Sailing home, p.28
Sailing Home, page 28
“It is just as well, Jonathan,” Opaline said, “I should be getting back soon.”
Jonathan pulled a quilt from a chest and offered it to her. She wrapped it around her shoulders as he sat down beside her.
“Have you and the Captain set a date?” he asked.
“No.” she replied.
“I am curious as to why not.”
“Are you now?” Opaline said with a wry smile.
“Yes, I am. I am curious about so many things.”
“Such as?” she quizzed him, picking up a Chinese Trick Box from the table in front of her.
“Why we never made love,” he boldly advanced.
“I was saving myself for marriage,” she answered, smiling at the familiar little wooden puzzle she had solved many times when she was younger.
“Were you?” he said, the smirk on his face evident in the sound of his voice.
“For all you know,” she answered; giving the box a combination of twists and turns.
“For all I knew ...at the time ...perhaps.”
“For all you know now,” Opaline stated, placing the solved puzzle back upon the table, but still refusing to give Jonathan her full attention. “Or is it that you believe the slurs of your father’s counterfeit investigation?”
Jonathan’s eyes left her long enough to give the puzzle box a quick glance before asking, “Was it not I that spoke out against it in the court room, saying, ‘enough’?’ Having captured her attention, he added, “When my brother accused Doctor Graham of lewd and lascivious intentions—”
“Doctor Graham?” Opaline interrupted, “That was the extent of your objection?”
“Well ...no...”
“Let me set you set straight as concerns my past, Jonathan, not that it is any of your business, but it may prove instructive in helping you to understand what a judgmental and sanctimonious ass you are.
Opaline confirmed to Jonathan the details of her birth and adoption by the Downings. She elaborated about the events of her having run away.
“I was thirteen years of age before I discovered the truth about my mother. Confused, angry and resentful, I ran away. I survived on the streets by begging and tricking drunks into thinking I was a trollop. I would take their money and lead them to a back alley shed, whereupon my accomplice, a man I knew only as, ‘Gypsy’, would show up pretending to be my father and scare them away.
“One day, Gypsy did not show up, and I narrowly escaped, ...with my virginity intact, I might add. The episode terrified me such that I never again tried that deceit, although admittedly, I had developed a dangerous obsession for the teasing of men.
“My maidenhood was stolen from me on my fifteenth birthday, when a well-to-do Mister Jacob Ross Osborne, under the pretense of Christmas charity, plucked me from the frigid streets of Philadelphia, took me to his home, warmed me, fed me, bathed me, and then he, and his wife, summarily raped me. Fearing I might expose them, as well as hoping I would continue the arrangement, they put me up in an apartment and paid all my expenses; there was no further quid pro quo.
“They soon moved to Boston, and I was once again out on the street. Exposed to the elements, I became very ill, and, being in an especially vulnerable state, I was once again raped, this time beaten and left for dead. Our mutual friend, Doctor Eli Graham, happened by, heard my cries for help, and took me to his home where he nursed me back to health.
“He convinced me to return home to my foster parents, whereupon Missus Downing schooled me in the art of midwifery. I worked alongside her and her understudy until I was twenty-five. There developed a troublesome situation, the details of which would force me to betray confidences. The long and short of it is, I went again to stay with Doctor Graham, who took me under his wing and schooled me in the Science of Medicine as best he could. Nothing beyond a friendly kiss ever left the lips of Doctor Graham ...and yet I must confess, there were times I wished for more ...so much more.” She breathed in a breath of regret, and then summarily added, “I met you one year later.”
“Why is it you never informed me of these details concerning your past?” he asked.
“Because it was my past, and I chose to leave it there.”
“Even after my father’s accusations against you?”
“Especially after your father’s accusations.”
Opaline pulled away from Jonathan as if to gain a wider view, studying his eyes all the while. Her tone turned melancholy. “Jonathan, I have always believed that you returned to Philadelphia because your father threatened to pull you out of medical school and deny you your dream of becoming a doctor. It is only now that I discover, you have believed the worst insinuations of his accusations, all along.”
If Jonathan had a rebuttal, it was not forthcoming.
After Marin and Jude had returned topside and schooled what was left of their crew, they adjourned to The Red Boar for dinner and drinks. Upon arriving, they noticed Captain Fairchild off in a corner to himself, slouched over, chin in his chest. The two approached on soft shoes. Jude gave Fairchild a closer look.
“Is he asleep?” Marin asked.
“Yer too kind, Captain,” Jude replied.
“Come, let us leave him to it.” Marin said.
As Marin began to walk away, Jude grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket and exclaimed, “There’s half a bot’l o’ rum on the table.”
