Two weeks passed, and despite my fervent promises to return to the town and continue with Carina's search for her mother, every morning I would awaken and immediately be filled with such a feeling of deep shame that even the thought of making the trek up to the lighthouse rendered me immobile. Part of me longed to see her again and spend more time together, but a larger part of me was terrified by what I felt that evening on the bluff. I had by then convinced myself it was a passing sensation. …but what if it wasn't? The reality of that question was territory I felt unprepared to traverse.

It's not like we saw the Turners regardless. In those two weeks, we heard not a word from any of them in what was starting to become a rather irksome and inexplicable inconvenience. It was probably best in these days that I elected to stay at the Cove, because I could tell that my parents were one snapped tether line, one impatient customer, or one unexpected fortress repair away from coming completely unhinged. My father, still not sleeping, grew increasingly gaunt by the day, with dark circles under his eyes so pronounced that my mother considered mixed a salve to lessen the swelling. But none of us wished to cross the Turners— we understood that the small family had missed out on twenty years of time together, and, to a certain extent, a hierarchy still persisted. Will was their captain, Elizabeth their king. So we silently trudged onward.

Then finally one morning, in what ended up being a humorous miscommunication due to a language barrier between a vessel from Greece, we were given a copious amount of spiced goat meat in exchange for access to our fresh water spring. Not wanting it to go to waste, Mother took this as a perfect opportunity to invite the Turners over to the fortress for dinner. "Perhaps that way they can see firsthand how much there is to be done here," she said curtly. The Turners were quick to accept her invitation, and according to Mother, Carina asked after me. When I heard this, I wanted to go dive headfirst into the harbor and swim to the ocean floor. She knew I had been avoiding her, and when she came tomorrow, she would of course demand answers.

The day the dinner was set to occur, I stirred from what had been a night of very active dreaming. Rare was it that I had dreams, let alone ones so vivid as this was. I was immersed in water, though I wasn't drowning. Rather, I spun wildly around, looking for something, anything. All I could see in any direction was the same teal hue to the water that gradually faded to black. Then, one large tentacle pulled me down, down, down. No matter what I did, its grip only tightened on me and dragged me further until all I could see was utter darkness. When I awakened, however, bright rays of morning sunlight streamed in through my window. So real did the dream feel, that I almost could still feel the texture of the tentacle around my ankle. Although unsettled, I nevertheless got ready for the day and made my way down to the harbor, finding Mother and Father engaged in a serious-looking conversation with Pintel.

"What's going on?" I asked as I approached.

Mother's eyes twinkled, delighted. "The ship is finished!"

"Construction on the Dutchman?" I asked in disbelief. "She's complete?"

"Well," croaked Pintel hesitantly, "Depends on what you mean by 'complete.'"

Father raised an eyebrow. "And what is it you mean by 'complete?'"

"Well who's she for?" The three of us only blinked at him, confused, so he continued, "You keepin' 'er for yerselves, or sellin' 'er off?"

"We're selling it," Father replied. My mother swiftly stared at him in surprise.

Pintel stopped for a moment, then replied cheerily, "Alright then yep, she's done!"

"Hold on one moment," Mother interjected. "And what if we decide not?"

"Then she's got easily another week left on 'er."

Father squinted. "You want to sell someone a half-finished ship?"

"Hey, make 'er just shiny enough to get 'em to buy, leave 'em to find the rest on their own, right mate?" he cackled, playfully ribbing my father in way that was certainly not returned. His attention was instead on Mother. "Not?" he asked. "You want to keep it?"

She gave a small shrug. "At least it's worth a conversation, no?"

"Well, could you two possibly move that conversation along a tad?" Pintel asked impatiently. "Got me a crew full of men ready to move on to the next payin' opportunity waiting for your call."

I suddenly blurted, "Could we go aboard?" All eyes turned to me. "Perhaps it could help us decide?"

The corner of Father's mouth upturned slightly. He looked over at my mother. "Willing to make the trip?" he asked her.

She grinned. "I would love to see her again in all her glory."

"Er…well while you're admiring the glory," Pintel grimaced, leading our way to his longboat, "Mind your step. There's a few floorboards that haven't quite worked themselves back into place yet."

Father only stared at him. "You do realize it's been months, don't you? What have you been doing?"


