'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.
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This story is dedicated to mypiratecat1, one of the very best mellow-fic writers around.
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Captains Elizabeth Turner and Jack Sparrow were deep in the hold of the Empress, looking over the swag Liz had seized from the freighter Wyvern. As a present to her visiting friend, the Pirate King had invited Jack to take whatever he most needed, to replenish the Black Pearl's stores.
"A bit of tobacco, tar, spirits an' canvas would be much appreciated by me crew. Our Cajun cook has requested onions, dried rice, an' whatever spices you might have to spare- 'specially the hotter ones. Fer meself..." he pointed out a bolt of loose-woven cotton. "A man can always use a few more shirts, thank ye kindly, luv."
"Done and done." Liz nodded to the attending crewmen, who proceeded to haul the selected items up to the deck. "Anything else?"
"Those are the items of greatest urgency, but..." Sparrow's bright eyes scanned the hold, avarice contesting with courtesy. "Perhaps I should take a look about, in case something slipped me mind."
Elizabeth grinned wryly, knowing exactly what was going on in the other's head. "Take your time, Jack."
Captain Sparrow pressed fingertips together and made a bow, before moving to further inspect the stores. No, he was not going to abuse Mrs. Turner's generosity. It just made sense to take advantage of a freely offered...
Jack paused, his attention caught by an unexpected scent. Sniffing loudly, he tracked it to it's origin; a knee-high, nondescript barrel. He pried off the lid, revealing red-and-green streaked apples carefully packed among dried leaves.
"Liz, where did you get this?"
"That's from the Wyvern Captain's private food stocks. I would have left it to him, actually, if he hadn't been so very insolent with me. Feel free to take the whole thing."
"Thanks much, darlin'!" Oddly, Jack seemed more interested in the packing material than the fruit. He gathered a handful of the leaves and lifted them to his face, inhaling deeply. His eyes became distant.
"Is anything wrong, Jack?"
"No, Liege. Jus' had a recollection."
"Odors can have that effect," Elizabeth acknowledged. As his expression seemed more melancholy than painful, she inquired, "Is it something you'd care to share?"
"'Twas a fond onshore experience I had, years ago, with a fine lass. Though not the usual kind," he added slyly.
Liz raised an eyebrow. She inspected one of the leaves herself- deeply notched, orangy-brown in color- wondering why it had such power to send Jack Sparrow into reverie.
"Perhaps you'd care to tell about it, over a tankard or two? Nuan can look after Willy a while longer."
Jack was agreeable to that. Once the gift items had been stowed aboard the Pearl, and an extra ration of grog distributed to the crew, he and Liz repaired to the Great Cabin with two full tankards. Liz ordered the apple barrel to be brought in, uncovered. The earthy dry-leaf smell gradually filled the room, to Sparrow's obvious enjoyment. Taking a gulp from his rum, he began his tale.
"I met this lass in Boston Harbor, up in the Colonies. It was seventeen years ago, when me and my Wicked Wench were in the employ of the East India Trading Company. If you can believe it, Liz, through that period of me life I actually strove to maintain a minimum degree of respectability, it bein' mandatory fer EITC captains ta conduct themselves like gentlemen... at least in public.
"Among other nuisances, this obligated me to attend stuffy Company receptions when in port. The primary purpose of these events, it seemed, was to provide up-and-coming families a chance ta put their eligible daughters on display. Not the wealthiest families, of course; those preferred to shill their chits to aristocrats. But a captain in the EITC fleet was considered a good match for the scions of successful tradesmen an' farmers. Understand; each girl had at least one parent fer an escort, which greatly reduced opportunities fer any backroom liaisons. Consequently I found these shindigs infernally boring.
"This Boston event was no exception. I was introduced to one over-decorated, stiff-as-a-board wench after another, takin' 'em fer one dance apiece, then instantly forgetting 'em. That is, until I chanced to meet Miss Abigail Spring..."
x
"... my seventeen-year-old daughter, Sir. A darling girl, and the heir to our profitable tobacco plantation, just outside Boston."
Jack kept up his mindless polite nodding, his neck chafing against the cravat. Yet another prosperous farmer's wife, hoping to marry her brat up in the world. The thick foundation on the woman's face came close to cracking every time she smiled. Did she not realize how inappropriate that stuff looked on her obviously unpampered visage?
"Would you care to make her acquaintance, Captain Sparrow?"
"I shall be honored, Mrs. Spring," he replied automatically. How much longer was he going to be obligated to stay here, anyway? His feet were screaming to be released from those ridiculous shoes, and his scalp was steaming under the wig.
Mrs. Spring extended a gloved hand and gestured. Hearing an approaching rustle of skirt, Jack turned to meet it.
