18
Wreckers’ Cay
1840
For the next few months, as the year headed into spring, I tried to comport myself with dignity around Andrew.
Meanwhile, my children were recovering some of the joys of being children again. Martha had been charmed by the painting Mary Beth Peartree had brought us, and she tried to copy it with the set of watercolors Gran had given her for Christmas. She did a creditable job and she began to try her hand at subjects around her. Mostly, they were birds, but she also painted tree frogs, butter?ies, and tropical plants, like the exotic wild orchids that clung tenaciously to our trees. Timothy was practicing his violin of his own accord—unlike Martha, for whom piano practice was often a chore—and in his free time had begun carving more duck decoys and decorating them.
The Westons had left me with old reading material. Along with books and magazines, there were some back copies of the Key West Enquirer that I hadn’t read. In one issue there was an article about some Key West ?shermen who’d gone missing beyond the reef and were presumed drowned. Like Martin, they were young men who sometimes worked on salvage boats.
I searched the article for names, but none was familiar to me. A couple of them were Bahamian, two were from New England, and there were Spanish names that I guessed were Cuban. I knew only too well the heartache that such an unexplained disappearance could bring to a family, and I felt for their wives and sweethearts.
I had pretty well given up hope that Martin was alive, and though I still wondered if his body might wash up on our shore, it seemed he had simply vanished, like these poor men from Key West.
Because of Martha’s newfound love of painting, she often said she would like to meet the French artist James Audubon, who had been living in Captain John Geiger’s house in Key West. Fearing impending strife in the settlement, he had since left, planning to return once the Seminole Wars were over.
Martha asked if she could meet with Mary Beth Peartree to discuss techniques and learn more about painting, but I felt that was out of the question. However, Peartree began to make frequent visits to Wreckers’ Cay. Little Bourbon, an excellent watchdog, would spot his boat and sound the alarm with her barking. Then we’d all scramble to adjust our situation accordingly.
I did not encourage these visits, but offering hospitality to strangers and wickies from other lighthouses was an established tradition. The problem was that it soon became apparent Captain Peartree was courting me. His eyes freely took in my ?gure as he’d arrive at our dock, and his unmasked appraisal was quite disconcerting. While I found it ?attering, I did not know how to put a stop to it.
Peartree was an interesting man, very intelligent, and well educated. But he reminded me a lot of Grandpère: I suspected his charisma and genteel manners masked a tough, controlling personality.
Unlike George Lee’s supply boat, which had a schedule, Peartree arrived at unexpected and inopportune times. And with Mary Beth to light the Sand Key beacon in his absence, he was rarely in a hurry to get back. Understandably, Andrew was annoyed at these surprise visits.
“Perhaps it would be easier if I just told everyone my grandfather sent me a slave from Louisiana,” I grumbled one time as I joined him under his favorite tree by the lagoon.
“And how do you think that would look? You out here alone by yourself, living with a black man?”
“But if I said you were my slave?”
“Even worse. Someone could start sni?ng around my history. Lee and Dillon might not be smart enough to ?gure it out, but your Captain Peartree would.”
“My Captain Peartree?”
He laughed. “Emily, he isn’t coming here for your molasses cookies and tea. I looked at Sand Key on the map. There’s nothing there. It’s a dot in the ocean. This island is plenty bigger. He probably wants to marry you and take over the light here.”
It was a sobering thought. I’d not suspected Peartree of being attracted to me for these reasons. “Well, he’s wasting his time. I would never marry him.”
We sat in silence for a while. “Are you jealous?” I asked with a smile.
“Jealous? Of Peartree?” He thought about it for a moment. “Well … yes, I am,” he admitted.
I vowed to set things straight with Peartree, hoping that his disruptive visits might stop. The opportunity came the following week. He arrived on a day when both Andrew and I had managed to ?nish most of our chores. We’d planned a leisurely afternoon by the water with the children—we so rarely had a day to just eat outdoors, relax, swim, and ?sh.
Andrew and Timothy had been hard at work crafting a picnic table, which we’d not yet used. I ?nished preparing our salad and sandwiches. Martha had plans for painting after lunch; Timothy was trying to catch some mangrove snapper or hog?sh for our supper. Suddenly, Bourbon’s bark warned us of Peartree’s approach. Andrew’s eyes met mine with alarm, and my heart sank. A column of ?re ants could not have been more unwelcome.
