Rough Passage to London(96)

She sighed, long and deep, as she looked into his eyes.

“I have waited for this moment for such a long time.”

Behind her, Morgan spotted his brother, who was holding the reins of the horse. Quietly they embraced, conveying to each other what words could not express.

“Where is father?” Morgan asked his mother, as they walked away from the noisy crowded docks.

“Your father is at home, Ely. The doctor is seeing him now. He has not been well for several months. I know that Josiah has written you that your father and I are now living with him and Amanda at their farm on Low Point north of here, near Hamburg Cove. Josiah built a separate wing onto the main house, which is where we are living.”

Morgan nodded slowly while studying his mother. She was much changed since he’d seen her last. Her thin face had sagged considerably with lines and wrinkles. Her hair was now almost all silver, pulled back tightly into a bun. There was a sadness in her eyes, a toughness as well. He realized she was sixty-seven years old now. “I’m sorry to hear about father,” he finally said. “What ails him?”

“He’s just not himself,” she replied. “He is faint and has difficulty breathing. The doctor says it’s all just part of getting old. You know he’s going to be seventy-nine this year.”

Morgan had not kept track of his father’s age that closely. Somehow he’d just assumed he would stay much the same as when he had last seen him. It was Sally Morgan who suggested that Ely sit up front with Josiah so the women could sit in the backseat of the wagon and talk. He guessed that his mother wanted to take serious measure of this new addition to the family. Morgan took the reins from his brother. It had been a long time since he’d held the reins of a horse, and he was amazed to find out that this bay filly was a granddaughter of the chestnut mare the family used to own. So much time had passed. They stopped to pick up some supplies at the village store. This took them through the center of Lyme, where Morgan realized his return to the river was a well-publicized event. As they trotted down the main street, he could see the tall spire of the church in the distance. People stopped and waved, many of whom he didn’t even recognize.

“Welcome home, Captain!” they shouted. He could see people whispering and pointing in his direction. He hadn’t realized it, but news of his career was followed on both sides of the river. A packet captain in the London line was viewed as a position of great prestige. His success as one of the elect of the seagoing community had been touted by some of the older captains like Daniel Chadwick of the Red Swallowtail Line and Henry Champlin of the Black X Line. Morgan had to rely on Josiah to tell him who many of these strangers were. He’d forgotten so many of the names.

The farm that Josiah bought with his help two years earlier was every bit as well situated as Ely had imagined. Part of it sat up on Low Point Hill where it commanded an excellent view of the river. The land was several hundred acres, but only a fraction of it was under cultivation with buckwheat, rye, corn, tobacco, and hay. The old country road wound its way past a pasture where a small herd of milking cows lazily chewed their cuds under the shade of a large oak tree. Off to the side, several horses were grazing. In the distance, he could hear a confused rooster crowing. The farmhouse soon came into view. The two-storied wooden house was originally built early in the previous century, and most of the beams had been hand hewn with an adze. The floorboards were wide pine planks stained a dark brown. When they walked into the kitchen, his father was seated by the large fireplace reading the Bible. The old man looked up, his face stern and rigid, his eyes locking onto him like a hawk spotting its prey. The bushy eyebrows, once stormy black, were now snowy white, as was his once thick, curly head of hair. Morgan stood there silently until his father broke the awkward moment.

“Finally decided to come home, eh?”

Morgan choked back his anger at this brusque remark but said nothing.

“I was wondering if your mother and I would ever lay eyes on you again.”

Morgan felt a knot in his throat move down into his chest.

“We had to sell the old farm, you know,” he said. “It was too much for your mother and me.”

Morgan remained silent.

“We might have kept it if you’d stayed on.” His voice now had a slight edge to it. “But I reckon you had other aspirations.”

Morgan’s fists closed as he fought back his anger.

“I reckon what happened was for the best, father. That was your farm, not mine. We were never meant to work together. You know that. Let’s leave the past behind us.”