The sun was only moments from setting. Both Will and William lay stretched out on the sugary white sand staring off into the horizon. Their clothes and hair were still damp from roughhousing with each other in the water, but were quickly drying in the cool breeze blowing in off the water. There was no part of their bodies nor attire that was not peppered with a fine layer of sand that tenaciously resisted removal.
"Do you think we'll see one?" William ventured. The question had come out of nowhere.
"See what?" Will replied, not following his son's train of thought.
"A green flash," he whispered reverently.
Will lay quietly for a moment, wondering exactly how many sunsets his son had watched over the years, and every single time, wishing he would see the mysterious flash of verdant light that would tell him that his father had some home. "No," he said softly, but firmly. "Only a lucky few ever see one at all." He stared off at the rapidly sinking orb in the distance. "Even fewer are rewarded with the return of a loved one." He tilted his head so that he could just barely see William out of the corner of his eye realizing that this one small boy had been born destined to be one of the precious few, "I think that we're just an ordinary family now and no longer prone to experiences like that."
"We'll never be just ordinary, Papa. Even just Mama and I have seen too much for that," William commented, sounding far wiser than his nine years.
Out of the mouths' of babes. "There's more truth to that than I think even we realize." Will rolled to one side to look at William. "We certainly never planned on things turning out the way they did, but I think it's working out quite nicely now." Will lay back on the sand with his hands behind his head.
"But it's not perfect yet," William noted, replicating his father's pose.
"No, it never will be, but we're happy…or at least I am," Will teased. "Your mother doesn't seem to be complaining about me being home so I guess that just leaves you."
William wrinkled his nose much in the same way his mother did when she was amused then abruptly turned serious. "I was afraid when you came home," he confessed.
"Afraid?" Will was caught off guard by William's admission. "Why?" he asked softly.
"Because I didn't know if you would like me."
Will rolled to his side yet again and propped himself up on his elbow to face William. The breeze blew some loose strands of his hair into his eyes. Brushing them back with his hand, he noticed that the boy was staring intently at the sky, studiously avoiding eye contact with his father. Will was once again reminded that no matter how mature and self-assured William acted and sounded, he was still just a nine-year old boy, one that had a very justifiable reason to be insecure about his relationship with his father. He remembered very well his own childhood experience, being both excited and anxious when Bill Turner would come home. There had been times when Bill had been gone for such long stretches of time, that he and Will were practically strangers. It hadn't helped knowing that after a few short weeks home, Bill would be back out to sea again. Bill had been as much a stranger to him as he had been with William those first few weeks. It hadn't been until Will was much older that he even realized how much resentment he had built up towards his father. After all, Bill had left his family behind by choice and never returned. Will's choice had been to leave his wife behind in hopes of one day being free to return to her. He had often wondered if that choice would have been made more difficult had he known he was also leaving behind an unborn child.
"I was afraid too," Will admitted with no hint of shame in his voice. "And for the very same reason." He reached his free hand over to William's chin and turned his face so that he could see his eyes. "I knew your mother had explained to you why I was gone, why I never saw you, and the conditions of my return, but I could still never completely convince myself that you wouldn't fault me for what I did –what I had to do."
"I understand…understood. Mama told me not to worry. I know I should have never doubted her, but I couldn't help it," he lamented as his eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"What you know to be true and how you feel about it aren't always one and the same thing. Everyone makes that kind of mistake sometimes. The trick is to get past it. No matter what else happens in this life, you need to remember that your mother and I will always love you. You're our first-born—just that will always make you a little more special. We would both do anything in our power to keep you from harm."
"I know, Papa," William sighed. "I'll try to remember."
"Good," Will declared with a smile.
"It's dark," William prompted.
"I noticed." Will wondered where the boy was headed with his apparent non sequitur.
"Aren't you going to teach me about the stars like you promised?" William's voice took on a sing-song quality meant to prod his father into action.
"I thought you knew how to navigate by the stars and all of that already. You certainly know how to sail. I was beginning to feel that I was just along to do the heavy lifting and such."
William giggled at his father's words. "I can find north, but that's it. I don't know any other constellations or anything," he confessed.
"Finding north is a good start," Will pointed out. "I would honestly have expected you to know more than that—what with you already being a seasoned sailor and all."
"No, sir. I can read a compass and a map. I'm not very good at it yet, but I learned how to use a sextant…and an astrolabe too, but hardly anyone uses one of those anymore so I practiced more with the sextant. Now I want to learn how to find my way if I don't have those—just in case I get lost or something like that," William told his father, sounding as innocent as possible for a boy of his age and with his sense of adventure.
"I suppose we can't have you getting lost, can we? What would your mother say?" Will teased.
The pair spent the next few hours oblivious to the world around them. They were so completely and totally engrossed in their educational endeavor that they lost all track of time. Will patiently taught William how to locate specific constellations and planets among the surfeit of stars scattered across the obsidian sky. In what seemed to be the space of only a few minutes, William had not only learned to measure degrees by counting the number of hand spans between Polaris and his chosen direction, but also to identify Cassiopeia, Ursa Major, and Ursa Minor, which were visible year round. The lesson was then expanded to include other constellations that were only visible during the summer months. Not surprisingly, William extracted a promise from his father to show him others as the seasons progressed.
"Papa, I'm tired," William mumbled through an inexpertly stifled yawn. He put his hands in the sand behind him to prop himself up, stretched out his legs, and stared off into the pitch black night. There was no light, save the silvery glow of the moon. Even Port Royal was too distant to detect any ambient flickers of light, not that there would have been many at this hour.
"As am I," the elder William Turner agreed. He stood up and began brushing off the sand that still clung to his clothes even though they had long since dried. "Besides, it's starting to cloud over again so we won't be able to see very many stars now." After he dusted himself off, he offered his hand to William and then helped the boy rid himself of the accumulation of grit that had collected on his clothes too. "Let's go get some sleep," Will suggested, turning towards the campfire he had built earlier that afternoon. "We need to be ready for whatever adventure comes our way tomorrow."
William made no effort to follow his father, but instead stood perfectly still, his head tilted to one side, forehead knitted in confusion and concentration, staring out into the bay. Will took only five or six steps before he realized that the boy was not following and himself turned to look out at the water. It was instantly apparent what had caught William's attention. Towards the mouth of the harbor appeared a set of flickering lights hovering above the water. Will immediately recognized them for what they were—the great lanterns from a ship—but what was a ship, a reasonably large one at that, doing sailing in under the cover of darkness? No one did that if they could avoid it. The danger of running aground or hitting something in the dark was far too great to risk such a maneuver, unless you had no other choice.
