Page 62 of The Salamander

The children squealed, half-thrilled, half-terrified. Just then, Martha bustled in with a tray of spiced nuts and steaming mugs. “Silas Turner, you’ll give them nightmares!” she scolded. “Best you tell them of dolphins chasin’ the ship instead.”

The room rang with laughter. Jon, stretched in his chair with cider warm in hand, added, “Best they hear both the wonders and the terrors. That’s the sea, after all.”

As evening deepened, one by one the children drooped. Lydia and Betsey shepherded the younger ones upstairs until only the fire’s glow and the murmur of adult voices remained.

Andrew turned to Jon. “There’s talk enough comparing you to John Paul Jones. It makes us proud, Cousin.”

Thorndike said quietly, “I saw him stand fast against three ships at once. Seamanship like that deserves every word.”

Martha, pausing in the doorway, gave a brisk nod. “And every woman here prayed you home. Victories may belong to the sea, but waitin’ belongs to us.”

Lydia smiled, glancing at Eunice. “And you’ve kept the captain’s daughters thriving, Mrs. Mason. No small victory there.”

Eunice’s cheeks warmed at the praise. Jon met her eyes across the firelight, gratitude plain though unspoken.

The talk drifted to neighbors, to the shipyard, to Derby’s plans for spring. Jon stretched his boots toward the blaze, letting the moment settle. The sea would call him soon enough, but tonight he was only a man among kin, his daughters safe in their beds, and across the hearth sat the quiet figure of the governess who had become more than he dared name.

For that Christmas night, it was enough.

Haraden house, Salem, February 1780

THE GLOUCESTER HARADENS had returned to their home the month before, and Jon missed the chatter of so many daughters and the conversations he often had with Andrew.

By February, snow still clung in dirty heaps along Charter Street, though the day’s thaw had left the cobbles slick. By evening, frost hardened again, and the lamps along the street shone in halos of ice. Inside the Haraden house, however, warmth and noise reigned.

The girls had spread themselves across the parlor rug: Hannah arranging her embroidery threads in neat rows while Polly and her doll staged a pitched battle with wooden soldiers Silas had carved for her. Laughter spilled in bursts as Polly toppled her army with a sweep of her hand.

Martha hurried in, calling all to the dining room where she had set steaming bowls of beef stew with root vegetables, the scent of the stew and fresh bread filling the air. “Mind yourselves, now! The table’s set, and I’ll not have the victuals grow cold.”

Jon rose from his chair by the hearth where a fire blazed and crossed to lift Polly into his arms, grinning as she squealed, “Papa! My soldiers fell!”

“They’ll stand again,” he told her, kissing her cheek before carrying her into the dining room and setting her on a pillow in her chair, for she no longer needed the high chair. “As long as their captain is brave.”

As the family gathered at the table, a knock came at the front door. Mrs. Mason went to open it. Returning, her face alight, she said, “It’s Mr. Thorndike just arrived in Salem!”

Jon welcomed his first mate, though he frowned at the governess’ enthusiasm for her admirer. “Sit and have some stew, Israel.”

Israel Thorndike stepped in, brushing snow from his blue coat, his cheeks ruddy from the cold. He looked a little sheepish, but his eyes shone with a warmth Jon hadn’t seen before. Bowing lightly to Mrs. Mason, then to Martha, he clasped Jon’s hand. “Forgive me, Captain. My ‘few weeks’ in Beverly stretched longer. But a man weds only once, and I’ve just done it.”

The room stilled. Jon’s daughters looked at him as though waiting for him to explain what this meant.

Mrs. Mason broke the silence with a smile. “Married? How wonderful! And to whom?”

Thorndike took a seat, Martha bustling to set another place before him. His grin widened. “To Mercy Trask, sister of young Joshua. We wed in January. She’s a jewel, Captain. I’d have brought her tonight, but she’s with her people still and searching for a home for us in Beverly.”

Silas stepped in from the kitchen, a slice of bread in his hand, and gave a low whistle. “So that’s what kept you, Lieutenant. I thought you’d fallen into a snowbank and couldn’t dig yourself out.”

Laughter rippled around the table. Martha wagged her spoon at Thorndike. “Then we’ll expect her here soon enough, to see if she can keep you properly fed.”

“Aye,” Thorndike said with mock solemnity. “Mercy manages me well already, and she can cook, Martha.”

The meal went on with good cheer. Hannah pressed Thorndike with questions about his bride, while Polly solemnly announced that she would marry Papa when she grew up, earning laughter from all, even Mrs. Mason, though Jon saw her eyes soften when he leaned down to kiss his younger daughter’s curls.

After supper they gathered in the parlor again. Martha brought in a dish of candied nuts and mugs of heated cider spiced with cinnamon. At Hannah’s urging, Silas spun a yarn about a ship that had once seen dolphins chasing its wake all the way to the Azores. His hands sketched arcs in the firelight. “Leapin’, shinin’ like silver coins in the moonlight. The men swore it meant good fortune.”

“And did it?” asked Hannah.

“Aye,” Silas said with a wink. “They made port in Spain heavy with treasure and not a man lost.”