the front door, everyone assembled in the library, awaiting the arrival of Jonathan Berry. Phillipe sat in front of the fire, as if in meditation. Marin, Opaline, and Phoebe sat scrunched together on the divan - Marin, holding Opaline’s right hand, Phoebe, sobbing onto Opaline’s left shoulder, and clutching Opaline’s other hand.
“Tomorrow is Christmas,” Phillipe announced, without turning away from the fire. “We are leaving on the day of our Blessed Lord’s birth,” he reflected.
“...and Opaline’s as well,” Marin added
“What might that portend?” Phillipe asked, turning toward the divan.
“Why should it portend anything?” Marin answered.
Three solid knocks on the front door filled the room and hung like a pall in the air. Opaline gripped Marin’s hand a little tighter as she pulled Phoebe’s hand to her breast.
“Phillipe, will you answer the door?” Marin asked.
“No,” said Opaline, “it is time,” and she stood up, pulling Marin and Phoebe up beside her. “I would request that each of you remain here, gathered by the warmth of the fire, and let that be the vision that guides me back to you.”
Phillipe came from the fire, and the four of them embraced. As soon as Phoebe and Phillipe released themselves, Opaline threw her arms around Marin and said, “Please know that I love you, and I beg of you, forgive me for any utterance or behavior to the contrary.”
She pulled him to her lips and kissed him with unmistakable devotion. Surrendering completely to one another in an embrace, neither partner wanted to be the first to let go ...but again, three rhythmic beats took the moment from them, and the pair parted in perfect synchronicity, as if it had all been choreographed–a parting, pas de deux.
Opaline walked alone into the foyer, picked up her things, opened the door, and vanished behind its closing. Marin stood with his eyes fixed on the front door. Phillipe returned to his chair by the fireplace. Phoebe sat weeping on the divan. They each listened to the horses’ hoofs tapping away into the distance.
Marin turned to a half-clothed Phoebe, and said, “Phoebe dear, you need to put on some clothes,”
“I want to go back to bed,” she replied.
“I need for you to assist me. I have some old work clothes we might make fit. Follow me up to my room.”
Marin went through an old box of his father’s clothes and pulled out a well-worn pair of work breeches and a pullover shirt, handing them to Phoebe. She began to disrobe in front of Marin, pulling the shift up over her head, exposing her breasts, leaving her standing before him in the briefest of drawers.
“A little modesty might be in order,” Marin said, staring at her fulsome breast all the while.
“Oh-h-h...I’m sorry sir,” she said, grabbing the clothing from Marin’s hands and covering her front as best she could. “Have I offended you?”
“Offended me?” Marin said, amused at her choice of words, “No Phoebe, you have not offended me. However, I believe it best if I wait downstairs.”
As Marin returned to the kitchen, Phillipe approached him, saying, “I am off to see Missus Robertson, and I will stop by MaMa’s attorney and have the wills drawn up. But I must ask you again, are you sure about leaving everything to Opaline?”
“What are your objections?” Marin asked.
“Well ...there are relatives,” Phillipe said, as if he had to state the obvious.
“Aunt Belle?”
“As well as Emily, and her mother, Edith,” Phillipe insisted.
“Yes ...the Senator and his wife are in need of another house,” Marin wryly commented.
“Still, they are family,” Phillipe asserted.
“So, what?” Marin replied. “If you wish to leave Mother’s Bible to Emily, or a few pieces of china to Aunt Belle, I have no objection; but the house and resources go to Opaline.”
Phillipe bowed with reserved consent and left the house.
Phoebe came trampling down the stairs with the appearance of a girl-child poorly disguised as a man. Marin dare not laugh as he accompanied her out into the side yard. She watched as he began pulling a long and heavy column out of the ice and snow.
“I’m in no condition to help lift anything, Mister Carpenter,” she advised him.
“I will not be asking that of you, Phoebe,” he grunted, pulling the pillar toward the porch. “I need you to hold this up while I attempt to secure it to the porch.”