"It's just a ship," Will commented on the off chance that his son was on the verge of assigning some supernatural origin to the mysterious lights. It wasn't as if there hadn't been a precedent set for something of that nature with the Turner family and their associates.
William nodded his head and continued to stare towards the lights, watching them slowly increase in size as the ship moved further into the bay, drawing closer to their location, although not too close to think that the salt ponds were the ship's destination. "Why would they come in at night? Even I know not to do that," William inquired, noticing as he spoke that the smaller pinpoints of light were beginning to wink out one by one.
"They obviously don't want to be seen." Will's voice was tinged with alarm. There was only one type of sailor who made a practice in approaching a town unseen—pirates. Unfortunately, it didn't matter that his wife was the Pirate King. He was still an unknown quantity to them. As far as any of them knew, he was still supposed to be captaining The Flying Dutchman. Even if they believed the part of the tale that claimed the captain of the ghost ship was allowed one day ashore every ten years, he was several weeks past that particular anniversary. Invoking Elizabeth's name might buy them a little time, but considering that pirates had a tendency to strike first and ask questions later made that plan tenuous at best.
"That's not good, is it?" William asked nervously, slowly backing up towards his father, his eyes still locked on the ship with its rapidly disappearing lights.
"No," Will responded cautiously, "I can't think of many –if any—good reasons to sail blind…especially on a night with this much cloud cover," he continued warily. Unless you were an undead pirate who avoided the moonlight at all costs, but I don't think there are any of those left. He placed one hand protectively on William's shoulder as soon as the boy was within reach.
"It's not the Pearl," William pointed out. "It's not quite big enough."
"True," his father agreed. "I would tend to think that it's some ship from this area since it apparently didn't raise an alarm at the fort, but extinguishing the lanterns makes it look a bit suspicious."
"We need to put out the fire," William urged. "That's what Mama always made us do when the Navy ships got too close to where we were."
Will couldn't decide which unnerved him more; the fact that his son knew what to do in a situation like this, or the fact that he was so calm about it. In either case, William was far more experienced than his father when it came to concealing his presence on land. A lesser man might have taken offense at being offered advice from a child, but Will had learned long ago to accept help when offered, no matter the source.
William turned from the water and ran towards the small campfire while Will backed slowly away, keeping his eyes locked on the ship. As best he could tell, between the darkness and the distance, the ship was maintaining its course and would bypass Port Royal. To further confuse matters—as if anything more was needed—Will had to assume that it had not sailed past the fort unnoticed and therefore must not have been perceived as posing any danger to the town and its citizens, but there was still the oddity of the now extinguished lanterns. He knew that he should help William with banking the fire, but he was hesitant to tear his eyes away from his mark for fear of losing it in the night.
"I'm done," whispered a small voice beside him. "Can you tell where it's headed?"
"No," Will answered indecisively "but I think Port Royal is in the clear. It hasn't altered course and should be well past it within a few minutes."
"What do we do now?"
Will noticed that William still kept his voice low, hardly above a whisper, and wondered if that too was the result of the years on the run with his mother. Could there be any other reason to explain how attuned he was to the fact that silence was imperative when trying to conceal your presence to someone on the water because sound carried so well over it? How much of his son's childhood had been lost because of the peculiar circumstances surrounding his parent's lives? He should have been free to run and play, to make as much noise as he wanted, to not have any cares in the world beyond deciding what to do next. Had he be able to do that at any point in his young life? It distressed Will to think that of the three of them, William had paid the greatest price and yet he was the only one of them that had been given no choice in the matter.
"Watch," Will said quietly, "Wait." He paused for a moment to try and make out the dark outline of the ship against the even darker water. "I didn't mean for you to take care of the fire by yourself," he commented, turning his attention to William as the ship faded from view.
"It needed to be done and you were busy, so…" William shrugged his shoulders. "Papa, I'm really sleepy. Can you take the first watch?" he asked, stifling a yawn and looking pitiful with his eyelids half closed over his big, brown eyes.
"First watch?" Will mused. "I don't think we need to go that far." No matter how much he wanted to laugh at the idea, he controlled the urge to do so. William had been serious about his offer, and all things considered, it was probably the most logical defense they could have at the moment, but something uncannily familiar about the ship gnawed at the edges of his memory. However intangible that feeling might be, it had dampened his initial alarm at the possibility of a covert and night shrouded attack on his home. Will reached down to grasp William's small hand in his larger work-roughened one. "That being said, I think I will stay awake for a bit longer, but you are up way past what your mother normally allows."
William yawned again and nodded. It was the first time Will could recall that the boy had not balked at being sent to bed, even if this time his bed was a blanket on the sand. "Will you sit with me while I fall asleep?" he asked his father somewhat sheepishly.
"Yes," Will assured him and smiled wistfully, remembering a time when William's mother had asked almost the exact same question. It had been their wedding night, Will's last night on land—also spent on a deserted stretch of sand—the same night he and Elizabeth had created the child standing before him now.
William collected his blankets, one to lie on and one to use as covering, as Will settled himself against the trunk of one of the palm trees that covered the area, sometimes creeping perilously close to the shoreline. William meticulously spread one blanket over the ground and then lay down with his head in his father's lap.
"We pillage, we plunder, we rifle, and loot. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho," Will sang softly as William giggled.
"We kidnap, and ravage, and don't give a hoot. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho," he continued trying to quell his own giggles.
"You don't sound like Mama when you sing," William gasped between giggles.
"I should hope not," Will said, opening his eyes in feigned shock at William's comment.
"Uncle Captain Jack told me that you have a lovely singing voice, and that it's sometimes hard to tell your voice and Mama's apart when you sing a duet," William explained innocently.
"Is that so?" Will replied in a clipped voice as he considered adding one more tick mark to the list of things that Jack did that annoyed him.
"Yes, sir," William stretched and yawned. "He said you were a…a…I can't remember the word."
"I'm sure I know which word he used, but don't worry about it. It's his idea of a joke and it's not true," Will explained, grateful that William hadn't remembered exactly what Jack had said.
"EUNUCH! That's it, he said you were a eunuch and that was why you sing like Mama. I knew I would remember. I'm good at remembering things!"
Will stiffened for a second, annoyed at Jack's prank. He definitely was going to add to the list now. "Except when your mother asks you to do something," Will said simultaneously serious and teasing.
William tilted his head back to look at his father and smiled innocently at him with his tongue peeking out from between his teeth. "I don't exactly forget that," he slyly admitted. "What's a eunuch anyway?"
