"Are you sure about this Abigail? I keep thinking that it's not suitable for a young woman… Lord knows it's not safe! Your father would-"
"My father is no longer on with us," Abigail responded with regret, placing a few leather bound journals into a large trunk. She fingered the gold lettering on one of his favourite books and whispered, "God rest his soul."
"He wouldn't approve."
Abigail turned to her dear friend and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. The older woman looked worried, her eyes clouded with acute anxiety. "It's alright, Milly. Everything is going to be alright."
Abigail smiled, trying to allay the fears of her oldest companion. She hoped she succeeded; perhaps she did, because Milly turned away and resumed her packing. Abigail bit her lip and returned to her own task. It was too late to change her mind now. Truth be told, it wasn't too late to halt any of the plans she'd made because they hadn't actually set sail yet. But the preparations were complete and she had made up her mind. She was going back to Nassau. And no one was going to stop her.
Perhaps this had been unwise. Foolish. The worst idea that had ever been enacted by man – or a woman, as was the present case. Abigail tried not to cringe under the inscrutable gaze of a pirate king. Not for the first time did she question her sanity in undertaking her current course. But it was too late now for regrets and recriminations. She squared her shoulders with more courage than she felt by half, and stared him in the eye. He did not flinch, but she saw a nerve tick in his jaw. His hands had also balled into fists. She quaked at that, a shiver of apprehension whispering along her spine. What had she been thinking? Beside her, Milly reached for her hand and Abigail was immensely grateful and irritated in equal parts. The action would be seen as a weakness. But she could not bring herself to spurn the comforting clasp. She squeezed Milly's hand before gently letting it go.
"You realise, Miss Ashe," she swallowed at the emphasis on the word realise, the intimation being that she must be some simpleton that had not considered the facts before her, "that you've sailed yourself into the middle of fucking a war."
Abigail tightened her lips, proud that she hadn't cringed at the diction or tone. She had not known that then, but it was apparent now. "It makes no difference. I am here. And I mean to stay."
He released a collective of expletives - quite extraordinary – while Milly gasped beside her. "Mister McGraw," Abigail began and saw his eyes flash before she tried again, "Captain Flint, I appreciate that there are dangers here. Common sense has not left me."
"So if I am to understand you correctly," he said, his teeth gritted. "You sailed from London, purposefully chartering a merchant ship to bring you to Nassau."
"Yes."
"With the intention of starting a life here?" he said with so much incredulity, she almost smiled.
"Well, not starting a life exactly. I suspect that might be a slight overstatement."
"Indeed."
"But my aim was to visit Nassau." Abigail took a step forward, away from Milly. She needed him to see she was not afraid. "As it was to find you."
Staring at the fierce pirate, she observed the lines which ran across his withered face. James McGraw had once been a handsome man, but all trace of that softness was now gone. He was vital and powerful, a keg of powder ready to explode. She could feel the power radiate off him in waves, even as he stood clear across the room from her.
"I am sorry, for the loss of Mrs. Barlow. She was kind to me." Again, she saw his fists clench and wished she had the courage to place a comforting hand to his. She couldn't imagine he would even accept such a gesture. "I know you killed my father. And I know why you did it." Her throat closed but she breathed through it, never breaking contact with his gaze. Milly would no doubt be scandelised at her boldness – she would be scandelised when she reflected upon this conversation later - but the time for false modesty was long gone. Abigail Ashe, the sheltered debutant, the girl who had been kidnaped by Ned Lowe was now a very different woman. Somehow, the civility demanded by English society made little sense when she had seen and experienced so much.
Tentatively, Abigail pushed forward and sat in the chair beside his desk. The Captain raised a ginger brow and she ran her palms down the front of her dress, trying to dry the moisture there. She sat serenely, years of practice at the air of indifference finally paying its dues. Reluctantly, he sat down and waited.
Abigail licked her lips, suddenly overcome with memories. It felt like so long ago, and yet it had all happened mere months past.
"The night…" she reconsidered, "No, the day after Colonel Rhett… killed Mrs. Barlow, my father had me sent to Savannah. I believe he did not want me to bear witness to what was to come. But I sensed the truth; I could see it in his eyes. What you had suspected of him, what Mrs. Barlow had accused him of, it was true. All of it. And despite my protestations, despite my testimony of my fair treatment and my observations of your person and that of your crew, I am ashamed to say that I knew he would have you killed. He did not care that I knew it of him. A necessary evil, a wrong now righted, he had said." Abigail was lost in the memory of their final moments together. "How is it possible, Captain, to love someone your entire life, to look to them for protection and guidance, and be so wrong about them?" He did not answer. She did not expect him to.
"I had not gotten far before word reached me of your escape from Charlestown, and the fact that the city had been laid low, burned to the ground in the wake of your departure. I knew then. I knew that my father was dead."
"You blame me, I suppose. Another bad deed added to the endless list of my grievous sins."
"No," she said simply, unaware of how unexpected the admission was to him, how sincere, how touching. "There is no point, Captain. My father would have had you killed if you had not killed him. Who I am to judge who is the better man or who deserved the gift of life? Some may argue you are a murderous pirate, others could make a case that his actions set you on your present course."
He frowned. "That is quite a pragmatic view of the world, Abigail."
"It seems I've become a realist." Her smile was tenuous. Sad.
