Page 53 of The Salamander

Further, we are by Pliny told

This serpent is extremely cold;

So cold that, put it in the fire,

’Twill make the very flames expire.

– Description of a Salamander, Jonathan Swift 1705

CHAPTER 13

Salem, Massachusetts, May 1779

ON SUNDAY, AFTER church service, Jon asked if Mrs. Mason and his daughters would walk with him. Knowing their destination, he had arranged with Mrs. Diman to provide him a bouquet of flowers, which he claimed as they left the church.

Mary Diman handed him the posy of lilacs and daisies. “They are fresh from my garden, a lovely thought on your part, Captain.”

He thanked her and they moved on. When they turned not toward home but toward the Old Burying Point Cemetery, Hannah, holding her young sister’s hand, asked, “Where are we going, Papa?”

Lifting Polly into his arms, he said, “To visit your mother’s grave. It has been three years, and I thought you would like to pay your respects.”

Hannah’s fingers worried her mother’s locket at her throat. “I would like that.”

“That is very considerate of you, Captain,” said Mrs. Mason. “We have sometimes visited the graveyard, but to have you with them will mean much.”

When they reached the graveyard, Jon handed the flowers to Hannah and set Polly on her feet. “Perhaps you and Polly might place them on the grave?” At the Haraden stone marker that read Hannah Deadman Haraden, Hannah handed some of the flowers to Polly and the two laid them on the grass. “For Mama,” Hannah said solemnly, looking up at her father.

Polly mimicked her sister as she placed her flowers, “For Mama.”

Jon bowed his head, the words of prayer caught in his chest. He had not lingered here often since that first terrible year. Now, standing with his daughters beside him and the governess who had become so much a part of their lives on his other side, he felt the old grief soften. “Rest well, Hannah. Your children are safe this side of Heaven. All is well on this shore.”

Beside him, Mrs. Mason’s voice was gentle. “She is with God in Heaven, Captain. And He has spared you for more years, perhaps in His grace for many more.”

Jon turned then, studying her face, the warmth of her eyes, the quiet strength in her bearing. She, too, had lost, and yet she had endured. In her presence, his household had thrived. In her presence, he had thrived.

They walked back in silence, Hannah skipping ahead again, this time with Polly laughing with her.

“It just occurred to me,” he said, “that Polly has only ever known you as mother.”

“True, and she and Hannah are my only children.”

He smiled at her reply. “They could love you no more if they were your own.”

Martha met them at the door, wiping flour from her hands. “There’s cracknels and cider for you two,” she said to the girls. “See you don’t spill!”

The girls raced ahead. “I’ll watch them,” said Mrs. Mason, as she followed the girls inside.

Jon paused on the step, and Martha gave him a sharp look. “Captain, if you’re wise, you’ll not let the good Lord’s second chance for a virtuous woman pass you by.”

Jon managed a small, wry smile. “Martha, you meddle too much.”

“Aye,” she sniffed, “and I’m usually right.”

Salem Waterfront, early September 1779

BY SUMMER’S END, the Pickering rose anew, a ship fit for the high seas. Where once her two masts had marked her as a brig, now three square-rigged masts rose above her deck, taut and ready. Her new mast and rigging gave her a prouder stance. Salem folks along Derby Wharf paused to marvel. Some said she looked as fine as a frigate. Others remarked that Captain Haraden had made her into the equal of any British privateer afloat.

Jon heard their remarks as he stood on the wharf with Thorndike, watching the men finish bending canvas to the yards. The drills had gone well through August, new hands finding their places under the sharp eyes of his officers. Carnes and Cowan drilled the gun crews, but with the shortage of gunpowder, they didn’t use live fire.