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  Each evening after dinner, they labored on the music. Nathan sounded out the notes on her piano as Melba vigorously drew their symbols on musical bars and graphs that only she and others who were properly trained could read. No matter to Nathan. His only interest in this exercise was Melba. He reveled in making her happy. And, as her spirits lifted, he was overjoyed. His mind brimmed with inspiration. In the afternoons when Melba napped, he took his fiddle and ventured into the field where he found a comfortable place to sit and sound out new tunes.

  Once each week he returned to his empty ship moored in the bay. Despite his comfort with the decision to bring Melba to his home in Australia, he was restless. The captain had underwritten this voyage with the understanding that he would be paid back with some of the spoils of the hunt. He knew Melba’s father awaited the ship’s return to Nantucket. Nathan, for his part, was intent upon devoting his earnings to the construction of a house, like the captain’s, on Nantucket. He and Melba had already selected the tract of land they would buy high on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic in ‘Sconset’.

  He surveyed every inch of the whaler, inspecting it for improvements that must be made. He noted other ships as they came and went. Many were under sail like his, but he was intrigued by the increasing number that chugged in and out of the bay under the power of steam. Occasionally, he’d come across one of these ships out at sea in the whaling grounds. His vessel could not match their speed and maneuverability. He knew that for every whale he took, these new powerful ships took three. He worried that this new technology was making his barque obsolete.

  He spent part of his time in the little village that rose above the bay. Here, he joined with other sailors whose ships were holed up in the water for repairs or simple layovers until it was time to move on. Whenever he encountered the captain of a steamship, he carefully queried him about engines and fittings. Some of the ships were not new, resembling his own, but somehow fitted with the technology he increasingly deemed essential for the future. Many of the comments he heard were complaints about the constant noise and grit that enveloped the vessel. Still, those he engaged spoke glowingly of the freedom to move across the seas regardless of wind. Wood was the primary fuel, but a few ships, mostly from America, were fired by coal. Nathan gave considerable thought to what he learned. Whaling was his livelihood and he meant to stay current.

  On a hot January morning, Melba gave birth to a healthy baby boy. The initial appearance of the crying child matched more with Melba than Nathan. His hair was light, almost white with hints of the fiery red that would eventually become its color. His feet were large for a tiny infant. The midwife announced, confidently, that he would grow to be a big man like his father.

  Within days, Melba was up and about, tending to her child with the same devotion she gave her husband. Both parents were filled with happiness, although for different reasons. Melba gloried in her motherhood. She was deeply proud that she could give Nathan a healthy child. She intended to have more and certainly a girl in the future, but she was thrilled that their first child was a boy. Nathan knew little about children, having had no friends as a child and encountering few, except for Melba’s younger siblings. He expected the bond with his son to come when the boy was older. Nathan’s joy came from watching his precious wife every time she took the baby into her arms. That was more than enough for him. They named the child Aaron.

  With his wife and son healthy and safe, Nathan earnestly turned his attention to his interrupted voyage. He had money from the first leg out of Nantucket. He determined that its best use would be to outfit the ship with a steam engine so that it could compete with the other vessels. In truth, it was becoming harder to find whales in the traditional hunting grounds. Two centuries of whaling had brought the populations down, even as more and more ships set to sea. He knew he must go farther south and north to find his prey. Steam could get him there faster, not to mention bring him quickly back to Melba and Aaron.

  He found an engine when an old merchant ship limped into the bay after a severe storm. With its main mast broken and debris littering the deck, the wrecked vessel’s captain and crew disembarked, vowing never to return to the sea again. Onlookers marveled that the cracked hull held long enough to bring them to safety. Even as the ship was tied to its mooring, it began to list slightly at its stern, water slowly seeping into the hold. Bidding for salvage began immediately.

  Nathan, being bigger than others who sought the captain’s attention, pulled the man aside to make a deal for the engine. In the village he was directed to the vessel’s machinist mate. The sailor was already drunk only hours after arriving onshore, but Nathan communicated well enough to hire him to disassemble the engine and install it on his own ship moored not far away. With the proper tools and a sober machinist, the job was done in a month.

