The Midwife's Tale (30 page)

23

W
hen Martha slipped inside, she entered no ordinary cabin, but an amazing replica of one any sea captain would envy as a private domain aboard ship.

Wooden shutters covered the two windows visible on the outside of the cabin, blocking any view in or out, and she was as captivated today as she had been the first day she had been invited into Samuel Meeks’s home.

Gleaming mahogany on the floor reflected the coils of rope and other nautical memorabilia hanging on the wooden walls that also held shelves with half a dozen lanterns with sparkling glass globes that provided the only light in the single-room dwelling.

She approached the Franklin stove in the middle of the room that provided more than enough heat, even on the coldest of days. Two nearby chairs offered the only place to sit. Instead of a bed or cot, a thick rope hammock hung in the corner opposite a small galley. A hulk of a desk was bolted in place, just
like the rest of the furniture in the room, but there was no sign of Samuel or Will, for that matter.

She removed her outer garments and laid them on a chair. Her curiosity about the contents of the several trunks stored beneath the hammock had grown stronger with each visit she made there, but Samuel had never offered to open them. She had never had the courage to ask him to, either.

She rubbed her hands together until they were warm again and took a seat in one of the chairs near the stove. She was not quite sure which prayer she hoped would be answered today. Was Will adjusting well to his temporary home? Were the eyedrops she had gotten for Samuel in Clarion working or not? Or was it too soon to tell? Where were they both? It was not exactly a good day to be traipsing about in the woods; besides, Samuel did not usually leave his home, when he left it at all, until after dark. Unless . . .

The front door flew open, cold air blew in, and she turned around to see the giant recluse amble inside. Will followed on his heels carrying an armful of kindling.

Samuel headed straight for the chair at his desk, paused, and smiled. “Close the door, mate. Make it quick. We don’t want Widow Cade to catch cold.”

She chuckled to herself. The first time she had seen the recluse, she had been scared speechless and gaped at him openly, almost too afraid to breathe. “I wondered where you two had gotten,” she teased.

Samuel eased himself into a chair next to her while Will grumbled his way to the corner and piled the kindling in a neat stack next to the other two. “Can’t see no need for all this kindlin’.”

“Storm’s comin’, mate. You can smell it in the air.”

“Can’t smell nothin’, not even the dang supper we’re supposed to be havin’,” Will complained.

“Mind your tongue in front of the lady, or you’ll be gnawin’ on another hunk of horseradish.”

Will grimaced. “Sorry.”

“Go get your ropes and plop yourself down by the fire to practice some more.” Samuel leaned toward Martha. “Don’t hold much hope out for this lad. Can’t head off to sea till he knows his knots. Found that out when he tried to make that raft of his. It’s no wonder the thing busted up when he went over the falls. Way he’s goin’, might take months till he learns ’em all.”

Months? That was a hopeful signal that all was going well. To her amazement, Will went to one of the trunks beneath the hammock to get a handful of ropes. He laid each piece out on the floor at Samuel’s feet, one at a time, until he had seven pieces, each about two feet long.

“Start with the slip knot,” his mentor ordered. “Show Widow Cade what you’ve learned.”

The boy plopped down on the floor and worked with a piece of rope. His brows knitted together until he finished the knot. He smiled and laid his work in Samuel’s hand.

Instead of looking at the knot, Samuel used his thick, callused fingers to feel the twists in the rope, dashing her hopes that his vision had improved.

He nodded. “Now, that’s a knot any seaman worth his salt would be proud to claim. Make another one.”

Will grinned, deftly tied another slip knot, and beamed when Samuel announced it as good as the first. He laid both slip knots on the floor and grabbed another rope. “Lemme try the bowline knot.”

Samuel cocked his head. “Don’t be gettin’ all cocky,” he warned. “I just showed that to you yesterday.”

“But I can do it. I know I can do it,” Will argued. He toyed with the rope, shaped and reshaped the knot until his cheeks
were mottled with frustration. After a fourth attempt, the length of rope was a useless, sorry twist of hemp. Will slapped it on the floor and glowered. “You didn’t show me right.”

“You didn’t watch me right. Hand me the rope and mind your temper. Won’t serve you now any more than when you’re at sea and the captain’s just achin’ for an excuse to keelhaul somebody for entertainment.”

Will handed the rope over, stood up, and moved alongside the older man’s chair. While Samuel shaped the knot, he offered verbal instructions as well. “Now, pay attention. I’ll show you slower this time.”

Martha marveled at the interplay between the old man and the boy. She would never have described Samuel as a patient man before now. Gruff, fiercely independent, and contemptuous of most people? Decidedly. But patient? Never. She had a hard time believing what she witnessed with her own eyes.

Will was different, too. True, he still grumbled a lot, and he had a long way to go before his language was acceptable and his attitude toward his elders was respectable, but he displayed a determination now that had a positive end—one that might keep him put long enough for him to learn to trust again.

