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  THE AFTER HOUSE

  Michael Phillip Cash

  Copyright © 2014 Michael Phillip Cash

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1500600369

  ISBN 13: 9781500600365

  Dedicated to my dad

  Who got the ball rolling.

  af·ter·house – noun- ’af-tər-ˌhau̇s

  1. the deckhouse nearest the stern of a ship

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Off the coast of Puerto Rico, 1840

  Captain Eli Gaspar looked at his crew rowing rapidly toward the great sperm whale in the distance, the balmy air weighted with humidity. They had shipped out of Puerto Rico yesterday morning after restocking. They found a pod of whales and took a female and two calves. After a halfhearted chase, they towed them back and attached the carcasses to the ship. The heads were severed, and so began the arduous job of processing the beasts. Blanket pieces of the whales’ skin were stripped off like the peel from an orange, lowered into the blubber room, and cut into small pieces.

  Fires under large cauldrons worked for days, breaking down the fats into liquid. The rancid smell of burning blubber filled the ship. It permeated the men’s clothing and the bedding. Their skin was black with grime. After being boiled, the oil was stored in casks until the men could head home to sell their bounty.

  Eli was journeying home after thirteen months at sea. He had missed the birth of his son, little Charlotte was turning eight, and his father-in-law had broken his wife’s heart by dying suddenly. Sarah’s letter had caught up with him in the Canary Islands. She begged for him to hurry home. Money was tight, her father’s estate tied up, and she needed him. You would think an attorney would have taken better care of his only child, but what was it they said about the shoemaker’s children? They were the ones left barefoot. He knew Sarah was bereft. She needed him. She wasn’t good with finances—hell, she wasn’t good with decisions. She had her father for that, and now he was gone.

  Eli couldn’t imagine what he was going to find when he got home. The sooner he got there, the better. He wrote back but wasn’t sure if he would return before his letter arrived. The mail at sea was, at best, unreliable.

  It was a good trip. They had taken twenty-two whales. He was upset with the crew for killing the calves, but the first one had gotten in the way when they tried to harpoon the mother. The second one was clearly sick, based on what they discovered after cutting it open. They left that one for the ever-present sharks that circled the ship, made quick work of the mother and the other calf, then pushed north toward home.

  Today the bull appeared out of nowhere, the large knobs of its backbone causing Eli’s lookouts to scream, “She blows,” as the sun sank into the silver-dappled water. It was huge. Eli gripped the rail. He had never seen anything as big as this one. It had to be over eighty feet long—almost as big as the bark he sailed. He watched in awe as the S-shaped blowhole blew a geyser toward the darkening heavens. It was late, the sun just about to dip into the horizon, but this was too great a prize to ignore. He tasted rain in the air and knew a storm was brewing. He hoped they’d capture the whale long before the expected squall reached them. The men jumped rapidly into the two whaleboats, seven in each, starting the chase that could last upward of twenty-four hours.

  “They’re a well-oiled crew,” Eli thought proudly. They had drilled for days in the beginning of the trip, learning each other’s quirks, making their response instantaneous when prey showed up.

  The boats flew over the white-tipped waves, the air thickening with moisture, the storm moving their way with the same speed as Eli’s seasoned rowers. The sea grew choppy, and the great whale disappeared under the surface. The lookout’s frenzied movements with small colored flags directed the rushing boats to its location. Time was running out. In the east, the sky was turning the same deep blue as his wife’s eyes. The first bright pinpoints of the stars lit the heavens above them. The west threatened rain. He glanced at the gathering storm clouds estimating how long they would have before the rain would compound their work.

  “Row, you bastards. Give it to him!” Eli shouted the command to strike, his face burning from the wind.

  The whale leaped up, mocking them with his fluke, arcing over the water to land in a huge splash. “Get him! Get him!” Eli ordered his first mate, pounding his fist with each word. He rolled onto the balls of his feet, leaning forward, caught in the thrill of the capture, a smile on his face.