  Aaron Whitehurst was three months old when his father gently kissed him good-bye in the makeshift nursery on the first floor of the farmhouse. Melba left the baby with Nathan’s stepmother so she could accompany her husband to the dock and see him sadly off. She was not superstitious, but she distrusted these engines that propelled all the newer ships. Growing up on Nantucket, she had heard stories of mysterious explosions. She had an uncomfortable feeling.

  Nathan was excited. He and his new crew had taken the ship into deeper waters more than a dozen times. There, among the waves, they put the exotic engine to test, making sure its fittings were secure and the old timbers comprising the hull could withstand the increased pressures of the belching machine. A smokestack had been pieced together, reaching upward through a hole just aft of the square-rigged sails. He located a source of coal twenty kilometers inland and several tons were carted to the ship by wagon.

  He pressed Melba’s hand as they kissed good-bye. Her lips lingered on his with the understanding that it would be many months before she would feel them again. Their love had grown stronger since the departure from Nantucket. Melba felt secure in the man she had accepted. She knew that his devotion to her was unbounded. He saved her life by cutting short his voyage to bring her here to Apollo Bay. In all of their time together he had never shown anger. Instead, he grew more steady and, most of all, loving. True, she was sad to see him off, but she glowed with happiness in her love for him.

  The ship moved out of the bay quickly under its new power. Once in the broad sea, Nathan set a course past Van Dieman’s land and beyond to the straits south of New Zealand, among the roughest seas in the world. It was late in the season, but he hoped to find whales in the passages as they headed north from the Antarctic. His new crew needed seasoning. Few were experienced whalers with only one harpooner who had successfully withstood the recoil of a powerful bomb lance gun and killed a whale. Nathan knew he would need to descend into the boats with his green hunters if there was to be any chance for a good hunt. He didn’t mind because he liked the thrill of trailing these great beasts as they gracefully swam through the water, only yards from the tiny boats that followed.

  The tragedy took place three weeks into the voyage. Nathan was at his chart table in his quarters, celebrating a successful day and planning the long chug north. He sat in his chair, sipping from a pewter stein filled with the expensive scotch whiskey his mentor, the captain, had given him at his farewell from Nantucket. That morning a pod was sighted. Pygmy blues were not his prime goal, but the sailors needed practice. Under his able leadership they had performed well. After the kill he rewarded the crew by breaking out a cask of gin. He could hear the drunken revelry on deck. The music had begun. He took another long drink, letting the exquisite warmth work its way into his chest. The welcomed euphoria took hold. He eyed the fiddle on his berth. One more, he decided, rising to collect the jug and refill his stein.

  A young sailor, barely sixteen, had the job of shoveling the coal that fired the steam engine. It was dirty work that kicked up clouds of black dust in the poorly vented room that served as the coal bin. The opening to the engine room was small, making the effort awkward.
The area was also poorly lit, by intent, lest a stray spark accidentally ignite the billowing dust. This night, the young sailor was in a hurry to complete his task. The sun had set and he was anxious to get topside where the music had begun. Like his fellows, he was taken with the strangely beautiful repertoire that his captain brought forth from his fiddle and flutes.

  Nearing the completion of his chore, the boy hoisted one final load, but as he hurriedly stepped through the entryway with the cumbersome shovel, his boot caught and he went sprawling into the small opening where the cinders glowed red. His face went into the blazing heat, stopped only by his shoulders as they slammed against the cast iron sides. Still, enormous damage was done as his hair caught fire and the searing heat blinded his eyes. Screaming in pain and panic, he staggered backwards, flailing at his burning scalp. He fell into the coal bin, clothes afire. The dust ignited instantly with a flaming explosion that engulfed the lower hold.

  At the sound of the blast, Nathan dropped the stein in his hand and tore from his cabin. A sailor pointed to smoke billowing up from the hold. Nathan shouted for the boats to be lowered as he scrambled below decks.

