Pirates of the Caribbean: The Pirate's Pearl
By Romania Black
Hey everyone!
I decided to get one more chapter done before I leave for the weekend! I hope you all enjoy it!
Sincerely,
Romania Black
Chapter Ten
Annabelle did call him captain that day he left, on those shores when the dinghy finally reached the beach, and he promised her he'd return "every now and again."
Elizabeth had been curious as to what Jack had done to the girl, but Annabelle would not reveal anything of importance to Mrs. Turner. After all, what would she reveal? Nothing that wasn't new to Elizabeth, the girl decided. Young William was overjoyed to see Annabelle again, but their reunion was somewhat short lived. As she had been gone, Mrs. Turner had found Annabelle a new home to live in. Mia, the maid, had a favor owed to her by the owner of a local tavern in town, and Mia made sure that the owner obliged to keeping Annabelle safe in her place of business.
"I can keep her up in the loft," Buela, the heavy set tavern owner said with a deep, rumbly and groaning voice. "Gots another girl up there already," She said, eyeing little Annabelle, "She'll teach her the ropes around here," She said, shifting her weight in the ground, dressed in a ruffly white and navy dress that did not flatter her extreme curves.
"Just keep her safe and sheltered," Mia said, pushing Annabelle forward, despite the girl digging her heels into the dust, "Mrs. Turner will see to check up on her and make sure of it."
"Ye can tell Mrs. Turner she's in the best hands 'n the town," Buela said hoarsely, gripping the girl's arm tightly and practically dragging her away into the tavern. Annabelle looked back to Mia as if to tell her she didn't want to go. Perhaps if she pleaded, Mia would change her mind and take her back to Mrs. Turner's home. But to her dismay, Mia had already turned the corner, as if to get away as soon as she could, and had disappeared. As Annabelle was shoved into the tavern, she had no idea it would be four years before she saw the maid again...
"Okay," Felicity shoved a hand out, her face skeptic, "You're telling me that you didn't see that maid that dumped you here until four years later?"
Annabelle sighed and smiled; as much as she hated being interupted in the middle of her story, she couldn't help but admire Felicity's innocence. "True as rain," she continued, laying down on the grass and running a hand to her head. "And that was four years ago when I saw her, haven't since then." She added.
Felicity shook her head slowly in disbelief. "When did you see her four years ago?" She asked, folding a shirt in her lap.
"In the market," Annabelle replied quickly, twisting a piece of her long brunette hair with her fingers, "She didn't recognize me at first, I was the one that noticed her."
Felicity smirked, "Well, you have changed a little since you arrived here." She noted, setting the folded shirt down onto the pile of other shirts washed, dried, and folded.
Annabelle grinned and let the twisted piece of hair untangle and fall to her side. It had been eight years since that day her mother had died and her world had changed forever. She'd left Captain Sparrow's side on the beach and gone back to Elizabeth Turner's. Not a few hours after that though, she was shoved into the hands of the grubby, tavern owner Buela, who had sent her to the loft to get "settled in" for the rest of the day and night. Her only roommate was another orphan, Felicity, who had arrived at the town with no name at all. According to Felicity, her name had been given to her by the Captain of the ship she'd sailed in on. She was a fairly pretty girl, with honey colored skin, and dark hair, the color of a raven's wing. She appeared to be what Annabelle had heard were called "Indians," though her eyes were a paler gray, instead of the brown she'd heard about. She guessed that one of Felicity's parents might have been a sailor that had taken up with one of the native's but she couldn't be sure. Not even Felicity knew her origins.
"I suppose I have," Annabelle noted, sitting up and grabbing one of the shirts. Today was the usual laundry day. Felicity and Annabelle straightened and folded the shirts of Buela and her several "customers", mainly sailors and other men that were regulars at the tavern. "Not to say that you haven't either." She pointed out.
"Not as much as you," Felicity said, looking at her in slight awe, "You were so quiet when you came here, now you speak out against Buela as if it were nothing."
Annabelle smirked, "You let her have too much control over you," she said, "She's not our owner, just our employer." She laid down a freshly folded shirt.
"She still gives us a place to sleep," Felicity warned.
"As soon as I can, that won't be necessary," Annabelle said, a faint grin on her face, "I'm getting out of here, Felly," She said, stretching her hands behind her head, smiling.
"You always say that," Felicity snorted, "You've said that for eight years, Anna, and the closest you've ever gotten was out that door and over to that Blacksmith's shop," She gave Annabelle a fiery grin, "To see him," She said in a mock-swoon of a voice.
Annabelle snorted in a way to match hers from before, "I needed supplies--" she started,
"Rubbish!" her roommate cut in, her eyes coyly eyeing Annabelle, "You always go over there to see him, not the tools or that older blacksmith. You can't lie to me about it!" She said triumphantly.
