Page 76 of The Salamander

THE FIRE ON the parlor hearth burned low, its glow soft upon the walls. Outside, the wind rattled the bare branches against the windows, but within, all was still. Eunice sat with a glass of claret in her hand, the warmth of it spreading through her even as her heart beat with a different heat.

It had been weeks since Captain Haraden’s return, weeks of dinners and laughter, of Sundays spent walking home from church with Hannah and Polly skipping between them. Yet tonight, seated alone with him, she felt the weight of every moment they had shared pressing toward some unspoken end.

Jon leaned forward in his chair, his face lit by the shifting glow. His dark blue eyes held hers, unflinching. “Mrs. Mason,” he began, his voice quiet but firm, “these weeks at home have been more precious to me than I knew could be granted a man who lives by the sea. You have cared for my daughters with a tenderness and patience that humbles me.” For a moment, he seemed to weigh words too dear to spend lightly. Then his gaze lifted to hers, steady and intent. “They have made me see clearly what it has taken me too long to speak. I have admired you since first I saw how my girls looked to you,” he went on, his voice thickening. “But admiration is not the word any longer. ’Tis love that fills my heart when I gaze into your lovely face. Too long have I left it unspoken.”

Her breath caught. Tears welled and slipped unchecked down her cheeks. She had hoped, prayed, but never let herself believe it might be true. “Love?” she whispered. “I had not believed it could return to me after all that was lost.” Her voice broke as she whispered, “And love it is I have for you, Captain.”

For a moment neither moved, only the fire filling the silence between them. Jon rose then and came to her, taking her hands gently into his own as he knelt before her. His touch was firm, warm, anchoring her trembling fingers. “And yet here it is, between us.”

Eunice searched his face, both afraid and full of hope. “And your daughters? What will they think?”

His answer came with a quiet certainty. “I will speak to them. But as I see it, you are already their mother.”

Her tears fell freely then, though her smile broke through them. “And I, their own.”

“Then hear me,” he said, his voice roughened with feeling. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? When I return from this next cruise, I would have your father marry us. If you will consent, it would be my greatest joy.”

“Yes,” Eunice breathed, the word breaking with her sob. “Yes, with all my heart.”

He bent and kissed her hands, his head bowed as though in prayer. The fire crackled softly, and outside the wind sighed through the eaves. But within the parlor, there was only their joined hands, the promise spoken at last, and the knowledge that no ocean between them could unmake it.

THE NEXT MORNING dawned clear, the air sharp with the bite of late autumn. The red and gold leaves had fallen from the trees but the first snowfall had yet to come. Jon buttoned his coat and called to the girls, who came running, cloaks flapping, eager for the promise of a walk. They made their way along the lane toward the common. What leaves remained were crisp beneath their boots, their breath visible in the chill.

Hannah skipped at her father’s side, her hand tucked into his, while Polly darted ahead to chase a crow that strutted along the fence rail. Jon watched them both, his heart full, then drew a steadying breath.

“My dears,” he began, his voice gentle, “I’ve something to ask you.” They turned to him with expectant gazes. “You know Mrs. Mason has cared for you these last several years, taught you, guided you, and watched over you. Since you were a baby, Polly.”

Hannah looked up as if waiting for more. “And?”

“She makes us practice our curtsies,” said Polly, twirling to show hers.

Jon chuckled, then grew more serious. “I hold her in the highest regard. More than regard, in truth. I have come to love her. I have asked her to be my wife, but I would not do so without knowing your hearts. What think you, if she were to become your mother?”

The girls stopped in their tracks. Hannah’s eyes widened, thoughtful beyond her years. She had not worn her mother’s locket in some while, which he took to mean she was healing. Polly clapped her hands in delight. “Then she’ll always stay with us?”

“Yes,” said Jon. “She would really be your mother.”

Hannah’s gaze softened. “She is already like a mother. I should like it very much.”

“Me, too!” said Polly.

Jon felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He gathered them both close, his voice thick. “Then it is settled. We will be a family in truth, not just in name.”

The girls laughed and squeezed him, their chatter bubbling again as they walked on. Jon looked skyward, whispering thanks for blessings far greater than prizes or silver.

As soon as Jon opened the front door, his daughters rushed into the parlor and Hannah blurted out to Martha and Silas, “Papa is going to marry our governess! Mrs. Mason will be our mother!”

Jon cleared his throat. “Martha, Silas, I was going to tell you but it seems the news cannot wait.” With a smile he could not resist, he added, “Mrs. Mason has agreed to be my wife.”

Martha’s needle froze in mid-stitch, then she sniffed, her eyes suspiciously bright. “Well, it’s about time. I saw it in the way you looked at her. The girls will thrive for it.”

Just then, Mrs. Mason came down the stairs. “They know,” Jon said to her, “and the girls are delighted.”

Polly rushed up to her. “What do we call you now?”

Jon spoke for her. “She’ll remain Mrs. Mason out of respect until we are wed. Then you can call her Mama if you like. And, of course,” he said to Martha and Silas, “if she permits it, you could call her Eunice then.”

“Mama would be the happiest name I could ever carry,” Eunice said softly. “And, yes, by all means Martha, Silas, call me by my given name.”