Fantasies of the Caribbean 2: Dead Mamas Tell No Tales
My dearest Mama,
I begin to believe I shall never utter those words that always seem so pat and easy to slide off the tongue in my books. I love you. Of course I love you, Mama, though you have been dead neigh four years. My dilemma is I do not know if those are the words to use in expressing my feelings for Will Turner. Lord! How I keep imagining him without his shirt and thinking how very well developed he has become since we rescued him as a scrawny 10-year-old. Do you remember, Mama, how I told you he looked like a half-drowned rat then? Well, he is far from that now. Very, very far from that. I dare say his improved physique is due to his many and sundry hours of labor in the Forge. It is horrid, Mama, but, even when I see him with his clothes on, I imagine him with his shirt off. I know it is very cheeky and possibly tarty of me to forever have my mine wandering off as such, but I cannot help it! He shouldn't look so very well if anyone expects me not to fantasize over him. Dear Will. Sometimes I wonder if it is just a silly crush and, other times, I wonder if it is not the stirrings of something more. We are not children anymore, Mama, and that is the hardest part. Trying to reconcile the boy I knew with the man he has become.
Previously, I mentioned "3 instances" to you regarding Will and, sadly, my mind has invented more. Dear, Mama, how I wish you were here to advise me. I do not trust anyone else with these revelations. Let me demonstrate:
Instance the 4th: Sometimes I imagine myself abducted by bandits. They break into Papa's home and steal me away in hopes of collecting a sizable ransom since I am quite possibly the second most important person in all of Port Royale. Will, who happens to be nearby, witnesses the abduction, steals a horse and rides to my rescue. I do not know if he is a good horseman but he is in my mind and he's an even more glorious sword fighter. I believe all the times I won at swords when we were children was because Will let me and not from lack of skill on his part. At any rate, he does a marvelously heroic job at rescuing me and I swoon into his arms in gratitude. We ride back into town with me sitting in the saddle in front of him and his arms wrapped low around my waist. Goodness, Mama, if only you knew how I focus on that one detail! His arms are warm and strong and his voice never sounded sweeter than when he says "I feared so for your safety, Elizabeth." I say something terribly clever in return and, out of nowhere, a band of musicians appear and play the most romantic music my mind can invent and Will is forced to kiss me since it is such an opportune moment that even he cannot pass it up. Perhaps I should just have Papa hire a band of musicians to follow me about in the hopes that Will can take a hint.
Instance the 5th: Sometimes I imagine that I am touring the fort and inspecting the troops with Papa on "official business." Will is there delivering whatever goods whoever ordered (it doesn't much matter as long as he's there). As I'm leaning over the side of the parapet, my hat is suddenly taken with a breeze and, as I reach for it, I lean too far over and fall into the sea! Everyone stands around in shock but not Will. Will does the very brave (though not altogether sensible thing) of diving in to rescue me. Everyone is huddled around in a worried knot wondering if we shall both be crushed on the rocks but Will surprises them all by emerging on shore with me cradled in his arms. Applause erupts from the fort and Papa wishes to reward Will by naming him 'Deputy Governor' though Will is too modest to accept the thanks. He says, loud enough for all to hear, "The only reward I need is a sweet smile and even sweeter kiss from, Miss Swann." Of course I oblige. He is my rescuer after all.
Oh, Mama, I know you're probably wanting to say : "Lizzie, you silly girl, enough wondering and wishing and just tell the boy!" I fear that, even if Heaven was allowed to open up for you to utter that very sentiment, I would not heed your words. That is the very point of my wondering and wishing, Mama. I am a horrible little coward when it comes to speaking my true feelings. Especially to Will Turner. Though Will seems to have taken a fancy to studying my bosom of late, I am not silly enough to suspect that is anything beyond the curiosity of a young man considering I have developed rather nicely over the last year – even without the aide of my stomacher pushing all my assets upwards.
Oh, Mama, how I wish if I prayed long and hard enough, God would see fit in restoring you to us so I could truly talk to you on these matters. It is very distressing being motherless having reached the age where I need one most. Do know, dearest Mama, that I will always remain
Your most ever affectionate and loving daughter,
Elizabeth