It was only later when he was helping his mother in the kitchen by bringing in more firewood that he heard the reason for his father’s metamorphosis. It was the sale of the farm, she explained. At first, he had been depressed, but then he gradually came to enjoy his free time. He still mostly read the Bible, but he was also reading some poetry by Cowper and some of the frontier novels of Cooper. They had moved in with Josiah and because of his shortness of breath, he was forced to stay in the house. That confinement had meant he spent more time with grandchildren.
“It seems like your father has finally discovered the magic of children, Ely. I am sorry for the way he treated you. Perhaps in his own way, he is too. I am sure he has his many regrets, but I am afraid his stubborn pride will keep him from ever sharing them with you.”
Then she stopped and smiled, adding, “Even though your father can’t express it, I know he’s proud of you. And I’m so proud of you, Ely, for finding such a fine girl to marry. She must love you if she is willing to go to sea with you.”
The Thanksgiving meal was a happy occasion. All of Morgan’s older sisters and their husbands arrived in buggies. Their children screamed and laughed as they ran around the farm, playing hide-and-seek in the tobacco shed. The adults put the small ones on horseback and led them around the apple orchard. The older children pretended they were Indians and began stalking and scaring the younger ones. All the women clustered together in the big kitchen around the stove, chopping and cutting the potatoes and onions on the kitchen table, stuffing the turkey, rolling out the dough for the mince, pumpkin, and cherry pies, and basting the roast pig. Eliza was soon made to feel that she was part of a large, welcoming family. Morgan had never felt happier as his family sat down for the Thanksgiving supper, their heads bowed as Asenath’s husband, Deacon Talcott said grace, giving thanks for the plentiful food and the return of those in peril on the sea. He looked at Morgan and Eliza as he said this, and then closed his eyes, and bowed his head. “And finally, O Lord, let us give thanks for the happiness that comes with reuniting a family.” A resounding amen echoed around the dining room table.
After dinner, Morgan looked over at his mother, who was knitting by the fire, her wooden needles clacking and clicking in a slow, soothing rhythm, the soft yarn spilling to the floor. She was seemingly lost in the simple soothing repetition of one stitch, one purl, and then the same task all over again. Her gaze downward at her knitting appeared profound, meditative, and beyond his reach. He decided to say nothing as he watched her engage in the simple rhythmic process of knitting that he also found strangely calming. The small children were being read to by their mothers, while the men talked about the people they’d seen and spoken to at the meeting, the new hymns they sang, and Reverend Tenny’s simple, but stirring words about driving temptation away.
No one noticed as he and Josiah walked out of the house toward Low Point to smoke cigars as dusk set in. It was there, overlooking the river, that Morgan shared Abraham’s journal with his brother. He told him about John Taylor and how the man had run off as quickly and as mysteriously as he had surfaced. They read the journal together. Josiah remained quiet for a long time after that. Morgan watched him hold the journal, gingerly turning the pages, his face disturbed and intent. He could see that his brother was lost in the words. He turned away to give him time to recover his emotions. He walked to the overlook to gaze down at the river. Two men in a flat bottom pole boat carrying some livestock were navigating the serpentine shallows.
He finished his cigar and then walked back to find Josiah with his head down and the journal clasped tightly in his hands. Morgan asked his brother whether or not they should show it to their parents.
Josiah pondered that thought for a moment, and finally said, “Mother is not as strong as she might seem, Ely. She spends most of her time clacking away with those wooden needles. It’s her way to forget her troubles, forget the past.”
He paused to remove the cigar from his mouth.
“Do you think there be any chance that Abraham is still with the living, Ely?”
Morgan looked at Josiah for several seconds before he answered.
“I can’t say. My mind tells me one thing. My heart tells me another. I suppose that after all these years you would have to say no. It has been too long. What do you think, Josiah?”
“I would have agreed with you all these years, Ely. Ever since we got that letter, I never expected to see him again. But just last month something pretty strange happened. A man introduced himself to me just outside the general store in Lyme. Big fellow, beet-red hair. Had a patch over one eye and kept looking at me strange with that one eye. Asked if I was Josiah Morgan. He sounded like an Englishman. Something about him made me shy of trusting him from the first so I asked what business did he have. He wasn’t going to gull me any sooner than he could catch a weasel asleep. He asked if I had seen my brother Abraham recently, and as you might imagine, I thought it was a bad joke. I told him no, that Abraham had gone to sea a good many years ago and never come home. Then this Englishman looked at me real funny with that uneasy eye and said if for some reason he does come home I should tell him that one of his old mates is looking for him.”