  The crew picked up speed, rowing efficiently, surrounding the animal. Moses, his first mate, stood majestically in the longboat, bracing his leg in the clumsy cleat to throw his iron. Time ceased then. The air was turgid, and everything moved in slow motion. Eli wished he could capture the moment somehow.

  His burnished skin glistening with sweat, Moses raised the long rod majestically, aiming the harpoon. Moses was six foot five, ebony, with muscles honed from his years as a slave. He was a free man now, and Eli’s first mate. Eli trusted him with his life. The sun was at half-mast, bathing the sparkling waves with red and gold. The two longboats and the crew were primed for the kill.

  Eli heard the harpoon hit with a meaty thud. A cheer of satisfaction erupted in the boat, letting him know Moses had struck true. The big man glanced back, a smile splitting his dark face. Eli grinned back with shared satisfaction. A second boat moved up from the south, the opposite direction, and Eli watched breathlessly as the greeny, one of the younger crew members, readied his arm to hurl a harpoon at the wounded whale. Eli could see the young man’s arm quivering from the strain. They were breaking him in for harpooning. He had long, muscled arms, but lacked patience. He had missed the female on his last excursion, causing no end of ridicule by his mates.

  “Got him!” Eli yelled, smiling proudly at the boy, who beamed back, his face triumphant with joy. It was a clean hit, right next to the other harpoon, the dual barbs sunk deep into the whale’s wrinkled skin. Eli pumped his fist in the air with approval, sharing his delight with the lad. He would be getting more duties after this. But there was no time for that now. The leviathan thrashed its great head, his platter-sized eye wild.

  “Stern, all! Stern for your lives!” the captain shouted, knowing Moses was crying out the same command on the longboats. He watched the giant’s tail twist in the water, the resulting waves causing the boats to be knocked around like toys. Eli considered the whale’s head, bobbing in the water. It was huge, more than half the size of the whole torso, and would yield mounds of spermaceti, the most profitable part of the whale for its use in candles. What a prize to end the trip. His holds would be weighted down with enough oil to pay his debts and stay home for a whole year. He could give Sarah what she craved—attention. He smiled with satisfaction. Perhaps now her tone with him would not be as sharp—as edged with disappointment. Her complaints dominated all the letters from home.

  His reflection and the crew’s celebration were cut short when the taut ropes from the harpoons spun from their coil, the friction causing a small pl
ume of smoke.

  “Careful. . .careful,” he urged, bringing his watchful eyes and his attention back to the drama on the sea. He saw his men grab tight to the oars as the boat was lifted to skim the water.

  “A Nantucket sleigh ride,” little Henry Falcon yelled with admiration. Eli ruffed his cabin boy’s head, laughing at his excitement. It never failed to thrill him too. “I wish you let me go with them!”

  “I promised to keep you safe, lad,” he said, sharing a smile at the feeling of the capture. “Next year will be soon enough.” But he knew there’d be a next year only if Sarah let him leave. She went along with this life because her father was home to watch over her and the children. Now he was gone, and it might mean a future of being landlocked. She begged him to open a store so he could be home all the time. He was her husband, her protector. Time for adventures was over—that was her constant refrain. He’d had his fun, had sailed for close to eleven years, but now he was a family man and should be home to take care of them.

  But Sarah was miles from him and the ship. He didn’t have to think about that. Instead, he looked at the longboats racing across the waves, the men gripping the sides, their faces frozen in exhilaration. What he wouldn’t give to be on that longboat, but he had made a promise to Sarah that he wouldn’t take unnecessary chances. Married men don’t risk their lives, she had told him all those months ago.

  Henry reached into his pocket and took out a small whale tooth and a lead pencil.

  Eli watched the boy stare at the scene and then look at the unfinished etching on the tooth. “You have to draw it on paper first, lad, then tap the holes into the ivory.”

