How Dark the Night (37 page)

“Richard . . .?”

The blue of his eyes captured the hazel of hers. She was smiling at him, broadly, and for one unforgettable instant he saw the beautiful laughing girl of irresistible charm who had so transfixed him as a youth and so impassioned him as a man.

She held his gaze for several dreamlike moments, and then said: “I have always been in love with you. Richard. I loved you even before I met you, when I was a little girl growing up in Fareham. I loved the promise of you coming into my life. It's a promise you have never failed to keep.”

Her words sent a torrent of grief and unspeakable loss coursing through him. He felt the tears well up and again fought to stem the flow. But this time it was to no avail.

W
HEN
D
IANA
C
UTLER
S
PRAGUE
received Phoebe Hardcastle's letter at her residence on Eliot Street in Cambridge, she insisted that she and Peter depart immediately for Hingham and not wait two days for the packet boat on Friday. Peter agreed and set out to hire a coach-and-four.

Five hours later, after traveling as fast as safety allowed on dirt roads recently rutted by rainstorms, the coach drew to a halt at her parents' home. Diana did not wait for the groom or her husband to help her out of the coach. She opened the door herself, jumped down, and ran up the walkway toward her childhood home. The front door opened and Lizzy Crabtree was there to greet her.

“Aunt Lizzy!” Diana cried, pulling away from her aunt's embrace. “Where is Mother? I must go to her!”

“She is upstairs in her room. Your father is with her. Wait, child,” Lizzy soothed, holding Diana's arm when Diana made to bolt past her toward the stairway. Peter stood behind them, framed in the open doorway. “She is sleeping now, thank God. Let her be. She needs her rest. There will be time soon enough.”

Peter stepped up and placed his hands on his wife's shoulders. “Come, darling,” he said. “Aunt Lizzy is right. We must be patient.”

Reluctantly Diana turned and melted into her husband's arms, then wrenched around at the sound of footsteps in the hallway above. “Father!” she cried when she saw him on the top landing. In an instant she was bounding up the stairs and into his embrace.

“Father!” she wailed again, her tears running freely.

Richard clasped his daughter close. “There now, Poppet,” he said, using the pet name of her youth. “There now.” He drew out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes and cheeks. “Let's go down to the kitchen
together, shall we? You'll want some refreshment after your trip, and I want to talk with you and Peter. When your mother awakens, you will be the first to see her, I promise.”

M
EMBERS OF THE
C
UTLER FAMILY
continued to arrive in Hingham over the next several days. Lavinia and Stephen Starbuck rode up from Duxbury, a scenic seaside town north of Plymouth where Stephen had for years been a noted apothecary. Anne and Frederick Seymour and their two teenaged sons joined Caleb on the packet boat sailing from Long Wharf. The mood was somber not only in Cutler family homes but also, it seemed, throughout Hingham. Word of Katherine's sudden relapse had spread quickly without the assistance of local gossipmongers such as Rebecca Leavitt, and as had been the case following Katherine's surgery nearly three years earlier, citizens stood outside on South Street, maintaining a respectful distance from the Cutler residence, some holding candles well into the summer nights.

At Diana's most earnest request, she and Peter stayed in a bedroom down the hall from her parents' room on the second floor. Anne-Marie Endicott had invited them to stay with her and Adele and baby Katherine at Will and Adele's home on Ship Street, but Diana politely declined. She wanted to be near her mother at all hours of the day and night, to tend to her needs. Mindy Cutler was often at her side, as was Adele Cutler. The inseparable friendship that joined the three of them was to Richard's mind a godsend. It made it easier for Diana to cope—and thus for him to cope.

At midmorning on July 2 Richard entered the bedroom to find Diana asleep on the chair next to her mother. Katherine was stirring in sleep, her chest rising and falling irregularly. For several moments he stood silently watching them, the one the mirror image of the other. It amazed him even now that Katherine had somehow passed on her very essence to her daughter, as though in testament to her own earthly existence. Their hair was of similar color and length, their features at once both delicate and determined, their physical frames the embodiment of grace and femininity. Just as he counted himself among the most fortunate of men, Richard thought at that moment, so did he count his son-in-law, Peter Sprague. He prayed that the call of duty or adventure would never take them far away from him. It would be a separation difficult for him to bear.

He gently shook his daughter, and she snapped awake, her gaze going first to her mother, then to her father. “What is it?” she asked.

“Everyone is downstairs,” he said. “We need you there.”

“But I can't leave Mother. She's waking.”

“I can see that she is. That's why I need you downstairs.”

Reluctantly Diana arose from the chair. After giving her mother a quick glance, she followed her father down to the parlor where the family had gathered. For Richard, as for many of them, the scene was reminiscent of one in Caleb's house three years earlier, on the day of Katherine's surgery. This gathering was for the same purpose: to say what had to be said. After Richard bade everyone sit, he faced them and spoke in an even tone that could not hide his anguish.

“I'm afraid the time has come,” he said softly. “Dr. Prescott was in to see Katherine early this morning, and he reports that she is showing signs of rapid decline. He believes the end is near. By God's grace she has not slipped into a coma. She remains aware. So, please, those of you who have not already done so, now is the time to say good-bye.”

Although Richard's words came as no surprise to anyone present, for several moments no one stirred, as if by refusing his request they could deny his words. They stared vacantly at him or silently at each other. Then, as if by an unspoken cue, they rose and began embracing each other, stricken family members all. Sounds of quiet weeping filled the parlor.

“Please,” Richard urged, “we may not have much time.”

