Page 49 of The Salamander

“Our cause is noble; it is the cause of mankind!”

– George Washington 1779

CHAPTER 12

Haraden house, Salem, summer 1778

THAT EVENING JON brought Israel Thorndike home for supper and to stay as his guest until he must leave for his home in Beverly. The merchants had given Jon a new course, but ’twas here, on Charter Street, that the weight of it settled, his children, his household, and the governess who kept them steady in his absence.

Martha had set the supper table with roast fowl, root vegetables, and fresh bread, the air faintly sweet with the scent of cool cider. Hannah chattered merrily as she sat beside Thorndike, her eyes shining with admiration.

“You sailed with Papa, didn’t you?” she asked, leaning toward him. “Did you fire the great guns?”

Thorndike laughed good-naturedly. “Aye, I did, or rather, I passed your father’s orders to the gunners.”

Hannah’s sigh of delight made Jon chuckle, seeing her gaze linger on the young lieutenant with girlish awe.

Across the table, Mrs. Mason cut a slice of bread and buttered it for Polly. The governess joined the conversation lightly, offering Thorndike a dish of vegetables, answering his polite questions about Salem and the household. Her gown was a plain olive green with a gold-colored bodice. The candlelight caught in her brown hair, the strands touched with summer’s sun, and deepened the warmth of her brown eyes. She was not adorned, not dressed to dazzle, yet there was a quiet grace in her that drew a man’s gaze more surely than finery.

Thorndike glanced in her direction more than once, which Jon could not help but notice. Though the governess did nothing to encourage him, Thorndike was clearly enamored.

They talked of the new ship, the Pickering. “She’s not large,” said Thorndike, “but she’ll carry enough guns to do the job.”

“Aye,” said Jon. “And enough room in her hold for plenty of cargo both ways. Tomorrow we should go see her.”

“I would like that,” said Thorndike.

“Might Hannah and I accompany you, Captain?” asked Mrs. Mason.

“Oh, yes!” said Hannah. “I want to see your new ship, Papa.”

Jon nodded. “Very well, we shall all go together.”

When the meal was done, and the governess took the girls into the parlor, Martha bustled about clearing the platters, while Jon and Thorndike lingered at the table over a glass of claret.

Lowering his voice, the young lieutenant said, “Captain, if I may speak plain…Mrs. Mason is an extraordinary woman. Capable, gracious and beautiful, besides. You are fortunate to have her as governess for your daughters.”

Jon’s brow lifted slightly. His eyes followed Thorndike’s glance in the direction of the parlor and, for the first time, he saw the governess through Thorndike’s eyes, an attractive young woman in her prime, nearer Thorndike’s age than his own, pretty in her simplicity and entirely at ease in his household. He had never considered other men of marriageable age might look upon her in such a way.

“Why, yes,” said Jon. “I have always thought her so. A preacher’s daughter, a young widow, both steady and wise, she does very well with my girls.” A curious pang stirred in him. Pride, yes, for she added much to his home and the children were safe in her hands. But something else stirred besides, something he could not yet name.

Salem Waterfront, the next day, summer 1778

THE HARBOR LAY bright beneath a clear summer sky, the air salted with tar and tide. Ships rocked gently at their moorings, their rigging etched against the blue waters. Reaching the Derby Wharf the General Pickering stood out at once, a trim brig of 180 tons, two masts square-rigged, her timbers fresh, her rigging taut, her gunports promising.

Jon walked ahead with Thorndike, pointing out the line of her hull, the cut of her sails, while behind them Mrs. Mason and Hannah followed. Looking back, Jon saw Hannah skipping to keep pace, craning her neck at the maze of rigging.

“She looks fierce,” Hannah said in wonder as she gazed at the gunports. “Does she bite like a sea monster?”

Thorndike laughed, turning toward her. “Only when your father says the word. Otherwise she swims as gentle as a dolphin in calm seas.”

Mrs. Mason’s laugh followed, warm, unguarded, carried on the sea breeze. Jon turned at the sound. She stood a pace behind, strands of her hair lifted by the wind, her eyes alight as she smiled at Thorndike’s jest. Something in Thorndike’s ready charm pricked him. He was too quick, too attentive for Jon’s liking.

Jon’s gaze lingered a moment longer. She had asked to come, after all. Perhaps it was right she should be here, to see the ship that would carry so much of their fortunes. Certainly Hannah should see the vessel that would carry her father across the sea. And yet, the ease with which the governess laughed at another man’s words unsettled him.

“Come along,” Jon called more sharply than intended. “Let us go aboard.”

Thorndike offered his hand to Mrs. Mason as she stepped onto the gangplank. Jon noted it, his jaw tightening, though she accepted with perfect composure, neither flustered nor coy. Still, when she stood beside him on the deck, her eyes went wide at the sweep of the quarterdeck, the dark mouths of the guns, the scent of powder and tar, the creak of timbers beneath their feet.