"Ummm," Will stalled. I knew that was coming. "It's…umm…when…umm…let's say I'm not one and leave it at that," he suggested.
William sighed heavily. "Is it one of those things again? And are you sure you're not one? Uncle Captain Jack sounded pretty certain of it when he told me."
"Was your mother around when he told you this?" Will asked in an attempt to redirect William's questions.
"No, but he said to not tell her because she would be mad if she found out that you were one," he said in all innocence.
That would be an understatement. "You'll just have to trust me on this one. I am absolutely, positively, sure that I am not a eunuch. Besides, if I was then you wouldn't exist and then we wouldn't be having this conversation now would we?" Will said in a rush. "And I'm sure your mother would have noticed."
William narrowed his eyes at his father as he contemplated that particular morsel of information. "OH!" he exclaimed, widening his eyes. "Does it have something to do with…"
"Probably." Will interjected, cutting off William's next question. "Now didn't you say you were sleepy?" Will said sternly enough to decisively end William's line of questioning.
"You still don't sing as well as Mama," William reiterated, not allowing his father's unspoken request to change the subject to dampen his playful mood.
"I certainly never intended to imply that I did," Will challenged indignantly.
"I love you, Papa. I like having you home," William mumbled through a yawn.
Will leaned his head back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes. "I love you too, William. Don't ever doubt that. Don't ever forget that," he managed to choke out as he stroked his son's head until he was sure the boy was fast asleep.
______________________________________________________________________________
I
left my baby lying here,
Lying here, lying here
I left my
baby lying here
To go and gather blaeberries.
I
found the wee brown otter's track
Otter's track, otter's track
I
found the wee brown otter's track
But ne'er a trace o' my baby,
O!
The sound of his mother singing quietly to herself was an unequivocal sign that the sun would soon rise. It was also a definitive warning that he would be rousted from his pallet in a matter of minutes to begin the day's chores. It did not matter how much begging and pleading his did with his mother to allow him to sleep for just a few more minutes, she was, and probably always would be, immune to his pleas. In the meantime, however, he would wriggle as close to the hearth as was safe, cocoon himself in his one thin blanket, and try his best to snatch a few more winks soothed by a lullaby sung in his mother's distinctive brogue.
"William," she whispered urgently, shaking his shoulder lightly, "I need you to wake up now."
" 's too early," he mumbled incoherently, buried himself deeper in the blankets, and ignored his mother's request.
"Some things never change no matter how much time passes," she thought to herself, as she wandered away, allowing her son to slumber a few more minutes before it became imperative that he wake up. Once more, she began to sing quietly to herself.
I
found the track of the swan on the lake
Swan on the lake, swan on
the lake
I found the track of the swan on the lake
But not
the track of baby, O!
I
found the trail of the mountain mist
Mountain mist, mountain mist
I found the trail of the mountain mist
But ne'er a trace of
baby, O!
Will couldn't remember where he was when he first opened his eyes. All he was sure of was the nearly overwhelming sense of sadness that had washed over him as he slept and still remained now that he was awake. In the dream, he had been ten again, probably not long before his mother had taken sick. The sound of his mother singing, as she had every morning, was crystal clear in his mind. That memory comforted him, along with the unexpectedly remembered words to the traditional Scottish song she had so often sang to lull him to sleep when he was a small child. The reason as to why she had appeared in his dreams tonight had thus far escaped him. From the day she had died on, he had seldom ever dreamed of his mother. He had always assumed that was because his memories associated with her passing, along with the trauma of realizing— at the tender age of eleven— that he was suddenly left to his own defenses, had been too painful, and as a result he had banned them from his consciousness.
Hovan,
Hovan Gorry og O,
Gorry og, O, Gorry og O
Hovan, Hovan Gorry
og O
I've lost my darling baby, O!
The nearly forgotten lullaby wasn't an artifact of his dream. Or was it? He had heard his mother's voice in the dream, just as he heard her now. But that wasn't possible, was it? Will sat up, brushed the sand from his hands, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He peered out into the moonlit night, searching for the source of the doleful melody. Seeing nothing, and remembering his mother's tales of children being spirited away in the night, he felt compelled to check on the welfare of his own child.
William lay curled up in a fetal position, his arms crossed over his chest, not more than three feet from where Will had been sleeping. Will sat for a moment, watching his son sleep, remembering Elizabeth's words of having quite frequently done the same, and finally comprehending the force behind a parent's overwhelming need to guard their children, even when there is no sign of danger. Despite the mysterious ship that they had spotted earlier in the evening and the faint, but distinct sound of singing from a woman long deceased, Will now felt completely at ease. His instincts, finely tuned to all things supernatural and not, told him that something was about to happen, but that it most likely posed no threat to himself or William.
Will stood up and turned to face the water. The sky had cleared considerably and was now awash with the pale luminescence of a three quarter moon. He walked slowly towards the irregular, yet repetitive sonance of the sea gently bathing the shore. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the insignificant light away from the dying embers of the campfire, he became aware of a solitary figure of a woman facing away from him at the water's edge. Even considering the distance, the relative darkness of the night, and the impossibility of her being there, Will recognized his mother immediately. There was no need for her to turn around for Will to identify her.
An abrupt chill filled his being, predominantly from shock and not fear. Why would Meg Turner appear to him now? They had said their bittersweet farewells to each other less than three months earlier. At the time, Meg had implied that although she would always watch over her only son and his family, Will would not see her again until it was his time to cross to the other side and remain there permanently. And yet, here she was, on the island that Will thought of as home, singing a long-forgotten melody, and patiently waiting, but for what? Had he unwittingly violated some condition of his return and would now be forced to leave his family for good? Will struggled to tamp down the unabated uneasiness and trepidation that came unexpectedly out of nowhere and fought to consume him.
Meg turned slowly from the sea, smiling softly at Will as she did so, but not missing a single note of her song. She held her arms out in front of her, just as she had when Will was young, in a gesture that suggested and encouraged him to continue his approach. Will noted that in spite of the light breeze, neither her clothes nor her hair moved in its wake.
"William," she said softly, the unmistakable tone of pride in her son, filling her voice.
"Mother?" Will's voice broke slightly as he spoke, the uncertainty of the purpose behind her presence growing with each passing second.
Meg nodded. "There's no need to be afraid," she assured him, placing one cool hand on each of his cheeks and staring at his face. "I'm not here to take you back," she added in response to the unasked question plainly visible in his eyes.
"Then why…?" he stammered before breaking away from her and wheeling around to look for William.
"William," she said sharply, "your son, William," Meg's eyes twinkled with amusement at the idea of scolding her adult son, "is safe too. I'm here for another duty entirely," she continued with less force in her voice.
