The Promise Keeper: Sea Heroes of Duxbury Page 13

  He was a man who risked his life to save others, including her own.

  So why had he been sent to prison? She had loved and trusted him as a child and she adored him now, but what about the years between? What had happened to him that he should have chosen to hide himself from society? What did he hide?

  For, indeed, Jonathan Mayne was hiding something.

  Chapter 15

  Two days later, as expected, there came a knock on Nook House’s back door. Snow rose from her pallet by the fire and issued a mild bark of half-warning, half-greeting. Obviously, she sensed the tension in the room. As for Iris, it was all she could do to remain seated while Alice admitted their visitor.

  Dr. Huxham stepped out of the wintry bluster into the keeping room’s warmth, where he greeted all and exchanged a handshake with Father in welcome. Samuel Huxham was a sallow-faced fellow of nearly fifty years with slightly bulging brown eyes, muttonchops and fading walnut hair. Thin and agile, he was not the tallest of men — the conical crown of his short-brimmed felt hat reaching only to her father’s shoulders — but he was an experienced physician. He had been most attentive and compassionate towards her mother to the end, and Iris had great faith in him.

  Yet she wrung her hands, full of anticipation of what his call would reveal. Hetty observed it all anxiously, and Peter had commenced to pacing the wide plank floor like some caged animal, glancing out the window every couple of minutes.

  “Where are you in such a hurry to be off to all of a sudden?” Alice asked her son sternly. Now the good doctor had arrived, she looked upon Peter’s restlessness with irritation.

  Peter’s soft features shrunk to the look of a frightened child. He hung his untidy, mousy brown head to stare at the floor. “N-nowhere. I didn’t do nothing.”

  “Doing nothing is the problem, I think. I don’t like the way you get when you’re idle. Sit quietly by Iris, where you shan’t get in the doctor’s way, and when he leaves maybe he’ll let you join him in a ride back to Duxbury Town. Then you can take your father’s shoes to the cobbler to be resoled.”

  Alice held Dr. Huxham’s medical satchel for him, as he shed his hat and woolen Garrick coat. She took the articles from him and offered to make the doctor a cup of grog. He thanked her before moving on to the hearth to greet his patient, seated in the rocker. Johnny had grown quiet with the anticipation of the doctor’s visit, barely moving except for giving Snow an occasional pat or cocking his dark, bandaged head toward the exchange of voices.

  Iris slipped off the bench behind the long worktable, as Dr. Huxham explained the process of removing the bandages. She moved to place herself directly in Johnny’s line of vision, for she wished to be the first thing he saw when he opened his deep brown eyes.

  She’d donned one of her favorite gowns, a lavender calico of delicate greenery and flowers with great, puffed sleeves which tapered snuggly from elbow to wrist and a wide, ruffled ribbon around the slightly raised waistline.

  Hetty cautioned her about being overly optimistic, but Iris couldn’t resist letting her hopes soar. Johnny’s strength had increased with each passing day. He was able to sit up without dizziness, and this morning he’d risen from his bed to bathe in the great wooden tub and had even submitted to a shave from Hetty.

  The sun had risen high in the sky, bright and warm, and already the snow was melting. Like the earth, Johnny had bounced back in strength and spirits until he began to complain, “I swear you shall all arise from your beds tomorrow to find me a man crazed by idleness if I am forced to sit in this rocking chair one more day.”

  How could she not be hopeful?

  Dr. Huxham had begun to unwind the long, white strip of cloth wrapped around Johnny’s head. The keeping room quieted except for the crackle and spit of the hearth’s flames. Even Snow sensed the import of the moment.

  With Pilgrim Light gone, once Johnny was restored to health, he’d no longer have any reason to stay, would he?

  The head wrapping was removed.

  Iris blinked back tears to more clearly see Dr. Huxham peel off one and then the other of the folded squares covering Johnny’s eyes. She straightened her shoulders, standing tall so as to present a brave face. She could only imagine how frightened Johnny must feel.

  His fingers clutched the arms of Father’s rocker. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

  At the doctor’s request, Hetty drew close and shone a lantern’s light on Johnny’s face. Dr. Huxham waved a hand before his eyes.

