Page 35 of The Salamander

Andrew clasped Silas’ hand firmly. “It seemed the right time to come.” And handing him an envelope, he said, “Give this to Martha. It’s for expenses, increased for our coming.”

Silas nodded. “Will do, sir.”

Lydia’s glance found Eunice. “We shall pray for Jonathan together,” she said gently.

Martha bustled in again, never one to hold her tongue. “Prayers, aye, but there’s news already in town. They say the captain’s taken a bark called the Lonsdale, a snow Sally, brimmin’ with blankets, and another ship stuffed with Hessians who’ll never trouble our shores.”

The words set the room astir at once. Hannah’s eyes went wide, and she clutched Eunice’s hand. “Is it true, Mrs. Mason? Has Papa truly taken ships?”

Eunice’s heart swelled at the eagerness in the girl’s face. “So the newsmen say,” she answered steadily. “Your papa is doing his duty, and God has blessed his hands.”

Silas gave a grunt. “Aye. If half the talk is true, the Crown will rue the day they let Captain Haraden slip out of Salem Harbor.”

Martha returned with glasses of wine for the travelers and watered cider and cracknels for the girls, which were gratefully accepted.

“Jonathan told us in his letter you are the daughter of Reverend Diman,” said Andrew.

“I am,” Eunice replied, watching the two Pollys on the carpet side by side, as alike in mischief as in name.

“How fortunate he was to find you,” Lydia said. “A virtuous young widow for his daughters.”

“Aye,” Martha added. “God was smilin’ on the captain.”

The chatter rose, cousins darting, the two other women speaking of children, war, and needed prayer. Eunice stood amidst it all, for a moment feeling the house alive as it had been not since the funeral a year ago. Yet the laughter, so bright, only sharpened her longing. She prayed silently that Captain Haraden might live to walk again among such noise and warmth, and that his daughters might keep his memory alive until he returned.

When the din in the parlor eased, Eunice said, “Martha will need more of everything with such a merry garrison. If the older girls will come with me, we can fetch what’s wanted from the market.”

“Bless you,” Martha replied, her relief plain. “Bring a sack of good flour, two cheeses, clams for chowder, onions, a side of salt pork if the price is fair, some nice cod, and winter apples if any keep yet, and whatever greens you can find. Oh, and molasses if the merchant’s cask hasn’t run dry.”

Andrew, shrugging into his coat, tipped his hat. “I’ll step to the London Coffeehouse and see who’s in from sea. Might have more news of Cousin Jonathan.”

“Go,” Lydia told him, smiling. “We’ll be quite well here.”

Eunice gathered Hannah, the older Joanna from Gloucester, Lydia, and Betsey, leaving Peggy to mind the little ones, as they set off down the street, bonnets bobbing in a row. Silas went with them, his stride steady at the rear, a quiet guardian.

When Joanna hoisted the flour sack to her hip, Silas gave a grunt of approval and plucked it from her arms, slinging it over his shoulder as though it weighed no more than kindling. At the fishmonger’s stall he eyed the cod and muttered, “Robbery, but better robbed than hungry,” which made the girls laugh.

The market square smelled of salt and smoke: fishmongers calling haddock and cod, a farmer’s cart with tired cabbages, and a woman selling eggs dearer than last week. The girls made a game of Martha’s list: Lydia haggling shrewdly for cheese, Betsey testing onions for soundness, Joanna lifting baskets with a practiced arm.

Now and again a townsman touched his hat to them. “You’ve added to your charges, Mrs. Mason,” one said.

“I have,” she replied. “Cousins from Gloucester.”

He stopped to add, “News says the Tyrannicide and Massachusetts have captured a snow, the Sally, with 4,000 blankets aboard!”

Hannah looked up at Eunice. “Is that the ship Papa captured?”

“Yes,” said Eunice. “One that carried blankets much needed for General Washington’s army. I think your father is exactly where Providence means him to be, capturing every enemy ship that comes across his path.”

Hannah stayed close to Eunice’s skirts, shy among the taller cousins, until the eldest of the Gloucester brood, Joanna, bent to her with an easy smile. “We share a name, little cousin, though they call me Joanna most days. That makes us a pair.”

Salem’s Hannah brightened. “And you’ve a Polly, too!”

Betsey laughed and linked arms with her sister, Lydia. “Two Pollys. Martha will have to label their cups.”

“One has dark hair and one fair, but they may be better known by their mischief,” said Lydia, eyes dancing.

Back at the house, the older girls lugged sacks to the pantry and then joined Eunice in the parlor. Silas had already returned by another way and now sat in his accustomed chair by the hearth, pipe in hand and a block of pine in his lap. His knife moved in slow, easy strokes, whittling shavings that curled to a bowl on the floor while the younger girls played at his feet. “This house hasn’t seen such a muster of skirts in years,” he said dryly, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “If the captain were here, he’d think he’d walked into a regiment.”