Hester(80)

“Mercy says you’ve been sick.” His eyes crease as he steps back and takes me in from head to foot. “You’re thinner than ever, Mrs. Gamble. Just as pretty, but too thin.”

“I’m getting stronger now.”

Captain Darling looks younger than I remember, and I see that indeed he is younger than his ship and stature suggested to me on the crossing. His cheeks and forehead are ruddy from the sea but the skin around his mouth is fair and delicate, like a bird that has just lost its feathers.

“You’ve taken off your beard?”

He runs a hand across his chin and grins.

“Once in a while the sun has to shine everywhere, else my face would be smooth and pale as a babe’s bottom.”

In spite of everything, he makes me laugh.

Behind the captain I see the bed of pennyroyal that I hacked down, jagged like a sharp-toothed kelpie’s mouth. Only a few days ago I wanted to let poison take this child—and even myself—to the grave. Now the captain is smiling and his blue words remind me that I came to America full of hope. His words were the first to have color for me during the crossing and here they are again, the color of a turquoise gemstone or the trim around the eye of a peacock feather.

I give him a turn around the yard and he admires my beans and long vines with budding cucumbers. He talks of fruits for sale on the wharves and the taste of coconut and fresh pineapple on the islands.

“I should like to taste it—just as you describe it, right from the trees,” I say.

“Then you will,” he says. “If I can make it happen, you will.”

He leans against the well and has a drink from the ladle. When he looks into the sky, I know what is coming. For of course he has not come simply to see my garden.

“Did you get my letter?”

“I did.”

“Then you know Edward isn’t on the ship.” Oh, how gentle his voice is, in every shade of blue.

In my state, I can’t stop my voice from breaking. “I’m very sorry for it, Captain Darling.”

“Please don’t cry.” He presses a handkerchief into my hand and I remember how safe I felt on his ship even when the seas were rough. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Mrs. Gamble. I’m sorry I didn’t take better care to watch him.”

I’ve done many things wrong, and it shames me to think of them in the light of day, with the captain here.

“It isn’t your fault,” I say. “I knew it could happen and never told you.”

I tell him about the opium and why we left Scotland, and all the while his face grows redder.

“I should have had my men drag him back to the ship and lash him to a mast until his cravings were gone.” He’s angry. I’ve seen his anger only twice before, both times on our journey when wind and rain threatened to blow us off course.

“It might have worked,” I say. “But not for long,”

“Poor lass. I’m sorry.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small leather pouch. “These are your husband’s fair wages. I want you to have them.”

“I won’t take your money, Captain. I know you’ve paid Edward’s debts—there cannot be anything left of his wages.”

“I can’t have you go hungry.”

I push away his hand.

“I have my work. I’m making gloves and other things, you needn’t worry.”

“Your work is surely worth a pretty penny, but thread and gloves cost money, too. Don’t be proud, Mrs. Gamble.”

“I’m getting along.” I feel a stubborn pride at the doubt on his face. “The work is good—let me show you what I’ve done.”

He waits in the garden while I consider Adam and Eve on the shawl and decide on the gloves for Felicity instead.

Captain Darling praises the flowers and wisteria, and then his eyes light on the leopard. Courage and strength, Nat asked for. I’m still waiting for him to find either in himself; I’m still hoping and still heartbroken.

Darling reaches for the gloves and I surrender them.

“I saw the leopard in the East India Marine Society Hall—you sent me there, do you remember?”

“I do,” Darling says. “And I told you the custodian is a trusted friend.”

He tries on the gloves—the very pair I meant for Nat. His hands are wide and strong and the leopard seems to contract and expand, to flex its muscles and open its jaws as he bends his knuckles and admires the work.

“Very handsome. Splendid!” He puts the sack of coins on the ground at my feet. “I have a small dinner to attend. I’ll buy them, and it will be a fair exchange—you can’t refuse me now.”

I don’t say yes, and I don’t say no. But I have a queer feeling that I do not want to stop him: I want him to wear the gloves, and I want him to think of me when he looks at them. Nat be damned; I want to take this treasure away from him and give it to the captain.

“We sail in two days,” Darling says before he goes.

“So soon?”

“A quick run with the schooner up to Nova Scotia and back. There’s a shipment of whale oil waiting.” Here, his blue eyes cloud. “I’ll be back in August and will look in on you then. If you ever want to come closer to town rather than live here alone, I will help you do it, Mrs. Gamble.”