Mere minutes later, I stepped foot on the Dutchman for what had only been the third time in my life. Despite being sparse and rickety in a few places, the crew had done an admirable job preserving what should have been a completely unusable vessel, tarred over again and again and warped irreparably by complete water submersion. Yet somehow, here she stood, with beautiful white sails that were sure to look magnificent when fully extended. Mother was next to come up behind me, followed by Father. We stood there for a moment, the three of us, merely taking it all in. The last time we were here, our focus was solely on getting her back to the Cove and us all safely on land. There was little time for reminiscing and nostalgia. But now here, the three of us alone were in an entirely different mood altogether. I turned back to them to make some frivolous joke, but swiftly stopped upon seeing their faces. They both looked haunted by this place, longing for something long since passed.

Father started to wander first, doing his best to pretend that he was seriously inspecting the crew's handiwork, though I could see from the worry lines on his forehead that he was deep in thought. Mother disappeared somewhere below deck. I went to follow her but got terribly lost in the deceptively large underbelly of the vessel. Turning a corner, I found myself in the brig, touching the rusted iron bars that once imprisoned Elizabeth. A thought then occurred to me. Turning back, I rounded a passageway that led to an outlook midway up the ship and leading around to the stern. There I found the large overhead beam in which tether lines could be attached, and in that instant I knew I stood in the place where my father had been killed. This place was indeed haunted, but not by malevolent spirits or prophesied curses, but instead by memories, gruesome, harsh, and harrowing. I continued exploring, passing the partially ajar door of the grandiose Captain's Quarters and noticing a large lightened spot of flooring at the rear of the room, the only evidence indicating that a pipe organ once stood there. A few paces down was an adjoining room that was typically meant as an armory, but I stopped when I saw my mother inside. She had her arms crossed tightly around herself as she gazed at the empty interior, but pulled me to her side in an embrace with a warm smile upon seeing me there. "This was our room," she said.

"This?" I asked in surprise. It was terribly difficult to believe that three of us once lived in these dank quarters. "But it's so small!"

"It wasn't much," she said, "But it was home." Her eyes then glazed over, consumed by a memory. "We thought it would be our home forever."

When we at last left that room, I forged on ahead of my mother back to the quarterdeck. That's where I found father, looking back at the massive fortress, his forearms leaning against the railing. I arrived alongside him and copied his position, also staring at the fortress. "It'll never catch on," I joked. "I give it…a year at most."

He slightly chuckled, then looked over at me. "Well?" he asked. "What do you think of the ship that was almost ours?"

"I think," I said pensively, "I think I'm wondering why it can't be ours once more." Mother by this time had joined us there. I looked between them as I said, "Or must we continue pretending the Turners will have any interest in her?"

Amused, Father asked, "Is there some master plan I've been made unaware of? Do you intend on taking her out for leisure, or is there some sort of exploration expedition I've not privy to?"

"Nothing of yet," I relented, "But what wouldn't it be nice to have that choice? If we ever wanted to voyage?"

"True," Mother added, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing herself into his side. "Consider that we haven't exactly given any thought to what we want our lives to be. We had an idea, but that was wrenched away from us. Might be nice to at least have a means of transport to someplace new, if not to serve as a home altogether."

His smile grew upon seeing me struggling to stay still in anticipation, waiting for him to relent. Finally, when I could barely take it any longer, he called down to the longboat below, "Pintel! Give your men another day on the job."

I raced to his side, "You mean it? We're keeping her?"

"We'll see," he said, raising a palm to keep my excitement down to a manageable level. "We shall clear it with Will first."

"And if he says yes?"

He placed his hands on my shoulders. "Then I suppose that means we'll have a future captain of the Flying Dutchman in training, wouldn't we?"

And my smile was wide enough to eclipse the sun itself.


I stayed in my room as long as I possibly could in order to prolong the barrage of happiness I felt at the notion of one day captaining my own ship, least of all the ship that was once meant to be my father's regardless! I knew as soon as the night began and Carina walked through the entryway, I would be met with a reality that I really didn't want to face, so escaping was key. A whiff of the meat my mother had been roasting would occasionally catch on a breeze and waft up to my open window, and while delicious, was also the reminder that the time in which I was Carina-free was rapidly dwindling.

I heard them enter, the voices lilting freely downstairs. Even then I hid. It took a firm call from my mother upstairs at me. I swallowed my apprehension, took a deep breath, and trudged down the stairs, my dread increasing the closer I got to the ground level. When I rounded the corner, I found myself face to face with Carina, and my breath became caught in my throat. Her eyes narrowed as she remarked, "Ah. She lives."