Will turned back to his mother and stared at her expecting himself to wake up from the dream or for her to disappear entirely. "Are you really here?" It's not possible.
"Yes," she laughed lightly, wrapping him in a hug, "but only for a little while."
Will stepped back from his mother and took both of her hands in his. "I want you to meet your grandson," he blurted out excitedly, pulling her in the direction of where William still lay sound asleep.
Meg closed her eyes as the smile faded from her face. "I'm afraid that's not possible. He won't wake up while we're here, and even if he did, he wouldn't be able to see me." Meg reopened her eyes and looked over to her only living grandchild, the smile reappearing on her face. "He looks much like you did at that age."
"Does he?" Will questioned. "Everyone says that he looks like me, but when I look at him, all I can see is his mother," he added reverently.
"As it should be." Meg took Will's hand and led him to some nearby boulders. "You must love her, Elizabeth, very much," she said as she gracefully took a seat facing Will, who remained standing.
"Yes, I do. I think I always have," he confirmed, wondering where this conversation was leading. Meg had already made it clear that she was there for a specific purpose. The desire to visit with her son was nowhere near powerful enough to allow her to cross back to this side, even for a short while. As best Will had understood it, the only souls that did not make the crossing or wavered between the two sides, were those that had unresolved business, an over developed sense of personal justice to be meted out, or simply did not understand that they were no longer living. Meg did not fit any of those categories by any stretch of the imagination. Truthfully, Will had often wondered why Meg had not moved on to the place that lay beyond the island where the souls in his care had disembarked and continued on their journey to their greater reward—or punishment as the case may be. He had been tempted to ask on more than one occasion, but feared that an inquiry of that nature would have been too personal to ask even of your own mother.
"She's quite a remarkable woman."
Will noticed that what Meg had given her compliment as if it had been a simple statement of fact. He smiled brightly at his mother. "Yes, she is. More than anyone could ever understand."
"Even you."
"Pardon?" Will exclaimed, taken aback by his mother's words.
Meg smiled up at him and put her right hand on his cheek, and caressed it with her thumb, just as she had always done when he was a child and she wanted to ensure that she had his complete, undivided attention. "I don't think even you quite grasp the magnitude of what she accomplished. Life is uncertain enough without having to risk so much of yourself for an outcome that may not have even been possible."
Will covered his mother's small hand with his own and waited patiently for her to finish what she obviously had some imperative need to say. The look in her eyes told him that her speech had some degree of personal significance to her beyond simply expressing her approval of her son's choice of his wife.
"I know what it's like to raise a child with an absentee father," she stated with no sign of any emotion, positive or negative.
Will winced and closed his eyes as if in discomfort. He had never intended to follow in his father's footsteps in that regard, and yet it was exactly what he had done. Is this real? It may very well be possible, but it's certainly not probable.
"William, please don't compare yourself to your father in that respect," she clarified, realizing that her words had unintentionally caused him grief. "My anger and hurt over what Bill did has long since passed. It is what it is. When he would leave to go pirating, I never knew if he would come back or not. In that respect, Elizabeth and I are very much alike, except that I expected Bill to turn up from time to time. Had I not…fallen ill," Meg hesitated, avoiding the topic of how her time had ended. She pulled her hand away from Will's face and rested it in her lap. "That expectation would have still been there. Elizabeth only had hope and faith that you could return."
"Is this why you're here?" Will sighed and opened his eyes, the look of hurt beginning to fade. "To tell me that I don't appreciate Elizabeth as much as I should?"
"No, but since I was given this chance…"
"How is it that you are here? Why can I interact with you, but William can't?" Will used the questions to distract himself from the thought that he was possibly failing Elizabeth in some unknown way, shape or form. Despite the intent, he was still truly curious about the discrepancy. I gave my life for her and she gave it back. It's not even possible for me to forget that.
"It's because you're one of us or rather you were one of us—one of the dead. I think you'll always be able to see things that others can't, although I don't know that for certain. You're somewhat of a special case in that respect," she pointed out proudly.
Will started, having been momentarily lost in his own thoughts. "I see, or at least, I think I do. But why didn't you tell me this—what Elizabeth needs from me— before I left you that last night I was… on the other side?" Will was at a loss for any explanation Meg could have possibly had for not telling him that he might still be haunted by those souls he had encountered during his tenure as captain of the Dutchman or shared her concerns about his return. It's just a dream. I know it is. I can't let it bother me.
Meg studied Will's face as she weighed her answer. "Because I didn't have the same faith in her that you did," she said flatly. "I incorrectly assumed that you would be back before the day was out. I'm elated that I was mistaken, but what reason did I have to think otherwise? No one has ever accomplished what you two did. I was afraid to be too hasty with my compliments. I didn't—and won't ever— truly know her. I wouldn't have been strong enough to endure the hardships she did. And although it pains me to admit it, if I was honest with myself, I would have to admit that I didn't know you either. I left behind a child with an uncertain future. I had to take it on faith that your…experiences had not clouded your convictions."
"But you had enough faith to send the pendant…and the brooch," Will was confused by the apparent discrepancy in his mother's story.
Meg gave him a lop-sided smile, the same one he had inherited from her. "I suppose that was my way of covering all contingencies," she said guiltily. "I'm your mother. It always has been, and always will be, my job to worry about you."
Will halfway laughed, "I'm most certainly old enough and capable enough to take care of myself." He redirected his gaze to the boy sleeping by the fire, "And my family," he added resolutely.
"You are. I have no doubt about that. You just need to remember that, no matter the circumstances, your wife will stop at nothing to protect your children, even when it could conceivably put her in danger," Meg continued in her obviously well thought out disquisition. "It's not an easy thing to bring a child into this world—your world. The prospect of losing one is the most horrendous thing a mother could imagine. In that respect, being a parent can cause unbearable pain."
"Why are you telling me this?" Will sounded alarmed. He looked intently at his mother again. His mind was racing in a dozen different directions trying to unravel his mother's intentions behind her advice.
"She needs you."
"She knows she can turn to me when she does," Will said defensively. The fear that Meg was on the verge of revealing some new trial his family must face was beginning to cause concern. A bad dream, nothing more.
Meg didn't react to Will's slightly belligerent answer. "Yes, she does. She's even aware that even just that one thing sets her apart from other women, but for you to be who and what she needs right now, you're going to have to face your own frailties."
"I don't understand."
Meg smiled sadly as she peered past Will to the stretch of beach at his back. "Perhaps you're not aware of it, but you do understand."
