Page 6 of The Salamander

Some minutes later, Jon bid Fisk a good day and descended the gangway to return home, Fisk shouted after him from the rail, “If you’ve a dark green wool coat, plan to wear it. Green and white are the new colors for naval officers in the Massachusetts Navy, as prescribed by the Council. Let them see our colors before they feel our guns.”

Haraden house, Salem, late June 1776

EUNICE KNELT BEFORE her trunk, lifting out clothes and books as the late afternoon sun made the sprig wallpaper glow. From the sideboard came the faint scent of lavender, drifting from stalks in a pewter pitcher. A welcome kindness from Martha she hadn’t expected.

Next to the lamp on the chest of drawers lay her mother’s Kashmir shawl, neatly folded, a gift that tethered her to home. The spiraling red and orange patterns seemed to hold warmth in their threads, enough to brighten the drabbest gown and chase away a lonely night.

The door to the girls’ sleeping room stood open so that Eunice could hear Polly’s cry should she wake. The wet nurse had left a short time ago and the child slept. Eunice hummed a hymn, as she lifted her Bible from the trunk, worn from years of use. When Thomas had died, the hymns helped to remind her God had not forsaken her.

Jonathan Haraden gazed from the silver-framed portrait on the shelf, his eyes somehow more alive in the portrait than when she’d last seen them shadowed by loss. Perhaps she would offer to put the portrait in the girls’ sleeping room. Meantime, she would pray his new position as an officer on the Tyrannicide helped him recover. Surely a position of such great importance would distract him from his grief.

She was just finishing emptying her trunk when a creak announced Hannah in the doorway, her golden hair catching the candlelight, her pretty face drawn into a wary frown. “Mama sang better,” she said after a moment. “Her songs kept Polly content.”

Eunice paused, setting down a folded gown. “I’d love to hear your mama’s songs, Hannah. Maybe you’ll teach me one?” Her voice carried hope for friendship.

Hannah’s frown deepened, but she stepped closer. “She liked lavender,” she murmured, glancing at the flowers. “She said it smelled like summer.” Her voice wavered, a crack in her guard.

“I think so, too.” Then remembering the small portrait, she said, “Hannah, would you like your papa’s portrait in your room? We can move it there if you like.”

She nodded, her gaze darting to the small painting of her father.

“Then we shall do it,” said Eunice, smiling at Hannah.

Polly began to stir, emitting a grunt. Eunice rose and reached for the small portrait. “Let’s check on your sister.” She offered her hand. Hannah didn’t take it but followed with light footsteps.

In the girls’ sleeping room, Eunice set the small silver frame with its portrait on the chest under the window and then went to the cradle. Polly smiled up at her reaching with her small arms. Martha bustled past the doorway carrying a stack of linens and stopped, her mob cap askew. “You’ve a knack for calmin’ that one.”

Eunice’s cheeks heated. “Thank you, Martha.” She lifted Polly out of the cradle and checked her cotton clout. “She needs changing.”

“Here,” said Martha, handing her a cotton square from the stack she carried, “a fresh one. Do you know how to change it?”

“As it happens,” said Eunice, “I do. From changing my older sister’s babies.”

Martha put the linens in a hall cupboard, then joined Eunice to watch her place Polly on the bed and change her. “You’re fittin’ in well, Mrs. Mason. Keep it up and you just might keep this house from fallin’ apart.” Her crinkled smile showed trust, a bond forming over shared care for the girls. “Here, give me the soiled one and I’ll put it with the others to be rinsed and washed.”

Eunice handed the clout to Martha and carried Polly downstairs. Hannah trailed behind her. “Shall we read a story to Polly while Martha prepares supper?”

“Mama told me a story about a man named Jonah who was swallowed by a giant fish.”

Eunice smiled, imagining the scene. “That’s a good story. There are many good stories in the Bible. Would you like me to tell you another?”

For the next hour, Eunice told Hannah the story of the shepherd boy, David, how he killed a lion and a bear that threatened his sheep and how he honored God in slaying a giant. She had many questions and Eunice took care to answer every one.

“How old was David when he killed Goliath?” Hannah asked, leaning forward.

“A good question, Hannah. The Bible doesn’t tell us exactly. Both King Saul and David’s older brothers called him a ‘boy’. He was the youngest of eight brothers. He might have been only twelve or in his early teens.”

After puzzling over that for a moment, she asked, “Why did he take up five stones when he only needed one to kill Goliath?”

“Ah,” Eunice said with a smile, “that’s something my father told me when I was your age. Goliath had four brothers, all giants like him.”

As the smells of supper filled the parlor, the front door opened, and Mr. Haraden stepped inside. He appeared a different man than when he had left, the shadows in his eyes eased, the set of his shoulders lighter than when she’d first met him.

Hannah ran to him and he lifted her into his arms. “How’s my girl?”

“I am good, Papa. Polly, too.” He kissed Hannah on the cheek and set her down.

“Evening, Mrs. Mason. I see you have Polly well content. Have you settled in?”