She came to our door one morning when the sun was just a smudged fingerprint of light in the distance. If I remember right, she knocked once before entering as if to give the indication that a guest had arrived and would be seen to regardless of the hour. I was already tending to my work in the kitchen, brewing tea for the early risers. Weak, strong, one lump or seven- many of our guests were so permanent in nature, I knew their proverbial "cups of tea" like I knew their names, personalities and how much liquor they could hold in the evening before stumbling up the stairs in their own respective temperaments and thus, setting the stage for rituals of the following morning. Since mother was making her rounds, I was the first to see our visitor.
"Be with you in a moment," I hollered to the form that stood, hooded and genderless one room over. I wiped my hands on my apron before hanging it up to dry, "please make yourself comfortable."
Only a moment after I'd spoken, I heard my mother come running down the stairs. Promptness always proved to be next to godliness for my mother and I hadn't been prompt enough. I decided to let her tend to whomever was in the lobby and resume the work that I'd already started.
"Forgive us. Sluggishness is not in our nature." I heard her say. "May I set you up with a room, Madame?" The last word seemed weighted, somehow. As though Mother had just realized that this was no ordinary guest. Wayward women who travelled unattended were rare enough these days, but the way Mother addressed her, I knew that her presence, though not entirely unwelcome, troubled her somehow.
"That won't be necessary." The undeniably female voice replied. Its lilt was supported by the authority and composure of a noble. This troubled me all the more. Losing a guest, particularly one of wealth on my account would surely result in nasty consequences. I'd already been deprived freedom and meals in the past and received a whooping or two over the last couple of months at the inn. All I could do was listen for the door to slam and await my fate.
"Then a cup of tea? Or perhaps something a bit stronger? There is a nip in the air this morning." Mother seemed to insist, fighting past the chill in her voice.
"Indeed. A cup of tea with a thimble's worth of something stronger will do." As she became settled, her speech grew more relaxed. I noticed that the pacing of her words was interesting and that an accent lived on her tongue. It was strange, foreign and hard for me to place even though we'd boarded a wide variety of guests.
I busied myself with her drink, hastily and in silence, trying my best to make it exact. If I remember right, I even pulled a thimble from the sewing kit that lived in a nearby cabinet and filled it to the brim with our "best" Scotch. Moments later, Mother came around the corner and scowled at me, seizing the cup from my hands and grabbing a newly cleaned saucer from the sink. "Here you are. Have a seat wherever seems fit and we'll get a fire going. Jonna," she beckoned, "let's get some warmth in here, shall we?"
I found a matchbox and moved out into the taproom. This was where I saw her for the first time, positioning herself in a large armchair. In one glance, only a few of my questions about her were answered and a dozen others popped up. Her origin proved to be African in her coloring and build, but her eyes were small, light and keen with judgement and perhaps an air of sanctimony and sophistication- in other words, thoroughly well-to-do and thoroughly English. Her attire was puzzling to me, a handsome compilation of the feminine and masculine. Secondhand fabrics sewn together in a custom fit. I would later learn that she was an accomplished seamstress. Resourceful as could be, a thing of fairytales that could sew burlap into gold. All the time that I knew her, she made a new costume for every role that she assumed.
From the tension in her body, I wagered that sitting and sipping tea was not as customary for her as mother might have thought. Though her carefully sewn ensemble was handsome, she possessed an undeniable ruggedness that I'd scarcely seen in even the freest of women. As I knelt to ignite the firewood, she looked at me from over the rim of her teacup. Then she said something that I did not expect:
"Your daughter?" She asked. Mother nodded. "Very good. Then I have come to the right place."
I stood, still feeling her eyes upon me. Knowing from what she had just said that she recognized me, somehow.
"I'm just going to tell it as it is. No nonsense. Over the last five years, I've sailed in the same fleet as Mr. Hawkins. Our latest conquest: the coast of Africa. There were complications on our voyage and from those complications that arose, there were casualties. Hawkins was amongst them. I can go more in depth if you wish." She took a large sip of the concoction before looking up again, expecting to see some element of pain or shock in our faces.
After a brief silence, Mother spoke. "Is that all?"