“Are you suggesting we sit down and drink his rum?”
“I am suggesting, Captain, that we be sociable.”
Marin smiled wide, as Jude sat down at the table. Marin fetched a couple of glasses, and as they drank Mister Fairchild’s rum, Jude talked about the more comedic episodes he witnessed trying to teach the ‘crew’ the ropes.
“It’s almost impossible to imagine such a bunch o’ clumsy monkey’s. Half of ‘em don’t know their left from their right, forget port from starboard. Two have fallen off the gangway into harbor, and another one was lifted five feet upside down off the deck, when he stepped in a coiled line letting go. Not one has climbed to the crow’s nest, and more than a few have gotten seasick ...and in the harbor, yet. Still, if we can keep ‘em sober, we might make it to Nantucket,” Jude said, and he laughed so loud that he stirred Captain Fairchild. “Ain’t that right, Captain?” Jude howled at Fairchild.
Captain Fairchild sat upright, doing his naval best to appear steady and sober.
“Right you are,” he blurted out. Then turning solemn, he spoke with thick tongue to Marin, saying, “Captain, it is my dreadful lot to inform you that this mission...” and he paused to swirl his head around a few times.
“Yes, Sir, you were saying?” Marin urged.
“This mission...” and he trailed off into incoherent babble.
“What about this mission, Mister Fairchild?” Marin asked, leaning in.
Fairchild shook his head violently before losing all control and plunging face down upon the table with such force that it knocked the bottle of rum over. Before Jude could grab it, it went rolling off the table and across the floor.
“He’s in the soup, Captain,” Jude said.
Marin scrubbed his own face with his hands. “My stake in this venture is obvious,” Marin said, “but why in blue hell are you undertaking this voyage, Mister Prince?”
“`Cause I’m the only monkey wrangler ya got, Captain.”
Marin gave an appreciative chortle. “You are good man, Jude Prince; a bit daft, but a decent man. And speaking of decent, a certain Miss Phoebe wonders where it is such a decent man has wandered off to.”
Jude stared down at the table.
“Never mind, then,” Marin put aside.
Still staring at the table, Jude confessed, “Broke my heart when she lost the child.”
“She feels as if she has lost you as well,” Marin laid softly before his friend.
Jude left his seat to retrieve the rum bottle. Bringing it back to the table, he tipped it to his lips, draining the last dram into his mouth. He stood before Marin, and pronounced, “I’m all drained dry, Captain.”
Marin stood up to face him.
“I am going home Jude. You are welcome to come along.”
He waited a moment. Jude left his side and went to the bar. Marin walked out into the cold dark evening, buttoned his coat against the wind, and walked home.
The house was dark when Marin arrived home. He lit a candle, and with apprehensive step, crept up the stairs to see if Opaline had returned home. Opening the door to her room, the flickering light from the candle revealed only Phoebe curled up in the bed. She stirred, and Marin blew out the candle and blindly returned back down the stairs, finding his way into the library where he built a fire to ward off the frigid air. He withdrew to the rear of the room to take comfort in his favorite chair, wrapping himself against the world in the cocoon of a soft quilt. Whatever thoughts may have crossed his mind soon gave way to a surging feeling so foreign that it frightened him ...he suddenly felt so terribly forsaken...
A stirring in the foyer brought him around to the realization that he had dozed off, and hoping it was Opaline, he called out, “Opaline?”
“Hardly,” came Jude’s voice.
“What time is it?” Marin asked.
“Closin’ time,” Jude said, looking in on his friend. “After ya left, Mister Fairchild came to. You should have been there.” Marin sat silent ...waiting. Jude pulled a chair up in front of him. “Navy people are a funny lot,” Jude began, in a drawn-out breath. “They rarely spit out the truth as such. They’d rather wallow it around in their own drool until they like the taste of it, and then say things like, ‘It is my considered opinion that this mission upon which you are about to embark is ill-advised.’ A real sailor would simply say, ‘You lads are doomed’.”
“And...?”
“And ...we set sail the day after tomorrow.”
“W-h-a-t?”
“On Christmas, sir.”
“Opaline’s birthday,” Marin uttered. “Why does he believe the journey, ‘ill advised’?”
“Oh, come alongside, Captain. How many times do we have to go over this? Stop pretending this is a mystery. Madison and Jefferson want to invade Canada. Rhode Island stands opposed. Sink a Rhode Island merchant ship called The Magister Maris, blame it on the British, and Rhode Island falls in line.”
“You firmly believe they intend to sink us?”
“I believe that’s their plan, yes sir.” Jude declared.
“Then you must think me a fool to carry through.”
“No sir. I believe your dedication to the Magister Maris is that of a husband to his wife ...’til death do ye part.”
