Chapter 21
“It appears to me, the eternal Son of God is operating powerfully against the British nation.”
MORNING SUNLIGHT FILTERED pale through the frost-laced panes, glinting off pewter cups and the steam rising from the coffee. The house smelled of woodsmoke, hotcakes, and maple syrup warming by the hearth. For the first time in more than a year, the Haraden table was full again.
Eunice poured coffee into Jon’s cup, her hands steady though her heart was not. “Did you sleep well?” she asked. From his expression, she could see he had not. “It may take some time…”
“Aye.” He sat close to the fire, the light showing the gray at his temples and the new lines around his eyes.
But the handsome man she had fallen in love with was still there.
He smiled, yet she saw how his gaze moved over the room as if testing the reality of it, the girls’ laughter, the clink of plates, the sound of Martha moving around.
Martha set down a platter of fried apples. “You’ll take another plate, Captain. There’s plenty.”
Jon lifted his head, one hand wrapped around his cup. “Aye, Martha. I’ll eat what’s here and be grateful. There were months when I thought I’d never smell breakfast again, and, should you be curious, the French sailors eat worse than the Americans.”
The words drew silence. Even the children looked up. Eunice reached across the table and placed her hand on his, her voice gentle. “You needn’t speak of it, Jon. Not today.”
But he shook his head. “It’s time you knew what befell us. The story belongs to all who waited.”
His voice was low and even as he told it, how the ship had suffered damage taking prizes so the Pickering had sailed into Oranje Bay, seeking repairs under what they thought was the neutral Dutch flag; how the British guns never fired because there was no need. The island had already fallen.
He spoke of the march through the heat, the weighing house thick with hunger and despair; of the men they lost, too weak to live; of the Dutch who risked their own lives to slip them food through the bars.
Of how they planned and executed an escape just as the French fleet sailed into the bay, their tricolor hoisted above the fort with the dawn.
“They freed St. Eustatius,” he said simply. “And by God’s grace, I am here.”
“The officers?” she asked. “Lieutenant Thorndike?”
“All endured and were saved. Thorndike was particularly brave in our escape.”
“The cabin boys?” asked Hannah.
“All saved,” said Jon, his eyes tearing up.
Eunice felt her throat tighten. She didn’t doubt he, too, had been brave, leading the other men and caring for the boys. She wanted to take his hand but didn’t trust herself not to weep.
“What about your ship, Papa?” asked Hannah.
“The Pickering is lost to me, sweetheart. I cannot say what has become of her.”
“There will be another ship,” Eunice encouraged, “if you want one.”
Martha cleared her throat roughly. “You’ll forgive me, Captain, but I think what you’re made for this mornin’ is eatin’.” She set another plate before him. “Tell the rest after your second helpin’.”
Jon smiled faintly, the kind of smile that reached his eyes at last. “Eat first, yes. As for the rest…” he glanced at Eunice, and for a moment she saw excitement flicker in his eyes.
“I’ve merchants to meet with and a wedding to prepare for.
And after that…perhaps the sea again. But this morning, Martha, I’ll take your hotcakes over any prize ship afloat. ”
A ripple of laughter warmed the room, light as the crackle of the fire. Outside, sounds from the harbor drifted faintly through the still air. Eunice caught his look across the table, alive and unbroken, and felt a prayer rise unspoken in her heart: Lord, help me to help him heal.
The London Coffeehouse, Salem, late January 1782
THE SMELL OF roasted beans and tobacco hung thick beneath the beams of the coffeehouse.
Candles guttered in their sconces, their light falling across the cups and the wet shine of greatcoats hung to dry.
Outside in the harbor, masts rose like gray spears against the snow.
Inside, talk of the sea filled every corner.
Jon had been home scarcely a fortnight, yet word of his return had spread along Essex Street finding its way to the coffeehouse on Central Street. Merchants, sailors and shipwrights greeted him with handshakes and claps to the shoulder.
“Thought the British had you locked in irons, Captain!” one man laughed.
“They did for a time,” Jon replied evenly, “but Providence proved the stronger.”
At the back of the room, Elias Derby, the merchant prince of Salem, sat by the fire with a folded gazette on his knee. “Captain Haraden,” he called, motioning him over. “You’ve the look of a man who’s cheated Neptune himself. Come sit. Tell me the truth of St. Eustatius.”
Jon joined him, drawing the attention of half the room.
He spoke briefly, without embellishment, telling Derby how the British flew the Dutch flag to lure in ships unaware they had taken the island.