Will turned slowly to see what his mother was looking at and immediately understood her words. The figure of a small boy, playing in the waves that lapped at the sand, was clearly visible not more than a hundred yards from them. Even at a distance in the dark, Will knew the boy's identity.
"You recognize him, don't you?" Meg asked solemnly.
"Yes," Will whispered. "Is he why you're here?"
"Yes." Meg's voice softened as if in preparation to console a child who was about to have their world shattered.
"I still don't understand," Will continued, shaking his head slowly. "How does this relate to Elizabeth or my frailties as you called them?" A sense of dread flowed over Will in anticipation of Meg's explanation. I'm not perfect, I know that.
"He was her child too." Meg kept her voice steady as she gently began to push Will down the path to facing his own fears.
"Is," Will mumbled, taking one uncertain step towards the boy, who still had not acknowledged the presence of anyone else on the beach. "He is our son, not was." Will spoke to no one in particular as he kept his back to his mother.
"How old was he?"
Will turned back to Meg, a look of incomprehension on his face. "He's five. He just turned five at the beginning of June."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course, I'm sure. I was there, just after he was born. We were so happy, we had passed the halfway mark and we had another son. Having William was nothing short of a miracle. There are no words to describe how we felt at the prospect of another child. I…we…wanted him so much." Will was beginning to show the agitation that he thus far had held in check.
"Why were you there, William? When he was born," Meg continued as calm as always. "You weren't there when your first son was born, it wasn't possible for you, what made this one different?"
Will turned his face away from his mother and did not answer her.
Meg took a step closer to him, put her left hand on his chin and turned his face back towards her. "Why were you there?" she asked again, more strongly this time.
"Because I knew about Jonathan. I knew when he would be born," Will answered without conviction.
"You knew when he should have been born. Even I knew that. It was simply a matter of counting the weeks from the hurricane that cost Elizabeth so much of her crew. You broke the rules to be with her then," Meg gently reminded him.
"More like bent them," he insisted, sounding like a child trying to talk his way out of trouble.
"But he came too early, didn't he? And you weren't there until shortly after he was born," Meg hesitated for a moment, fearing she had pushed him too far. "I'm right, am I not?"
Will closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them that he would discover that the dream – a not entirely good one at that—would be gone, but when he opened them again, Meg was still there, and still as insistent on an answer. "He…," Will stopped to try and find the words he did not want to say. "I…I came to take him back with me." Wake up, Will. This is still too painful to relive.
"Because he died."
"But I've watched him grow up," Will insisted, realizing as he spoke how foolish his claim sounded. "How is it possible? Have I just been seeing ghosts all this time?" He was exasperated with the incessant questions and lack of answers.
"No, he's not a ghost. For that matter, neither am I really. Ghosts are unsettled souls, those that haven't accepted that they've passed on." Meg sensed Will's frustration, but did not give up her goal. Telling Will what to do would yield few, if any, results. He had to come to his own conclusions in this matter. Meg was well aware that what she was doing now was pushing the limit of what she could do, but for the sake of her son and in turn, his son, she was willing to take the risk.
"Then what are you?" Will asked, regretting the disrespectful undertone of his voice.
"That's difficult to explain," Meg sighed resignedly before continuing, "but I will try."
Will studied his mother's face. It was evident that no matter how frustrated he was at the moment, he was not alone in that matter. Meg was feeling something quite similar. He could see the pain of loss reflected in her eyes—something he was far too familiar with—along with a sadness that had not been there when last he had seen her.
"Do you understand why some of the souls you ferried moved on to what lies beyond, and some of them remained near the place they disembarked?"
Will nodded slowly. "Yes, some of them remained to wait for those they cared about, and some of them felt the need to atone for actions during their lives," he answered casually, knowing that Meg was leading him somewhere with this discussion.
"And the others?" Meg pressed.
Will stared out at the water for a few moments, briefly wondering which category his mother fell in to. Had she been waiting for him or Bootstrap? Was there something she regretted so much that it prevented her from moving on? Or was she one of the others she had just mentioned. The ones that she knew were a mystery to him. "I don't know. It made no sense to me why there were some souls who didn't continue their journey and no one ever offered an explanation." He shrugged in an effort to act like the answer didn't really matter to him. "I was so focused on fulfilling my obligation that it never occurred to me to ask." And sometimes it was better to just not know.
"Those are the ones that are being held back because someone that cared very deeply for them during their lifetime has yet to let them go. They're stranded in a limbo of sorts until the one holding them back comes to terms with their loss…or dies." Meg watched Will carefully, looking for any signs that he was beginning to understand where she was headed.
"Is that why I can still see you? Talk to you? Am I holding you back?" The idea that Will was causing his mother grief was almost more than he could fathom. This is just the result of a guilty conscience. Wake up, Will.
"No," Meg smiled weakly. "Not me. I had…have my own reasons for waiting." Meg inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly in preparation for what she was going to say next. "At first, I didn't move on because of you. You were my only child and you were still so young. I was prepared to wait as long as I needed to learn your fate. I never expected your destiny to be what it was."
"But you know now. I'm happy. I have my own family. Why…" Will cut off his own question, recognizing that his mother may now have other motives for waiting. He had a vague memory of her telling that last night before he came home that her wait was not yet over. He lowered his head, feeling like an awkward little boy who had just realized he was being unintentionally disrespectful.
Meg put her fingers gently on his chin and raised his face to look at her. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she looked at him with amusement. "It's a normal reaction for you to ask." Her expression grew more pensive. "I was angry with your father for many years. I learned what had happened to him and believed that it was his just desserts. Even when he came in that first time on the Dutchman, I was still bitter. Remember that he didn't tell me you were the new Captain, just that Davy Jones had been deposed and that the ship had been returned to its original purpose. Eventually he did confess that he was no longer obligated to his one hundred years, but remained aboard to fulfill a debt. Like you not asking why there were souls that didn't cross over, it never crossed my mind to ask him what that debt was. I know now that he was watching over you and intended all along to take your place when your ten years were up. He couldn't bear to see you denied what he willingly gave up. It allowed me to see your father in a different light, so now I find myself content to wait for him."
"Will it be ten years with him like it was for me?" Will wondered aloud.
"Perhaps. All that is required now is the willingness to be the captain. There is no more predetermined tour of duty so to speak. He can leave anytime he wants—provided there is a willing replacement—but I think he will do at least ten," Meg tilted her head to one side and pondered her son's bewildered stare. "Out of respect to you."
"But…" Will started to say before his mother cut him off.
"No, no more discussion of that. It still makes me sad to think of what you lost."
"So you have no regrets now?" Will teased.
