Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Christmas on Sable Island required much planning. Preparations began in the fall with the arrival of the Eaton’s catalog, and Santa’s much anticipated arrival depended entirely on the Christmas boat, which laid anchor mid-December. Spruce trees were shipped from Nova Scotia, and each family enjoyed their own traditions. Some waited until Christmas Eve to decorate their trees, while Emma had grown up with an early celebration of stringing lights and hanging tinsel the same day the tree came ashore.
The Christmas following “the Great Seal Attack” (as that horrendous event came to be known), Emma took charge of dragging the spruce tree into the great room and setting it up vertically in the stand, which she had, that morning, pilfered out of deep storage. Luckily for her, Frank knocked on the door just as she was wrestling with the tree in an epic battle to stand it upright.
Frank helped string the lights while her father sat in his leather chair, supervising the placement of the ornaments and sipping sherry in an exquisite crystal glass that was reserved specially for the holiday season. It had been a gift from him to Emma’s mother the first year of their marriage.
Frank and Emma took some sherry as well, and it was a lovely day. Snow began to fall shortly after sunset, and Emma felt blessed to see her father in a state of good physical health and cheerful optimism—a rare thing since the accident. She looked forward to ringing in the new year and hoped that 1947 would be better than ’46.
“What’s this?” Emma asked on Christmas morning as she reached for a large but unfamiliar package under the tree. It was wrapped in plain brown paper and tucked against the back wall.
“You’ll have to take that up with Santa Claus,” her father replied as he sipped his hot chocolate.
Emma raised a curious eyebrow and carried the box, which was quite heavy, to the sofa. “There’s no tag.” She sat down and held it on her lap. “Who’s it from?”
“Open it and find out.”
Emma tore at the paper and unearthed a decorative box with brass fittings and images of peacocks. When she raised the lid, she found an antique sextant and three books inside. She withdrew each one and read the titles aloud to her father.
“ A General Introduction to Psychoanalysis , by Sigmund Freud. How wonderful.” She examined the second one and opened to the first page. “ Black Beauty . Oh, my goodness, this is a first edition.” She moved on to the third. “ Modern Man in Search of a Soul , by Carl Jung, also a first edition. Good heavens.”
Her heart fluttered with cautious hope as she began to suspect who had sent the gift. She dug into the box, hoping to find a tag or a card, and there, beneath the white tissue paper at the bottom, was a sealed letter with her name written upon it.
“It’s from Captain Harris,” she said, feeling breathless and slightly dazed. “The sextant must be for you. How nice of him to remember that you collected them.”
“The package arrived on the Christmas boat,” her father explained, “with a return address from England, so I hid it away until this morning. I thought you’d enjoy the surprise.”
She smiled across at him. “Thank you, Papa. And thank you for being so cheerful this morning.”
He sipped his hot chocolate. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be cheerful tomorrow, but it’s Christmas Day, so I’ll do my best not to be an old grouch.” He set his cup on the side table and rubbed his hands together. “Well then? Don’t keep me in suspense. What does the letter say?”
She reached into the box and discovered a second sealed envelope beneath the first. “There appears to be two of them—one for each of us.”
Emma stood and delivered her father’s letter to him, then returned to the sofa and ran the pad of her finger across her name, written elegantly in black ink. She turned the envelope over, and with great care not to rip the paper, she broke the seal.
November 12, 1946
Dear Emma,
Thank you for sending news about your father’s accident and—thankfully and mercifully—his recovery, though I am very sorry to hear about the loss of his leg. How difficult that must have been for you both to manage the shock of that diagnosis. Allow me to convey my deepest sympathies.
I must have read your letter at least five times until I finally decided I must reply and send gifts for Christmas. I have no idea if the package will arrive in time, but if not, please consider it a gift for the new year instead.
In your letter, you asked about the situation regarding my employer following the wreck of the Belvedere . An investigation is still ongoing, but each member of the crew has provided information about the storm and the events that led to our misfortune on the sandbar. My solicitor made good use of the letter your father sent (I am greatly indebted to him), and a respected weather expert from London has insisted that no ship could have remained on course under the force of such high winds and the enormity of the swells.
