Wild Rose

Caleb turned to look beyond his back lawn, beyond the cove, to the sea. Cloud cover gave the ocean a silvery green appearance. A small whitecap here and there signaled the stiff breeze blowing in from the Atlantic. A few islands lay directly in front of his cove, outcroppings of rock more than real landmasses. The larger one was flat, like an old man lying half submerged by water.

He watched a wave curl against one side of its forbidding gray rock, then slip back down into the ocean in defeat. His soul felt like that rock. Assaulted. Barren. Alone.

Knowing Nate waited for him to say something, he asked, “Why shouldn’t Arabella continue in ignorance about Ellery? What went on in the firm has nothing to do with her.”

Nate slammed the heavy tome shut and turned to Caleb. “Nothing to do with her that the man she’s planning to marry is the man who did everything in his power to make you look guilty? Nothing to do with her that the man who could have cleared you with one word was silent throughout the whole ordeal? And that you’ve done nothing to make her see the truth? Caleb, why do you insist on continuing the martyrdom? Wasn’t it bad enough when you had no choice? Now you’ve got your father behind you.”

Caleb tightened his hands into fists against the windowsill. Hadn’t he had the same discussions in his head over and over?

“Arabella made her decision.”

“She made a mistake.” Nate’s voice softened. “We all make mistakes. Is that a reason for condemning her to a lifetime shackled to a weak, envious, backstabbing—”

Caleb turned toward the room once more.

“You forget, Ellery is my cousin.” When Nate made a sound of disagreement, Caleb held up a hand. “I made the decision to leave.” He looked steadily at Nate, reminding him of his promise not to interfere. “My decision was final. What Ellery chooses to tell Arabella, or anyone else, is no longer my concern. It’s not the reason I left Boston. You and I both know why I did that.”

Nate replaced the book on the shelf. The care he took in putting it back exactly where he’d taken it told Caleb that his friend was using the time to compose himself. When he faced Caleb once again, his tone was calm.

“You’re still letting your father rule you. Even way up here, where you can’t see him or hear him, he continues to be a tyrant over you. I just wonder how long it’s going to take you to figure that out.”

Caleb awoke and looked up at the whitewashed ceiling, orienting himself. His mind was permeated with a feeling of anticipation, and he had to think a minute, wondering at its origin.

Nate had stayed until the day before, when he’d left on a schooner to Eastport, where he’d catch the overnight steamer to Boston. Caleb spent the two days of his visit showing him around. They had hiked and explored the coastline the same way they’d done as young sailors exploring the various ports of call.

Caleb stretched, reaching his arms up behind him, wondering at the sense of purpose he’d awakened with. He lay back on his pillow, the sunlight streaming in through the bare panes, until it came to him. The seeds!

Like an interrupted conversation that needed to be picked up where it had broken off, Caleb felt the need to follow through on his last encounter with Miss Patterson. She’d offered him seeds, and he was going to see about getting them.

Caleb threw back his sheet and blanket and jumped up from his bed, glad he no longer had to pretend that everything was all right, or weigh each word to make sure his faithful friend wouldn’t pounce on it, ready to use it as ammunition for Caleb’s return to Boston.

Glancing outside, he saw the sun shimmering off the blue Atlantic. Suddenly he felt a desire to plunge into it. He needed the cold, clear water to wash his mind of all the debate Nate’s visit had threatened to resurrect.

Grabbing a towel, he headed outside in his drawers and undervest across the remaining knee-high grass of his back lawn, down the rickety wooden stairs to the beach below. He flung the towel onto the round stones, stripped off the undervest, and began walking toward the surf. Immediately, he had to slacken his pace, his feet finding it hard going over the stones. They were as round and smooth as ostrich eggs, originally a slate hue but now bleached almost white by the sun.

When he first entered the water, the cold almost made him turn back, and as he went deeper, his ankles and feet grew numb. The rubbery rockweed covering the stones beneath the surf made walking precarious. When the water reached his thighs, Caleb braced himself for the impact and plunged in.

He swam straight out against the tide, then, turning, he veered to the side, swimming parallel to the shore, up and back, until his body recovered from the shock of the icy water and the exertion made him impervious to the cold.

He emerged from the water, feeling a release from the past. Thoughts of Arabella’s impending wedding could no longer threaten the equilibrium he’d achieved for himself.

Equilibrium? Since when? Certainly not since coming to Haven’s End, when he’d tried to drown his sorrows in drink. As he rubbed himself vigorously with the towel, he tried to pinpoint the moment he’d begun feeling a semblance of peace.