“And you, Mister Prince?”
“I am your First Mate, sir. I am a sailor. I was born a sailor. I will die a sailor. I will not betray a sailor’s duties fearing they may end my sailing days. Only the Captain can decide whether or not we sail.” He intentionally paused a moment before adding, “I’ll leave ya to yer thoughts ...Captain.”
Jude’s words fell heavy upon Marin. As Jude turned to leave, Marin called out to him.
“Jude.”
“Yes sir?”
“Phoebe sleeps solo in Opaline’s bed. You’re welcome to spend the night.”
Jude removed his coat and hat, placed them on the coat tree in the foyer, and with heavy step, climbed the stairs.
Marin placed a fair-sized log of white oak amid the still hot embers, and nested back into his chair. He fell into a light sleep, waiting for the faintest sound that might be Opaline...
When the white oak had turned to a glowing brand, offering just enough amber light to make its presence known, Marin heard the sound of the front door. He listened intently as the light sound of footsteps faded up the stairs. He heard a door open, followed by a sustained silence. The door closed again, and he followed the creaking sound of the floorboards that told him someone was walking down the hallway toward his father’s study, and then, a pause ...and steps retreated back down the hallway and descended the stairs.
The fireplace lent so little light to the library that Marin could see only a vague form move through the doorway, but her scent gave her away.
Her silhouette appeared before the fireplace as she kneeled down and wrapped her coat snugly around her shoulder.
Marin breathed as quietly as he could, wishing to remain invisible.
As she reclined before the fireplace, wrapped in the orange chimera of the diminishing embers, Marin could feel a change in the amount of heat reaching him. As the air cooled around him, and darkness wore down the amber light, he felt as if he were drifting further and further away from anything resembling Opaline. Her silhouette began to take on the appearance of a ship adrift across the twilight of a setting sun. Puffs of white smoke from the hearth gave the illusion of sails billowing in the wind...
Marin was awakened by the softest of voices.
“Marin ...Marin.”
He opened his eyes to find Opaline kneeling before him. The early morning light cast soft shadows that lay without form alongside their dimly lit source. Opaline appeared to radiate a light of her own, shining through a cold stillness that hung in the air.
“When did you come in?” she asked, and as she placed her folded hands into his lap, he could feel the warmth of her bare skin radiate through the cloth onto his flesh.
“I have been here all along,” he said.
“You were here when I came in?”
He nodded.
She unfolded her hands, took his hands into hers, and asked, “And you chose to say nothing?”
Marin gave a delicate nod.
“But why?”
“I wanted to observe you, without me.”
She gave him a quizzical look and pulled him nearer. “Why would you wish to do that?” she asked.
Marin looked away.
“Marin, look at me. I feel I owe you an explanation,” she said.
Marin shook his head, but the gesture lacked conviction.
“Well, here it is anyway. I went with Jonathan because ...well, truth be known, I am not sure why I chose to go with him ...probably unfinished business. At any rate, I was not with him long. I had an afternoon appointment with a Missus Albert Longhorn, and while I was there she went into labor that lasted throughout the night.” Her voice lightened and she smiled. “She gave birth to a fine baby boy at about three this morning.” Her smile softened and her voice regained its gravity. “I am sorry if I caused you any distress.”
She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head into his lap. She gave a small shiver, and pulled herself even closer to him.
“Are you cold?” he asked her.
She nodded, and said, “Pity the poor horses on a cold morning such as this,” and she raised her head, inviting him into her eyes.
Marin smiled and lifted her from his lap.
They gathered the quilt for a bed, a few covers for warmth, and each a pillow for their head, and they crept out the front door, tiptoed ‘round the house through the snow, and slipped quietly into the barn. They spread out the quilt on a bed of hay, laid the covers out neatly atop one another, positioned the pillows side by side at the head of their love nest, and then, standing at the foot of their creation, smiling in nervous anticipation, they began to undress one another.
“I am no longer afraid of your warmth,” Opaline whispered with heated breath, into Marin’s cold ear.
December 24, 1811
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 cold 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 answered, nonchalant.
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 went 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?”
He remained under the covers admiring the view. Holding the lacy undergarment in his hand, he pushed it between her breast and up through the covers.
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 ducked 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 ducked back under the covers.
“Was that Jonathan?” she gasped.
“It was,” Marin answered.
“Well what...” she started to ask, but paused and concentrated her effort on the task of dressing 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 dressed himself in the cold morning air. He grabbed the bucket of water Phillipe had left, closed the barn door, and brought the water 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 pushed her bountiful shock of hair about in an attempt to wrestle it into a presentable form.