  “Anything, Mr. Mayne?” he asked.

  Iris didn’t need to hear his answer. She saw his blank stare. He did not so much as blink at Dr. Huxham’s waving hand.

  “No,” Johnny croaked. “Nothing but shadow … vague shadows.” He stretched his fingers toward the hearth. “I think I can detect the movement of the flames but I cannot make out the shape of my own hand.” His voice rose on a high note of desperation.

  He sighed and sank back into the rocker.

  Iris silenced a sob.

  Dr. Huxham examined Johnny’s eyes with one of his instruments. “You are by all appearances healthy, Mr. Mayne. I’m afraid there is nothing more I can do, nothing to be prescribed but time. Time is a great healer. That does not mean to say you should sit by waiting. As soon as you’re feeling strong enough to be up on your feet, I would suggest you take some air and exercise. Learn to get about. You will need to adjust to new ways of doing things that once came naturally.”

  In other words, Johnny should begin to accept his blindness, Iris thought dejectedly. No. No! She wouldn’t hear it. It was inconceivable to think that his eyes, which weeks ago had flashed so expressively at her, might remain forever vacant.

  A muscle twitched in Johnny’s jaw, and she knew he called upon inner strength to temper the rebellion and pain he must surely be feeling.

  He straightened his shoulders. “Well then, what news of the Vulture’s captain and her crew, Doctor?” he asked in a forced voice. “How have they fared? Have you seen the passenger, Mr. Gregory?”

  “They’ve fared well, Mr. Mayne. Very well indeed, considering how easily lives are lost in a wreck of this nature. They have your rescue efforts and the quick action of the Nook’s townsmen to thank, I am sure. Captain Barrell, however, did suffer some frostbite and has lost a finger on his left hand. But he is recuperating nicely and remains in good spirits.”

  Dr. Huxham began to pack up his instruments, ready to be off. Iris understood him to be a busy man. Seeing the doctor about to depart, Peter hurried to fetch his own coat. Iris got the impression the young man couldn’t wait to leave the house. The present scene must have upset him. He was a sensitive soul.

  The doctor closed his bag. “I don’t recall seeing a gentleman among the crew when I called at the boarding house,” he said. “It seems likely your Mr. Gregory would not choose to bunk with the seamen. Perhaps he booked a room at the inn? Or moved on with his business for coming to Duxbury? I’m sorry I have no information for you on that score, Mr. Mayne. No stranger has called upon my services, so I can only assume he must be well and hale somewhere.”

  Alice held the doctor’s coat as he slipped his arms into its sleeves then handed the man his hat. As he set it upon his head, her father extended a hand.

  “Thank you for coming, Doctor,” he said as they shook. Peter was already out the door.

  “Notify me if there’s any change,” said Doctor Huxham. “Good luck to you, Mr. Mayne.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Let me walk you to your carriage, Sam,” her father offered. “It’s about time I joined my men in the shipbuilding shed anyway. Come, Snow.”

  But Snow, Iris noticed, was staring intently at the narrow chimney door. The Labrador did not respond to her father’s command. It was as if Snow hadn’t even heard his voice. She cocked her large, white head and scratched at the door with a whine.

  Iris didn’t know why, but a chill shivered down her spine.

  “If it’s my sausages you’re after,” Hetty tol
d the dog, “you’ll be sorely disappointed to know they’ve all been ate and mostly by this young fellow over here.”

  “Are you referring to me, Hetty?” Johnny asked with a wry grin.

  Everyone had a chuckle and then her father called, much louder this time, “Snow! Come.”

  They departed, and with the close of the door, Johnny turned his blank stare to the hearth, his expression distant. Perhaps he was absorbing the doctor’s grim diagnosis or wondering what was to become of him, as Iris wondered herself, or maybe he thought of something else entirely. She stared at his hands where they clutched the arms of her father’s rocker. How she longed to slide her own fingers inside the callused width of his strong palm and hold his hand, but she was wary of his reaction.