Annabelle couldn't deny it outright. She had been confined to the tavern for two years, rarely going outside except to open the doors to travelers or to get fresh water for Buela. However, when she turned twelve, Buela had asked her to make a delivery trip to the Blacksmith to pick up some supplies to repair the main bar. Annabelle had found herself in the Blacksmith's shop down the street, and to her amazement, in front of a thirteen year old William Jameson Turner.
The boy had grown up in two years, growing taller and his light brown hair was now past his shoulders. He still had the same eyes though, and despite his voice growing slightly deeper, he still had the same overdrawn accent. They had immediately known one another, and they talked for what seemed like hours until Annabelle realized how late it was and ran back to the tavern. She received no meal that night for being late, but the knowledge she'd gained was worth it. Since that day, she would make many trips back to the Blacksmith, each time getting a tool or two, and each time learning a new lesson. Last week, Annabelle had finally mastered one of the lunges Jameson, as she called him, had taught her. Jameson was a master with swords, and also, to her delight, a very good teacher. He'd even made her a sword, a simple blade that had a silver handle perfect for her feminine fingers to grip.
"Ello? Anna?" Felicity's voice shook her from her daydream. The tan girl smiled, "Thinking of William Turner again?"
"I'd imagine," Annabelle said nonchalantly, grabbing another shirt, "that he rather hates being called "William."
"Why would you say that?" Felicity said, leaning back and resting herself on her elbows.
"Everyone calls him William," Annabelle remarked, laying the folded shirt down. "No one calls him by his middle name, Jameson."
"I like William more," Felicity said simply, resting her eyes. "You don't see me calling you...you...," She opened her eyes, "What is your middle name, Anna?"
"Pearl," Annabelle replied quietly, her eyes gazing for a moment at the pearl necklace that was concealed under her white frock. She had never let Buela touch it, or anyone else for that matter.
Felicity noticed Annabelle look at it, "Remember when Buela tried to take that from you?"
Annabelle smiled, remembering it, "I kicked her in the shins," She said, as if in a daze.
"She was so mad, she didn't feed you for a week," Felicity murmured, shaking her head in awe. "How did you survive that week?"
"Ate bread from the neighbor," She smiled, winking, "I convinced Mr. Tumnus I was a mute and he felt sorry for me."
Felicity tossed a shirt at her and scoffed, "You're unbelievable!" She laughed.
"Unconventional," Annabelle corrected, but Felicity was no longer looking at her. She'd moved her gaze towards behind them, and back towards the tavern.
"Speaking of unconventional," She said in a hushed voice, "Look who's coming up the hill, Anna."
Annabelle turned around to see the waddling Buela coming up the hill towards them. It was an unusual sight. Usually, Annabelle and Felicity would go out behind the tavern, down the small alleyway, and up the grassy knole to the hill to do the laundry. It was a beautiful spot with a gorgeous overlook of the bay. Buela rarely even followed them to the end of the alley, much less to the hill's bottom. Now she was almost up the hill, huffing and wheezing, but trudging towards them nonetheless. Felicity quickly gathered the folded shirts in her arms, as Annabelle forced herself to rise off the green blanket she'd sat upon.
"What do we owe ye, Miss Grundles?" Felicity said with a slightly fearful voice. "We finished the laundry." She said, her arms full of folded white and ivory and creme linens.
"Annabelle," Buela gasped, grasping her knees and breathing deeply. The girl almost wanted to kick her knees in to see if she'd roll down the hill like a giant egg, but she forced the thought from her mind quickly.
"Present," Annabelle retorted, brushing off her long black skirt and giving Buela a glare.
"Don't give me your tongue, girl," Buela rasped, her black beady eyes narrowed, "You're wanted in the tavern." She said with a strained voice.
Annabelle looked up with an eagerness in her eyes that was unexplainable. "Who is it?" She asked so quickly, it caused Felicity to stare.
"Don't ask questions girl," Buela growled, "He said he wanted to see you as soon as possible," Annabelle's heart was racing, "So what the bloody hell are you standing here for?" She yelled, and Annabelle started down the hill in a hurry. Felicity looked over Buela's shoulder to watch her run down the hill.
"Is it him again?" She asked Buela, who glared at her in return. Felicity cowered back, but Buela only wheezed, shook her head, and turned around slowly.
"Drew a gun on me, that scoundrel," The heavy woman glared down the hill, Felicity behind her. "Damn putz," She heaved, "Probably some pirate scum that knows the little wench," She mumbled on, not noticing Felicity's large smile that had formed on her face as they descended the grassy hill, Annabelle long gone into the tavern.