"I didn't say that," Meg responded curtly, startling Will. "I have one," she added slowly. "I owe someone an apology for the way I treated them," she said without emotion.
"Who?" Will tried to think of someone his mother may have mistreated, but no one came to mind.
"Your sister," she ventured tentatively.
"Rebecka? But she left us. How could you owe her an apology?" Did she leave because of me?
"William," Meg scolded playfully. "You only have one sister and it's entirely my fault that she went away."
"And how is that?" Will was more confused than before.
"I wasn't much of a stepmother to her. We had a hard life and I resented raising a child that wasn't my own. I begrudged her mother's family for saddling Bill with a child that might not even have been his, and blamed them for your father being what he was. I had so much rancor built up towards Bill and his actions that in his absence, I redirected my anger to Rebecka." Whatever the circumstances had been, Meg had long since come to grips with her shortcomings and regretted how she had treated the girl.
"You're the reason she left?" Will pressed, noting what his mother had implied about Rebecka's parentage. Is she not really my sister?
Meg nodded shakily. "Yes, it was my fault and I can accept that. To some degree, I'm sure I've always known that. I think that's why I never spoke of her again nor allowed Bill—on those rare occasions that he was around—to speak of her either," Meg sighed. "I felt less guilty that way. I never considered what impact that might have on you."
"I didn't remember her until Elizabeth mentioned her. That's where she lived while I was –away," he said hesitantly.
"You can choose to see that as an unlikely coincidence or, like me, you can choose to see it as more proof that our destinies—Turners and Teagues—have always been linked," she shrugged noncommittally. "By the time she left, I had no doubt that Rebecka was Bill's daughter and in turn, your sister, but I was too caught up in my own tribulations to deal with her."
"And so you just let her leave?" Will was having difficulty reconciling the kind and loving mother he had known with the woman who had essentially neglected her stepdaughter.
"I don't know how much 'let' there was to her departure. Bill always claimed that she took after her mother more so than him and was headstrong to a fault. Looking back, I'm sure she would have taken off on her own at some point anyway, just not quite so young perhaps," Meg clarified in her own defense.
"And her mother? Who was she?" Will inquired. Why does the name Teague sound so familiar?
"William! Look what you've done, just like when you were a little boy. You've gone and made me forget why I wanted to talk to you in the first place," Meg exclaimed, hoping that Will would not ask anything else about Rebecka's mother or her family. Who Rebecka's mother was and what had happened to her were both topics of discussion that she did not want to broach, nor was it her place to do so. Bill could quite easily have explained to his youngest child about his first wife—if wife she had been—and that would have been the end of it, but he hadn't. Instead he had tried to pretend that that period of his life had never existed. He might very well have gotten away with it, had it not been for the fact that Rebecka had made it perfectly clear that Meg was not her mother. Meg could still recall trying to explain to not yet four-year-old Will how he could have only half of a sister. She remembered being amused by his insatiable curiosity and incessant childish questions. Had she only known then what would happen in the coming months, perhaps she would have answered differently, perhaps she would have been more tolerant of Rebecka and her strong willed personality, and perhaps the fate of her family would have turned out differently, but it was too late to change it now and therefore pointless to dwell on that part.
"That wasn't my intention," Will said apologetically, interrupting Meg's thoughts and startling her. I must have known all of this already, but I've long since forgotten.
"No, of course not, I know that," she replied. "Besides, I'm not here to atone for my past mistakes."
"Then why are you here?" Will ventured apprehensively. And what prompted this dream tonight?
Meg frowned at Will and nodded her head towards the small boy still playing quite happily in the surf. "I told you. Because of him."
"But why Jonathan? He couldn't possibly have any reason to make amends. He…"
"Died at birth. I know. But he can't move on until you let him go," Meg spoke softly, hoping that her words wouldn't be quite as strong a blow as they inevitably would be.
"Me?" Will was shocked and bewildered. "He can't leave because of me?"
"William Turner! Did I stutter?" Meg scolded, but with little force. "Because of you," she said without emotion. "You're the one who has held him back."
"But Elizabeth…" he stammered.
"Not Elizabeth. You," she said with a touch more pressure. "She won't ever forget him because he'll always live in her heart, but even though she's accepted that he's gone, there is still a tremendous amount of grief there. That's why she needs you. That's why you have to let him go." Meg held Will's face, staring him straight in the eyes, thwarting any attempt he made to look away. "You can't help her put that guilt to rest until you've dealt with your own grief," she said sternly.
"Don't you think I'm aware that he's not a tangible part of our lives? I am the one who had to ferry him to the other side," Will snapped. Please, no. It still hurts too much to think about it.
Meg ignored Will's outburst, having anticipated such a reaction. "But you didn't take him ashore did you? Your father had to do it because you couldn't. I can empathize with you on that decision. From your perspective, he must have seemed like any other infant; but he wasn't. He never drew a single breath among the living."
Will pulled back from his mother and turned to watch the little boy—his son—chasing the waves.
"William?" Meg called softly. "Look at me." She noticed the slight tremble of his shoulders as he turned back to her. She knew that was a sure sign that he was becoming frustrated with himself. It was one of those little quirks that only a mother—or perhaps a wife—would notice. "You ferried him to the land of the dead, as you should have, but because you couldn't let him go, he couldn't finish his crossing."
"How can you be so sure? Why do you think it's my fault?" Will's voice broke with a combination of fear, sadness and anger. "Elizabeth blamed herself even though what happened was an accident. There was nothing I could do."
"It's no one's fault!" Meg stretched up and hugged her son. She was disheartened by the fact that he didn't return the embrace. "It would be impossible for me to explain everything to you, mostly because there's so much I don't know, but I will share what I know—if you'll allow me? Maybe then you can see how you haven't finished grieving yet either."
Will slowly pulled his arms up to wrap them around the waist of the only woman he had ever cared about other than Elizabeth. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you," he mumbled like a penitent child.
Meg inhaled deeply, and then exhaled slowly. "Do you remember what I looked like before I died?" It was such an odd thing to say and yet she had done so as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Of course," Will's brows knitted in confusion. "Almost exactly as you do now," he hesitated for a moment. "I think I even remember your dress."
"Yes, that's right," Meg stepped back from Will and smiled sadly before continuing. "Now I want you to think about your father. After you freed him from his oath to Davy Jones, what did he look like? Was it the same as you remembered the last time you saw him alive?"
Will shook his head slowly. "No, he looked older than I remembered, but I didn't think anything of it."
"I look the same to you because you understood that I had died and could not come back. For you, I will be this age for all eternity. Mind you, I'm not complaining!" she said playfully.
