Washed Away Promises
The true peace of God begins at any spot a thousand miles from the nearest land. Joseph Conrad
Prologue
He dreamed. He dreamed of open water, of waves that were as dark and cold as the space between the stars. For once, the water was not his friend. It was an enemy, a traitor that he only thought he knew... and suddenly realized that he did not. His mind offered up images of younger times, happier times as he tossed and turned in the cramped bed. He murmured, lifting a hand to ward off the images, but still they came.
It was a glorious English summer day. The sun glowed overhead like a newly shined copper kettle. The sky was that endless blue you could lose yourself in. A few fluffy white clouds dotted it here and there, the sunlight painting them brilliantly white.
He sat in the shade of a tree, legs outstretched, ankles crossed and watched his daughter play with his wife. Both had curly blonde hair. His daughter wore a light green dress, his wife in yellow. The sun caught them, painting them with streaks of gold under that endless sky. A butterfly danced past his face, and he watched it with lazy eyes until it landed on a nearby rose.
This was his family's last day in England. They were setting sail for Port Royal in the morrow. He was looking forward to the reaching Port Royal. The adventurer in him yearned to see new places. His daughter broke him from his thoughts as she threw herself onto his lap. Her small starfish hands clutched at the ivory linen shirt he wore.
"What ya doing, Lottie?" he asked. The toddler settled herself on his outstretched legs, gazing at him with huge brown eyes.
Jack woke suddenly, dark eyes darting around the gloom of his cabin. He lit the candle next to the bed. Cold sweat covered him and plastered his hair to his head. He brought his hands to his face, ignoring how much they were shaking.
It was just a dream... he told himself, just a horrible dream...