These two men.” They walked over to two portraits flanking the back walls of the church. They sat stiffly, looking out at the world grimly. “These are the Jones Brothers. They put Cold Spring, as it was known in those days, on the map. My ancestor…oh…I think it’s finally warming up in here.”
Remy agreed. Her nose had feeling again. It was decidedly warmer in the room. In fact, she felt too warm in her clothes. She took off her jacket, and Hugh hung it on a rolling chair. She studied the serious faces above her.
“They bought a fleet of whaling ships in the mid-nineteenth century, making Cold Spring rival the great whaling harbors of Massachusetts.”
“What’s up with all this?” She gestured to the collection of carved scrimshaw in a glass case.
Hugh blushed and shrugged. “I like whales. I just do. I think they are majestic, beautiful. Did you ever see one in the wild?”
Remy shook her head that she hadn’t, caught up in his energy.
“The whalers and the whaling industry decimated the population, killed thousands of whales.”
“So, why would you venerate the whole thing?”
“Someone’s got to remember it. Interactive museums, little displays like this remind people of what we are capable of doing. If it’s not recorded or studied, we’re bound to repeat it. I feel like it’s some sort of restitution. My seventh great-grandfather was a whaler. That’s where I got my first scrimshaw.”
Remy wiped the sheen of perspiration from her forehead. The pipes clanged loudly, startling both Hugh and Remy. He walked over to check the thermostat.
“Humph. Damnedest thing.” He flicked it with his finger.
Hugh fiddled with the knob, then walked over to the table case filled with various tools made from whalebone. “Some animal gave its life for these trinkets.”
Remy joined him. Hugh opened it, taking out a device with a carved handle attached to a scalloped disk. It had yellowed with age. Hugh placed it in her hands. Remy looked at him with a question in her eyes.
“It’s a pie crust trimmer.”
Remy smiled, running her finger on the delicate rim of the disc. “What are these?” She gestured to a row on flat sticks next to a group of etched whale’s teeth.
“Busks.” Hugh took out a flat, narrow whalebone shaped like an emery board.
“I can’t imagine—”
“It’s a very personal item.” Hugh’s voice dropped, and he moved closer. Remy couldn’t stop staring at those lips. “Men made them for their sweethearts to wear in their corsets as a reminder while the men were away.”
“Did your seventh great-grandfather make one of these?” she asked in a husky whisper.
“I can’t believe I’m flirting over fossils,” Remy thought, swaying closer. Hugh handed the smooth whalebone to Remy. Her fingers touched the carved words reverently.
Remy placed it across her breast, over her heart. The air stilled, and Hugh leaned forward. “He’s going to kiss me,” she thought dreamily. Her eyes slid shut, and she felt him lean into her, his lips lightly grazing hers. The register book fell heavily to the floor, causing them to jump. They parted guiltily. It lay splayed, the pages rifling as though a breeze blew over them.
She blinked up at Hugh and handed him the busk. “It couldn’t have been comfortable, do you think?”
Hugh cleared his throat. “Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be.” There was another pregnant pause, and Remy’s eyes were drawn to a portrait near the door.
Remy nodded, her gaze caught on the face of a beautiful woman with a blond chignon, who smiled down at her. “Who is this?” She walked over to the painting.
“That’s Sarah—” Hugh said, but he was interrupted by the detective’s arrival.
Detective Saunders was a tall man, a former highway patrolman, now a plainclothes officer, who walked purposefully toward the couple. He had a head of ginger hair and the milky skin of a redhead. He smiled politely at Remy.
“As I told the mayor, however
Remy agreed. Her nose had feeling again. It was decidedly warmer in the room. In fact, she felt too warm in her clothes. She took off her jacket, and Hugh hung it on a rolling chair. She studied the serious faces above her.
“They bought a fleet of whaling ships in the mid-nineteenth century, making Cold Spring rival the great whaling harbors of Massachusetts.”
“What’s up with all this?” She gestured to the collection of carved scrimshaw in a glass case.
Hugh blushed and shrugged. “I like whales. I just do. I think they are majestic, beautiful. Did you ever see one in the wild?”
Remy shook her head that she hadn’t, caught up in his energy.
“The whalers and the whaling industry decimated the population, killed thousands of whales.”
“So, why would you venerate the whole thing?”
“Someone’s got to remember it. Interactive museums, little displays like this remind people of what we are capable of doing. If it’s not recorded or studied, we’re bound to repeat it. I feel like it’s some sort of restitution. My seventh great-grandfather was a whaler. That’s where I got my first scrimshaw.”
Remy wiped the sheen of perspiration from her forehead. The pipes clanged loudly, startling both Hugh and Remy. He walked over to check the thermostat.
“Humph. Damnedest thing.” He flicked it with his finger.
Hugh fiddled with the knob, then walked over to the table case filled with various tools made from whalebone. “Some animal gave its life for these trinkets.”
Remy joined him. Hugh opened it, taking out a device with a carved handle attached to a scalloped disk. It had yellowed with age. Hugh placed it in her hands. Remy looked at him with a question in her eyes.
“It’s a pie crust trimmer.”
Remy smiled, running her finger on the delicate rim of the disc. “What are these?” She gestured to a row on flat sticks next to a group of etched whale’s teeth.
“Busks.” Hugh took out a flat, narrow whalebone shaped like an emery board.
“I can’t imagine—”
“It’s a very personal item.” Hugh’s voice dropped, and he moved closer. Remy couldn’t stop staring at those lips. “Men made them for their sweethearts to wear in their corsets as a reminder while the men were away.”
“Did your seventh great-grandfather make one of these?” she asked in a husky whisper.
“I can’t believe I’m flirting over fossils,” Remy thought, swaying closer. Hugh handed the smooth whalebone to Remy. Her fingers touched the carved words reverently.
Remy placed it across her breast, over her heart. The air stilled, and Hugh leaned forward. “He’s going to kiss me,” she thought dreamily. Her eyes slid shut, and she felt him lean into her, his lips lightly grazing hers. The register book fell heavily to the floor, causing them to jump. They parted guiltily. It lay splayed, the pages rifling as though a breeze blew over them.
She blinked up at Hugh and handed him the busk. “It couldn’t have been comfortable, do you think?”
Hugh cleared his throat. “Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be.” There was another pregnant pause, and Remy’s eyes were drawn to a portrait near the door.
Remy nodded, her gaze caught on the face of a beautiful woman with a blond chignon, who smiled down at her. “Who is this?” She walked over to the painting.
“That’s Sarah—” Hugh said, but he was interrupted by the detective’s arrival.
Detective Saunders was a tall man, a former highway patrolman, now a plainclothes officer, who walked purposefully toward the couple. He had a head of ginger hair and the milky skin of a redhead. He smiled politely at Remy.
“As I told the mayor, however
Similar Books