"Does…did… Bootstrap—I mean father—look older because I believed he was alive for so many years after he left?"
The light of comprehension was beginning to shine from Will's eyes. Meg nodded in acknowledgement of his deduction.
"Had I not believed I had killed him when I returned his coin to the chest would he have continued to age for me?" Will asked, in an effort to confirm his suspicions.
"Something rather like that." Meg fought back the tears and sadness that threatened to take control of her emotions, knowing that as soon as her son understood what remained to be done for his son that she would have to return to the land of the dead. It didn't matter how hard she tried to reconcile the sorrow of having to leave Will behind once again with repaying the debt she still felt she owed her stepdaughter for the seemingly callous indifference she had shown for the girl's well being. Even if Meg was able to rectify her mistakes it would not take any of the sting out their parting. In her heart, Will was still an eleven-year old orphan and not a grown man with a wife, a son, and as yet unknown to him, another child on the way.
"That's how you know I'm the one holding Jonathan back? Because I see him as he might have been had he lived?" There was a touch of horror in Will's voice over the idea that something that should have been so obvious had gone unnoticed by him.
"Yes," Meg choked out, still trying to hold back tears. "Have you ever talked to Elizabeth about what it was like to transport your own flesh and blood to the land of the dead? Have you told her that for you, he was still very much alive, but only as long as you never crossed back to the land of the living with him? You have a part of that child that she will never be able to experience."
"How could I have told her? We had so little time together that I couldn't bring myself to open old wounds, so I let them heal on their own."
"That's not how it works, William. Those kinds of wounds never heal completely. You need to share with her. Talk to her. She needs to understand how difficult it was for you, just as you need to understand how difficult it still is for her. I've lost a child. I know firsthand the grief that never quite goes away. I remember all too well blaming myself and wondering if I should have done something differently." The long buried hurt began to unexpectedly surface. Meg closed her eyes and took a couple of calming breaths before she spoke again. "She depends on you, but until you allow Jonathan to move on, you can't be what or who she needs."
"I depend on her too." Even as the words were coming from his mouth, Will knew that it wasn't necessary to point out that detail to his mother. She evidently knew far more about his life and where he was headed than he could possibly even guess.
Meg kept her eyes closed as she listened intently to Will's answer. She opened her eyes and stared directly into eyes the same color as her own. "Yes, you do. It's how the two of you were able to make this work, but do you trust her enough to allow Jonathan to go? Can you rely on her enough to help you through losing him again, even if you knew that she might need to rely on you right now?" She spoke with the assurance of someone who already knew the answer to their question.
"Yes," he answered without the slightest hesitation, keeping his eyes locked with his mother's.
"Then go to him now," Meg said softly, nodding her head towards the spot where Jonathan was still playing, apparently oblivious to his surroundings. "Give him your permission to move on." She stood up and smoothed her skirt.
Will acknowledged what his mother had said with a quick bob of his head, then wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. "You're going now, aren't you?"
"Yes," Meg confirmed, her voice slightly muffled as she spoke into her son's chest.
"Will I see you again?"
Meg did not miss that he suddenly sounded so much younger than he actually was. "I don't know." Her voice hinted at the tears that were sure to come. "That's not something within my power to know." She lifted her head from Will's chest. "I suppose it's possible. For at least as long as I wait for your father I would think." Meg took a step backwards, breaking away from her son's embrace.
Will nodded slightly, acknowledging her words.
Meg put one hand on each of Will's cheeks and smiled sadly at him. "I would hope that by returning to your place among the living that you wouldn't be quite so eager to visit with the dead."
"But you're my mother. I love you." He gave her an almost embarrassed smile. "I still miss you. That won't ever change."
Meg moved her right hand to rest lightly over Will's heart. "I love you more than anything and I will always be right there," she said patting his chest. "Even if you have given it to someone else." Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "You chose wisely. I would be proud of you for that if for nothing else."
"I wish that you could have known her." He leaned forward and kissed Meg's forehead. "And William too, of course."
"In a way, I think I do. I watch over them just as I watch over you. They may never know me, but I will know of my grandchildren." Meg started backing away from Will, becoming less substantial with each step. "Let him go," came her last whispered words as she faded from view.
Will stood for a moment, oddly disconcerted, staring at the spot where his mother had vanished. Had this been how Elizabeth had felt each time he had returned to his duty after an all too brief encounter with her? Was that why she had nearly always kept her eyes tightly closed after he kissed her goodbye and sometimes had gone as far as turning away from him? She had never made mention of the habit, much less discussed it, but had she done so for no reason other than to avoid seeing the proof of what he really was – a transient soul caught between two worlds and not the living, breathing man they had been able to pretend he was for just a few hours?
The sound of high-pitched laughter nearby broke him from his momentary trance. He turned towards the water, knowing what and who he would see there.
"PAPA!" The boy shouted upon spotting his father. He began running towards Will as fast as his five year old legs possibly could over the wet sand.
Will crouched down and scooped the boy into his arms as soon as he was close enough. "Jonathan," he murmured contentedly, hugging his son tightly, and noticing for the first time how fragile he seemed. William, in contrast, always gave the impression of being quite sturdy when Will held him, in spite of the fact that he was a tad undersized for his age.
Jonathan snuggled his face into the curve of his father's neck. "Did you miss me, Papa?" The boy asked playfully, sure of the answer he would receive.
"Of course I do. Your mother does too," Will answered, thinking how much more Jonathan's features reminded him of Elizabeth than William's did.
"I know. I miss her too. I know she won't forget me when I go away again," he added matter of factly. "She'll love me just the same even when I'm not the baby anymore." Jonathan lifted his head and looked at Will. "You will too."
Will tweaked Jonathan's nose, causing a round of giggles. "You'll always be our baby." A lump formed in Will's throat at the thought that would be the last time he would be able to hold Jonathan. He would always remember him—as would Elizabeth—but by morning all he would have left are the images of what might have been. But it's still more than Elizabeth ever had.
"No, not the baby. I'll be a big brother, even if I'm not there," Jonathan corrected his father, his voice quite serious and solemn.
"Will you now?" Will laughed. Does he really know that or is this too part of my imagination?
"Mmm hmm," Jonathan murmured as he fumbled for some childish treasure in his coat pocket. His eyes lit up the second his fingers came in contact with his prize. "This is for Mama," he announced, brandishing an unidentified object in his chubby fingers.
"And what would this be?" Will asked, shifting Jonathan's weight to one arm while reaching for the mysterious gift. Is he intentionally giving me something for Elizabeth so that I will have to tell her what I did? That I kept his soul from moving on?