He blinked- Abigail Spring was not what he'd expected. Unlike her mother she wore very little makeup. Her light-brown hair was worn in a simple upswept style, her striped silk dress notably unelaborate for this crowd. She was no great beauty- her face was too round, mouth too wide, hands too large and practical. But those blue eyes were full of life, and her smile, though it showed too many teeth, was without artifice of any sort.
Jack kissed the wide knuckles in the perfunctory fashion. "I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Spring."
"As am I to meet you, Captain Sparrow." Her voice was also unremarkable but pleasant. "I'm told you're the owner of your ship, and that you journeyed extensively before you joined the Company. Could you possibly tell me about those earlier voyages?"
To the side, her mother cringed at this too-fast transition to informality. But Jack smiled, with considerably less effort than usual. A wench who wanted to talk about something other than fashion or society gossip was someone he could bear to spend time with.
"Certainly, my lady." As the quartet started up, he added, "Perhaps you might care to dance while I do?"
Her face lit up. "I'd love to!" Even better- a chit with some sense of fun!
Jack swept her onto the dance floor. Though her steps were imperfect, Abigail was so obviously enjoying herself that Jack soon forgot his aching feet. They spun through the gavotte, the minuet, and a lively allemande, as he regaled her with accounts of his adventures in far-distant places (edited, of course, for a respectable chit's ear.) Abigail was entranced. She, in turn, told of sights Jack should see while in Boston, and native foods he should sample. She particularly recommended the lobsters, clam chowder and oysters.
"But above all, Captain, you must get a look at the autumn foliage. Your timing is most fortunate- it's at it's peak just now! Tell me, have you ever been in New England in October before?"
"I can't say I have, Miss Spring. Though I've heard it's a sight when the leaves color. I did note that strikingly bright tree- a maple, is it?- in front of the Custom House."
"You really have to get out of the city to see the best of it. The in-town trees stand in clusters of three or four, at most. You should... I know; you must come to our farm. The view from the ridge there is wonderful! We grow most of our own food- you'll enjoy that, too. It's only an hour away by carriage."
Jack studied her face carefully. Surely this proper young lady didn't mean...? No, he was quite certain she didn't. Abigail was just a friendly innocent, eager to share the wonders of her homeland with a first-time visitor.
"I admit to being intrigued, lass. An' I do have two days of leave before I'll have to return to my ship. But would such a visit be considered proper?"
"Of course it will! Papa is away negotiating the sale of our crops, but Mama and the servants will be there. You can sleep in the extra room downstairs." She leaned close, to whisper conspiratorially. "Even if it isn't completely proper, Mama will allow it. She's terribly worried I'll end up marrying below my station because I'm plain."
Jack snorted. "Nonsense! You're as bonnie a lass as a man could reasonably want. An' even if you aren't, you're good enough company ta compensate fer it." Something about this girl made it natural to speak candidly.
She giggled. "You may call me Abbie, Captain. Will you come, then?"
"I shall be delighted." For the first time that evening, he spoke those words sincerely.
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"This yarn strains credibility, Jack. The notorious Captain Sparrow, actually accompanying a woman home with no expectation of swiving her?"
"I weren't quite so notorious then, luv. An' to do me justice, I went with every expectation of gettin' a free dinner. Which I did! Abbie insisted it be all local cuisine, 'stead of the European-style grub available in town. So that's when I got my first taste of stewed cranberries. Bitter an' sweet at once, an' such a pretty color I was almost reluctant to finish 'em. I sampled a baked bean dish with pork- kinna syrupy, but good. An' a moist dark bread. An' really good pie for afters; apple with maple. Have you ever tasted maple syrup, Liz? It's so sweet, one spoonful flavors a whole pie! They make it by boiling trees."
"By boiling tree sap, actually."
"That counts- it's part of the tree. Anyway, I ate so much I went to sleep satisfied as any man in an empty bed could be. But that weren't the most memorable part of my visit. That came next mornin', after a similarly fulsome breakfast. When her Mum stepped out of the room, Abbie proposed we should commandeer a couple horses from the stable an' ride out to the ridge, to get a really proper gander at the foliage."
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"Quick! Before Mama sends a chaperon after us!" Abbie spurred Gannet, her spirited white gelding, to a faster pace. The pale horse obeyed, trotting briskly past the rippling tobacco tents.
Jack urged his own mount, Wren, to catch up, but with less enthusiasm. He'd ridden a few times over the course of his career, but not enough to've gotten used to being on a horse. Not even one as steady and even-tempered as this little chestnut mare.
Abbie glanced over her shoulder, a bit impatient. Jack was embarrassed into kicking his horse again. He'd endure the discomfort of the jarring trot- even risk being pitched off- before he'd admit his limited equestrian prowess to a girl. Least of all to one who wore a divided skirt and sat astride. "You can't do that prissy sidesaddle riding when you work a farm," she'd explained.
