Part XXVIII
"What is love really?" I sigh, enjoying the feel of Will's arm around my shoulder and body against mine far too much to not invent some manner of continuing the delicious moment. I suspect Blacksmith Brown may be tearing the town up shortly looking for Will, but I wish to linger in this little pocket of bliss. How very silly of me to take such comfort in the small gesture of a boy's arm around my shoulders – especially when the boy in question is Will Turner. Yet there's a calmness about Will that seeps into me as well when we are like this. Everything in my very active brain shuts off and I feel at peace.
"I believe there are different types of love," Will says, answering the question I forgot I even asked. "There is, of course, parental love and then there is romantic love."
"Tell me about your parents," I request. "You barely speak of them."
"My father was a sailor and my mother was a maid to a fancy lady. We lived below-stairs with the other servants of the house when Father was absent and kept a little cottage Mother inherited in town when he was in port. Father always came home with the most remarkable stories. I used to love sitting by the fire listening to him recount his adventures."
"I wish Papa had exciting stories to tell. Then perhaps I could stand being in his company for longer spans of time."
"I was in the habit of waiting at the docks for Father's ship when he was expected home and, one day, he never came. I returned every day hoping he was only delayed by storm but. . .he never came. Instead, we received a strange medallion wrapped up inside a letter. His last letter it turns out. Mother could not accept the fact that Father was quite possibly dead, so she packed us up, sold the cottage, bought passage on a ship heading to his last known port of call, and sailed in search of him. On the way, our ship was attacked and you are familiar with the rest. My last memory of my mother is her helping to lower me onto the little makeshift raft you and your father rescued me from. She threw down the medallion – Father's last present to us – but I must have lost it. I remember feeling it about my neck when I finally lost consciousness but it was gone when I awoke to see you standing over me."
"How very distressing," I say. "I don't believe I like that story. . .except for the part of finding you on the raft. It was quite fun nursing you back to health. I felt very grown up."
"Not all stories end happily, Elizabeth," Will says. "Despite what your storybooks may say."
"I know," I reply. "Though it is much nicer when they do." I hate to do it since I am so very warm and content resting against Will, but I raise my head off his shoulder to search his dark eyes. "You also spoke of 'romantic love.' Surely there must be a reason besides wishing to sound philosophical. Is there someone you fancy, Will?"
"M-M-Me? F-Fancy someone? Why do you ask?"
"Because I know someone who fancies you!"
"Y-You do?"
"Of course. It is rather obvious to anyone with eyes in their head," I say. "Sally Simpkins, the Baker's Daughter! She's got quite the yen for you, Will!"
"I. . .I hadn't noticed."
I roll my eyes. "Lord, Will, she simpers like a salivating dog. You truly haven't noticed?"
"I must have other things on my mind."
"And have you seen how much she bends over when you're about? It's like she's always dropping coppers and needing to pick them up. Goodness, I swear if her blouse was any lower, her bosom would fall clean out for all the world to see."
"I hadn't noticed," he repeats.
"Boys can be so dense at times," I say. "Perhaps that is why girls must go to extreme measures to get their attention."
"Do you fancy anyone?" Will turns my question about on me.
"Me?" I frown, thinking. "I suppose there are many handsome sorts about – especially since the new regiment transferred to the fort -- but I. . .fancy anyone? I suppose I have never given it much thought. The only boys I've spent any amount of time near are Norrington and you. I can't stand being in Norrington's company and I can't stand not being in yours, so I suppose, if I did think to set my cap on anyone, it would be you, Will."
"Your father wouldn't approve."
"Papa doesn't approve of a great many things I do but that has not stopped me yet." I laugh suddenly, flashing Will a grin. "You are my very, best friend, Will. Remember when I dared you to stick your hand in a beehive when we were twelve? I am such a silly goose to think that – even for an instant – we could be more."
"Sometimes, even 'very best friends' yearn for more, Elizabeth," Will says.
"Now you're the silly goose," I tease, patting his cheek before leaning forward to kiss the spot my hand just was. "I shall not ask you to see me home since Blacksmith Brown is expecting you. I shall only ask that you come around tomorrow if you are free."
Will nods, watching as I stand. "I shall try."
"Don't say you'll try, say you'll come around," I request, smoothing my hands down the sides and back of my dress before retrieving the shawl we used as a cushion. "It is the only answer I shall accept, Will."
He nods again, slowly, as if considering the request though, really, what is there to think over? "I shall come around tomorrow, Elizabeth. I still owe you those apple pasties."
I grin. "As long as you purchase them when Sally Simpkins is not about, I shall accept them."
