The tide was high in the morning. I arrived early and sat waiting on the dock, dangling my bare feet in the water, listening to the sound of the gurgling water sucking at the wooden poles and the cry of white gulls soaring overhead. Dawn had just broken; it glowed vibrant red and yellow across the horizon, illuminating the indigo sky.
The Spanish Galleon floated gently nearby, moored to the dock just for a few more minutes. The crew was ready to leave. The Norringtons still hadn't arrived. I watched as a black dot moved down from the grand manor, winding its way down the hill and into town. The carriage pulled to a stop. Admiral Norrington exited, helping his wife down. Katherine Norrington's dainty gloved hand slipped into her husband's as she looked around one last time at the town of Saint de Lune.
Her eyes connected with mine. I tried to smile back, but it came out as more of a grimace. I couldn't help but wonder if maybe she'd put up more of a fight with her husband, maybe if she'd try to understand where I was coming from, she would have pleaded for Admiral Norrington to reconsider his plans.
But I saw no flicker of regret in her eyes. If anything, she looked ready to return home to London.
Admiral Norrington and his wife approached me. I curtsied, as it was social custom, but Admiral Norrington placed his large hand gently on my shoulder. To my surprise, water stood in his eyes.
"My dear," he said quietly, "you bow to no one, least of all us."
Humbled, I couldn't speak. It was against etiquette and violated the unspoken law between social standings, but I rushed forward and hugged both of them in turn. I could feel the crew watching us, but I didn't care. They boarded the ship and didn't look back.
I heard him before I saw him. The drumbeat of horse hooves vibrated the ground as James rode his horse Alexander into port. He dismounted easily and quickly and handed off the reins to a waiting servant. Without losing pace, he hurried toward me. Mouth trembling, I sprinted toward him, covering the distance with astonishing speed, and flung myself into his arms.
I hadn't noticed it before. But he was almost a head taller than me, and new muscles were sprouting beneath his tunic and rich garments. His strong, familiar arms encircled me and pressed me close, so close that I could hear the strong, steady rhythm of his heart.
His shirt was growing wetter with my tears. After a few painfully short moments, I knew I had to let go. Let James go. Probably forever.
The thought crushed my heart, and I wept into his chest. James' embrace tightened.
"Don't forget about me, alright?" I whispered.
James rubbed my back softly. "I won't."
Finally, he released me. I looked up into his familiar face and wiped away my tears. But more came. James looked ready to cry too. But being the stoic male that he was, I knew he wouldn't let a tear fall in the presence of anyone.
"I'll come back." James promised hoarsely. "I promise."
My heart constricted. "Good-bye, James."
James looked like he wanted to hug me again, but the call of the ship's crew snapped his attention away. "Weigh anchor, boys!" The captain yelled. James gave me one last long look and turned away. He jumped over the widening gap between the ship and the dock and landed easily on the deck. I covered my mouth with one hand, then the other, trying to suppress my rising grief.
I could see James looking back at me, his figure and the ship slowly shrinking as they cruised out. Monkey-like crewmates leapt between the rigging, inflating the huge white sails as they left port. They were heading south, not straying far from the coastline. I ran parallel to the great ship, tears flying backward behind me into my hair. I was almost out of breath as I shot up the second hill across from the Norrington's, up to the familiar ledge where James and I would sit sometimes and watch the village below or the skies above. Out of breath, out of anywhere else to run, I halted, gasping for breath, a stitch in my side burning. I watched the white shape of The Spanish Galleon turn slowly and head out for open sea.
I lifted my hand in farewell, knowing in my heart that I would never see James again. I pretended, long after the speck of white had vanished from view and long after the sun hung low in the sky and turned the clouds pink again, that he could see me there, holding vigil for him. I would never forget him.
How could I, when I was in love with him?
In the days and weeks that followed James' departure from my life, I found myself much more dedicated to my studies and to my chores than ever before. Papa was gone, and now so was James and his entire family. Nathan was dead. I had never known my mother. Who else would I lose before I myself departed this life?
One day Aunt Angela surprised me during tea, as we were fixing torn hems on clothing. She tutted as she threaded her needle expertly through one of Uncle John's shirts.
"It never would have worked out between you two, dear." She said, after not speaking once of James or his family. No one had, not until then.
I was so surprised that the needle I was working with pricked my finger. I flinched at the spot of rising red blood. Aunt Angela passed me a pad of gauze. I pressed it to the throbbing wound.
"It's better now," she said soothingly, trying to comfort me and only reopening a wound, "you can focus on your own life, now, instead of pretending to be in theirs and ours."