I opened my mouth to answer her, but all that came out of me was a pitiful squeak. Blessedly, my mother at that moment appeared from her shop, Elizabeth on her heels. "There you are!" she said. "I was starting to think you were planning on being a recluse for the entire evening! Come," she said, handing me a stack of metalware, "I need your help taking these up to the grand hall and setting the places for dinner."

Again, hurrah for Mother for rescuing me from another dreadfully awkward scenario. I happily took the plates and utensils from her without a word and rushed to make my leave when I felt them yanked from my grip. In alarm, I looked up at Carina, who said plainly, "I shall help you. Go grab the goblets."

"Thank you, Carina," Mother cooed, promptly retrieving the goblets and piling them into my arms. "When you're up there, light plenty of candles. Lord knows my absurd eyes need as many as possible to see a bloody thing up there."

"Could I help, Rose?" Elizabeth asked her. "I feel dreadful, you having done this all yourself."

I watched my mother stiffen as she curtly replied, "Not at all. We can manage." This was her civil way of saying, Ah, now all of a sudden you're concerned with helping us, eh? She then turned without another word and Elizabeth, unnerved by her demeanor, wisely decided not to go after her. "You two best get along then," she told us before going off to find where the men had disappeared off to.

Now I had nowhere to hide. I was alone with Carina, and had much to account for. I took a deep breath and started up the stairs.

"Alright," I heard her say from behind me as she followed me up the steep staircases spiraling up the circumference of the fortress. "Let me have it then."

At this I stopped walking and turned back. Not what I was expecting her to say. Quite the opposite, actually. "Pardon?" I asked.

Carina pursed her lips. "Seriously? You thought it wasn't painfully obvious the rift between the two families? I've never seen Rose be short with anyone, least of all Elizabeth. And when we approached— your father was incredibly condescending to us when we arrived."

"Eh, that's sort of just him," I admitted. I turned and continued our trek, trying to avoid the inevitable. It came nevertheless: "But you?" she continued. "Your behavior is the most bewildering of all."

"I don't know what you mean," I replied as we entered the great hall, though I very much did know precisely what she meant.

Carina set the plates down firmly on the grandiose banquet tables. "You never returned. Even though you promised you would."

I couldn't even look at her. I kept my eyes fixated on setting the places at the table as I openly lied, "Things got terribly busy around the fortress. I was needed here."

She exhaled sharply through her nose as she started tossing plates around the setting perhaps a bit too forcefully. "There's something you're not telling me. And that's perfectly fine — I don't need to know whatever ills your family has toward the Turners. But I feel that I at the very least am entitled to an explanation on what you personally have against me."

"I don't have anything against you!" I cried, exasperated.

"Then you would have delivered on your promise." Her face then grew very solemn as she muttered, "It would have been nice to have had a friend these past few days."

The remorse inside me billowed. Concernedly, I asked, "What happened?"

"Your mother asked for candles to be lit," she said coldly.

"Carina, please," I begged. "Tell me what's wrong."

She sighed. "What's wrong is that I thought I'd found an ally." Her eyes bore into mine in such a way I thought I would wither into a puddle. "And just when I did, she walked away." I then felt my heart ache as she mumbled weakly, "You have no idea how isolating it's been."

What she didn't understand was that in actuality, I knew that feeling better than most. I set my jaw, placing a hand on her arm. "Carina, tell me what I can do to help."

Her eyes searched mine, and for a moment I really thought she was about to reveal everything weighing on her right then and there. But just then, we heard the creaking of the steps below, indicating that we were about to be joined by the others. "We have to retrieve the candles," was all she said to me.

Disheartened, I showed her to them, and we lit and placed each of them around the room as one by one, the rest of our family's sat around our table settings, placing down platters of our meal in the center. Conversation was brief and genial, though the tension was palpable. This was no more apparent than in the ways in which we each chose to sit at the table. Will sat at the end, Father directly across him on the opposite. Next to Will, Elizabeth then Henry, and opposite them was my Mother and I respectively. We were truly opposing one another in every way.

Then, the moment that began the disastrous events of that dinner. To everyone's shock, Carina swept alongside the Turner side of the table, retrieved her place settings, and then came to sit immediately to my left. Henry, who she had forsaken in favor of sitting adjacent to me, looked flummoxed. "Carina? I thought you'd be sitting here," he said, motioning to the seat at his side.