So, as it stands today, I am still gainfully employed, and the shipping company is rather pleased to be collecting funds from an insurance policy. I set sail for another transatlantic crossing in the new year, on a recently refurbished steamer, this time heading to North Virginia. Wish me luck and no monster storms like the last one.
But enough about the weather. I am disappointed to hear that your studies had to be postponed, but I hope you can take that leap again next fall when your father has had a chance, God willing, to become accustomed to his new circumstances. I’m sure that, over the coming year, he will have no shortage of help and support from the community at Sable, which I will remember forever with great fondness and affection. Such a generous and charitable group of individuals you all were. Especially you, Emma.
I’m not sure if you realize it, but you helped me through a difficult time. Your father is a lucky man to have you at his side during these enormous physical and emotional trials. One of the things I admired most about you was your ability to see a glass as half full, not half empty. It is clear to me that you are displaying that quality yet again in the way you’ve accepted the postponement of your studies. Your positive outlook will take you far in life, and I have no doubt that you will be a tremendous success, whatever path you choose.
So that is that. I hope you and your father enjoy the gifts, and more importantly, I hope you know how deeply I will always treasure the memory of our conversations, not to mention the appearance of the wild horses.
Sincerely,
Oliver Harris
Emma lowered the letter to her lap and realized there were tears streaming down her face. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by the overflowing of her emotions. Since the captain left her on the beach that terrible final day, she’d been burying her feelings in an attempt to mend her broken heart. But suddenly, those feelings of loss and longing were exploding out of her soul with a vengeance, and she felt crushed all over again.
Emma sucked in a breath and fought to compose herself. She wiped the tears away and glanced across at her father.
“Bad news?” he asked with a frown.
“Not at all.” She laughed ridiculously through her tears. “Goodness. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I think I know,” her father said with a note of concern.
Emma shook her head. “No, Papa, you can’t possibly know. And please don’t try to guess. I’m fine.”
“I may have lost a leg,” he said, “but I’m not blind. I saw how you looked at the captain when he was here, especially that last night when he ignored you, which I’m glad he did because it was obvious that you were infatuated. At least to me. And ever since he left the island, you’ve been broken down and miserable. You’ve tried to maintain a stiff upper lip for my benefit—which I appreciate—but I know you too well, and I can’t bear to see you broken.”
“I’m not broken,” Emma argued, clinging to her dignity and wishing she could convince herself of her recovery as much as her father. “I’m fine.”
He sat back and relented, to some extent. “I’ll trust that you’re telling me the truth. As long as you can promise me ...”
She waited impatiently for him to finish the thought. “Promise what?”
“That you’ve accepted there’s no future in that dream,” he said. “Captain Harris isn’t the one for you. I hope you know that.”
The words struck her like a door slamming shut in her face. “Of course I know it.” Her voice trembled as she wiped another tear from under her eye. She wanted to catch it before it reached her cheek. “Why do you think I’m crying?”
At the sight of her tears, he lowered his gaze and softened his tone. “We’ve all been through hard times lately, but we’re looking at a new year. Let’s try to move forward and put the past, and futile dreams, behind us. Can we both do that?”
Emma understood that he was referring to the loss of his leg and his own impossible wish that he could be the man he once was, physically. But what happened in the hospital could never be reversed, and time would march on. His only choice was to accept his disability and learn how to live with it. Emma understood this.
“Yes,” she said. “I want to move on.” She wanted to be happy and satisfied, free of her painful yearnings.
“You’ll go to university next fall,” he declared, having come to accept that choice as well. “Focus on that goal, and my advice is to not write back to the captain. Nothing good can come of it. It’ll only ignite your feelings again. I’ll send him a thank-you letter for the gifts myself, from both of us, and that will be the end of it. Agreed? It’s not likely you’ll ever see him again anyway.”
Emma nodded morosely and slid the letter back into the envelope. She placed it in the bottom of the box and covered it up with the crumpled white tissue paper.