I scowled and didn't say anything. I would never surrender to the hard truth: that James was gone, just as irrevocably as Nathan and Papa were.
No one in our family spoke of the Norringtons again.
A year passed, and then another. Two letters arrived from James, written in his familiar black calligraphy, addressed to me only. I kept both letters underneath my mattress where I would take them out sometimes and read them over and over again until I had both messages memorized. I sent him two back, both containing sketches of Saint de Lune on the backs. He was busy, I knew, because he generally sent just one letter a year.
When I was fifteen, a new Admiral moved into the Norrington's manor. His name was Admiral Ghent and he had three daughters and a wife who reminded me very much of Katherine Norrington. I thought, for a fleeting, hopeful moment, that they could be like the Norringtons. Peaceful, welcoming, fair, and kind.
I was wrong.
The first Sunday after they had arrived by caravan on the road, they attended church. The stone building was packed to the seams, bursting with the faithful who attended every service offered and those who had only come to mingle with the latest arrival of wealth and power.
The three daughters were pretty. One had raven-black hair like her mother. Another had blond. And the last had brown hair like her father's. They looked to be very close in age, and mine.
I approached them hastily after service, after the mother, dressed in her extravagant attire, dropped one of her baubles. It was a rather ugly black ring with a chunky dark green gem embedded in it. As she clambered back into her carriage, I hustled after her. "My lady! Excuse me, my lady!"
The raven-haired woman looked at me. Her face scrunched up, as if seeing a dog squatting on her front lawn. Immediately, I hesitated.
"What." She said flatly, looking disgusted. I had never been more aware of my lowly tunic, my scuffed shoes, my long hair that hadn't been washed in a few days.
Trying to look more hygienic, I wiped my nose in case any dirt remained on it from digging for root vegetables this morning. "You dropped this, my lady." I held out the ring.
The woman let out an insulted gasp. Her daughters glared at me as if I was a roach in their kitchen.
"You little harlot!" She half-screamed. "You little conniving thief! You pilfered that ring from me while I was praying, didn't you? How dare you!"
I could feel the blood drain from my face. Any accusation made from the right mouth could bring instant judgment, even death. My mouth dropped open in horror.
"No, no, my lady!" I gibbered. "You… you dropped this on your way out!"
"Liar!" She shouted. She pointed an accusing finger at me, loaded with another heavy ring. "Giles! Seize her!"
A tall, intimidating man with several missing teeth bared his mouth at me and grabbed for me. I wrenched my arm away and bumped into Mistress Hall.
"What is the meaning of this?" The old teacher squawked. Her vision had deteriorated to the point where she had to squint very hard through her glasses to see more than ten feet in front of her. "What's the matter?"
"That little thief stole my ring and is now trying to win a reward for returning the item!" Mrs. Ghent shouted. By now the entire remaining congregation was goggling at the scene.
"No! I didn't!" I gasped. "I was only trying-"
"Shush!" Mrs. Ghent cried. She was fanning herself vigorously. "Take this heathen away and get her away from me!"
"My dear woman!" The priest said hastily, hurrying forward. He looked very shocked to see such a noble woman so upset. "This girl is a child of God! She would never lie to you. Believe her when she says she is merely returning one of your jewels."
The woman looked furious. She had come out of her carriage again and was bearing down upon me. An ugly vein pulsed in her forehead. I forced myself not to back down, even though my legs were shaking.
"You will return my things to me at once," she said quietly, dropping her voice so that only I could hear, "or I'll have you tried and dealt with as the criminal you are."
I stared at her. Her dark eyes were empty and soulless. Swallowing, I handed back the ring. Mrs. Ghent snatched it and jammed it back on her finger. She stormed back into her carriage. I could feel the gazes of every churchgoer boring into me as I watched the carriage roll away, back towards the Norrington's house.
"You'll need to be very careful around that woman," Uncle John said as he put a hand over my shoulder. I glanced down and saw that in his other hand, he held a barely concealed sword.
"Why?" I asked as the crowd dissipated.
Uncle John let out a long sigh. "Because she knows your father is a pirate. She thinks since you're half-pirate, it makes you as good as one."
"And what's wrong with that?" Mary said stoutly, coming to my defense. "Grace isn't a pirate. She's as much pirate as I am!"
Uncle John smiled wistfully. "I admire your courage, daughter, but in the eyes of the law, anyone convicted of piracy deserves one justice: a hanging in the town gallows."
