Chapter 1
In Which A Storm Hits Port Royale, And We Meet Our Hero(es)
" This is my 1st storey & i luvv 2rite & hav ITOLD U HOW MUC I LUVV RYTEN ssry my capslock stuckzzz i hat hat hat it wen tat hepens
...Heh. Just messin' with you. -
AN: Yeah, yeah, I know. You wanna read the first chapter and get it over with, right? Well, too bad. ÔCuz first, I'm gonna have my say!
This is my first story evah.... or at least the first one to get posted. I'm uber-excited about being a "real" authoress, and I hope y'all will like my story. If ya' don't.... go on. Flame me. I've gotta get flamed sometime, anyway-- meheheh. C'mon, I'm dying with the suspense here. -
Seriously, though... I'd appreciate feedback. Every aspiring writer does! I ain't gonna go begging for reviews, though-- What? Oh, fine:
" so r&r pleeeseeeeeeeas??? I'd luv u forevvr!!!111!!1!!!
.....Yeesh. Ya' happy now? vv;
On with the chapter! XD
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Matthew Thatcher grinned and pulled back on the tiller with all of his might. The tiny craft shot forward at an amazing speed, fairly skimming along the water of the Caribbean Ocean. He shook spray from his face, and steered the sailboat expertly into the harbor, leaping off onto the docks at the last possible second, a sturdy rope clutched in his hand. He deftly tied a few secure knots around the mooring iron nailed into the slightly rotting wood, effectively binding ship to shore. He stood up, and ran a hand through his close-cropped, dusty blond hair. His bright, gray-blue eyes mirrored the oncoming stormclouds lurking just above the horizon, and he didn't fancy being caught out at sea when the storm they carried with them hit. Judging by how fast the clouds were traveling towards the bustling seaport he called home, he figured they had half an hour at the least to prepare. The wide sleeves of his loose linen shirt flapping in the sudden breeze, he turned on his heel and took off at a run towards the town.
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Matthew went racing through the streets of Port Royale at top speed, hearing the not-so-distant rumble of thunder heralding the approaching storm. Cobblestones pounded under his boots, and he ran a hand through his hair once more and took a sharp turn around an inn, frightening a couple alley cats from their perch on the rain barrel. Taking another turn into a wide road, he dodged an abandoned, overturned hay cart and stopped short in front of a shop. His father's shop. Casting another wary glance at the darkening sky, he stepped inside.
His father was a carpenter, furniture making and the like. But he was also a skilled woodworker, and often took special requests from local noblemen or even the town's churches. The wide front room where Simeon Thatcher did all his work was strewn with wood shavings and half-completed projects, and the air was so thick with sawdust Matthew coughed several times.
At the far corner of the room, there sat a long, wide table build of sturdy ash, where the Ôundertaking of the day', as Matthew liked to think of it, lay upright next to a small heap of tools. He stepped closer to the table, paper-thin shavings swirling around his ankles. As he stepped up to the edge, his foot fell deep in a pile of tiny shavings so small they were like pieces of sand. Grasping the worn, scarred edge of the table for support, he leaned forward to examine the object.
It was a miniature statue of a teenage girl, perching daintily on one delicate foot, her gauzy shawl fluttering around her form. Her shoulder-length, wavy hair streamed behind her, save a few strands blown across her face. Her eyes were closed, and her expression was that of longing, coupled with one of sadness, and for a split second Matthew wanted to reach out a hand and hold this little person in his arms, and chase whatever was worrying her so away. Then he shook his head, and blinked to dispel the emotion risen in him at the carving.
Then he blinked again as a flash of recognition hit him. That girl's face...
He leaned in and squinted at her beautifully rendered features. The gentle, sloping bridge of her nose, her slim eyebrows, and her lips... oh, her lips...
He suddenly grinned, and exclaimed, "Kit!
He then felt a hand clap him on the shoulder, and nearly fell face-forward with shock. A voice, booming with laughter, accompanied the hand.
