She reads my uncertain expression and continues signing. “He has offered to take me to live with him in Boston. He has promised to pay for music lessons and to take me to Concert Hall in Boston!”
“I am happy,” I tell her. I can let go of my anger toward Jeremiah Skiffe. He is freeing Nancy from her choleric father’s influence, though I’m certain her mother will miss her. It hurts to think of another boy going to college in George’s stead, but it is a kind gesture.
“I am happy too,” Nancy signs.
I go to greet my other guests, leaving Nancy behind to examine the map of memories.
I notice Miss Hammond is wearing a golden poesy ring, and Mr. Pye proudly tells me that he made it for her. I am impressed! It is delicate work to make such fine jewelry. It was obviously made with great love and care.
“Beautiful,” I sign.
“I like your new necklace too,” she signs. “You have a gift for bringing people together.”
When Ezra Brewer arrives, I think she is right. Papa grins broadly as he shakes my rescuer’s hand. Mama raises her eyebrows a little bit, but she seems content and even offers to take Ezra Brewer’s sealskin coat.
“Aye,” he signs, grinning like a rogue. His other hand is poised under the coat, and when it is removed, I see why. Underneath is a tiny kitten, mostly black but with patches of white and pumpkin-orange fur, and a yellow flank. This must have been the source of Smithy’s recent rotundity. The kitten is tiny. “I’ve saved ye the runt of the litter, Mary,” he tells me with a wink. “I call her Yellow Leg.”
I turn to Mama. “May I keep the kitten?” I plead.
“Your father and I have already agreed to it, as soon as she’s weaned from her mother,” she signs. “We’ll see what Sam has to say about it.”
I almost kiss Ezra Brewer but think better of it. “Thank you!” I sign.
Mama is signing to all, “Come in, come in.”
We sit around the table. Yellow Leg is tucked into my lap.
There aren’t fresh flowers yet, but Mama has laid out the daintiest dishes from the cupboard. We wave our hands in applause when she sets the pudding on the table. It is made from suet and treacle with delightful candied orange slices. Mama knows I always look forward to her Christmas pudding. This more than makes up for the one I missed.
Mama pours ale for the men and Miss Hammond. Papa slips me a quick sip. No interpreter is needed. We eat in contented silence, searching one another’s faces, making amusing expressions while our hands are full, and laughing together while we ask for seconds and empty our plates. It is a relief to be home.
Afterward, we move to the sitting room. Mama and Papa sit on one sofa, with Miss Hammond and Mr. Pye on the other. Ezra Brewer sits in the rocking chair in the corner, with Nancy, Yellow Leg, and I comfortable on the braided rug. The conversation is lively and civil. I hope I’ll never be as suspicious of outsiders as Ezra Brewer, but Andrew sowed such discontent.
Though Ezra Brewer isn’t used to playing second fiddle, he’s on his best behavior with Mama as his hostess. And his latest thrilling tale is all too familiar to me. I have no desire to relive it. Tonight, Miss Hammond has a story to tell.
“In your absence, Mary,” she signs, “my brother-in-law Daniel visited to trade for wool and baleen. As you know, I always ask for details of his travels to share with my students.”
“You are not going to talk about mermaids and other imaginary sea creatures, are you?” Ezra Brewer asks.
“No, Ezra, I won’t tell wild stories like you do,” she says, giving me a wink.
Miss Hammond stands up and moves her feet like she is walking in place. She is trying to set a visual scene for her audience. It’s not too different from what she does in the classroom.
She begins, “After a long journey, Daniel was glad to have his feet planted firmly on the ground again in Paris, France. Out walking, a Frenchman in front of him was gesturing animatedly to his companion, and his companion was answering in a similar pattern. Daniel recognized the rhythm of language, so he rushed to catch up with the men. They were talking in signs!”
“Were their signs like ours?” I blurt out, my hands moving fast.
“No,” Miss Hammond signs. “That’s what confused Daniel. Their movements were different from anything he’d seen on the Vineyard. They spelled their names for him. Daniel couldn’t decipher it at first. It seems that the French make the manual alphabet with one hand!”
Miss Hammond continues. “Daniel followed the men. He discovered that they live at a grand school for young deaf people. As a matter of fact, one of them was a teacher.”
Ezra Brewer rocks back and forth and signs, “I ought to be getting to bed.” He fluffs an imaginary pillow under his head and yawns theatrically.
“Please stay, Ezra,” Miss Hammond encourages him like an unruly pupil. “The best is yet to come.”
Ezra Brewer crosses his arms and waits.
Miss Hammond signs, “At the deaf school, Daniel saw dozens of people walking down every path and hallway signing together. They must have come from all over the country.
“There was a big room with seats in a circle like a theater. Deaf men, older pupils, and teachers stood up front and gave lectures in sign to the general public to demonstrate the success of the school and the faculties of deaf-mutes. They were smartly dressed and dazzled the audience.
“From Daniel’s description, I dare