"It's a heart. Can't you tell?" Jonathan sounded exasperated as only a small child can, and flashed the contents of his hand before Will's eyes. "I want Mama to know that I love her too since I can't tell her."
"She knows that," Will said, somewhat distracted as he allowed Jonathan to place the piece in his hand. It appeared to be a fragment of some seashell, shattered long ago, and now polished smooth by the water and sand so that it did vaguely resemble an open work heart, albeit a somewhat lopsided one.
"Please, Papa? I want her to have it," the boy pleaded.
"I'll give it to her, I promise," Will reassured him. He's about to leave. I can feel it.
"I don't want to go, Papa." Jonathan leaned his forehead against his father's.
"I don't want you to go either, but you have to. What I did—keeping you near me—was wrong, and now I have to fix that." Will slowly became cognizant of the fact that Jonathan wasn't warm to the touch like William. How could he be? He had never actually lived. The body that his soul occupied was nothing more than a construct of Will's imagination, unwittingly created as a compromise for the fact that Elizabeth had William in her care and Will had nothing. He reminded himself that it had been his and Elizabeth's choice, one that had been made together after much consideration, to not subject William to the trauma of only seeing his father once a year if they were lucky, for only a few minutes at that, before having to say goodbye again, while not yet having gotten over being virtual strangers to each other. But now he that he was reunited with his wife and eldest son, the need to hold Jonathan's memory foremost in his heart was no longer required.
"Don't be sad, Papa. I didn't mind." He planted a sloppy kiss on his father's cheek. "But I have to go now."
Will put one hand on the back of Jonathan's head and pulled him into his shoulder for one last embrace before crouching down to set the little boy gently on the sand. He reluctantly released him from his grasp in preparation for the inevitable parting. For one of the few times in his life, Will found himself without any words to say. How does one bid farewell to a boy who never was? Who hadn't existed outside of a world that Will created for himself?
Jonathan put one small hand on each of his father's cheeks and stared into his eyes. "Please don't watch me go. Keep your eyes closed until I'm gone. Will you do that, Papa?"
Will nodded his head and closed his eyes. He felt Jonathan move his hands from where they held his father's face to instead clutching his hands. The incongruity of being consoled by his child was not lost on Will. There was no doubt in his mind that he would always remember the feel of those tiny hands wrapped around his own. He remained in a crouched position, with his eyes squeezed shut as the pressure on his hands gradually faded away. He strained to hear any possible last words from Jonathan. He wasn't sure, but he thought he had heard the faint whisper of one last goodbye floating on the night breeze. True or not, he would choose to believe he had.
Will cracked open one eye to the blinding light of an early morning sun, and quickly closed it again. For one brief instant, he experienced a sense of déjà vu of waking up on the sand and not remembering where he was. The sound of William's voice, filled with excitement, wishing him good morning, immediately put things back into perspective for him. Will reopened his eyes, pushed himself upright and blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the light. Had it not been for William, he would have cheerfully have lain down again and gone right back to sleep. While that was something out of character for him, he normally didn't have dreams that exhausted him quite so much. I would much rather be physically exhausted than mentally exhausted any day. He stood up and brushed the sand from his clothes as he took notice of what William was doing.
"Why are you packing up already?" Will asked with amusement in his voice. "I thought you wanted to stretch this adventure out as long as you could?" He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head to one side, watching the frenzy of activity that was his son.
"I do…I did…I want to go home," William answered plaintively, ceasing his packing efforts just long enough to study his father's reaction before returning to his task.
A thin sliver of panic embedded itself in Will's heart. Was William ill? Had he done something to offend him or worse—frighten him? He crossed the narrow swath of sand that separated him from where William worked. It took all of his effort to stay calm and not let his fear that he had failed some unexpected parental trial show through. It didn't matter that he was only a few steps away, the temptation to run to William was bordering on overpowering.
"Is there something wrong?" Even Will could hear the faint sense of alarm in his voice.
William raised his head, but kept his eyes downcast. "It will sound silly," he warned. "You'll laugh."
"I won't laugh," Will promised, putting his hand over his heart and giving the boy and impish smile.
"I miss Mama," he confessed, sounding more than a little guilty.
Will noticed that William's cheeks were now stained pink with the blush of embarrassment. "I miss her too," he confided as he reached out to stroke William's hair. "And if you're ready to go home, then I certainly won't stop you."
"You won't tell her, will you? She'll say I'm too little to go places with you."
Will crouched down next to William. "If she asks, I'll have to answer. I can't lie to your mother." He tilted William's face towards his and grinned. "Even if I thought I could get away with it, I shouldn't do it. However, if it comes to that, I swear I will defend your honor," Will pledged with a puckish twinkle in his eye.
William giggled at his father's display, then turned serious again. "I dreamed that Mama was sad."
And I dreamed that your grandmother warned me that Elizabeth needed me more than usual right now. "Is that what prompted this change of schedule?" Will prompted, trying to ascertain why William thought Elizabeth was sad enough to warrant an early return from their first foray together.
William simply nodded.
"Even if this means we can't go looking for the ship we saw last night?" Will offered what he was sure must be a tempting adventure for a boy of William's temperament.
"Even that," William answered firmly.
"Then let's go home," Will said, hugging William to him. It was immediately apparent how different it was to hug William than it had been to hold Jonathan. William felt more solid, his hair and skin were warm from the summer sunshine, and he had his own distinctive smell that at the moment could stand a serious application of soap.
Will returned to his bedroll to begin packing his own gear. As he shook the sand out of the carelessly folded blanked that had served as his pillow, a palm sized fragment of shell spilled out onto the ground. He leaned over to see what it was and froze. Laying in the sand, reflecting the light off of its well polished pale pink and cream colored surface, was the very shell that Jonathan had given him the night before. "I want Mama to have it so she'll know that I love her." But that had been a dream, hadn't it?
Will scooped the shell from the sand, carefully wiped the sand from its surface and stored it in his pocket. Perhaps William dropped it here and I just didn't notice. He resolved to give the trinket to Elizabeth, but was at a loss as to how to explain it. Surely normal families don't routinely deliver gifts from deceased family members, but for the Turners, it seemed to be standard procedure. "Then again," Will thought, "describing us as normal would be a bit of a stretch."
The last of the supplies had been reloaded, the gang plank retrieved, and the sails set as the pair of Turners began their return from their abbreviated voyage.
Will stood looking out at the water towards home with William at his side. Neither of them had spoken much during the packing process and it seemed as if the silence would continue throughout the entire journey until William broke the calm with a seemingly innocent question.
"Papa, who were you talking to last night?"
