Page 40 of The Salamander

A knock at the cabin door brought a clerk from the Board of War, papers under his arm, his face grave. “Captain Haraden,” he said, “the Board bids me welcome you home. And there is much you’ll wish to know, some news is good, some not.”

Jon gestured him in, and they sat with the harbor breeze fluttering the dispatches. One by one the clerk gave the tidings. “Congress has resolved a new flag for the United States: thirteen stars in a blue field, thirteen stripes red and white.”

Inwardly, Jon smiled. “America’s banner for us to fight under at last.”

“On the 5th of July, Fort Ticonderoga was abandoned. A bitter blow.”

Jon’s jaw tightened.

“Earlier this month at Oriskany, New York, the field was made bloody with stubborn fighting, but our militia stood their ground.”

Jon shook his head. “Is there no good news for Washington?”

“Aye,” the clerk’s voice lifted with pride. “You’ll like this one. On the sixteenth, at Bennington, our New England boys gave General Burgoyne’s detachment a drubbing. Captured cannon, prisoners, the works. A true victory.”

Jon exhaled slowly, the words settling in. “So, the tide runs both ways.”

“It does,” the clerk said, meeting his gaze. “And General Washington holds firm. His fortitude keeps the army whole when little else does. That is the truth of it.”

Jon nodded. “He is a great leader.”

The clerk placed a folded Boston Gazette on the table. “Here, Captain. Best read the rest yourself.”

Left alone, Jon laid a hand on the paper but let his eyes wander instead to the open window. Shipwrights were boarding the Tyrannicide to measure her wounds. She would need months of repair. But Salem lay a day’s ride away, and in Salem were two daughters who had believed him lost.

His heart was already gone from the harbor, racing ahead up the road.

Salem, early September 1777

THE LAST OF the daylight slanted across Charter Street when Jon knocked at his door. It swung wide, and he heard Martha mutter about late callers, as she wiped her hands on her apron. Then she looked up and blinked. “Captain Haraden!”

Jon knew what a sight he made, his dark blue coat road-dusted, his hair sun-bleached and salt-tangled, his shoulders weary from months at sea. “Why, Martha, you don’t look half so pleased as I’d hoped.”

“Pleased? Aye, and vexed besides. You’ve near put us in mournin’ with your silence. Best come in before I scold you proper.”

From the stairs came a cry. “Papa!” Hannah flew down and flung herself into his arms.

He hugged her tight, his voice rough. “Hello, sweetheart. Grown taller, I see.”

Mrs. Mason followed, hand to her breast at the sight of him. “Oh, my! It is you. How wonderful!” She steadied herself, then stepped forward. “Your letter came, sir. It was thoughtfulness itself to write the moment you reached Boston.”

He bowed his head slightly, eyes warm. “I owed you that much.” With a glance at Martha, he added, “Too long have you borne rumor and silence in my stead.”

With tears in her eyes, Martha shooed him inside. “No standin’ on the step like a stranger. Supper’s near ready, and more than enough to feed one more.”

Jon laughed, the sound joyous in his own ears. “God bless you all,” he said as he set down his satchel and came into the parlor.

“Would you like a glass of wine or cider, sir?” asked Mrs. Mason.

“Claret if you please. The carriage from Boston was dusty, and I had enough captures to keep us well stocked.” He went into the parlor and sank into his chair. Mrs. Mason handed him a glass of claret with a smile.

“I see you’re keeping Hannah, and I presume Polly, fat and rosy as apples, Martha.”

“The child’s napping,” said Mrs. Mason. “You won’t recognize her, Captain. She’s walking now.”

“I helped,” said Hannah proudly.

“You did, indeed,” said the governess.