How Dark the Night Read online

  Prescott cleared his throat. “Thank you for the gift of your family,” he started in. “That may seem an odd thing to say at this moment, but you are the key to Katherine’s recovery. Never in my many years of practicing medicine have I encountered another family so beloved by each other and by an entire community. Have you looked outside? Those good people, waiting there, your friends and neighbors, reflect that. They stand there for Mrs. Cutler, of course; but in truth they stand for you all.”

  Diana Cutler, the mirror image of her mother when she was seventeen, gave a wrenching sob, overcome by her fear and despair. Adele Endicott Cutler, who was sitting beside her, raised a hand and began gently kneading the nape of Diana’s neck. Adele’s husband, Will Cutler, could only gaze helplessly at his distraught sister.

  Dr. Prescott addressed Diana directly. “It is good to weep,” he comforted. “Tears express love and they cleanse the soul. Your mother’s travails in this process have been many, and they have been difficult, as they have been for you all. But I assure you that the worst is over now, certainly for the time being. As I have told Captain Cutler, we have every reason to be hopeful.”

  Diana nodded and hid her face in her hands, grateful for his comfort but unable to utter a word.

  “Then in your estimation the surgery was a success, Doctor?” That question came from Frederick Seymour, Anne’s husband. Everyone in the room had expected him to ask that most vital question. Direct and candid language was not only at the root of his nature, it also was at the root of his own medical practice in Cambridge.

  “In my opinion, yes it was, Doctor,” Prescott stated. “My assistant Dr. Thorndike and I removed Mrs. Cutler’s left breast without complication or compromise. I do not believe the surgery could have gone better.”

  Joan Cutler was about to ask the inevitable follow-up question when Lizzy Cutler Crabtree, Katherine’s closest friend since their childhood together in England, asked it instead. She had been the first person in whom Katherine had confided back in April, when Richard was off waging war in the Mediterranean, and had borne the secret alone until he had returned. “Were you able to remove all the cancer?”

  Prescott hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his waistcoat and stared solemnly at the floor for a moment, as if to contemplate his answer or to underscore its significance. “Regretfully, we cannot determine that, Mrs. Crabtree. It’s really anyone’s guess. Medical science knows very little about this dreadful disease. For now, everything is in God’s hands. But as I said, we have every reason to be hopeful. You are aware, of course, that President Adams’ daughter had the same procedure for the same reason and is now living a normal life.”

  “When will we know for certain if the cancer is gone?” Lizzy persisted.

  “Again, I cannot tell you when we will know, or even if. The cancer may return, but in the meantime she may have months—even years—of a perfectly normal life. We’ll just have to take each day as it comes and be grateful for that day. I realize that you want specifics, but those I cannot give you. Certainly we can all pray for her full recovery. I can assure you that I will do so.” What remained unsaid—that Katherine’s prognosis would likely have been better had she agreed to the surgery earlier—was best left unsaid. The family understood what lay behind that decision, and nothing would be gained by reexamining it now.

  “But my mother will get better, at least for a while?” Diana threw out her question as a plea, her delicate features a study of desperate hope. Yesterday there had been no consoling her; neither her father nor anyone else had been able to ease her pain. She had soldiered on nonetheless, determined to keep her dark fears and anguish bottled up to the extent possible, waiting in agonized suspense for this moment.

  Prescott smiled at her. “Yes, Diana, your mother will get better. That much I can promise you. She was living a normal life before the surgery, was she not? So why not after the surgery? I daresay that if this splendid weather holds, in a few weeks’ time you and she will be riding your customary route at World’s End. At a walk or a canter, mind you,” he added, wagging a finger at her in mock sternness, “not at a hard gallop.”

  With that, the dike burst. “Thank you, Doctor!” Diana sobbed. “You could not have said anything to make me happier.” As if to belie those words she leaned forward, buried her face in her hands, and wept great heaving sobs, giving vent to the unspoken emotions felt by everyone present. Richard bit his lip and dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief as his brother Caleb stood up to stand beside Dr. Prescott.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” he said, pressing Prescott’s hand. “The Cutler family is most indebted to you for your excellent care of our dear sister and mother.”