  Alice excused herself to continue her chores on the upper floors. Iris looked helplessly to Hetty for assistance.

  “Would anyone care for a cuppa?” The old nurse sighed. “Aye, hot tea is what we need. I shall go set the kettle on the cookstove, I shall.”

  Doctor Huxham’s carriage could be heard rumbling down the drive, and with the fading sound came a quiet that had not visited the house in days. There was nothing but the spit and crackle of the fire and an occasional rattle of the window as the wind pushed against the panes.

  Iris removed her Bible from the mantle then pulled a rush-seated stool up beside the rocker and seated herself the way she often would with her father. “You’re not alone in the dark,” she said. “I am here for you. And I promise to hold fast to your hand and never let go.”

  She reached for him, but Johnny must have sensed her movements, because he removed his hand to his lap.

  Iris refused to take it personally. She could well imagine the disappointment and despair she’d feel were she in his position. “I know the future seems dark and hopeless, but God will provide. He has a plan for you. I know in my heart He does.”

  His silence felt like a dismissal.

  “Would you like me to read to you from the Bible?”

  He tilted his head in her direction. “Have you no better use of your time than to mind me? I am not that imaginary friend you remember from childhood, Iris. I am a man grown. A flesh-and-blood man you know nothing about. You owe no special kindness to the poor, blind fellow. Don’t waste your time on me … or your pity.”

  “What I feel for you is not pity.”

  “I can fairly hear the sobs in your voice,” he said harshly. “Don’t romanticize the fact we once spent time together as children. Whatever it is you think you feel, the truth is, we are strangers. You don’t know where I’ve been or what I’ve done.”

  “I won’t let you push me away, Johnny, with this crusty manner of yours.”

  She paused, but her only response was a scowl.

  “If it is true that I don’t know you, it is your fault, because you won’t let me know you.”

  She touched his sleeve and felt the taunt sinew of his forearm beneath the rough wool. This time he did not recoil from her touch.

  “Let me implore you, Johnny. Don’t lose your faith. Trust in the Lord. Lean on Him as the source of your strength. By all appearances, you seem to have come to a quiet acceptance, but inside I know you struggle and thrash against your fate. And yet, there is nothing you can do about it. Sometimes faith tests us with having the courage to stand still while the storms rage around us. And in standing still, I mean you must release control over your future into the hand of God. You must quiet your heart and mind before Him so as to be open to His leading.”

  He bravely lifted his head, inclining it toward her. “Such Godly wisdom from the hoyden child I knew in my youth. Can those truly be the words of little Iris, the silvery-haired sea urchin? I suppose you aren’t a child any longer, are you? No, you grow more like Lady Moon every day. I have never known another to have the ability to endure life’s troubles with such grace and poise. I feel the essence of her in this house.”

  “Do you truly, Johnny? Sometimes I feel her, too.”

  Iris smoothed a hand over the printed cotton of the gown she’d donned for him, the gown Johnny couldn’t see, and allowed the moments to pass until they had settled into a companionable silence.

  *

  Johnny could barely control his raging emotions. They drove him mad. His world had crumbled, and he longed to cling to Iris like a frightened child. He needed to draw comfort from her, but more strongly he wanted to rail and scream at the injustice of his plight. His instinct was to mutiny against the charity being shown him. He wanted to jump out of the rocker and punch his fist through a wall. He wanted to curse the doctor for daring to suggest he was lucky to be alive. He didn’t want to be alive — not like this — and some dark part of him hated them for saving him.

  Another part of him was grateful to be reunited with Iris.

  Her buoyant presence brought him back to happier days. Iris, a grown woman and yet the same untamed sea urchin he’d known in his youth. Lively bluish gray eyes and color high on her cheeks against the pale ash of her silvery hair, she was an intoxicating beauty.

  And though he could not see her, his blood warmed. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He might be blinded and in a weakened state, but he was still very much a man and that man was drawn to her like none other. It humbled him that she should see him infirmed. He wanted to be strong and virile in her eyes, not some pathetic creature in need of care and sympathy. And yet he knew, if not for his accident, he would have never gotten the opportunity to be this close to her.