Instinctively, I touched a hand to my throat. The silver crucifix that had once hung there now resided with James, all the way in London.
"And the law," Uncle John added quietly, as a soldier walked by and gave us a long look, "is in the eyes of the Admiral."
So that was why Papa had been spared. Even though Admiral Norrington had known all along, he had spared Papa. For my sake.
And Admiral Ghent wasn't anything like Admiral Norrington.
A week after the fiasco at the church, a new ship sailed into port. It was black, with a white strip running all along its sides. It seemed vaguely familiar, but even the name didn't jog my memory. The Misty Lady was painted in gold letters along the side, chipped and battle-scarred.
A gangly crew disembarked with several crates and boxes of goods to trade and sell. They smelled especially foul in my nostrils, permeating the salty tang of the sea air with their noxious body odor. I walked past them on my way to the market, intent on fulfilling Aunt Angela's wishes. She had sent me to trade eggs and goat milk for more fabric. My tunic was threadbare and worn, in desperate need of a replacement.
I had exchanged the eggs and milk when I caught sight of the booth nestled near the edge of the bustling marketplace. It was the same booth where the old woman had spouted her frantic, unholy words at me all those years ago. Now a younger woman who had to be her daughter maintained the booth, always wearing different colorful scarves wrapped around her head. Her dark eyes pierced me now, tracking my every move through the square.
Against my better judgment, I approached her booth. The woman didn't blink or draw back or start screaming at me. Instead she gazed at me beadily, her face unreadable.
"Why are you always watching me?" I asked. "What business do you have with me?"
The woman merely looked at me.
I rolled my eyes and looked away in frustration. "Do you know it's rude to stare at someone? Especially for years and years without end."
The woman blinked once.
"Fine." I said in exasperation, turning to leave. "Have it your way."
"Stop, child."
I paused. I was no longer a frightened child and was determined not to let my trepidation show. I lifted my chin a notch, trying to appear indifferent. "Yes?"
The woman peered closely at me. She wasn't old, but she was young enough to be Katherine Norrington's age. There was an air of mystery about her that drew me.
"Sit. I will read your fortune."
Something inside of me cried against her request. I had been raised in the church and knew that engaging in this sort of activity would invite darkness into my life. But something stronger than that faith overpowered me, and I found myself drawing up a pouf and sitting beside her in the booth. It was cool in the shade and smelled strongly of burning incense.
The woman was deft. She quickly snipped off a lock of my long red hair and dropped it into a clay bowl of water. The water boiled and turned hot pink. Astonished, I let out a soft gasp.
The woman took my palm into hers and flipped it over a few times. She made a quiet noise in her throat. She raised her head and looked squarely into my eyes. I felt a warning prickle on the back of my neck, but her hand held mine tight, anchoring me to the chair.
"You are full of anger, and sorrow." She said slowly. "Your mother is alive."
My heart skipped a beat. "I beg your pardon?"
She traced a finger along my palm, sending a shiver up my arm. "You will marry a man of the sea, but he will be taken from you. A dark force is against you, since birth. You are a great threat to him."
"Who is him?" I said sharply, tearing my hand away. "You're talking nonsense. My mother is dead."
The woman's gaze pierced me. "She is alive, as is your father. If you wish to find her, you must first leave this place and never return." Her face shadowed, then her eyes widened until they filled up her face. "You are in grave danger. Someone here wishes to destroy you!"
I had had enough. Furious, frightened, I jumped to my feet and stormed away. I was so angry I didn't notice a teenage boy in front of me until I smacked into him.
"Ouch!" I cursed roundly and rubbed my arm where we had collided. The boy yelped in surprise and looked at me with huge, owlish eyes.
"Oh, sorry, dearie," he said lazily, haphazardly bowing, "I didn't think you'd come barging into me like that."
"That's hardly an apology." I snapped.
The boy made an amused face. "Well, in that case, good day to you." He wove around me and skipped toward the booth I had just left. The woman smiled and let him peck her cheek. He produced a bouquet of flowers from his sleeve and presented them to her gaily. "Mum," he said affectionately.
"Jack Sparrow…" the woman purred, "where have you been off to this time, my sweet?"
I studied the boy more carefully now. Unlike James, who always dressed to the nines, this boy (who had to be around our age) was dressed like a seafaring peasant. His white tunic was belted with a thick leather throng, knee-high black boots snaking up his gangly legs. His shoulder-length black hair was in dreadlocks, and both ears looked pierced enough to be more metal than flesh. A single silver ring glinted on his right index finger.