He told how the Pickering had been taken along with her prizes, how the prisoners endured and escaped, and how the French freed the island.
The men around him listened in taut silence, their cups forgotten.
Derby exhaled. “A hard tale, one the town will remember. You’ve done Salem credit once more.
Though the British captured the Pickering and your prizes, you brought the men back and every family is singing your praise.
” He paused to take a drink of his coffee.
“Now that you’re home, I’ll not let you rest too long.
There’s a new vessel being fitted out at Briggs’ shipyard on the South River, a fine ship, two hundred tons, fourteen guns, forty men.
She’s the Julius Caesar. She’ll carry a letter of marque in the next few months, and I’d have none but you command her. ”
Jon gazed into the fire for a long moment.
Its light showed the faint scars on his wrists, the hollows in his cheeks, and the clear, unwavering steadiness in his eyes.
“I am humbled by your confidence in me. She sounds like a proud ship,” he said quietly, “and I thank you more than words can say. I am pleased to accept, but first—” he smiled faintly “—I have a wedding to attend. Mine.”
Derby’s grin spread beneath his dark eyes. “Then we’ll drink to both, the bride and the sea. May neither be too rough on you.”
Laughter rippled through the room, easing the weight of solemn talk. Someone called for a toast, and cups were raised in a ring of candlelight.
“To Captain Haraden, home again, and to the Julius Caesar when she’s ready!”
Jon stood, acknowledging the cheer with a small nod, as he raised his cup. “To Salem,” he said, his voice carrying. “To her ships, her sailors, and her faith in liberty. May we be worthy of them all.”
Derby leaned toward Jon as the voices subsided. “Tell me, Captain, who might this fortunate woman be?”
“I am the fortunate one,” said Jon. “She’s Eunice Mason, daughter of Reverend James Diman, and coincidentally, governess to my daughters.”
Another smile crossed Derby’s face. “Well then, you are rescued only to be blessed.”
“How goes the war?” Jon asked, knowing Derby would have his ear to the latest news.
A murmur ran through the men near the fire as another merchant, Benjamin Goodhue, folded his paper. “Despite Cornwallis’ surrender at Yorktown, the war drags on.”
“It’s true,” said Derby. “The British still hold New York, and the fighting in the Carolinas grows more brutal by the month. But St. Eustatius is not the only island in the Indies the French are taking back.”
Jon set down his cup. “Then we must hold fast,” he said. “Victory means little if we grow weary before the cause is secured. There are still ships to defend what we’ve won.”
Derby regarded him a moment, then nodded. “You’ll have your chance, Captain. The Julius Caesar will sail when the ice breaks, and with men enough who still believe in the fight.”
Outside, the wind rattled the panes and the harbor bells struck the hour. As Jon left the coffeehouse, he drew his coat close, feeling the salt chill in the air. The sea would always call him, but for now, there was warmth waiting at home, and a promise made before God he meant to keep.
Haraden house, end of February 1782
SNOW LINGERED IN the ruts along Essex Street, but spring’s breath was already in the air, the faint drip of melting ice and the cry of gulls farther inland than usual bearing witness. In the Haraden house, Eunice’s plans were quietly underway.
She sat by the window with her mother, a Bible open on the table beside the sewing basket. A length of blue woolen fabric, the color of a clear morning sky, lay across her lap, the fabric simple but fine. “It needn’t be grand,” Eunice said softly. “He’s had enough of ceremony for a lifetime.”
Her mother smiled. “Then plain it shall be, plain, but lovely. A captain’s wife’s gown, meant for loving her man, for prayer and for waiting. You should know your father and I are very happy for you.”
A smile she could not stop spread across Eunice’s face. “None so happy as I.”
They chose a ribbon for Eunice’s hair the color of the dawn and talked of flowers that might bloom for the wedding in March. “Bluebells will be in the fields,” her mother said. “Though for the church, it might not be warm enough for much beyond evergreens and laurel.”
Eunice’s longing rose for the day she would at last be Jon’s wife. “A small gathering at East Church and a supper after, simple and close, would please us both.”
Later that week, Eunice visited the cooper’s yard near the harbor.
Silas went with her. Along with Martha, they had saved money to buy Jon a new sea chest. Together, they chose one that was oak-banded and brass-hinged, its lid carved with the faint design of an anchor.
“We’ll line it with sailcloth,” Silas said.
“Your knittin’ and Martha’s will go inside along with other gifts. ”