“Why?” Phoebe asked.
Marin dropped the heavy column back to the ground, and taking pains to be patient with her, he said. “I would like to rebuild the canopy over the porch.”
“Today, sir? By yourself?”
Marin took an exasperated breath. “Well, we could at least get it started by setting the pillars in place.”
“Might’n they just fall back down again in your absence?”
Marin shook his head. “And why would they fall back down again?”
Phoebe shrugged her shoulders and said, “Seems to me the roof is holding down the pillars as much as the pillars are holding up the roof.”
Marin was caught mid-thought. “Yes, that is true, but ...well, I just thought ...I am not sure what I was thinking.”
Phoebe took this to mean they were done, so she walked back into the house. Marin sat down on the front steps and fixed his attention on the fresh carriage tracks in the snow leading away from the house. It being winter, they may remain frozen in time for a little while, but eventually they would be covered over by new fallen snow or the comings and goings of others, and come a new season, they would disappear all together. A sudden chill came over him, turning his thoughts back to the present. He missed her already. Not so much because of the narrow measure of time that had already passed, but because it served as the opening passage, the motif as it were, of the unfinished solemn symphony stretching out before him.
Marin went back into the house to inform Phoebe that he was going down to the Magister Maris for the afternoon, and that Phillipe should be returning soon. She was sitting the library, bent over a large sheet of paper with a quill in her left hand as he approached, glancing over her shoulder. He looked on in awe at the drawing she had made of the front of the house, and he followed her hand as she swiftly created a front porch extending out and curving around the left side of the house. Ten pillars held up a slanted roof, with a smaller version of the porch mounted as a jetty atop it, accessible from Phillipe’s bedroom. Ornate balustrade panels, staggered with empty spaces, filled in the porch railing, and the front steps splayed out toward the circular drive in an open arms manner.
Such was her concentration that he felt sure she was not aware of his presence, and he made no move to disturb her, but stood rapt in every movement of her hand, gliding across the paper.
When she was finished, she sank back in the chair and admired her own work. Marin startled her when he finally spoke her name.
“Phoebe ...that is beautiful.”
“Oh sir, you scared me. Do you like it?”
“Like it? No ...I love it. Where did you learn to draw like that?”
“I’ve always known how to draw, sir. I don’t write too good, but I’ve always known how to draw.”
“Listen, Phoebe,” he said, taking the quill from her hand and placing in back into its holder, “I am going to find a carpenter, and you are going to see to it that he constructs this exactly as you have envisioned it. Do you understand? That is your task while we are gone. I need to go into town, and then I am going to the ship for a while. We will discuss this when I return.”
Marin reached over and pulled the sheet of paper off of the desk and held it up, marveling at the detail. “This is a work of astounding facility. You are a fountain of surprise, my dear.” He positioned the drawing back in front of her and placed a kiss atop her head before leaving.
***
As Marin approached the Magister Maris, he noticed a few unrecognizable faces among the crew. The men who recognized him acknowledged his presence with a duteous nod; those who were not familiar with him paid scant attention. Captain Fairchild and Jude were standing on the poop deck, discussing something as Marin approached them. Mister Prince greeted Marin formally.
“Captain.”
“I noticed a few new men on deck. Was this your doing, Mister Fairchild?” Marin asked.
“It was. You had mentioned that you felt you were a few men short of a crew.”
“In more ways than one,” Marin quipped. “Pray tell, from where have you scavenged these men?” There was a noticeable pause in Mister Fairchild’s reply, so Marin glared at Mister Prince and said, “Well ...come on, let’s have it. From where did you rake them?”
Fairchild’s guarded reply crept from his lips. “The Brig,” he said.
“The Navy certainly does have a way of making things worse while disguising it as support,” Marin barbed. “And am I privy as to what sort of scoundrels you have uncuffed upon my deck?”