Since beginning the garden.

A gust of breeze raised the gooseflesh on his skin, so he turned his feet away from the cove and back toward the stairs.

After shaving and dressing, he headed up the road to his neighbor’s. She’d disappeared the day Nate had arrived, and Caleb hadn’t seen her since.

He proceeded in a leisurely way up the slope toward her place. A row of hackmatack trees, their sparse needle-clad branches interlocking, created a windbreak between his land and hers. A thicket of low-growing wild rosebushes clustered along the edge of the road, but they had not yet blossomed. The sound of the wind was constant, offering today a soft, steady sifting through the fir trees.

Miss Patterson’s front yard was edged by a crumbling stone wall, which was almost buried in wild rose and blackberry vines. Beyond this barrier, the yard was neat, the grass short and green, with a profusion of flowers blossoming around the well and at a window box. The house itself was a small, weathered shingle-box, surely not containing more than one room.

The first thing that greeted Caleb was the loud bark of a dog. As soon as he’d stepped onto the path of crushed, bleached white clamshells that led to the front door, his neighbor’s large, black dog bounded toward him. He was a black Labrador with enough other traits to deny any purity in his lineage. An old wound crumpled one ear, and an ugly pink scar disfigured the fur of one of its haunches.

Stopping a mere foot or so from Caleb, the dog kept up his barking. Caleb stood still, speaking to the dog in soft tones. Each time Caleb attempted to take a step forward, the dog dodged in front of him, his black eyes trained on Caleb.

Geneva walked around the side of the house, an empty pail swinging from each hand, heading toward the well. She stopped short at seeing Captain Caleb. What was he doing here? And Jake!

Recovering, she rushed toward the dog. “Down, Jake. That’s enough! I said hush!” When the dog continued barking and running back and forth, Geneva turned to Caleb. “Don’t pay him no mind. He won’t hurt you.”

The captain looked dubious. “Are you sure he knows that?”

“He just acts fierce. You won’t hurt the captain, will you, boy?” She bent over and rubbed Jake’s neck, seeking to ease the tension she felt in his muscles.

Caleb took a few cautious steps toward Jake and held out his hand for the dog’s inspection. “Your mistress is right. I won’t hurt you.” Jake would have none of it, but continued his incessant barking.

“He don’t take easily to strangers,” she explained, wanting so much for Jake to take to the captain. Her fingers continued running down the dog’s black hair in long, soothing strokes. “He had some bad times ’fore I got him, and he’s still not over them—are you, Jake?” She bent her head over her pet.

She could feel the captain watching the rhythm of her fingers down the dog’s haunches and she struggled to maintain their steadiness.

“Did his owner neglect him?” he asked gently.

Relieved that his focus was on the dog, she answered with a short laugh. “He probably wishes he had. No, his owner liked to take a stick to him and beat him ’til he could hardly stand.” She gave him a sharp look. “The man liked to drink.”

He didn’t react to her pointed reference, but said, “You ran off the other day.”

With a final pat, she straightened and picked up her buckets. “I didn’t ‘run off.’” She threw the words over her shoulder as she walked toward the well. “You had company. Figured the best thing I could do was stay out of your way.”

She set the pails down on the wet slats and began pumping the handle. When she’d filled each, she took them up and headed back around the house.

“Here, let me.” The captain reached her, ignoring Jake’s immediate menacing bark, to grab one of the pails.

Surprised at the gesture, she didn’t let go of the handle, but gave it a tug toward herself, sloshing water over the side of the rim. Jake immediately stood beside them, giving the captain a low-throated growl.

“Hush, Jake.” Geneva took the bucket from the captain’s loosened fingers. “Don’t worry, Cap’n, I got it. I’m just taking it to the garden. It hasn’t rained in a few days. Soil’s getting dry.” She heard the sentences coming out one atop the other in an effort to overcome her confusion at his gentlemanly gesture. Why did he treat her like a lady? Didn’t he see she was more like a man than a woman?

When she realized he hadn’t followed her, she had to swallow a sense of disappointment. She began watering her plants and was startled again at the sound of a whistle behind her.

The captain stood staring at her garden, a bucket in his hand. “Everything looks twice as high as in my garden.”

She shrugged, hiding her pleasure. “Yours will catch up.”

“Where do you want the water?” He held up the bucket.

She blinked. “You don’t have to help me with this.”

“You’ve helped me. And I’m sure to need your help again.”