Page 15 of The Salamander

“Courage, then, my countrymen, our contest is not only whether we ourselves shall be free, but whether there shall be left to mankind an asylum on earth for civil and religious liberty.”

– Samuel Adams 1776

CHAPTER 4

Haraden house, Salem, 31 July 1776

THE DUCK HAD been stewing since early afternoon, the rich scent of claret wine, herbs, and bone broth filling the kitchen and drifting into the dining room and beyond.

The wonderful smells had drawn Eunice to inquire of the cook. “Shall I call Mr. Haraden and Hannah to supper?”

“Aye, ’tis time if they want it hot. His last meal before sailin’ ought to be one he’ll remember.”

“What about Polly?” asked Eunice. The baby was with the wet nurse and due to return.

“She’ll be here any moment. Only a month until the wee lass is weaned. I’ve already found my old receipts for gruel and pottage.” Martha’s eyes twinkled. “Truth be told, if she’s like Hannah, the child will likely prefer gingerbread.”

“Anyone would,” said Eunice, going back to the parlor to announce, “Martha says supper is ready.”

“Good,” said Mr. Haraden, closing his book and rising from his chair. “The smells coming from there have been tormenting me since she started cooking.”

Hannah looked up from the knot Silas was showing her.

“You go, Lass,” Silas said. “We’ll finish it after supper.”

Filing into the dining room, Mr. Haraden took his place at the head of the table. Hannah and Eunice sat in their usual places across from one another.

With a flourish, Martha brought in the stewed duck, the skin browned to a deep mahogany and the meat so tender it threatened to part from the bone. Following the duck, the cook set down a bowl of mashed potatoes with a glossy gravy thickened from the pan drippings, and a platter of asparagus fresh from the garden, still bright and green from its brief boiling.

“Mind you don’t get that gravy on my tablecloth,” Martha teased, arching a brow at Hannah as she handed Mr. Haraden the serving ladle. “It’s the last clean one ’til Monday wash.”

“We’ll all be careful,” said Mr. Haraden with a wink at his eldest daughter.

Martha returned to the kitchen as Eunice poured Mr. Haraden and herself glasses of claret, and Hannah watered cider. Mr. Haraden lifted a plate and ladled out portions. Finally, he served himself.

The first mouthful of duck melted against Eunice’s tongue, savory with wine and herbs, underpinned by the richness of the broth. The potatoes were buttery smooth, the gravy deep with the essence of the roasting pan. “This food is wonderful, Martha,” Eunice said loud enough for the cook to hear in the kitchen.

Martha reappeared, hands planted on her hips, a confident tilt to her chin. “And I’ll warrant you’ll not taste better in Boston or the West Indies, so mind you remember it, sir, when the ship’s cook serves you salt pork.”

Mr. Haraden’s mouth quirked. “I expect I’ll be dreaming of your duck when walking the deck at night.”

Hannah giggled into her cup, glancing between them as if she’d just witnessed a private contest of wits.

Eunice smiled into her claret, struck by the quiet ease between them, the rhythm of a household already formed around her presence in ways she had never anticipated. “Are all the repairs completed on the Tyrannicide?” she asked.

“Aye,” said Mr. Haraden, “and the crew’s been returning over the week.”

Hannah’s eyes lit. “What about the cabin boys? Mrs. Mason said some are near my age.”

“Most of the lads signed for ninety days. I expect many have renewed. The Tyrannicide is a good place for them to learn.”

Eunice set down her fork. “While you are at sea, Hannah and I plan to go with my mother to East Church for the day of prayer and fasting on the fifth. We’ll pray for your safe return.”

“I’ll say a prayer, too,” Hannah said.

Eunice smiled at her charge. “I think God would like that very much.”

When the duck was gone and plates cleared, Martha returned with a plate of dark, moist gingerbread, the crust still faintly crisp from the oven. The warm scents of ginger and spice curled into the room.