Meeting. She’d always thought it was because of the books. Now, doing nothing but absorbing the stillness, she felt something stir the way it did when she lay atop her roof or under a tree, gazing up at Creation.
“This was a Universalist Church, many years ago. They gave it over to the people of Nantucket to use as a library and a learning center.” She paused, then added, “The Universalists are similar to Friends, in some ways—to our beliefs, I mean. They, too, favor abolition.”
“The abolition of slavery.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Your people wish to abolish it.”
“Yes. We’ve always been opposed to human bondage. It’s a blight on humanity. And that slaveowners yet call themselves Christians.” She shook her head slightly, then rested it against the hard back of the pew again, considering the condition of those many thousands of enslaved souls. “It’s shameful.”
He said nothing, and she wondered if she had somehow offended him by bringing up the topic of slavery.
“We should go,” she said. “I’ve found the book we need.” She held it up. The gold foil glinted.
Isaac sat up very slowly, swinging his legs down so he was sitting upright a few feet away from her on the bench. She couldn’t see his face.
“I thank you for the entry to this place,” he said. “It is rare for me to find such quiet. I am thinking it is not in the . . .” He paused, struggling for the right word. “. . . in the best of your intent.”
Hannah frowned, uncertain of his meaning.
“My best intent?”
“I am thinking it is a kind of danger. For you to bring me.”
“Oh. In my best interest, you mean.” He spoke the truth. So why had she done it? She assumed that was what he wanted to know.
“You have the right to study, and to learn,” she said. “As do I. As should everyone.” She stood up, feeling that she did not want to delve deeper into the matter. She’d answered his truth with her own. “We should go now.”
When they went out, Hannah felt heavy and light at once. The melancholy came from conflating her situation with his own, and being reminded of it. The lightness, she wasn’t sure. What did she have to feel giddy about? Suppressing a giggle that threatened to sneak out, she locked the door and slipped the key back into her pocket, trying to clear the rogue sentiment from her face.
They went down the steps side by side, and as they stepped out onto Pearl Street, footfalls approached, and voices: two men, striding alongside each other, deep in conversation. As they drew closer, she froze: one voice was unmistakably her father’s. It was second week, second day, she realized: Meeting’s monthly Business Committee must have run much later than usual.
There was nowhere for her to go; she stood still, though Isaac melted back a few paces, as if reading her mind.
“Hannah?” Her father and his companion paused, two black hats bobbing up at the same time, like apples in a barrel.
“Father.” She was still clutching the book to her chest. The other man moved on into the night.
“What is thee borrowing, then?” As he approached, Hannah lined up her sentences in her mind.
“It’s a book. For a student. Remember I mentioned I’d been engaged as a tutor in navigation? By a private student?” Hannah nodded almost imperceptibly to Isaac, who stepped forward and made a polite half-bow.
Her father looked at Isaac Martin one time— Hannah counted four very long-seeming seconds—then he turned his gaze back to Hannah and kept it upon her, though his question was obviously addressed to Isaac.
“Thee is engaged upon a whaleship, I imagine,” he said.
“Yes,” Hannah and Isaac said at the same time. Then she clamped her mouth shut.
“I am the Pearl ’s second mate,” Isaac continued.
“Is she not in for repairs?”
“She is, sir, at this time. When she is fit we shall go.” Isaac scratched his neck and kept his eyes lowered.
“What volume is it?” Nathaniel leaned over to see the book in
“This was a Universalist Church, many years ago. They gave it over to the people of Nantucket to use as a library and a learning center.” She paused, then added, “The Universalists are similar to Friends, in some ways—to our beliefs, I mean. They, too, favor abolition.”
“The abolition of slavery.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Your people wish to abolish it.”
“Yes. We’ve always been opposed to human bondage. It’s a blight on humanity. And that slaveowners yet call themselves Christians.” She shook her head slightly, then rested it against the hard back of the pew again, considering the condition of those many thousands of enslaved souls. “It’s shameful.”
He said nothing, and she wondered if she had somehow offended him by bringing up the topic of slavery.
“We should go,” she said. “I’ve found the book we need.” She held it up. The gold foil glinted.
Isaac sat up very slowly, swinging his legs down so he was sitting upright a few feet away from her on the bench. She couldn’t see his face.
“I thank you for the entry to this place,” he said. “It is rare for me to find such quiet. I am thinking it is not in the . . .” He paused, struggling for the right word. “. . . in the best of your intent.”
Hannah frowned, uncertain of his meaning.
“My best intent?”
“I am thinking it is a kind of danger. For you to bring me.”
“Oh. In my best interest, you mean.” He spoke the truth. So why had she done it? She assumed that was what he wanted to know.
“You have the right to study, and to learn,” she said. “As do I. As should everyone.” She stood up, feeling that she did not want to delve deeper into the matter. She’d answered his truth with her own. “We should go now.”
When they went out, Hannah felt heavy and light at once. The melancholy came from conflating her situation with his own, and being reminded of it. The lightness, she wasn’t sure. What did she have to feel giddy about? Suppressing a giggle that threatened to sneak out, she locked the door and slipped the key back into her pocket, trying to clear the rogue sentiment from her face.
They went down the steps side by side, and as they stepped out onto Pearl Street, footfalls approached, and voices: two men, striding alongside each other, deep in conversation. As they drew closer, she froze: one voice was unmistakably her father’s. It was second week, second day, she realized: Meeting’s monthly Business Committee must have run much later than usual.
There was nowhere for her to go; she stood still, though Isaac melted back a few paces, as if reading her mind.
“Hannah?” Her father and his companion paused, two black hats bobbing up at the same time, like apples in a barrel.
“Father.” She was still clutching the book to her chest. The other man moved on into the night.
“What is thee borrowing, then?” As he approached, Hannah lined up her sentences in her mind.
“It’s a book. For a student. Remember I mentioned I’d been engaged as a tutor in navigation? By a private student?” Hannah nodded almost imperceptibly to Isaac, who stepped forward and made a polite half-bow.
Her father looked at Isaac Martin one time— Hannah counted four very long-seeming seconds—then he turned his gaze back to Hannah and kept it upon her, though his question was obviously addressed to Isaac.
“Thee is engaged upon a whaleship, I imagine,” he said.
“Yes,” Hannah and Isaac said at the same time. Then she clamped her mouth shut.
“I am the Pearl ’s second mate,” Isaac continued.
“Is she not in for repairs?”
“She is, sir, at this time. When she is fit we shall go.” Isaac scratched his neck and kept his eyes lowered.
“What volume is it?” Nathaniel leaned over to see the book in
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