The woman shifted the frame of her muscular body. "No." She said plainly. "But grievances aside, which it looks like you're doing a fantastic job at transcending, I require your assistance to fulfill his dying wishes."
"Which were?" I said, just as bluntly as both the mother and our unusual guest had done before. To say that I was feeling nothing at this point would be a lie. I could see mother lean my way in my periphery.
"There are certain manuscripts that he left behind for my father."
It only took that one sentence for me to decide that I did not like her and being the young thing that I was, I wanted to give her trouble. "Of what nature?" I snapped.
"That I cannot say."
"Because they are rightly ours, perhaps?" I retorted, growing more and more defensive by the minute.
"Mrs. Hawkins, I realize how much I'm asking of your family. But is there-"
"I know of what you speak." Mother finally said. "And they are yours. It would be a pleasure to relieve myself and my daughter of their presence."
She reclined, blatantly delighted. "I'm happy to hear that. Is there anything that I can do in exchange for your kindness?"
My mother leaned in and said in a hushed voice, "I am a simple inn keeper. I tend to the needs of others to earn my bread. Of course, at the end of the day, I wish everyone would shove off. You can bet that I would have dropped it all in an instant for the kind of freedom that you know. You think that I wasn't presented with that opportunity once? There is a line that separates us. Drawn in the sand, plain as day for all to see. I earned my privilege to stand where I stand because I had the decency to turn it down. Where you come from, kindness may be a commodity to sell, purchase, steal and pull over your own skin wear as a disguise. But decency? No. Decency is born of morality. And morality is one thing that you and your kind will never know."
After a brief moment of what seemed like tension (perhaps only to me), a smile formed on the woman's lips. Twisted, conniving as though it could have been worn by the devil himself. Her bright eyes grew sharper than before. "A moral compass is a commodity as well. Sold to the weak, designed to manipulate them. You're a smart woman. You know this as well as I." She took a final gulp of her tea. "What do I owe you?"
"It's on the house. I'd rather go poor than pocket your blood money."
She reached out, seizing my mother's hand and pressing a large, gold coin into her palm. "All money is blood money."
"I want to learn more about those manuscripts." I said finally.
"Like hell you do." Mother cursed, slipping the coin in her pocket and relieving our guest of her empty cup. "Get back to your chores. This matter is between myself and Ms. Silver."
The name tore through my conscious like a sharp blade. "Silver? I know that name."
"Jonna. Yes, you were named for my father." Ms. Silver said simply with a smile and a nod. "We are far more similar than you might think."
"Let me guess, your name is Jim-mima." I joked, arms crossed over my chest. "I can imagine the humiliation."
At this she smiled. It was a softer smile than before. Not quite gentile, but certainly captivating. "If only life really were that interesting. I was born before the initial voyage. Your father came into the picture much later on. But I did feel the impact. The nepotism. My father wanted a son. Your father answered his wishes."
My mother stepped backwards, collapsing into an armchair. Something must have struck a nerve. I turned towards her, curious. "He was always so distant. So sad. I always thought that I'd made peace with his leaving; then I'm forced to revisit it." She took a moment before finding a new place for her frustration. Namely, me. "Don't you have guests to tend to, child?!"
Amidst the confusion, I decided that the kitchen would be a better place for me. But after returning, I worked silently in hopes of hearing what was being said in the lobby. Their voices were lowered to whispers and it seemed to me the bickering had ceased when all at once, I heard a cup shattering on the wooden floor. "I've had enough of your lies, Fortune!" A few more moments of hushed threats that I could barely understand nor care to reiterate and one slam of the door, and she was out of our lives. For the time being.
Mother returned to the kitchen, exhausted. Her face donned the same troubled expression as last I'd seen on her. She held her arms close to her chest, tugging softly on the bouncy, blonde ringlets that framed her round, pale face. She turned my way, feeling my watch. Then, she spoke, as though to a part of her soul that still needed coaxing back into the everyday complacency of a mild mannered inn keeper.
"Let us not judge the daughter," she said, looking into my eyes calmly, "for the sins of the father."
"Indeed." I said. Pretending to know what was going on. Or rather, wanting more than anything to press the subject towards some sense of understanding. "She's the daughter of father's employer." I thought aloud. "The employment was sinful in nature because-"
"Sometimes I wonder if even to acknowledge it- to even spare the Silvers a passing thought is to wander into damnation."