His demeanor softened and she was reminded of the man who had sat opposite from her in the candlelit bowels of his ship, much like he was doing now, telling her stories of the crew, of his life, a man who had even smiled then, with Mrs. Barlow at his side. He did not smile now.
"You do not belong here."
"I do not belong in Charlestown. Or Savannah. Or even London. I have visited those places these past months, hoping to find the thing that eludes me."
"And what is that?"
"A place to call home."
"Nassau is not home."
"Perhaps not. But it's the only place that feels… like perhaps I might be able to breathe here." She sat forward, in earnest. "I am whispered about, everywhere I go. To my face my father's friends, peers he considered like family, commiserate and offer their support for my wellbeing. And yet it is all false prose. They whisper of just how compromised I likely am due to spending months with wretched pirates." She shrugged at the term, hoping he knew she was paraphrasing. He seemed not to care. "I have no home, I have no family left who would have me and not be humiliated by what happened to me. I find myself making elaborate apologies and having to explain myself to an audience who has no inclination towards the truth and who has damned me to ruination."
Her words were resigned. "I have no home, Captain. And this place is now as close to me as any other. At least here there is some familiarity."
His lips curled slightly. Barely. But her heart rose. "With wretched pirates?"
Abigail smiled then. "The very same."
He shrugged, impressed with her tenacity, despite himself.
"Let me be clear Captain, I aim to stay in Nassau. How long, I know not, nor whether I will find what I seek here. But I will not be persuaded otherwise. Not by you, or by any other."
The Captain let out a sigh that reverberated around the room. "Pray tell Abigail, what do you seek and hope to find in this God forsaken place?"
Her answer astounded him.
"Forgiveness."
The idea of sailing for Nassau had come to her after another humiliating afternoon among those who would call themselves her friends. Excusing herself for a moment, Abigail returned to hear her friends whispering about her. Had those wretched pirates touched her? they wondered. Had she allowed it? Abigail's cheeks burned with mortification. For months, she had tried her best to put what had happened behind her. It mattered not that she wondered what had happened to Captain Flint, it mattered not that she dreamt still of the night Mrs. Barlow had been murdered in her family home, it mattered not that she sometimes wondered whether the guilt she felt would ever abate. The realisation that she would never be accepted here - that perhaps she had always been too different, too plain, too bookish and boring – hit her like a fierce wave to the helm of a ship in the midst of a storm. These people judged her, laughed at her, derived amusement from her trauma, without any consideration for what she had endured.
Of course the news of her journal - her defense of pirates – had spread throughout London society in what felt like the blink of an eye. Initially it had seemed like people were genuinely interested in her experiences. It became all too apparent that all they wanted was to fuel the gossip about her person, about her father, and in doing so, somehow make their own dreary lives more exciting.
She knew then that London, like the Americas would never be a home for her. In order to move forward, she needed to revisit her past. The thought was terrifying, and yet in the weeks that followed, nothing else seemed to make sense. She would return to New Providence Island, she would seek out Captain Flint, and she would try to understand why God had brought him into her life.
Convincing Milly had been near impossible. Her companion, her governess since childhood, she was like an older sister, sometimes a mother. She would no sooner Abigail journey to the Bahamas alone. And so she agreed to accompany her, even though it had been the very last thing she'd wanted for either of them.
"This is not your odyssey," she had said. "Milly, I do not expect you to set sail for Nassau."
"I would never forgive myself if I let you off on your own. God knows what could happen to you! If you are determined to be foolish, then I must accompany you, no matter what we encounter." But still, her friend did not understand. "Why Abigail?" Milly asked, unable to make sense of why she needed to revisit this place and these people.
"Because I don't belong here anymore."
"And you think you will there? Abigail, you have nothing in common with pirates!"
Abigail refrained from answering. They had had this argument before. She would not be dissuaded.
Walking onto the deck of the Walrus, the sunshine blinded her momentarily. It had been dim and cool inside the Captain's quarters. Outside, the smells and sounds fairly assaulted the senses. Abigail stopped abruptly when she noticed a giant stalking towards her.
How was it possible that she had forgotten how incredibly tall he was? She blushed; sure her improper thoughts were emblazoned across her face.Billy. His name was Billy. She had wondered about him, wondered whether he had survived Charlestown and yet remained within the Captain's service.
"Miss Ashe." He looked solid, sun kissed and safe. The thought came unbidden to her and she bit her lip, looking away. The action might have been interpreted as a slight, perhaps this was the reason he stiffened and stepped back.
"Mister…" Did she address him as Billy? They had not been properly introduced and it somehow felt too intimate. Again, she felt her face flush and cursed inwardly. She had sailed to this place, into the face of danger and a young man, a handsome, giant of a man, would not be her undoing.
"Billy. Its just Billy."
Milly stepped forward, casting a disapproving glance in Billy's direction. "The Captain advised that you would be escorting Miss Ashe and I to the island. Safely." She emphasised the word Miss and Abigail frowned.
His expression seemed to pray for patience. "So I've come to understand."
She felt his eyes flicker to her with curiosity but she could not yet control the heat on her face. She couldn't look at him.
"You'll be escorted back aboard your ship. We'll make for the port." He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Abigail able to stare at his retreating figure, all practiced poise long gone.
"Look away, Abigail," Milly said as she passed. "That one is nothing but trouble."
Abigail had no doubt. And yet she couldn't help but sneak another glance at the broad shouldered pirate.