Wearily, Andrew headed for the playhouse with a sandwich and a glass of lemonade.
With no one to greet him at the south dock, the captain tied up his vessel and made his way to the lagoon end of the property. His boldness made me feel violated—this was my family’s private space. Even Captain Lee and Al?e Dillon were never invited to take tea in this place.
“Mrs. Lowry, good afternoon,” he greeted me. “How lovely you look. And how nice to see your charming family.”
Timothy and Martha could barely contain their petulance. They sat in silence behind me, glaring. “Good afternoon, Captain,” I managed to say. “Won’t you sit down? We were just about to have lunch, if you’d care to join us.”
“Well, don’t mind if I do,” he said easily. Sitting in Andrew’s place, he tucked in his napkin. “This is indeed a treat. How beautiful it is down here by the lagoon. I had no idea the property extended so far back behind the house. Believe me, we have nothing this elaborate at Sand Key!”
The children managed to eat their food quickly and excused themselves, leaving me alone with Peartree at the table. As they left, he moved to sit next to me. I could not fault his gentility, as every motion he made was graceful and ?uid. “This is an excellent salad,” he said. “You are indeed a woman of many talents. I understand you keep your own garden here?”
“Yes.”
He marveled at this. “The tomatoes are excellent. Very fresh. They’re almost sweet.” He looked around. “So much property you have here … Do you know how large it is?”
“I believe we have twenty acres,” I replied. “My husband planted the garden and many of the fruit trees you see.”
Afterward, he sat back in his chair with a Havana cigar and made a production of licking it, tamping it together, snipping it with tiny silver cigar scissors, and pu?ng it into ignition.
“Mrs. Lowry,” he began quietly, “may I call you Emily?” I nodded curtly.
“Emily, you’ve been much in my thoughts.”
I suppressed a sigh. Andrew was hiding close by in the playhouse; he could probably hear every word through the window.
Peartree moved his hand over to mine, but I moved it away in time. Nonplussed, he continued: “I know you may ?nd this most audacious of me, Emily—considering your husband has not been gone even a year—but I am very attracted to you. You’re a beautiful young woman. I’m sure you consider me quite an old man. But I am still a very vital man, and what’s more, I have resources of my own, and experience that would complement yours.”
He paused. I kept my face impassive, staring down at the table through most of his monologue.
“I’m asking you to marry me, Emily.”
I took a minute before answering. “This is … very sudden, Captain. We’ve met but a few times.”
He smiled broadly. “Please, call me Josiah,” he urged. “Emily, I feel at my age there is no reason to hold back. I was completely enchanted by you the moment we met. And I’m sure your feelings for me will grow once we’re married. We would, of course, live here at Wreckers’. I would give up the Sand Key light, and my daughter would return to Key West, where she would prefer to be in any case.”
“I see,” I said.
“Yes,” he continued eagerly. “This is a lovely island. A veritable paradise. You don’t even seem to have mosquitoes or gnats.”
“There is … the matter of your reputation, Captain,” I ventured primly.
A shadow crossed his face and he shook his head sadly. “Ah, I see the gossips have gotten to you, Emily. That wretched Rebecca Flaherty, I should sue her.”
“You’re not a pirate, of course,” I said with a smile.
He sat back in his chair, gathering his thoughts. When I realized a long explanation was coming, I waved my hand. “It’s of no matter to me, in any event. I am, of course, honored and ?attered that you should have asked me to be your wife.” I was prattling now in my most re?ned southern way, trying to emulate Dorothy’s effortless charm. “I’m sure a man such as yourself, with so much experience and so full a social life as you’ve had in Key West and cities in the North, would know many beautiful women.”
I began to clear the dishes as though the matter was settled, and he looked at me in shock. “You’re saying no?”
“I will need some time to think about it, Captain Peartree. Perhaps it would be better if we didn’t see each other for a while. You mustn’t forget that I’m still mourning my husband. I’m really not legally free to marry yet.”
After I’d seen a disappointed Peartree off on his boat, Andrew emerged from the playhouse. He struck a feminine pose, using a folded piece of paper as a fan. “You mustn’t forget that ah’m still mourning mah husband, Captain Peartree,” he said, mimicking my Louisiana accent.
“Stop it!” I said, and we collapsed with laughter. With luck, I thought, Peartree would consider the matter a closed issue and not return.