"Because knowledge is a wicked thing." I mocked, picking the tray up and making to leave the room. Knowing that if I'd stayed a minute more after saying that, I'd be punished for that remark.
Too late- sluggish as usual! She tugged on my collar. "Put the tray down, girl. I'll tend to tea. I have a different task for you."
I did as she requested and turned, eager to hear what she was about to say and hopeful that it, in some way, involved Fortune Silver or better yet, my late father's mysterious manuscripts. You can imagine how pleased I was when I learned that it involved them both.
Let me take a moment to explain something: I never knew my father. At least, not in the form that one might expect. His ghost hung over the inn long before his untimely end. Watching us, demanding silence and perfection; he was both the worst thing to ever happen to us and the best. For in return for our silence, he continued to fund our business without ever showing his face. And my poor mother, a virtuous woman "flawed" by ambition, one might say, carried on with the marriage as the only thing that I ever knew it to be: a business agreement.
She would endure after his death. Of this, I had no doubt. Even if the funding stopped, she would surely persevere through her own sheer will.
There are other things, however, to this very day that I cannot proclaim with such confidence. For example, I do not know if there was love in their marriage. To my understanding, they were young and it was convenient for her family and would, Mother might have wished, satisfy her ambition. Regardless, I can tell you that her tenacity scared her family and marriage was intended to "tame" her. But like the forest stream, she pushed through all barriers and restraints and established herself as a woman who could stand on her own two feet and be of use in society- as nature had intended her to be. For that, I loved my mother tremendously. Whether or not she knew this, is another story. Whether or not she returned my love, I cannot say.
Fortune spoke of nepotism. An idea that I had trouble grasping at the time. For me, love could not be earned and in many cases, could not be shared. It instead, existed somewhere within the realm of hard work and commitment. To throw yourself into a task, an idea, or a conversation was an act of love. My mother loved the inn, my father loved the sea and that was all I knew.
As for me, it must have been a shame to have a child so dull and unambitious. It was not until later in life, after I'd removed myself from their shadows that unbridled passion and I found one another. Not unlike my father at all, storytelling became my world and any small taste of adventure fueled my stories.
There were moments between my mother and I. Special moments, I believe. To you, they might seem strictly educational in nature. But to her, I was the most valuable thing she'd ever stumbled across- a receptacle for knowledge: "economical housekeeping", she called it. Earning a pretty penny and saving three. From excellent services comes excellent tipping. The customer is always right and never forgets. Things like promptness, cleanliness and good conversation made for hasty returns.
I originally assumed what she asked me to do that morning was demonstrative of the excellence that she preached and to an extent, it was just that. But it was also kindness that propelled my mother to bestow this task upon me.
"Follow the road that runs adjacent to the shore," she said, "the same one that you take to market. Once you have passed the first hamlet, turn right at the fork. Follow it through the field. The barren one that was once used for harvesting wheat before the soil turned hostile. Stay true to the wagon path. From there, you should be able to see, beyond the graveyard, an apple orchard. The path goes right through it. It is there that I sent Fortune. If you hurry, you'll be able to catch her. She will not harm you. All things considered, the Silvers are our allies. But remain wary of her, please. Ask nothing from her but an explanation. The words would be poison on my tongue. The thought of my daughter hearing them from me would be too much to bear. She's the one to tell you."
I was surprised. Surprised and confused. Part of me wanted to continue guessing, to remain unchanged by the harshness of this mysterious resolve. But this was an offer that would never come again. I pulled on my coat and started down the road. As I walked, sadness took over. It was not debilitating, but sadness nonetheless. I thought of my father. How he'd spent his life on a gradual decline to his inevitable demise. How something that once seemed good and exciting could end so poorly for him. How he'd pushed himself out of the comforts of the inn for short lived adventure and an early grave.
It was particularly foggy that morning. Passing through the graveyard, it seemed as though the ground was blanketed by the spirits of those buried there. I was both astounded and disturbed when I realized how many empty graves there were. How many monuments there were to loved ones lost at sea. My imagination began to wander and I saw my father standing against the sunlit backdrop of an African shore, fighting courageously for the good of his crew. I would learn shortly that this was not how it panned out.