  Prescott bowed. “It is my honor, Mr. Cutler.”

  “Can we see her now?” Diana begged, swiping at tears.

  Prescott nodded. “Soon, Diana. I will see her now, along with your father. But this afternoon, you and Will may go in to her. Please keep your visits brief during the next several days and present cheerful faces. She needs your encouragement. She also needs to rest, so don’t tire her, and she needs to slowly start eating something of substance.”

  “You need have no concerns about that, Doctor,” Caleb pointed out good-naturedly. “Not in this house.”

  Everyone in the room, including Dr. Prescott, understood that Caleb was referring to Edna Stowe, the tireless housekeeper who had devoted most of her adult life in service to the Cutler family and was at that moment upstairs tending to little Thomas Cutler and eight-year-old Zeke Crabtree. Her reputation as a cook and as a woman who brooked no nonsense from those in her charge—and that included every member of the extended Cutler family—was well established in Hingham. And on that positive note the family gathering ended.

  DR. PRESCOTT’S prediction was correct. Katherine Cutler did show rapid improvement. Another week would pass, however, before she judged herself well enough to leave Caleb’s house on Main Street for her own home a quarter mile away on South Street. Richard supported the move wholeheartedly, certain that her return to the house so full of happy memories would expedite her return to health. But the rest of the family and Edna had first to be convinced that it was safe. Although Diana wanted her mother home more than anything, she was concerned that something would go wrong were her mother to be moved prematurely from the room that had become a sanctuary of recovery.

  “I am hardly a dish of china that will shatter the moment I stumble,” a frustrated Katherine said one day amid the clatter of opinions and warnings. That outburst settled the matter. The move was made on a day in early October when the lingering summer sun warmed the multicolored splendor of the New England fall.

  It was not a carefree transition from one house to another, however. Katherine’s soul clearly remained troubled even as her body healed, and during the first several weeks in her own home she was able to walk outside to take the air only for brief periods. As out of character as her quick temper and swings of mood may have been, they were not, according to Dr. Prescott, out of order. Consider, he counseled Richard in particular, the mental and physical suffering that she had endured alone for long months before admitting that she was ill, and the pain of the surgery and its aftermath. It was a cross, he stressed, that few people would have the emotional or physical stamina to bear.

  During that first week and into the second, Richard remained in Hingham, leaving the day-to-day operations of the Boston-based family shipping business to Caleb, the proprietor of Cutler & Sons, and to his son Will, who was being groomed to someday take over the business, together with the family’s 50 percent interest in a considerably larger commercial enterprise administered in alliance with the Endicott family of Boston. On days when Caleb and Will were thus occupied in Boston, and when his wife was at rest, Richard busied himself with correspondence to his son Jamie in the Mediterranean, to the Navy Department in Washington, and to his English cousins John and Robin Cutler, who managed the family-owned sugar plantation on the West Indian island of B
arbados. They and their wives were dear friends as well as cousins, and they were most keen to be kept current on Katherine’s recovery.

  On Katherine’s first night back at home, Richard had asked his daughter to stay the night with Will and Adele at their home on Ship Street. He wanted this time alone with her mother, he told Diana, who was quick to understand.

  Supper options that evening had been many. Enough food had been left on their front door step, Richard had laughingly informed Katherine as they slowly walked along South Street arm in arm amid the autumn brilliance, to feed a five-ship naval squadron. But there was no decision to be made. To mark the occasion, Edna Stowe had prepared their favorite meal: creamed codfish, peas, and whipped potatoes. After setting out the Wedgwood platters and dishes on the oval teakwood table in the dining alcove and lighting the candles in the silver candelabra, she announced her intention to depart and to return early in the morning to do the dishes. Unless, of course, Katherine and Richard needed her to remain?

  “Thank you, no, Edna,” Katherine smiled. “We can manage quite nicely from here. You have been more than helpful and kind.”