  Two sailors rushed to the boats, but lack of experience and drunkenness caused them to let the ropes slip. The crew’s only chance for safety fell haphazardly to the waters. Both boats flipped awkwardly and one immediately sank before their eyes. The other floated precariously upside down, half submerged.

  Nathan leapt down the ladder. Thick smoke obscured his view, but the intense flames cleared his vision just enough to see that all was lost. He tried to force his way through, feeling desperately for the limbs of the boy he knew must still be trapped. It was no use. As his clothes began to catch fire, he inched his way back, grabbed the ladder and lifted his legs, too late. Smoke filled his lungs, burning through tissues as it banished all oxygen. Nathan’s arms grew weak and he slumped against the ladder, suddenly aware that he, too, was doomed. In seconds, he lost his grip and fell back. As consciousness faded, the vision of his beloved wife and son crossed before his eyes. His final emotion was overwhelming guilt, remorse so great that he cried out in anguish. He would never return to them. He would never fulfill his duties as husband and father. In minutes, the vessel was engulfed in flame. A short time later it sank beneath the ocean, all hands lost, never to reveal its fate.

  ***

  As the months passed, Melba waited patiently for news from her husband. Letters came slowly from ships at sea, carried to and fro by other ships as they encountered one another in distant ports or sometimes on the high seas. She knew he would be in the southern seas for some time before he headed north with the whales, so she was unconcerned when no letter arrived for four months.

  She did receive letters from her mother expressing concern for her well-being and keen interest in her grandson. These she responded to eagerly with page after page describing Aaron’s progress along with rapturous depictions of Apollo Bay and its surrounding lands. She had grown to love this part of Australia with its hills rising high above the ocean. It was vastly different from her childhood home on Nantucket. She never realized how very confined her island life had been. Now, she could gaze across the fields and beyond to the mountain ranges that seemed endless. She was aware of Melbourne, the nearest city, not much further from the farm than Boston was from Nantucket. When Aaron was older she determined to travel there with Nathan.

  When no word from her husband arrived after six months, she wrote to her father, inquiring if a silence lasting this long might be normal. Her father’s reply was returned swiftly. Yes, this could be because Nathan had stayed longer on the ocean without coming to port. Her father explained that whales were becoming harder to locate. Nathan, he wrote, was very determined. He would do everything possible to assure a lucrative voyage. Too soon to worry.

  After eight months Melba knew something was wrong. Each morning she left Aaron with her mother-in-law and rode into the village at Apollo Bay on horseback. There, she met with every ship that came into the bay, inquiring of the seamen for any word of her missing husband and his ship. As each day passed with no information, her heart filled with dread. She returned to the farm with tears streaming down her freckled cheeks. Aaron was her only solace. She clung to the boy with desperation as she struggled with the notion that her husband might never return.

  Equal alarm arose on Nantucket. Her father understood the import of no news from a ship at sea. In his heart he clung to the hope that his daughter’s talented husband, who had learned the intricacies of the whaling life so quickly, could somehow survive a mishap at sea, but he recognized that such a lengthy silence could only mean the worst. He wrestled with the right words to put into a letter to his beautiful daughter, alone so far away. He wanted her to come home to Nantucket where she would be safe and where her family could aid her and her child as she grieved. Melba’s mother also grieved. Among her friends there were many widows of men lost at sea. There was little she could do, except remain close and help them raise their children. Now, she desperately desired to do the same for her daughter. She implored her husband to do all that he could to learn of Nathan’s fate, but he only shook his head, knowing that if the ship had gone down in some lonely stretch of ocean, it would be a miracle if any other ship had been near to bear witness. Still, at his wife’s insistence, he put out the word. ‘Wherever you travel, among all the ships you meet, inquire of Nathan Whitehurst, the whaler from Nantucket and Apollo Bay. Seek news of his whereabouts and bring it back to me so that we, who love him, can know his fate.’ When another three months passed the captain and his wife knew all hope was gone.