Fortune was making her way through the orchard when I arrived. She heard my approach. Perhaps she even expected it, for she didn't stop to turn around when I stopped walking.
"Your mind must be filled with questions." She said, moving her hand across the trunk of a large, old tree.
"Perhaps we can start with why we are here." I replied, fighting the urge to start asking said questions right away.
"Your father was a very private man. There was reason for that. What we are seeking would have caused him great ridicule if found. And that ridicule would have passed along to your family. You must never forget, Jonna, he was not heartless."
"I suppose you're going to ask if anyone had ever suspected him of piracy. My answer might surprise you."
"Piracy?" Fortune asked, turning to face me. "Mere nomenclature." Her eyes scanned the horizon and filled with energy upon discovering what it was they sought. She led me up the hill to a line of much older trees- many of them were studded with termites and decay.
"How very fortunate we are," she exclaimed, "that we arrived when we did." She moved down the line a ways, stopping when she reached an old tree with two large hollows, still clinging to life.
"Very fortunate, indeed", she repeated, moving around the trunk and peeping into the first hollow. At the first, she scowled at what she saw. The second, she stayed at a while longer before discouragement took over her face again.
"An older tree with a hollow is all your mother said. This one had two. I suppose we keep looking."
"You're seeking something hidden in a hollow?" I asked.
"The hollow of an apple tree and it is to be within the boundaries of this orchard."
I followed behind her, willingly.
"Drenched in nostalgia, don't you think?" She coughed, examining a likely specimen before moving on to the next one.
"Rather." I agreed, still pretending to understand what was going on. I always did that. Sometimes, through blunt contributions to conversations that I didn't quite comprehend, I was able to trick someone into expansion. Other times, I just made an ass of myself.
Fortune, of course, didn't buy it and shot me a menacing look. Luckily, after making me blush from head to toe, she proceeded to give me exactly what it was I sought. "What I heard from inside the apple barrel. He'd tell me the story all the time."
"You were close to my father?" I asked, trying not to seem too eager.
"For my part. Your father wanted one thing in this world. When it turned out that I was more than willing to hand it over, his fondness grew. In return, I was given my own ship."
"Your own ship?" I asked, delighted. "Your contribution must have been more than generous. How did you come to stumble across such a prize?" At this point, I assumed some large sum of money must have been acquired and traded.
"I am a gifted sailor, Miss Hawkins. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise." She said, aggravated.
"Surely." The conversation was proving to be more and more of an uphill climb.
Fortune turned, exhaling loudly through her nose.
"I'm afraid you've lost me." I said, weakly. Realizing that I'd upset her and fearing her wrath.
"You know we were the same age? Your father and I? He was more brother to me than anything. It was after me that the Fortune was named. And at seventeen, I was so proud serve as her first mate. Then, when he signed on, it was almost as though my father gained his long lost son."
I'd sensed some animosity from the start. At this point, I'd wagered that Fortune was a jealous woman and also, that she sought some common ground. I searched aimlessly throughout the far reaches of my mind, but there was nothing inside that mirrored her jealousy. Bitterness born of circumstance and confusion, but not jealousy. "It's admirable what you're doing for a man who caused you such pain." I muttered.
"What this?" She asked, reaching into yet, another hollow. "This is revoltingly selfish."
Some reward awaited her for this. And that came as no surprise. I shrugged my shoulders, dismissing the thought. Then, Fortune's face changed. All at once, I knew that she'd uncovered what it was that she sought. From inside the hollow, she extracted a chest. Not a large sea chest like I was accustomed to seeing customers dragging at their heels. It was small and plain. Large enough to house maybe a couple hundred pieces of paper.
"That's all?" I asked, unimpressed.
"You seem disappointed, friend." Fortune said, attempting to pry it open with her nails. A puff of dust appeared.
"Whoa now, won't he realize that you looked?"
She stopped. "I have my father's curiosity like you have your father's honesty."
I inched forward, keeping my distance so that I might look over the edge of the open chest, but not too deep. Fortune's fingers grazed the pages within as if to declare affection, but her face read as one thing alone: retribution.