Chapter 8 #2
Elizabeth smiled affectionately as she sipped the tea Annie had given her.
“You’ve been with us a long time. And to tell you the truth, I remember you more than I can recall Mother.
” Elizabeth reached out and squeezed Annie’s hand.
“You were always there when I fell down and scraped my knees. You were the one who hugged me and wiped my tears away.”
‘Yer mother was a fine lady, lass.”
“I’m not saying she wasn’t, but in a way you are my mother, too.”
Annie stood abruptly. “Dinna ye go getting me all sentimental,” she said gruffly. She brushed away a stray tear with the back of her hand. “If ye feel like it tomorrow, I’ll take ye up top and let ye get some sun.”
“That sounds like heaven.”
The morning dawned with a dull gray light as the clouds opened up and released a cold rain that pelted the Shanna Lee for the third day in a row.
Jonathan prowled the deck, holding onto the ropes and riggings so he wouldn’t be washed into the choppy sea. Wrapping his coat tighter around him, he made his way to the helm to visit Jean’s captain, Dominic You.
Dominic stood behind the big wheel, his feet spread apart as he guided the ship. He was a small man, but broad-shouldered and strong. His hair was light even though it was wet and plastered to his darkly tanned face. When he was angry he resembled a ruffled eagle, but his outbursts were rare.
“I hope this damnable weather doesn’t follow us the whole trip,” Jonathan said when he drew up next to You.
“Aye,” Dominic said. His response held a note of impatience. “Here, take the wheel. I have to find another hat. Mine blew away.”
Jonathan grasped the wheel with his left hand, his injured right arm hanging as usual by his side.
“No, no. You must use both hands.” Dominic grabbed Jonathan’s right arm and placed it on the wheel.
“I have no strength in that arm.” Jonathan said.
“Nor will you if you do not use it.” Dominic reached down in a box beside the wheel and retrieved a fresh tricorn hat, which he pulled down tight so the water would run off away from his eyes.
“Look,” he said as he pulled up his shirtsleeve and revealed a twelve-inch gash on his arm.
“I was injured once, and I almost gave up until I started lifting those wooden pins that we use to play skittles.” He pointed.
“There are a few pins over by the ropes. It takes time, but I believe you’ll regain the use of your arm just like I did.
Remember, you’re no longer a landlubber. ”
When Dominic retook the wheel, Jonathan went over and picked up a couple of pins that were about twelve inches long and rather heavy. What the hell, he thought as he returned to his cabin. What could it hurt?
After several weeks at sea, Jonathan wasn’t sure he liked sailing, but he could tell he was changing. This environment was nothing like the ballrooms in England, but for now he was content here. He associated with men who flashed dirks and wore cutlasses hanging from their belts.
He was learning that they had their own community aboard ship. Jonathan had been assigned the job of Sailing Master. He read the maps and planned where to sail. The “where” was always where Jean said he wanted to go. Everyone always obeyed the captain.
Jonathan knew most of the crew by name. There was Bobby, the peg leg cook, Henry, the ship’s surgeon, and Jamie, the carpenter, who took the surgeon’s place when needed. God help him should he require a doctor. Jonathan would have to be half dead before he allowed Henry to touch him.
They all dressed in wild costumes to frighten their victims. A few wore tricorn hats, while the others had scarves tied around their heads or necks. They wore baggy canvas breeches that came to their knees, which Jonathan found very comfortable.
Pistols were worn in several places—in their breeches or in a string of leather across their chests, strapped to their ankles, and probably a few places he hadn’t seen. They were a rough—yet likable— lot.
The food was vastly different than that found in the dining rooms of London or New Orleans.
Beer was the common beverage. He was glad of that when we saw the food that was served.
They had meat that was salted and stewed in a large iron pot, and then there was the crew’s favorite: green turtles.
All Jonathan could think was, “Thank God for the beer!”
He had wanted a change, Jonathan had to remind himself more than once, and that was what he was getting. Even though he was on a ship of cutthroats, Jonathan found he was losing the tension he’d felt for so long. And it felt damn good to shed the bitterness he’d bottled up for months.
They’d been a month out to sea when they came upon a Spanish craft.
“She sits heavy in the water, my friend,” Jean said as he pointed toward the vessel. “I believe the Spanish can do without a ship or two.” Jean laughed. “Are you ready for a little adventure?”
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Jonathan admitted.
“Good.” Jean nodded. “They are Spanish. We show no mercy.”
“You mean we take no prisoners?” Jonathan asked.
Jean barely nodded before he issued the command. “Fire broadside!”
The cannons fired and the ship shook. Jonathan grabbed a rail as a hole appeared in the hull of the Spanish ship. The second shot brought the sails down.
The Spanish ship managed to shoot one round, but it went long, landing way past the pirate’s ship.
The Shanna Lee drew near, and the pirates threw grappling hooks onto the crippled boat. Quickly, ropes were tied off. The pirates swarmed onto the Spanish ship like a plague of seagoing locusts.
Jonathan drew his sword and defended himself. He hated to admit it, but exhilaration ran through him, energizing him, as he defeated one sailor after another. Most he spared and threw overboard. Civilization was now a blur in his memory.
Once all the spoils had been loaded aboard the Shanna Lee, the order was given. “Sink the ship!” Jean smiled with satisfaction as he watched. Then without a word, he went to his cabin, leaving Pierre and Jonathan on deck.
Jonathan placed his hand on Pierre’s shoulder. “Tell me something, Pierre.”
Pierre nodded.
“Why does Jean hate the Spanish?”
“For good reason.” Pierre looked from beneath craggy brows. “You see, Jean was in the West Indies when he fell in love with a rich and beautiful woman by the name of Marie. I joined them and lived there for a time. She was a wonderful woman, and Jean was very happy.
“Jean made plans for a trip to France. We loaded everything aboard our ship and set sail. While sailing through the West Indies we were overtaken and captured by a Spanish Man-of-War. The no good Spaniards took everything. And worse, put us ashore on a barren island.” Pierre’s eyes were hooded like those of a hawk.
“They left us with nothing,” Pierre spat, his vexation evident. “Do you understand? Nothing! Jean and I were used to outdoor living, but Marie was not and soon she became ill.
“Finally, an American schooner noticed us and sent a boat to rescue us. Marie had developed a bad fever, but there was no one on the American ship that could help. By the time we landed in New Orleans, Jean rushed her to the hospital, but it was too late.” Pierre’s eyes darkened with pain. “Three weeks later, Marie died.”
“I didn’t know,” Jonathan said solemnly, shaking his head.
“Jean doesn’t speak about what I’ve just told you. But it has always been a festering sore, and he’s reminded when he comes across a Spanish ship.”
“Thanks, Pierre. I’ll not mention what you’ve told me.” Jonathan excused himself and went to his cabin. So Jean knew what it was like to love and lose. No wonder he’d understood that day at the church.
Once Jonathan was in his cabin, he lay down on his small, hard bunk and closed his eyes. Without warning, the black-headed Elizabeth materialized in his mind, her dark eyes flashing desire.
He could picture her running ahead of him, laughing with the carefree nature that he remembered much too well.
Suddenly, she turned, holding her arms out to him .
.. begging him to come to her. He moved toward Elizabeth, wanting to lose himself in her sweetness, but just before he reached her, she disappeared.
Slowly, Jonathan opened his eyes and reality set in.
Elizabeth would always be a painful part of his past.