Lizzy Crabtree strode stoically toward the stairway. Phoebe Hardcastle followed a minute later, and Anne Seymour stood by the door to await her turn. One by one, Cutler family members steeled themselves to do the impossible, to accept the unacceptable.

“I won't go up, Richard,” Anne-Marie Endicott said to him softly. “I don't think it is appropriate. I am not sure it is appropriate that I am here at this moment, although Lord knows I am sickened with grief.”

“Of course it's appropriate, Anne-Marie. You are Will's mother-in-law. You and Adele are standing in for him as well as for yourselves.”

“Yes,” she said, and she kissed him on the cheek. “We all love you, Richard,” she whispered in his ear. “I love you. You are not alone in this.”

Quickly she took her leave, yielding to Agreen Crabtree.

“Hard times,” Agreen said, because he didn't know what else to say.

“The hardest,” Richard said. He heaved a sigh. “I've been dreading this day for such a long time, Agee. For every hour of every day for the past year I knew this day would eventually come. My heart prayed for a miracle, but my mind told me there were no miracles left.” His voice faltered, but he forced himself to continue. “It was never my wish to hide the truth from you and Lizzy, Agee. I hope you understand that.”

Agreen clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder and looked him square in the eye. “Of course I understand that. Hell's bells, Richard, we
all
understand that. You did what was right by your wife. That's all that matters. Trust me, mate: I would've done the same thing, was it Lizzy who was ill.”

Richard nodded. “I have always trusted you, Agee. In this as in everything else.”

Eventually it came down to Richard. He ascended the stairs slowly; in a daze of memories of two lives lived as one he walked down the hall and into his bedroom. Diana was there, being consoled by Peter on her right and by Mindy and Adele on her left. Richard's two sisters and brothers-in-law were also there, as were Caleb and Joan, Lizzy and Agreen, Phoebe and Joseph. They stood in a cluster at the back of the room against the wall and said nothing to Richard as he passed. He pushed aside the chair, sat down on the edge of the bed, and took Katherine's cool hand, now a bluish color, in both of his.

Her eyelids were closed and her breathing came in quick, shallow spurts, with pauses in between that increased in length as the minutes ticked by. He felt the souls of his family and ancestors upon him as he placed his left hand on Katherine's brow and kissed her parched lips.

Her eyelids fluttered open. “Richard . . .”

“I'm here, my love,” he said.

“Richard,” she whispered again, pleading as much with her eyes as with her voice. She had hardly the strength to speak.

“I'm here, Katherine,” he said again. “I will
always
be here.”

“Richard,” she said, this time so softly he had to lean in close to hear her. “I love you, my darling, but I must go to sleep now. When I awaken, I will still be with you.”

“And I with you, Katherine,” he vowed to her. “Forever.”

She gave him a ghost of a smile. Slowly, ever so slowly, as though reluctant in these final moments to ascend from a world so benevolent and loving, she closed her eyes. He sat there on the edge of the bed for a span of time that could have been minutes or hours, and he held her hand close to his heart as he gazed down upon her and watched her life ebb away.

Glossary

aback
   In a position to catch the wind on the forward surface. A sail is aback when it is pressed against the mast by a headwind.

abaft
   Toward the stern of a ship. Used relatively, as in “abaft the beam” of a vessel.

able seaman
   A general term for a sailor with considerable experience in performing the basic tasks of sailing a ship.

after cabin
   The cabin in the stern of the ship used by the captain, commodore, or admiral.

aide-de-camp
   An officer acting as a confidential assistant to a senior officer.

alee
or
leeward
   On or toward the sheltered side of a ship; away from the wind.

amidships
   In or toward the middle of a vessel.

athwart
   Across from side to side, transversely.

back
   To turn a sail or a yard so that the wind blows directly on the front of a sail, thus slowing the ship's forward motion.

back and fill
   To go backward and forward.

backstay
   A long rope that supports a mast and counters forward pull.

ballast
   Any heavy material placed in a ship's hold to improve her stability, such as pig iron, gravel, stones, or lead.

Barbary States
   Morocco, Algiers, Tunis, and Tripoli. All except Morocco were under the nominal rule of the Ottoman sultan in Constantinople.

bark
or
barque
   A three-masted vessel with the foremast and mainmast square-rigged, and the mizzenmast fore-and-aft rigged.

bar-shot
   Shot consisting of two half cannonballs joined by an iron bar, used to damage the masts and rigging of enemy vessels.

before the mast
   Term to describe common sailors, who were berthed in the forecastle, the part of the ship forward of the foremast.

before the wind
   Sailing with the wind directly astern.

belay
   To secure a running rope used to work the sails. Also, to disregard, as in “Belay that last order.”

belaying pin
   A fixed pin used on board ship to secure a rope fastened around it.

bend
   To make fast. To bend on a sail means to make it fast to a yard or stay.

binnacle
   A box that houses the compass, found on the deck of a ship near the helm.

boatswain
   A petty officer in charge of a ship's equipment and crew, roughly the equivalent in rank to a sergeant in the army.

bollard
   A short post on a ship or quay for securing a rope.

bower
   The name of a ship's two largest anchors. The best-bower is carried on the starboard bow; the small-bower is carried on the larboard bow.

bowsprit
   A spar running out from the bow of a ship, to which the forestays are fastened.

brace
   A rope attached to the end of a yard, used to swing or trim the sail. To “brace up” means to bring the yards closer to fore-and-aft by hauling on the lee braces.

brail up
   To haul up the foot or lower corners of a sail by means of the brails, small ropes fastened to the edges of sails to truss them up before furling.