  Chapter 16

  Every year on the morning marked to celebrate the savior’s birth, Iris would wake her sleeping parents by bursting into their room and shouting, “Merry Christmas!”

  She padded the length of the keeping room in her red silk cloak to where Johnny slept, but before she could speak the words, he raised his head.

  “Captain Moon? Is that you, sir?”

  “No, Johnny, it’s Iris.” Of course he would be expecting Father, when it was he who usually checked in on Johnny each morning.

  “Iris?” His voice was hoarse with sleep, and Iris heard confusion in it as he threw off his coverings and sat up in his nightshirt. His bare feet hit the scrubbed pine floor with a thud. “What is the matter?”

  She hadn’t meant to alarm him. “All is well. Christmas morn shall soon dawn, and I’ve come to wish you blessings of the day. And to give you this.” She entered his room in a few, quick strides and pressed her gift into his hands.

  “What is it?”

  She watched him turn the soft wool over in his hands, trying to discern its shape. His fingers found the button on top. “I had thought my cap was destroyed in the fire.”

  “I believe it was. And that is why I have knitted you another.” Taking the cap from him, she stretched it over his dark head of sleep-tousled hair and positioned it over his ears. “But this one is made from a deep red yarn with warm brown tones.”

  “Thank you, Iris,” he said in a voice soft with gratitude and filled with emotion. He reached up to touch the cap. A fond smile graced his lips, and in it Iris saw hope but also sadness.

  She had never, would never, presume to be so familiar with a fellow, but then she had never felt so comfortable with a man before. Johnny wasn’t a stranger. He was her friend. She felt like she had known him forever.

  He must have many recollections of her family that Iris had been too young to recall. What stories of her mother could he tell? He’d gone silent. Was he thinking of them now?

  “I’d like to take you up on the captain’s walk with me, but we must leave quickly.” She spoke with urgency but in hushed tones. “Father and Hetty shall be down soon. And then Alice will arrive with Peter to light the fires. They mustn’t see us, or we’ll be detained by protests of ‘the walk’s far too cold, my reckless girl — windy and slippery, as well,’” she said, mimicking Hetty’s accent with a smile in her voice. “I’ll close the door on my way out, but you must dress swiftly.”

  “Any opportunity to
do a mischief, eh? Why should I indulge you?”

  “Here I believed it was me who was indulging you.”

  “Very well. I’ll accompany you, but first you must do me a favor. Will you carve me some bacon slices?”

  “Johnny did you not hear me? We’ve no time for breakfast.”

  “The bacon isn’t for me, and it is raw bacon slices I need.”

  Iris perceived from the thick timbre of his voice an even deeper sense of regret than that of losing his keeper post or his sight. “Raw … yes, I see. For Salty.” Her heart ached with the realization of yet one more thing that could have possibly been taken from him.

  “I’ll do it. Now, hurry and dress.”

  Out in the chilly keeping room, no sooner had Iris passed the knife though the first bacon slice, when she heard soft paw pads progressing from down the hallway. Snow entered alone, but Iris took it as a warning that Father and Hetty would be close behind.

  She carved a few extra strips to keep the Labrador silent. Moments later, Johnny stumbled out of his room, feeling his way along the wall. “Iris?”

  “Step quietly,” she said, when in reality she had little cause to caution him. Johnny was learning to move about with more confidence and a bit less bumping into furniture. Of course, Hetty corrected him from taking cautious, shuffling steps with her constant reminders to pick up his feet.

  He had buttoned his waistcoat askew. The garment had been washed and pressed, the tiny burn holes mended. Together with his sightless gaze, Johnny made for a humble appearance. Still, it did not detract from his masculine appeal. There remained the noble set of his shoulders and the brave lift of his chin to attract her.

  Iris quit staring and hurried to retrieve his pea jacket from the peg by the back door. She held it open for him, as he slipped his arms inside. “I put the bacon in your pocket,” she said.

  A sound overhead stole her attention. “Listen,” she whispered.

  “What is it?”

  “Footsteps, I think. Someone’s coming.”

  “This is a noisy old structure. The walls creak at night.”