The fugitives passed a rustling maize field, turned the corner around a slatted crib, and found themselves in the apple orchard. Smooth grassy grades ran between the rows of red-dotted trees, slanting uphill towards blank blue sky.
"There's the ridge! Come on- let's make 'em run!" Abbie spurred Gannet to gallop up the green slope; Wren promptly imitated his example. Jack was startled, but, to his great relief, found the faster gait a lot less jostling.
In seconds Sparrow was actually enjoying the experience; apple-laden branches blurring past, rapid pounding of hoofs, wind whipping back the mare's copper mane and his own freed one. Abbie was obviously like-minded; she'd greatly outdistanced her guest by the time she crested the ridge and pulled her mount to a halt.
Very fortunately, Wren again followed Gannet's lead, coming to a stop beside the puffing gelding. Abbie was flushed with exhilaration to match Jack's own, her brown hair loose and tangled as Jack's shoulder-length locks. Beaming, she flung out an arm. "There! Isn't it everything I promised?"
Jack caught his breath as he took in the panorama. A wide expanse of wooded country spread out to the hazy horizon, interrupted by just a few shingled rooftops and gleaming white church spires. The thousands of closely spaced trees resembled little round sunset clouds- he'd never known foliage could come in such colors. Saffron, scarlet, bright orange, deep evergreen, russet, maroon, pale yellow, golden brown, coral red... league after league of vivid blotches, all stirring and rustling in the pleasant brisk wind, scented with distinct botanical aromas.
"Never seen anything like this before," he admitted, after a minute of speechless staring. Wren snorted and shook her mane, as if in agreement.
"And you're not going to, anywhere except in this part of the world." Abby was also gazing avidly. Though she'd seen it every autumn of her life, this was a spectacle she never tired of. "Come October, Mr. Sparrow, there's no where else on earth I'd rather be!"
x
Mid-afternoon found Captain Sparrow preparing to board a mid-quality carriage back to Boston, and his Wicked Wench. His right hand was clasped fondly around Abbie's wrist, his grin nearly as wide as hers.
"I have truly enjoyed this sojourn, Miss Spring. Many thanks for inviting me."
"We'd be very pleased if you would come again, the next time you're in port," interjected Abbie's mother, all too hopefully. Jack sighed within- the good lady was reading far too much into that morning jaunt.
Abbie smirked mischievously, quite willing to let the misimpression stand. "I'm so glad you enjoyed your time with us, Captain Sparrow. Safe journeys to you, 'til your next visit!"
The sullen coachman cracked his whip in reminder. Jack pressed his lips appreciatively to Abbie's strong knuckles. Tiny hands, he thought, were much overrated.
"Until we meet again, Abigail Spring..."
x
"But you never did, did you?"
"Through no fault of my own, Lizzie. My very next voyage was to Ghana, to fetch a 'special cargo' fer one Cutler Beckett- you know what a course change that turned out ta be." Jack pouted a moment. "Anyway, my goin' back wouldn't have done Abbie any good... would've just delayed her findin' a suitable husband. A lass with her love of the land shouldn't marry a seadog who'll be obliged ta leave her by her onesies fer months or years at a time. She should wed some honest farmer who'll stay to enjoy the changing seasons with 'er. 'Tis my earnest hope Abigail ended up with a lad of that stripe," he finished wistfully.
Elizabeth tilted her head. "That's the most selfless way I've ever heard you speak about a woman, Jack Sparrow."
"I can wish a lass well even if I could never consider settlin' down with her. The Colonies ain't the right place fer me- too cold in winter. Anyway," he smirked, "I prefer my beans with a bit o' rice. But recollection of that visit sits well with me."
"Then I'm grateful to Abbie for giving it to you." Liz hefted her half-full tankard. "Shall we drink a toast to her heath?"
Jack pondered a moment, then reached to the barrel and retrieved an apple instead. He raised the fruit high, turning it to admire the red streaks. So much prettier than those solid-green ones Barbossa favored.
"To you, Abigail Spring. Or whatever name yer going by now. May you enjoy many another New England autumn!"
Smiling, Elizabeth grabbed up a matching piece of fruit. "And the same to your descendants!" The two pirates bumped their apples together, then sank their teeth into them- satisfying, juicy chomps.
In a far-away orchard, one apple tree quivered pleasurably, from a cause other than the wind.
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FINIS
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'I have been treading on leaves all day until I am autumn-tired,
God knows all the color and form of leaves I have trodden on and mired...
All summer long they were over head, more lifted up than I,
To come to their final place on earth they had to pass me by.'
-Robert Frost
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Abigail Spring is a composite of several of my ancestors, who have been New England farmers since colonial times.
The described autumnal view was inspired by that from Talcott Ridge, in Avon, CT. I recommend checking it out if you're ever in central Connecticut. Particularly in October.