“Mostly minor offenses: insubordination, absent without leave, petty theft. Although I should mention one man in particular, a Mister Haller; he was convicted of murder-an accident, it seems.”
“And how do you accidentally murder someone?” Marin challenged.
“I am not familiar with the details,” Mister Fairchild said, hoping that would close the subject.
“Well, you might want to point Mister Haller out to me, not that I am in a position to turn anyone away, still ... keep an eye on the bananas.”
Mister Fairchild turned a lowered brow to Jude.
Jude simply chuckled.
“Captain Fairchild,” Marin continued, “it is my understanding that you have your own reservations about this trip.”
“I may have said, I thought it ill-advised,” he said, turning to Mister Prince. “...And I do,” turning to Marin. “But I am sure the Navy has its reasons.”
“No one doubts that, Mister Fairchild; I would simply like to know what they are.”
“Well, as a man who has dedicated his life to service in the United States Navy, I can tell you, it is a rare exception indeed, when a mission is revealed in toto. You go along to get along, and do not make waves.”
“Well, I am not a proud member of good standing in your Navy, Sir. My service, if you can call it that, is offered under duress. So, I can say, without fear of occupying confined quarters with Mister Haller, that I believe this mission is suspicious at best, and probably traitorous, in fact.”
The blank look on Mister Fairchild’s face betrayed any objection he might have had to Marin’s seditious remarks. He simply wished Marin, ‘Good Day’, and told him he would be present tomorrow morning to see him off at nautical dawn.
After Fairchild was beyond earshot, Marin turned to Jude, and said, “He is just another decorated coward.”
Marin gathered his crew, taking the opportunity to introduce himself to the new recruits. He had a terse discussion with Mister Haller, informing him that, while this may be a Naval mission, this is not the Navy; the difference being, the Navy has a book of rules and regulations, clearly spelling out duties, proper behavior and consequences of violation-the Magister Maris does not. On the Magister Maris, the Captain rules, and the sea dictates, and there will be no discussion of compliance, yea or nay. The Captain’s word is law; his rule, final; and his punishment, swift. And while he, Marin, may or may not show mercy, the sea, most certainly, will not.
He then met with Ozzy, and asked him to locate a talented carpenter that could build a porch, and have him report to Phoebe as soon as possible.
Before leaving to return home, Marin invited Jude and Mister Dorian Murel into his cabin.
“And what does your other eye tell you about sailing tomorrow, Mister Murel?” Marin asked.
“I am not a soothsayer, Captain. I read the sea and sky as one reads a book, word-by-word and line-by-line; And while there may appear, at times, a certain foreshadowing, sea and sky do not feel obliged to reveal anything beyond the turning of the page.
“I see,” Marin yielded, “so tomorrow then.”
“Yes sir, tomorrow.”
“Jude, are you coming back to the house this evening?”
“I was going to my house to gather my things, and I was hopin’ to come for dinner ...and maybe a night’s cuddle with Phoebe.”
“Good then. I have something to show you that our Phoebe has created. I think you will find it quite interesting.”
“Is that all, then?” Jude asked.
“Yes, the both of you are excused.”
***
As he was returning home midst the setting sun, Marin could not help but feel how the sudden warming of the evening air had a mysterious quality about it, as if it were tenuously balanced between rising and falling.
Arriving home, he witnessed Mrs. Robertson mopping the foyer.
“I would appreciate it, Mister Carpenter, if you could remove your boots until I have finished with the floor. Your dinner will be ready, in short order ... Oyster pie and potatoes. I hope that is satisfactory.”
“Indeed,” Marin said, doffing his boots and retiring to the library.
Phillipe sat at the desk, going over some papers as Marin entered.
“Marin, I need you to sign these papers.” As Marin took the quill from its nest, Phillipe asked, “Are you not going to read them first?”
“Does it leave everything to Opaline?” he asked.
“Yes Marin, it does ...except for a little parcel to Phoebe.”
Marin smiled with surprise and signed the document below Phillipe’s signature.