"Admirin' my work, eh? Suppose you've recognized the subject." The diminutive, blue-eyed, gray-haired form of Simeon Thatcher gave a broad wink at his bewildered son, and held out a proud hand at his creation. "'Tis Catherine Moss, Reverend Moss's daughter. Pretty lass, ain't she?" He chuckled. "'Course, I had to render her from memory. Iff'n her father'd seen her in that," He gestured at the windblown shawl, the statuette's only clothing. "'He'd have me hanged for sure.
Matthew had to laugh at the image of composed, solemn Reverend Moss beating his father over the head with a cane for making his daughter pose in such revealing garments. Both leaning on the table for support, their laughter rose up to the ceiling, echoing off the walls and bouncing back to them.
Feeling considerably more cheerful, Matthew grinned down at his father. "Speaking of Catherine, I'll go pay her a visit. I've naught seen her since yesterday morn, after all.
Simeon returned his son's grin readily. "Aye, can't keep you two lovebirds apart for long. I'll stay and mind the shop, you run off now.
Bending over, the tall adolescent gave his father a hug before turning and setting off towards the door. "Aye, that I shall!
And with that, he disappeared out the door into the new drizzle. Simeon watched him go until he was lost to the curving alleyways and twists of the city streets. Chuckling softly to himself, he hung a Ôclosed' sign on the door and shut it. "Heh, good lad. Reminds me of myself when I was a young Ôun.
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Again, Matthew found himself dashing through the streets, now rapidly filling with puddles. Splashing through a particularly large one, he shook water from his hair and peered ahead through the thickening combination of rain and fog. Spotting the ornately carved doors of the church ahead of him, he pushed them open and stumbled inside just as an enormous peal of thunder rent the air.
As he fell forward into the cavernous church, the huge oaken doors slammed shut behind him, shutting out the noise of the rain completely and bathing the room in an overbearing silence. The colors of the stained-glass windows, usually lit aglow with rainbow sunlight streaming through into the building, were reduced to shades of gray and brown, the only sound being the rain tap-tapping against the glass.
Matthew stepped tentatively forward into the aisle, his footsteps echoing off the walls and ceiling. The church was dark and gloomy. Shadows cast by the altar, candlesticks, numerous statues, and other objects further darkened the room, making it seem almost imposing and sacred like the long-forgotten tomb of some ancient king.
Matthew stood in front of the altar now, the stone steps leading to the elevated wooden platform stretching out before him, the ornate cross hung directly behind the altar glinting faintly with it's gold laurel embossing. Bowing reflexedly, he turned and set off at a brisk stride toward the door at the far corner to of the church, eager to be free of the suffocating atmosphere.
Reaching the door, he sighed with relief and pushed it open. Stepping behind it, he let it click shut behind him, the sound of the rain relentlessly hurling itself at the stained-glass windows muted by the sturdy oaken barrier.
Taking a few breaths of incense-and-cotton-scented air, he gazed around him at the small lobby separating the priest's quarters from the church itself. A simple red carpet, worn down with age and use, adorned the floor, and simple iron brackets fastened several softly glowing torches to the walls.
He was still admiring the scenery when he heard the creak of iron hinges as a door swung open behind him. He spun around, straightening his shirt and blinking back into reality.
"Matthew?
The owner of the gentle voice emerged from the shadows.
The adolescent girl wore a floor-length, long-sleeved dress made of heavy green velvet, trimmed with gold lace, and a cord girdle around her waist. Her smoky-brown hair was wavy and thick, and fell past her shoulders. Her eyes were the color of her dress, and shimmered with innocence... and another emotion: Pure, true love.
She ran forward and embraced him, saturated clothing and all. Matthew's breath caught in his throat, and he closed his eyes and hugged the girl close.
"Kit...
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AN: ....Whew!! My first chapter - Done! Sorry if it was a little short - I myself can't abide short, pointless first chapters - but I promise I'll make it up to you guys later on, mmkay?
I'm already working on the second chapter, and have the third one all planned out. It may take a while for me to update (Stupid MCAS) but there's no way I'm abandoning my first story evah! Now I'm a real authoress..... if only I could figure out how to put in asterisks and crudÉ. u u;
Hang in there, folks-- we've got one heckuva' ride ahead of us... and there's no turning back now! XD