She blinked. "But I'm sitting here."

He narrowed his eyes and stared at her for a moment before replying, "Is everything… alright?"

I could feel the exasperation rise inside me like a sail, and I could contain myself no longer before I said, "Can't a woman pick a seat without you dictating where that seat can be?"

"Anna," my mother said in a warning tone.

"What?" I protested. "I'm just supposed to stay silent and subservient to him?"

As Henry opened his mouth to retort, Mother shut us all down with, "Don't be a pugilist," though she directed it solely at me. I stewed silently as I began to pick at my dinner. An icy silence fell between Henry and Carina, with Henry casting a few testing glances up at her occasionally. She paid no mind, however, instead turning to me to talk about the quality of this food compared to that she was raised on at the orphanage.

Eventually, all side conversations dwindled down to but one when Elizabeth noted, "It looks beautiful here. Restored to its former glory."

"Thank you," Mother replied with a tight-lipped smile, not looking up from her food.

"It must have been a great deal of work to do so after the patients from the sickness departed. We hadn't the time to truly get to it before the curse was broken."

My mother, father and I were well aware of that, as it was us and us alone who had cleared out and cleaned every inch of the fortress immediately upon our return to it. Again, Mother fielded this comment politely, but curtly. "Oh, it wasn't too much effort. It was nice to have an extra pair of hands to help," she emphasized pointedly to Elizabeth while patting Father's arm. From her expression and lack of a response, Mother's meaning was not lost on Elizabeth— She knew she and her family had been absent from the Cove in weeks, and that none of us Norringtons were particularly happy about it.

Another frigid silence descended, and all that was heard was the clanging of metalware making contact with our plates. Father was the one to next speak, clearing his throat and beginning, "Did any of you happen to see the Dutchman?"

The Turners and Carina each mumbled an affirmative response. "Aye," Henry replied. "It looks like that team made quick work of their repairs."

"Mmm, you should see it," Mother confirmed. "She looks like an entirely different vessel."

"Is it done?" Will asked Father.

"Well about that," he explained. "It's seaworthy, but the question is precisely how seaworthy. If we want to make a quick sell, she's fit enough to do so. But I kept the crew on today for another day's worth of work to improve its functionality."

Will sat straight up and cocked his head to the side. "Why? Seems to me to be a waste in resources, and I am the one paying for this."

Father raised an eyebrow. "Today's work came out of my own pocket, I'll have you know, and one day won't be a waste. We don't want these men tarrying about while waiting to hear what decision we make as to the ship's fate— they'll leave the island in search of other work!"

"I suppose I don't understand," Will said, now fully putting down his cutlery. "I thought the idea was to get her seaworthy enough to sell."

"Or keep," Father reminded him. When Will did nothing but tense his jaw, Father continued with, "But I can clearly see you have a strong opinion against that option."

"I just don't see why on Earth you'd want to keep it," Will said. "After all we've been through on it."

"It was my doing, Will," Mother interjected to ease the tensions between the two men. "James was indifferent to her fate, but when he took me aboard and I saw all our memories… Forgive me for being sentimental. I know that I forget all the pain you both endured there—"

"Yes, you do," snapped Will, his words instantly cutting through hers. I held my breath as I watched the storm of fury that began to brew inside my mother, though she held her tongue. She never let anyone talked to her that way, let alone a man. But, for the sake of keeping civility, I watched her nostrils flare as she slowly managed to control her rage.

Will turned back to confront my father, but he beat him to it. "Now hold on a minute," Father was saying, "Whatever happened to you leaving the ship's fate in my charge?"

"Then why ask me at all, if this is what you've already decided?" Will spat.

"In formality only," hissed Father.

"Why are you so taken with it?" Will asked. "You died there. You were tortured there. Why wouldn't you want to see it set aflame and pushed out to sea?"

"Forgive me for seeing a purpose to having a usable vessel at our disposal, one that we both know intimately!"

"You could have any ship at your disposal tomorrow, Norrington, don't pretend otherwise!" Will suddenly stopped, a thought coming to him. "Oh I see," he said. "That's exactly what you're after, aren't you? Once a Commodore always a Commodore."

"What?" roared Father. "Oh don't be absurd!"

"Out to collect a fleet of your own, and starting easy with one you don't have to do anything to get? Seems like a brilliant plan to me!"

"With what money would I buy this supposed 'fleet,' Turner? We certainly aren't making any sort of income, not since our King suddenly went missing from her fortress!"