  Henry held up the sloppily done scrimshaw. “It’s not very good,” the boy lamented.

  “Rather fine, I’m thinking, for a first try. Rather fine. Should get better with time.” The captain nodded at the artwork.

  “Next trip, perhaps you can show me some more ways to do the drawings,” Henry said.

  “Yes,” Eli answered sadly. “Perhaps.” He knew his days of sailing were over, with his father-in-law’s death. There would be no more trips for him.

  He heard a raucous cheer from the longboats. The whale changed direction, sending the boats twirling, dipping, then righting themselves. Eli watched, caught up in the excitement with Henry. Again, he wished he were out on the sea, steering the whaleboat, actually participating in the chase. He missed the danger of the boat skipping over the waves in hot pursuit of its prey. Instead, they watched the boats skim the water, dragged by the tiring beast. They were nearing the end.

  He turned to the boy, his voice stern. “Aren’t you supposed to be lighting the fires with Barney?” He gestured to the men springing into action below them. The boy looked down to the lower decks to see the ship’s cooper, blacksmith, stewards, and cooks all preparing the equipment for the next two days, when they would break down the whale. He sighed, pocketing the whale tooth and causing Eli to laugh. This was not the glamorous side of whaling.

  “Can’t I stay until the flurry?” Henry pleaded. The flurry was the final minutes when the whale was known to swim in a tight circle until its fin surfaced, indicating it was over. They both turned to see the whale change direction once more, the circles growing smaller. “It’s our last before we head home. Please, Captain,” he added with disappointment, his large brown eyes imploring. He wiped impatiently at the moisture on his face.

  “Aye, it’s in your blood too, Henry,” the captain said. Without a word, Eli nodded his assent, watching the whale pick up with a burst of speed. “There’s life in this big fellow yet.” He patted his pockets, wishing he had taken his pipe.

  The creature took off, leaving a bloody trail. The boats were pulled by the giant bull. The chase could last all night. Some did. They could be dragged in the whale’s wake for hours until it tired, and its great heart gave up. The whale made a tight circle, swinging the longboats so that they flew above the waves, soaring four feet above the sea. They landed with tooth-jarring violence. The whale paused, as if getting its bearings, then turned into the longboats.

  “What’s he up to?” Eli asked no one in particular, his hands gripping the rails.

  “It’s lobtailing!” Henry screamed in horror, his dark brown eyes wide, as the huge tail reached above the waterline. The beast hit the churning sea with its fluke, creating a sound like a cannon.

  Eli heard wood splinter and watched with disbelief as the first boat disintegrated, men flying as if an explosive had torn into them. The whale leaped out of the water, his long razor of a jaw tangled in the lines. It gnawed on the thick ropes. He heard shouts as the men in the remaining boat tried to regroup, looking for survivors. The loud cries turned into screams as the whale arced, pulling the lines tight to dive deep. Eli gasped as the other boat disappeared under the waves, only to resurface seconds later, empty of men. The tail appeared again, flapping the water, crushing a lone seaman struggling to grab an oar.

  “What’s happening?” he yelled to the two men watching from the masts. “Launch boat three!” he called out to begin a rescue.

  The lookout screamed, his eyes wild with horror. “It’s heading for us!” He scrambled down the tall mast, his feet barely touching the pole. Eli ran across the slippery deck, watching the giant head part the waves to barrel toward them. This couldn’t be happening. He was almost finished with his journey. This was the last whale before they headed for home. He had played it safe, just as his wife had asked.

  The water turned wretchedly violent, the sky was black as pitch, opening up with a deluge and turning the horizon into a sodden mess. Sheets of water dropped from the heavens, obscuring the ocean.

  He sprinted toward the wheel, his feet sliding. He fell heavily on his knee. It cracked in time with thunder, and white spots danced before Eli’s eyes. He pounded the deck with his fist in frustration. Cursing at the pain, he pushed himself to his feet and threw himself at the wheel, grabbing it from the old tar who was manning it.

