'No.'
One short word. Only one syllable. How can something so small seem so big? The damage is done.
My 10-year-old sister looked at me, one small hand pressed daintily over her mouth, the picture of ladylike shock.
My mother looks at me strangely. In her warm brown eyes, something odd flickers, before she looks down at her embroidery. She doesn't want to get involved.
This marriage was not her idea. It was my Father's.
'You will obey me, young lady! I am the head of this house! I am your father! How dare you!
Father. When I was young, he took me with him to the docks, where his fleet docked for the weeks they came home. From the sailors, I learned to sail, fish, and climb the rigging.
I knew he wanted a boy, a boy to become commodore in his stead. I tried to be that boy, for him. I never earned his approval.
My hair is coming out of its bun. My unruly, brown hair that always looks as if I had spent a day on a ship.
Mama used to tell me that the wind and all the fire of the ocean lived in my hair. Lately, I have come to believe it is not in my hair were this gall resides, but in my heart.
Icily, I look at the man who I have tried to please for my whole life.
'With great skill, father.'
My mother and sister gasp in unison. I snort, and stalk out of the room.
Once I am out of sight of my family, I run to my room as if I am a pirate, fleeing from my own father's navy.
'Miss Rachel, come now. The corporal is a fine man, I'm sure.'
I smile weakly at the woman who has watched over me since I was an infant.
'Susanna, he is, in my father's eyes. I want more than this! I am not meant to sit around in skirts. I will kill myself if it is the life I must lead. No, I will have adventure, and love.'
And, as Susanna chides me, I begin to realize how I can lead the life I wish.
I do not go down to dinner that night. Not only do I doubt my father would allow my presence for my conduct earlier today, but I have more important things to do.
I sit at my desk, and write sheet after sheet to my mother, sister, and brother. I have nothing to say to my father.
The three letters lay on my desk, sealed and addressed. The breeches and shirt I have 'borrowed' from one of the stable boys are stowed safely in the trunk at the foot of my bed, along with a pair of scissors.
Susanna comes in with a plate of food, telling me to eat so I do not look like a ghost when meeting the corporal's family. She pinches my cheek sadly, as if to apologize.
I pull her into a warm hug. 'Thank you.' Susanna looks at my quizzically. Little does she know that it will be the last time she will see me.
A man with hair like my own laughs as he tried to teach me to steer a ship. I try to insist that I know how to already, but I cannot speak. I look at my small, chubby hands clutching the wheel and realize I am one years old, if a day.
My mother walks out onto the deck, and the man bends down to kiss her. She laughs, and kisses him back.
A man with braided hair comes over to take the wheel, playfully slapping the man holding me on the back. 'Will, yer neglectin' your duties!'
The man laughs. 'I have more important ones, Jack' he says, smiling lovingly at me and my mother.
Another woman walks out onto the deck, her dark skin and hair contrasting with the snowy white shirt she wears. In her arms is a boy a few years older than me.
'Sparrow! Teach your son how to steer!' The man now at the wheel laughs, takes the boy from her, and kisses his wife on the cheek.
My mother and the strange man that looks so much like me wrap their arms around each other, sandwiching me in between them.
The man looks at both of us. 'Elizabeth, Rachel – I love you so much.'
He kisses the top of my head and my mother on the lips. I coo happily and begin to play with the sword at his belt.
I look at this man, and realize how little I look like my 'father', how much I look like this 'Will.' It hits me. This man is my father.
I wake up drenched in a cold sweat. My father? What am I thinking? Commodore Norrington is my father.
I pull on the breeches and shirt. I trim my hair carefully with the scissors. I tie it back into a ponytail, and shove a few coins in the pocket. I have already left the letters where my mother and siblings will find them.
I make my way carefully down the huge staircase, thanking God that it's carpeted. I ease out the door.
I am Rachel Norrington no longer. I am free!