“I am a little nervous about tomorrow,” Phillipe confessed.
“Yes,” Marin returned, “you should be. Where is Phoebe?”
“She is in your ...Opaline’s room.”
“I take it she has met Missus Robertson.”
“Yes, they seemed to get along glowingly.”
“Good. Jude will be joining us for dinner,” Marin said, and he went upstairs to speak with Phoebe. He knocked on the door before entering, and heard Phoebe say,
“One moment, please.”
He stood outside the door, listening to the sounds of Phoebe scurrying about in the room, and the occasional rustling of what sounded like clothing. When she squeaked open the door to Marin, she stood posing nonchalant in the work clothes he had given her earlier that day, but her feet were spilling out of the sides of a pair of ill-fitting, pink and blue, Grecian style sandals, and there was a fine plaited straw hat, adorned with a red silk ribbon, balanced precariously on her head. Marin’s eyes flit up and down several times, stopping briefly on the stylish shoes and fashionable hat, with a ragamuffin-like Phoebe sandwiched in-between. As she suddenly realized she had forgotten to take off the shoes and hat, she blushed a child-caught-in-the-act shade of pink, and rapidly shed the hat; the shoes proved to be as difficult to remove, as they would have been to squeeze into.
A few choice teasing remarks came easily to Marin’s tongue, but he held them, fearing she could scarcely afford the humor. He noticed the bottom part of a long green gown, wedged in the doorjamb of the closed closet door, and so he asked her, “Phoebe, have you ever had occasion to wear a proper lady’s gown, replete with he accompanying accoutrement?”
She stood shamefully still, aware of his intent in asking.
Thinking perhaps she didn’t understand the question, he rephrased it. “Have you ever wanted to dress like Opaline?”
She looked up submissively at Marin, and lamented, “I’m sorry, sir. I had no right to go through her things. It’s just that her clothes are so beautiful. I didn’t try them on, I just, well except for the shoes and hat, I just held a couple of dresses up to see how I might look in them. Please forgive me.”
“Phoebe ...I am not angry with you. I was just wondering if you have ever wanted some nice things to wear out in public. I take it you like the way our Opaline dresses.”
Phoebe went to the closet and opened the door. Several dresses had been haphazardly placed on hooks and were all bunched up against one another in a hurried fashion. She pulled out a long, emerald green gown with white lace ruffles around the neck and across the shoulders; the cuffs were likewise adorned. Holding it up in front of her, she twirled once aroundbefore hanging it back up. She went to the desk, grabbed her leather-bound book, the one Opaline had retrieved from the brothel, and opened it up. Leafing through it to a certain page, she held it up to Marin. It was a drawing of a dress that looked remarkably similar to the emerald garment she had just modeled, only a little more sumptuous.
“Is this a drawing of a dress you saw, or did you design this?” Marin asked.
She flipped through several pages of fashion drawings, each one elaborately detailed.
“You designed each of these?” Marin marveled.
Phoebe nodded enthusiastically. “Do you like them?”
“I will instruct Missus Robertson to hire a seamstress to bring these drawings to life. You are an extremely talented young woman, Phoebe. You need not be at anyone’s beck and call ...ever again. Do you understand what I am saying?”
Phoebe’s smile relaxed, and she gave an uncertain shake of her head.
How could she have possibly understood that sentiment?
***
When Jude returned, everyone sat down to dinner. Phillipe asked everyone to hold hands while he gave the blessing.
At its closing, he said, “Guide each of us, Dear Lord, on our journey to fulfill your mission. Help us, one and all, in our quest to know your Grace. Amen.”
Everyone except Marin followed with, “amen”.
Phoebe asked Phillipe, “Why do we always say, amen?”
“It means, ‘let it be so’,” Phillipe replied.
Phoebe reached out for everyone to hold hands again. Hands joined, she said, “Let it be so.”
Everyone, including Marin, followed with, “Let it be so.”