She had no idea how long it would be before Samuel lost his vision completely. He could not survive on his own for long when he did. She could not even venture to guess whether Will’s fascination with Samuel would be short-lived or not. But for now, she simply accepted the pairing of the old seaman and the reforming street urchin as a gift. Perhaps, even, as a miracle-in-the-making.

While Will struggled to make a bowline knot on his own again, she chatted with Samuel. Apparently, the boy had not missed a single day with Samuel since Reverend Hampton first brought him to the cabin two and a half weeks ago.

“No word from Victoria?” Samuel asked.

She sighed. “Not yet. The mail’s due again on Tuesday.”

Samuel shook his head. “Makes me wonder about how my mama felt when I left. I never thought much about that before now. I was a lot younger than Victoria when I left home, though.”

Will looked up and grinned.

“Older than you are,” Samuel added, offering the boy a stern look.

She knew Samuel could not see the boy clearly enough to catch his facial expressions, and chuckled to herself. Even half blind and well near seventy, Samuel was still keen enough to know the boy’s temperament and hold him in line.

“I was twelve when I run off to sea. Never wrote. Never went back home. Just cut the cord and let the wind blow me away.”

She sucked in her breath and lowered her gaze. Like Samuel, Oliver had left home years ago and continued to live completely independent of her influence, although he did travel back to Trinity once a year for a visit. But what would she do if Victoria did the same as Samuel and never returned? What had Samuel’s mother done? How had she spent the rest of her life, one day after another, never knowing the fate of her child? Had she prayed as hard as Martha did? Had she gone to her grave still brokenhearted, as Martha feared she might do?

Sadness seeped into her bones. Longing to see Victoria again tightened around her heart so she found it difficult to draw a breath because of the pain and even harder to keep tears at bay.

“But you got a home here now—and treasures, too. Lotsa treasures,” Will prompted. “Can I show her? Can I?”

“I don’t think Widow Cade would be much interested in what’s packed away in that old trunk. Seems to me you’re just lookin’ for an excuse not to work the ropes.”

“It’s getting late. I really should go. Perhaps another time,” she whispered.

When she started to get up, Will urged her back down. “It won’t take more than a minute or two,” he argued.

Her tears threatened to spill over. She needed to leave. Now. To be alone. To keep Samuel from knowing how much his words had hurt, even though he had not meant for that to happen. “I really do need to go. Grace needs to be fed and bedded down for the night, and I promised to be back to help serve supper, too.”

Will’s narrow shoulders slumped. Disappointment extinguished the excitement burning in his eyes.

She sat down again and tried to rekindle the curiosity she had always had about the contents of the trunks and failed. “Maybe you can just show me a few today. If it’s all right with Mr. Meeks.”

Samuel waved at the boy. “Go on. If that’s what you want.”

Will scampered off and carried the smallest trunk back with him. He laid it on the floor between Martha and Samuel. The lid creaked halfway open, and his eyes lit up again when he lifted a treasure from the trunk. “This here’s a genuine dagger from India.”

“Be careful,” she warned. “That looks awfully sharp.”

He scowled and laid it on the floor. “I know that.” He rummaged through the trunk and pulled out an opium pipe. “He brought this all the way back from China. Strange-lookin’ pipe, ain’t it?”

She frowned. “Indeed.”

“One more for today,” Samuel ordered.

Will laid the pipe next to the dagger and studied the contents of the trunk. Finally, he turned the trunk around so Martha could see inside. “You pick somethin’. I bet I can tell you where it came from,” he challenged.

She leaned forward, eager to pick something. Anything. Just to be on her way. She pointed to the gold chain lying between a piece of scrimshaw and a tin of some sort of spice. “Try that one. The chain.”

He tugged at the chain and pulled it free. The moment she saw the object swinging from the end of the chain, her heart began to race and pound in her ears.

“This ain’t nothin’ special,” he grumbled. “It’s just some ole thing he found lyin’ by the trash pit.”

Samuel chuckled. “I tripped over that some months back. Kicked it, actually. I never would have seen it, that’s for sure. Probably doesn’t work so good. Bit down on it, though. Sure feels like real gold. Hard to believe somebody would just toss it away.”

Nearly in shock, she took the chain from Will. Her fingers shook as they opened the gold case on the watch. When she saw the initials engraved inside the front cover, she closed the case and wrapped her hand around it. “This is something very special,” she whispered. “I do believe you found no ordinary watch, Samuel. You found a miracle.”

24

D
iscovering a miracle was quite different from knowing precisely what to do with it, although Martha had little problem getting Samuel to give her possession of Webster Cabbot’s watch.

Late that same night, she laid the watch and chain on the table near the daybook. While Bird was fast asleep on Victoria’s pillow, she finished describing another event in her life:

The end result, of course, was that I had to admit to my teacher that I had indeed copied my eloquent essay from a book.