  Edna nodded her acknowledgment. “Very well, then. If there is nothing else.” She turned to leave and then turned back. “Richard, you will mind the hearth, won’t you? You mustn’t let the fire go out!”

  “The fire always goes out, Edna,” Richard said, grinning, “the moment you leave our company.”

  Edna snorted and stomped out of the room. A minute later they heard the front door creak open and then click shut.

  Alone at last with his wife, Richard poured two half glasses of Bordeaux and offered one to his wife, then held out his own glass up in a toast. “To us,” he said meaningfully. “To being home together again. And to your swift and full recovery.”

  She clinked her glass against his, and their eyes met and held.

  “You look lovely tonight, my lady,” he said, and as always when he said that, there was truth in his words. Katherine Hardcastle Cutler had been endowed with an unusual grace and beauty that even at age forty-six could stir desire in men and envy in women. Tonight, however, she had done little to enhance her natural charms. Her rich chestnut hair was pulled back into a simple plait; her light blue dress was of homespun cloth and unadorned; only a faint scent of jasmine bespoke any attention to feminine detail.

  She set her glass on the table, folded her hands in her lap, and looked down at them. After several awkward moments, Richard asked hesitantly, “What is it, Katherine? Aren’t you happy to be home?”

  “Of course I’m happy to be home,” she said quietly. She continued to look down at her lap.

  “Well, then, what’s bothering you? Whatever it is, we need to talk it through. Is it something I’ve done?”

  She glanced up in amazement. “Don’t be ridiculous, Richard. You have done nothing wrong. I do want to tell you, but I find it difficult to explain, and I fear you will not understand if I try.”

  “I understand more than you realize, Katherine.” He paused for a moment to marshal his thoughts. “I think you’re feeling guilt for hiding your illness and then refusing to allow Dr. Prescott to treat it, and for the pain all of us have suffered as a result.” He placed one finger across her lips to stop her from speaking. “In fact, my darling, I feel just as much guilt for what I have done to you and to our family. And it’s a loathsome burden.”

  “Guilt? You?”

  “Yes. Me.”

  “What sort of guilt, in heaven’s name?”

  “Guilt for not being here when you needed me the most, when our children needed me the most. I have left you alone far too often in our marriage, from the very beginning in Barbados.”

  She held his gaze for several moments, as if seeking a clue as to what lay behind what she considered a shockingly unfair assertion. “God’s mercy, Richard,” she said finally, “you can’t be serious. When you went to sea, you were not going off on a lark. You were doing your duty, either to your family or to your country—or to both.”

  “But at what price,” he insisted, “when the one I love more than my own life suffered for months without me here to offer comfort.” He took another healthy swig of wine.

  Katherine did not follow suit. “Richard,” she said crossly, “that is utter nonsense. You are saying it only to make me feel better about my own guilt. There is not a shred of logic or reason behind your words. You have been—you are—a wonderful husband and a wonderful provider, and you have made us all very happy and proud. You have done your duty, a hundred times over, and your wife and children are the beneficiaries of that.” She leaned in toward him. “Please let me say what I need to say,” she whispered, her voice beginning to crack. “The guilt we are discussing tonight is entirely mine. For too many weeks I realized something bad was going on inside me and I did nothing about it. I could have. Lizzy urged me to, begged me to. But I did nothing. Nothing, Richard. That is a guilt I can never dismiss, nor ever come to terms with.”

  Richard shook his head in denial. “I know perfectly well why you chose to do nothing, Katherine. Lizzy told me what you said when you first confided in her. You said that under no circumstances would you allow your husband to return home from war to a mangled wife. Is that not true?”

  Katherine’s silence suggested that it was, at least in part.

  “Please God, Katherine, as misguided as I believe you were, I understand. All of us understand. I only wish that you had understood that the loss of your breast would have done nothing—has done nothing—to affect my love and desire for you. You are still the most beautiful woman I have ever known.”