"Dad's here," Jack went on brightly. I pretended to be interested in a booth filled with eggs and bread, listening intently all the while.
"On the ship, yes?" His mother said. Her accent was even more noticeable than before.
"He's afraid to come ashore, you see," Jack continued, "said something about Admiral Norrington living here. But I'd heard he'd left port years ago."
"Indeed." His mother concurred. "I haven't seen the two of you since three summers ago. Perhaps I will join you on an adventure this time."
"Only if you're up for it, Mum." Jack said lovingly. "You remember what happened last time."
"Oh, it was only a little fire." She said sweetly. "Here, take a new scarf. Red looks best on you, my love. Take one for your father too."
"Come see him yourself." Jack said enthusiastically. "Close up the booth and follow me."
"Excuse me, miss," an aging farmer squawked at me, "if you're going to buy that egg, it'll be one pence."
"Highway robbery." I said in an insulted tone and flashed him a quick grin, before hurrying after Jack and his mother. I stayed a few yards behind so I wouldn't arouse suspicion. I stopped at the dock, watching them walk jovially up the plank and out of sight.
I cursed under my breath. I wouldn't risk boarding a ship unaccompanied. Not yet.
Not until I was forced to.
It was a few days later, as I was finishing making my new tunic, when there was a knock at my door. Aunt Angela and Mary, who were sewing with me, frowned.
"I wonder who that could be," Mary wondered as she got up to answer it.
It was the boy, Jack Sparrow. He was holding a single yellow daffodil. When he smiled, he revealed a missing tooth and two black ones.
"Excuse me, dearie," Jack said lazily, "I was looking for a redhead girl, about your age? Nasty habit of spying on other people, listening in on things, and doesn't have any parents?"
"Who are you?" Aunt Angela said abruptly, glaring at him.
I threw down my tunic and stormed to the door, pushing Mary out of the way, who looked oddly flustered. "What do you want?"
Jack bowed. "I merely wanted to give you something, love."
"Don't call me that." I said firmly, holding out my hand, palm up. "What is it?"
Jack studied my palm. Then he took it in his and pulled me out of the house with surprising strength. I let out a gasp of surprise. Aunt Angela was on her feet, looking outraged.
"I'll only borrow her for a moment, mistress!" he promised, and proceeded to drag me all the way down the beach, the same beach James and I spent countless hours at. He finally stopped and released my hand. I wiped it against my thigh, glaring at me.
"Would you mind explaining yourself, Mr. Sparrow?" I asked acidly.
Jack looked amused. "As a matter of fact, yes. I was told to give this to you." He twisted the silver ring off of his finger and pressed it into my hand. I opened my palm and studied the ring for a moment. It was real silver, plain, the only real eye-catching part the gorgeous opal gem set into the center.
My lips parted. This ring… it was the same one I'd searched for here, years ago as a child.
"How can this be?" I breathed, turning and fitting the ring to my wedding finger. It was a perfect fit.
"I was told by Edward Fisher to bring that to you." Jack said matter-of-factly.
My head snapped up. I seized Jack by the lapel of his tunic, shaking him slightly.
"Where?" I demanded, feeling mad with desperation. "Where? By God, where?"
Jack lifted his hands up, palms out, looking alarmed. "A few months ago, love! In Tortuga."
"Tortuga?" I dropped my hands, defeated. "That's in the New World..."
Jack clucked his tongue. "It's just a few month's voyage. I've made the crossing twice now. I was born in the Indian Ocean, you see, and my father's a Pirate Lord. He's known Edward since-"
"I don't care!" I shouted, dragging a hand through my hair. Papa was alive. And he was a whole ocean away.
Jack cleared his throat. "Well, he insisted when we came to port in Saint de Lune that I give it to you. Good man, better pirate."
I wanted to slap him, but how could I? It wouldn't hinder the truth of his words at all. Papa was a pirate, and he wouldn't come back for me.
Shoulders sagging, I turned and started the trek back home. Jack trotted after me. "So, you're from here? You're Grace?"
"Yeah." I said wearily.
"Are you a pirate?"
I glared at him. "Do you honestly think I'd ever be one of those filthy, lying, abandoning scumbags?"
Jack blinked. "I'm a pirate."
I threw up my hands. "Great. Congratulations, Mr. Sparrow."
"This is awkward." Jack said, whistling. "Well, I'm going to get back to my ship. Oh, and keep that a secret, alright? Just between us friends."
"Unbelievable." I said in dismay as Jack hurried away, twisting the ring absently on my finger. "That has got to be the worst pirate I have ever seen."
