Dear Will,
I'm almost certain I'm carrying our child. I have nobody to tell. I'm all alone here in Port Royale now that you and father are gone. I don't know why I think you'll see this — but at the same time it makes sense that the ruler of the sea would find a message in a bottle if it was looking for him. I know there's no way that you could ever reply, but it gives me some sense of hope that you might actually read my words. I miss you so terribly, Will. I think of you every day when I watch the sun set. Please be safe out there.
Love,
Elizabeth Turner
P.s. To think I once pretended to be a Turner and now I am one…
Dear Will,
Our baby is making me sick. I try not to show that I'm with child when I go into the marketplace. I'm certain that if I did I would be ostracized for being pregnant with a bastard child — even though we both know it is not.
You'll never believe where I'm staying right now. I was staying at the mansion until the new governor moved in, and he just arrived last week. For a few days I was more or less homeless, sleeping in empty horse stalls and in empty storefronts at night. One night I snuck in the back entrance to an empty shop and fell asleep in front of the cooling fireplace. I had assumed, like most shops, that the owners would arrive at some point in the morning. I usually would wake up before the dawn and run. But this shop owner lived where he worked. I was woken at dawn by a loud angry shout, and I jumped to my feet - ready to defend myself - only to be face to face with the blacksmith. Yes, the blacksmith who you trained with for so long. I thought he was going to be furious and kick me out, but he wasn't mad and he didn't throw me on the streets. He just wanted to know why a strange woman was sleeping in his shop, in his home.
He started talking to me, asking why I had a need to sleep in such odd places. And something about him made me trust him enough to disclose the truth. I told him that I was pregnant and homeless. He offered me his home almost immediately along with an apprenticeship. He said he missed having an apprentice and that he'd be willing to teach me the trade. Maybe I should tell him what happened to us, what happened to you. No, he would probably never believe it. I know I would never have believed it.
That's all for now my love
As always love,
Elizabeth Turner
Dear Will,
I love this child with all of my heart. But with every little kick I'm reminded of a dreadful pain. It hurts me to know that this baby will not know its father until it is a full grown child. I fell asleep in tears last night because I realized that you would not see this baby's birth, its first steps, hear its first words, and all sorts of other firsts that are remarkable and irreplaceable. I wish I could change everything about this situation. We should be in the mansion with father, treasuring our future child and whispering stories to it every night. But instead I'm here writing phantom letters that you'll probably never see. I thought it was bad seeing you leave on the horizon on that one day, but this is so much more intense.
Bitterly missing you,
Elizabeth
Dear Will,
I've made my own sword today. I'm getting quite a knack for this work. I get nervous from time to time that I'm putting the baby and I at risk by being around all of this fire and clanging metal, but the blacksmith, Christopher, is always very aware of when I should and should not do a certain task. He seems a little protective of me, and it makes me feel safe. Anyway — the sword. I wanted you to know that I engraved your name in the handle, invisible to the naked eye. I figured if I ever find myself in another sword fight, I'll want nothing more than your strength and love at my side. That, and if I should die in a battle, at least I would die with you in some small way. But let's not talk about that. I have to make it to the tenth year. I do all that I can to make sure I do. I may or may not be counting down the days.
Love,
Elizabeth
Dear Will,
It's been awhile, I know. But I have a good reason. The baby — who I'm suspecting is a rambunctious boy — wasn't kicking as often. It was weeks without a kick or a squirm. Christopher and I got very frightened and we went to see the physician. He suspected that the baby was dead. I weeped for hours and hours. When I had lost all hope of ever having a family with you he kicked, and hard too. It was like it restarted my heart. What should we name this precious child of ours, Will? If we name him William what are we supposed to call him? I don't want to have two Wills! I only want my one perfect Will. I cannot lie, I'm not fond of the name Bill either. William is too formal. I loved my father very much but I do not think Weatherby is a suitable name for our baby. I'll keep dwelling over names. I wish we could talk in person about this. It feels wrong for me to be making this decision alone.
Love,
Elizabeth
Will,
He's beautiful. He has your eyes. It's like I'm looking right at you when I look at him. He's so fragile and innocent and gorgeous. He's our little Henry. I put him to sleep a few minutes ago by telling him our story. I told him about his brave father who was out sailing the seas and ferrying souls. He will grow up knowing about you and waiting for you like I do.
With all of my love,
Elizabeth
Will,
I might kill this child. The non-stop screaming is driving me insane. The blacksmith has taken to drinking himself silly just to get a decent night's sleep. If only I could do the same, but I know better than to let rum get to me. Henry hasn't even smiled at me since he was born. Why is this happening? Will, I need you so badly right now. I can't do this by myself. I just can't. Henry needs his father's unwavering love. Here I am, hating him right now, and I know that if you were here you wouldn't be bothered by it. You would lull him to sleep, hold him tight in your arms until he relaxed. But he does not do this with me. I try to sing him to sleep and he just screams louder. I try to hold him and he fights me the whole time. Was I not supposed to be a mother? I'm not sure I can do this.
Yours,
Elizabeth
Dear Will,
Things have calmed down now. Henry seems to have got over his month long tantrum. He smiles and coos at me now. I don't know how I ever could have wished ill on this child of ours. He's too beautiful for words. He really does look just like you. I wish you could see his lovely face and talk to him all day with me.
In other news, I've chopped off all of my hair. I had to. I need to pass as a man now in order to keep working here. Until now I was able to hide in the back and work in the shop and never have to leave it. But now we have been getting too many orders and I have to start making deliveries, and unfortunately women are not meant to be blacksmiths (or pirates for that matter) so I have to pretend I am someone that I am not.
If only these people knew I was the pirate king, maybe they would fear me enough to let me do as I please. That would be ideal. But of course they might also try to kill me. Oh well. Male I shall look for now. If I make enough money on my swords I might try to leave this place. There's just so many bitter memories here. The mansion reminds me of the deaths of my parents. Just being here constantly reminds me of you, and all that you used to be before our lives were completely and irreversibly changed. The ships that come in and out of the bay appeal to me each and every day. I miss the spray of the sea so badly. I miss the adventure and the freedom. I didn't have to pretend I was a man to be a pirate. People stopped doubting my capabilities when I got my hands on a sword. Barbossa must have been so surprised when he returned to the land of the living when he saw the innocent, dainty Elizabeth was a murderous pirate.
Henry's woken from his nap. I have to stop babbling now and tend to our hungry child. Keep safe Will.
Love,
Elizabeth