The Ghost of the Mary Celeste by Valerie Martin

small jars to tuck into the church Christmas baskets for the poor. When we were children, we were more numerous. Mother and Maria and Nathan, all passed away now, and my brother William, who is away at school in Philadelphia, as is our young cousin James. As children Benjamin and I always shared a basket and picked side by side, Benjamin scrambling up the tree toget the plums too high to reach. The family teased us, calling us plum sweethearts. Their teasing made me shy, but Benjamin never protested. It’s been four years since both brothers have been home for this harvest. So tomorrow I will pick plums with my “plum sweetheart,” and he will tell me what he thinks of my silly poem.
    Benjamin has grown a beard! It makes him look serious, but the smile in his eyes as we approached Rose Cottage gave the lie to that impression. He stood in the open door as we made our way along the path and greeted Father with a warm handshake, Hannah with a soft kiss on the cheek. “Come in, come in,” he encouraged us. When my turn came I was surprised at the emotion I felt as he brushed his lips across my cheek and said, “Sallie, at last. Thanks for your message.”
    “I feared I’d sent it too late.”
    “No,” he said. “It was there at Livorno and it cheered me so much. But it was too late to write a reply. I had plenty of time for that on the trip home. I brought it with me. I’ll give it to you later.”
    Of course I thought of nothing else the entire day. When we all set out to the plum orchard, Benjamin brought me an empty basket and Olie—who is frightfully thin, as his voyage was fraught with difficulty—paired up with Hannah, who looked cheerful for a change.
    “Tell me about your voyage?” I said as we walked along.
    “It was smooth enough,” he said. “There was only one incident of note. One of the mates had been on shore drinking his pay for far too long. He was sober when we sailed and he knew it was a dry ship. About three days out, he went raving mad.”
    “Good Heavens,” I said. “What did he do?”
    “He had the idea that he was being eaten by insects. He ran up and down the deck screaming, ‘Captain, save me! Captain, save me!’ and then, somehow, he got into the rigging, yelling that he was going to jump into the sea. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
    “What did you do?”
    “I had him hauled down and tied to his bunk. He screamed through the night, all sorts of profanity, and he shook so much his bunk rattled until morning. I had the steward bring him a pot of hot coffee and when I went in to see him, he was blubbering like a baby, begging me not to report him. I told him if he could do his work without trouble to me for the duration, that would be the end of it as far as I was concerned. And so he did, and a very grateful and subdued fellow he was. When I gave him his pay in New York, I said, ‘Now you see what drinking can do for a man, and I hope you will never touch another drop.’
    “ ‘Nor will I, Captain,’ he promised, but of course, as I was leaving, I saw him ducking into the alehouse with his fellows, out to lose their pay and their wits in one bout.”
    Of the evils of drink, Benjamin is much acquainted. His uncle Daniel has been a dissolute all his life, to the great sadness of his brother, Captain Nathan. Now and then Daniel tries to straighten up, and his brother is ever ready there to encourage him, but it always comes to naught. Though Benjamin is young to be a captain, he has been to sea since he was sixteen, so he has a vast store of experience upon which to draw, and like his father he allows no alcohol on his ship. There are sailors who find this proviso reason enough to stay away.
    As he finished his story, we arrived at the orchard with the others and talked no more of travel. The trees were dripping heavy, dark fruit, and the morning passed quickly with the work. We had our lunch of bread, ham, and cheese at the outdoor table under the big maple in the side