  “I was afraid,” Katherine went on, as if she had not heard his words, her voice soft and distant. “I was scared of the disease. And I was scared even more of the surgery. Dr. Prescott says that I am healing as well as can be expected a week after the procedure. That is all well and good, but every time I look at myself in the mirror, I feel sick to my stomach. No matter what you say, Richard—and I love you for saying it—I am mangled. No longer completely a woman.” She looked down at her tightly clasped hands.

  Richard did not hesitate. “Look at me, Katherine. Please. Now take my hand.” When she slowly, reluctantly, offered her hand, he took it and brought it to his lips. “Do you remember our last night together in Tobago?” he asked. “When you told me you were pregnant with Will, and how happy you were?”

  “I remember,” she whispered.

  “And yet, despite our joy and the love we felt for each other at that moment, you urged me to join the French fleet the next day and sail with Admiral de Grasse to Yorktown. Remember?” She nodded. “You knew that if I didn’t go, if I followed my heart and remained with you, I would forever regret not doing everything in my power to avenge the death of my brother.”

  “Yes,” she said. Tears began coursing down her cheeks, but she made no effort to wipe them away.

  “And do you remember what I said when you told me to go? I asked God to tell me what I had done in my life to deserve a gift such as you.” He squeezed her hand, the tears welling, threatening to undo him. “Nothing has changed, Katherine. Nothing could ever change the way I feel about you. I could just as well ask that very same question tonight.”

  “As could I,” she whispered. She took a deep breath, winced a bit, and then smiled at him. “I think it is time we were in bed, my lord. I want to feel your arms around me. But just that,” she added quickly. “Later—well, later we’ll see. For tonight I just want to sleep in your arms, to feel them around me the entire night through. Can we do that?”

  He furrowed his brow and began thrumming his fingers on the table as if collecting his thoughts. In truth, he was collecting his emotions. Then: “I will grant my lady’s wish on the condition that she grant this poor pilgrim two small boons in return.”

  “Hmm. Based on previous conditions you have imposed on me, I am rather afraid to ask. . . . What are they?”

  “The first is that we finish our supper. Else
we’ll have Edna’s wrath to contend with in the morning.”

  She nodded. “And the other?”

  “The other is that you sleep late tomorrow.”

  She gave his hand a squeeze in return as her smile broadened. “Your boons are granted, good pilgrim.”

  Two

  Boston, Massachusetts

  November–December 1805

  WITH KATHERINE CUTLER’S prospects gradually returning to a semblance of normalcy, the Cutler family turned its attention to other serious concerns. Although the West Indian rum and sugar production that defined the heart and history of Cutler & Sons was thriving, dark clouds were gathering on the eastern horizon. The Orient trade that governed the substantial cargoes and profits of C&E Enterprises—in which the Cutler family held a 50 percent share—was facing new threats. C&E ships were increasingly being openly harassed on several oceans and several continents. Matters came to a head on a day in early November when a messenger from Boston delivered a note to Richard Cutler in Hingham. The note, signed jointly by his brother Caleb and by Jack Endicott, requested Richard to sail to Long Wharf the next morning to discuss a “matter of utmost importance.” Richard sent a note in reply stating that he planned to be there by eleven o’clock.

  The day dawned typically for November: raw, overcast, and squally. On the cruise in to Boston from Hingham, the single-masted sloop had to battle whitecaps and spindrift whipped up by stiff headwinds that forced the sturdy fifty-foot vessel to stay within the lee of the pearl-like string of Boston Harbor islands that formed the northern boundary of Hingham Bay. By the time the sloop had skimmed into the relative calm of Boston’s inner harbor and doused her wings of snapping canvas, a bluster of rain and sleet dotted with flakes of wet snow was howling along the half-mile length of Long Wharf.

  Thaddeus Hobbes, the sloop’s helmsman, grabbed hold of a bollard and jumped up from the sloop’s bulwark onto the wharf next to his mate, Tom Johnson, who had been first off the boat with the bow mooring line. Hobbes reached down toward the sloop to offer Richard a hand. “Mind your footing, Captain Cutler,” he cautioned. “It’s a mite slippery.”