  Melba, too, gave up hope. Her trips into Apollo Bay became less frequent. With nightly tears still streaming from her heartbreak, she turned her thoughts to the future and what she must do. The letters from her father and mother, urging her to return home, weighed heavily on her mind and she re-read them many times as she debated the best course for her son’s future.

  Her in-laws had bonded with Aaron and he with them. His grandmother was as much a part of his upbringing as Melba. Both she and her husband had proven to be people of character and kindness. They accepted Melba lovingly, consoling her in her grief while hiding their own for the benefit of mother and child. They made no comment, neither urging her to stay nor advising her to return to Nantucket. Instead, they warmly cared for her and her child, making certain that both were sheltered, clothed and fed with the best they could provide. When they heard sobs coming from Melba’s room they knocked quietly at her door, entered slowly, and consoled her, careful to conceal the grief they, too, felt deep in their hearts.

  Aaron was in his second year, showing all the curiosity of a happy, healthy child. In him, Melba found the only comfort available as she desperately sought relief from her broken heart. As her little boy commenced to speak and walk, she came to a decision that she carefully wrote in a letter to her parents. Losing Nathan to the sea terrified her. She could not bear the thought of a long voyage back to Nantucket where the perils of the ocean would keep her in a constant state of fear. She resolved to stay in Australia and raise Aaron on the farm outside Apollo Bay where they would both be safe. One day, perhaps, when he was grown and her fears had abated she would return.

  Unable to accept his daughter’s decision, the captain bought the cliff land overlooking the swirling Atlantic in ‘Sconset’ upon which Nathan and Melba had planned to build their home. He wrote to her of his purchase in a long letter, telling her he would come to Australia to bring her safely back. Her reply was no. Her place must be at Apollo Bay with her son.

  Sixteen

  Skip wouldn’t let us in the hall so we sat outside on the grass, listening to Jimmy through the back windows. That mellifluous voice worked its magic. I was carried away.

  - Alice Limoges

  He didn’t see George again until the end of the week. The meeting was brief and mostly devoted to Jimmy’s prospects. George was encouraging as he quizzed him about the triathlon, parti
cularly where and when it would begin and end.

  The next day, a Saturday, he packed the Saab, locking the Centurion on a bike rack attached to the back of the car. He looked forward to the drive and to seeing some of the familiar sites in Vermont that held memories from his college years. Normally, he could make the trip in four hours, but he decided to take a longer route, steering clear of the highways. He was eager to take in the splendor of New Hampshire’s White Mountains before he crossed into Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom, equally beautiful. Four years of college, and many trips back and forth, had given him a reverence for northern New England’s great mountain ranges, split by breathtaking notches and descending into long fertile valleys. The backcountry roads were sparsely traveled. He could maneuver the car with all the freedom he missed after years in Manhattan.

  He arrived at Willoughby Lake just before dusk and booked a cabin on the shore of the glacier formed waterway. His plan was to take a few days canoeing and lightly training before heading west across the state to Burlington for the competition. Perhaps he would hike Willoughby Notch to the top of Mount Pisgah, the peak that gave a panoramic view of the lake and its surrounding farmlands. He looked forward to dinner at Skip’s in Newport, the venue where he found his first fans. Despite his uncertain future, he felt centered in this place.

  In the morning the water shimmered brilliant blue. Up from the shore there was a tiny breakfast shack just off the road. He ordered the Woodsman’s Special, consisting of all the foods he had avoided over the past five months, eggs sunnyside up, pancakes, sausage, bacon, toast, hash browns, juice and several cups of coffee. He was the only customer.

  Back at the cabin, he donned a tee shirt and bathing suit, his uniform for the rest of the morning as he paddled a canoe across the water and back. In the afternoon he took a short run before veering off to a trail that led to the summit of Mount Pisgah. It took an hour to reach the top, but the effort was worth it as he sat on a granite ledge and took in the vista that stretched for ten miles in every direction. When his watch showed four o’clock he reluctantly stood and made his way back down the mountain, invigorated beyond expectation by the pleasure of being alone and free in the countryside that gave reprieve to his uneasy mind.