  He wrestled with it, trying to turn the ship, hearing his man scream, “It’s going to ram us!”

  “Brace yourselves! Douse the fires!” Eli yelled to the remaining crew. Wrapping both arms in the spokes of the wheel, he planted his feet firmly on the deck. She was strong, his ship, filled to the brim with whale oil— heavy, but solid on the water. Still, he had heard of a ship, a whaler, destroyed by another whale somewhere in the Pacific recently. He didn’t believe it possible, but he couldn’t deny the story.

  He saw Henry huddled in the corner, his small form shivering. His eyes were rounded with fear, his shoulders hunched. Eli was supposed to protect him. It was his job. He had given his word that he’d keep him from harm. This was not supposed to happen. He had promised the boy’s mother a safe journey. He had promised Sarah his own safe return as well.

  “Get to the afterhouse!” he yelled to the boy over the driving rain. “Go to the afterhouse! You’ll be safe there!”

  Henry stared at him, rigid with fear. The afterhouse was a small structure on one of the lower decks where men went to escape the elements, to stay dry. He looked at the captain, tears making tracks down his chubby cheeks. Eli’s heart twisted in his chest. He had no time for this.

  “Get below!” he bellowed. The boy stood frozen, looking small. He was too young to die. Eli pointed to the boxlike cabin below, his other arm straining to hold the spinning wheel. The boy responded as if shot. He gave a last anguished glance at Eli, then leaped, heading to the lower deck.

  “Leave!” Eli shouted to the remaining sailors over the howl in the wind. “Batten yourself to anything! Go!”

  The ship lurched as the angry whale slammed it. A great hole appeared in the side. Seawater came gushing in. Eli felt the ship tilt, his head connecting with the wheel. Dazed, he released the spokes, his fingers spasmodically trying to grab something, anything to hold onto. The ship tilted, and he slid off the deck, landing on the roof of the afterhouse with a loud thud. Water rushed around him, cold on his skin, making hi
s teeth chattered. Blood ran from his brow into his eyes.

  The ship was hit again, and great gouts of water splashed around him. Men’s screams rent the air, muffled by the rain. His eyesight dimmed. The ship spun in a dizzying vortex. Eli gripped the wooden deck, pressing his face against its slick surface. He was going down, spinning in a circle. “I should have gone into the afterhouse,” he thought dully. The afterhouse would have kept him safe.

  His last thoughts were of his wife. He wondered how she was going to manage without him.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Cold Spring Harbor, winter 2014

  The snow eddied and swirled down onto the pristine surface that glowed in the backyard. Remy Galway’s thin shoulders shuddered as the cold seeped into her bones. She shifted from one foot to the other, regretting that they were bare. She briefly thought about climbing the narrow steps to get her ratty-looking slippers but felt too lazy. The wind whistled through the eaves, and she looked up, wondering if the three-hundred-year-old shingles would hold. “Well, they really aren’t all three hundred years old,” she thought. The landlord had replaced most of them when she’d rented the house the previous last fall.

  Her father had offered to buy the place. He had insisted. He wanted her safe and happy. She absolutely refused. She had taken enough from him and her mother and was determined to stand on her own two feet, the way Dad had done it himself. He was a big bear of a man, with wind-whipped cheeks and a full head of white hair. Her parents were comfortable, both retired, with healthy pensions and a roster of activities that kept them busy.

  She was an only child, born to them late in life, the apple of their eye. Though there was a big age difference—her mom was well past forty, her father approaching fifty when she was born—they maintained a wonderful relationship. Growing up, they gave her everything they could, exposing her to ballet, yoga, the arts, white water rafting, and traveling the world. Her parents were much older than most of the other parents, and as a result, she didn’t develop many friendships. She was a lonely child, dependent on them for company. They filled her life with pleasant memories, and for the most part, she had a picture-perfect childhood.