Disclaimer: I refuse to admit that I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, so please sue me so that I can take part in an international scandal, become famous, and maybe work for Disney on their next movie to pay off my debt.

The Most Beautiful Sight

None of the windows in the Jacobs house were ever locked during the day.  At night, Peter Jacobs insisted they be latched securely against invaders, soldier that he was, and keeping with the somewhat paranoid views of the army.  But the first duty of their maid in the morning was to open all the windows and fling wide the drapes, even on cloudy days.  It was not the case that Peter Jacobs' wife hated stuffy air; it was that without the windows open, Esther Jacobs would be cut off from the outside world.  This was because Esther was blind.

Every morning the scents and sounds of a healthy, thriving port town poured in through the open windows, wrapping their tantalizing fingers around Esther's remaining senses and bringing her the news of the world.  Children ran down the streets, shrieking with laughter as their mothers cleaned house, sailors and vendors and merchants and dockhands shouted back and forth to one another, salt air permeated through everything, and beneath it all, the hiss and roar of the ocean eating away at the beach resounded through her very bones.  Born without her sight, Esther could not imagine living any other way.

Esther was short and plump, with her long, mousey-brown hair pinned up in braids and her nose dusted with freckles.  She always wore a soft smile that told those who met her that all was right in the world.  Despite her eccentricities, she had a husband who loved her, and she was happy.

Currently, however, Peter was away on a ship somewhere hunting for pirates.  He'd been gone a month, and Esther had no idea when he'd be back.  She hoped he'd come home soon—she missed him terribly. 

She walked idly into the sun room, as she called it.  It was an addition to the house whose walls were filled with windows, and placed to absorb the most afternoon sun possible.  Esther settled herself in a comfortable chair and let the sounds of the harbor wash over her.  She turned her head at a knock on the door frame.

"'Lo, Essie," said a familiar voice.  With a cry of delight, Esther leapt to her feet and threw herself into Peter's arms.  Suddenly she pulled away and grabbed his right arm, running her fingers down it until she reached his wrist. 

"Dear Lord," she breathed.  "Peter, your hand!  What on Earth happened to it?"  Concern etched deeply in her face, she ran her fingers lightly across the roughly scarred surface that capped his wrist where his hand had once been attached.

"Pirates," he replied.  "I've been honorably discharged."  It was hard to tell how he felt about this.  Esther knew he loved to sail, but also knew that he had often wished that he didn't have to answer to a sergeant or a lieutenant every day.  The loss of a hand was devastating to a fighter like her husband, but with it came a rare chance for a change of pace. 

"Peter?"  He answered her question before she asked it. 

"I'll be all right.  But I don't think I can stay here in Port Smithson.  Too many familiar faces."  He sighed.  She hugged him comfortingly. 

"We can talk about it at dinner."  She stood on her toes to kiss him.  "Welcome home, darling," she said with a smile.  He answered it with one of his own, and though she couldn't see it, she had loved him too long not to know it was there.

*

"Thank you, Mr. Kelly," Elizabeth Turner called after the postman.  He waved and disappeared around a corner.  As Elizabeth walked back up the drive to the house she had moved into with her husband, Will Turner, she sighed with bliss.  Everything in her life was perfect.   Remembering the letters she held, she sorted through them as she pushed the door closed behind her.   "Hm?"  Elizabeth frowned curiously and set the rest of the letters down on the table as one caught her eye.  She raised her eyebrows in surprise as she read the name of the sender, and her curiosity got the better of her.  She tore it open as Will came in from the next room. 

"Anything interesting?" he asked as he picked up the stack of discarded letters. 

"This is from one of my old friends from London," Elizabeth told him.  Since the words weren't slanting hopelessly across the page as was normally the case when Esther attempted to write, Elizabeth assumed that someone had written for Esther as she dictated.  "She says she wants to come visit for a while."  Elizabeth handed the letter to Will.

"Dear Elizabeth," read the letter,

"I hope you remember me, Esther Gale?  It's been a while since I've heard from you, and as my husband and I (yes, my parents finally found someone who could stand to be near me for an hour, I'm Esther Jacobs now)  have decided to move to Port Royal, I thought it only fair to warn you that we'd be dropping in to say hello.  I hope you haven't decided you despise me in the years since we've seen each other. 

                                                   All my Love,

                                                   Esther Jacobs"

Elizabeth chuckled to herself.  "You'll like Esther," she told Will.

"Of course I will," he replied, throwing an arm around her shoulder and kissing her nose.  "But until she gets here, I've work to do at the smithy.  I'll see you tonight, love."  He smiled tenderly at her.

"Don't get in a fight with any pirates!"  she called jokingly after him as he strode out the door.

*

Almost a hundred miles out at sea, the wind was strong and steady, blowing almost directly back towards Port Royal.  That far out on the ocean, there was only one ship to take advantage of such a beneficial wind.  Although her old, tattered black sails had been replaced with newer ones, the Black Pearl was still a sight to strike fear into the hearts of honest, law-abiding citizens such as lived in Port Royal.  Most of the crew were keeping themselves busy with dice or card games, or clambering about in the rigging, tightening knots or lounging in the foretop, keeping a lazy eye out for any other ships on the lonely sea.

At the helm stood the captain, a tall, wiry man whose long black hair whipped around his face in the stiff breeze.  He wore a leather vest and overcoat over a white linen shirt.  A red sash and leather belt were tied around his middle, the belt supporting a well-cared for scabbard, which held a much-used sword.  He wore leather boots and a pair of dark breeches that could have been any number of bright colors originally, before they had been dulled to a dark brown by too long of a stretch without being washed. 

The man himself was tan and muscular, with dark eyes narrowed purposefully and his thin beard plaited into twin, beaded braids.  Another red sash held his hair back from his face, and he wore a worn leather tricorn hat as if it were a crown.

As if struck by a sudden whimsy, the man suddenly plunged a hand into a hidden pocket in his coat, pulled out an old compass, and flipped it open.  Had there been a familiar landmark nearby, or had the stars been out, it would have been apparent that the compass did not point north. 

He checked the bearing on the compass against the sun's position and flipped the lid closed, shoving the instrument back into his pocket.  Anyone who didn't know this man would have found it amusing to see that he exaggerated his every movement outrageously, giving the impression, at a distance, that he was hopelessly drunk.  At a closer look, however, one would realize that no drunkard would have such an unwavering look in his eyes, or such tension in his body. 

This man's name was Captain Jack Sparrow.

~*~

Yeeee, he's so sexy!  *cough*  More to come within days, if not hours.  Whacha!  Hooray for pirates!