Now violently tossed into the middle of this argument, Elizabeth looked taken aback. "I am right over the crest. I trust that if a pressing matter was afoot—"

"Pressing matter?" Rose asked her. "You weren't a king solely for pressing matters! You were a king in all things! And yet you seem perfectly contented to let my family pick up the pieces left behind! It's been months, Elizabeth!"

"You could have just told me if you had a problem."

"Tell you how?" Mother retorted. "The only way we know any of you are still alive is through Anna!"

At the mention of my name, I averted my glance off the adults, looking instead between Henry and Carina. We had all been frozen since the start of this argument, watching civility completely unravel before our eyes.

Elizabeth was now saying, "Forgive me for wanting a moment to be with my family!"

"You don't think that's what we've wanted too?" Father said. "We haven't had one quiet moment since that first day back, and yet what have you done?" He pointed an accusatory finger at Will.

"How dare you judge how I spent my first days of freedom!" Will retorted. "We have lost so much—"

"So have we!" Mother spat, finally unleashing what she had previously bottled up and rising from the table in a fury. "You know what I lost, Will? I lost my eyesight. I lost my home. I lost every bit of power that was granted to me! Forgive me for wanting to get some semblance of that life back by not getting rid of the one place I felt at home! I know it was a prison to you, but it was a palace to me!" Everyone grew quiet again, not wishing to provoke her any further. She ended her rant with, "I was the one who started this. I shouldn't have a say but James let me have one. I say we keep the ship. Will, we will find a way to pay you back for its repairs. That is final."

After a moment, she sat again in her chair forcefully, her gaze back down at her plate. We were all silent then, unsure of what to say or do. Henry and I made eye contact briefly, alarmed at the complete disorder that had just unfolded between our parents. At last, the moment was interrupted by Carina, who said softly, "This is my doing, I am so sorry." We all began quietly denying this to try to assuage her fears, but she was adamant. "No, it was me. I was meddling where I don't belong, and it has caused this all to unravel." She patted her lips with her napkin, and wouldn't look at me before rising to her feet, scooting back her chair in the process, then hastily blurting, "Thank you for the dinner. I'm sorry," before bolting from the room.

Henry and I both started from our chairs, ready to chase after her, but she called out from over her shoulder, "Don't follow me, it's fine!" I wasn't about to listen to that and leave her by herself, so I moved to leave once more, but my mother put a hand on my arm, stopping me with a slight shake of her head as if to say, "Heed her. Let her go."

Henry, however, was not halted. He did stand, and when he did, his eyes glinted rage. "Well done, the lot of you," he snapped boldly at his elders. "Squabbling like a bunch of children in front of yours, and making strangers feel unwelcome. Jolly good show."

"Henry!" Elizabeth cried after him as he chased after Carina. But it was too late. At last, neither could I wait there myself, so I too gave chase, not giving a damn what the adults thought of my behavior. I would probably pay for my insolence from Mother and Father, but at present none of that mattered. All I thought of was Carina.

So I walked down the steps that descended into my mother's shop, but paused upon hearing Henry and Carina's hushed voices.

"Please," Henry was saying, "Please try to understand—"

"No you understand, Henry!" she spat. "Do you have any idea what it's been like? In just a matter of days I went from a no one to finding the man I had been searching my whole life for who spoke not but a few words to me and yet was also the most important man in my life! I was nothing! I was hated, scorned!"

"And now you aren't!" Henry said. His tone was equal parts calming and frantic. It was obvious that he was quickly losing control over her emotional outburst and he was desperately trying to get her back on his side. "This wasn't your doing. Understand that they're fragile. All of them. They've been tested for years, and—"

But Carina was steadfast. "Perhaps not, Henry, but the point still remains— I don't belong here. You surely must see it."

"I…I'll talk to them," he stammered desperately. "We'll…work something out."

"But what if I'm the one whose caused this?" she insisted. "Think about it— your family was a well-oiled machine. Even the Norringtons! My being here and you trying to accommodate me along with them…I just don't belong here."

She must have turned to leave, for Henry cried out in one last attempt, "Then let's run away together!"

I felt blood rush to my cheeks.

"What?" she cried. "Henry, no. I won't ask you to pick me over your family."

"I don't care," he said, pursuing her a few paces. "I love you."

My stomach lurched, but my mind was empty as I waited for her response. Finally, she said with a sigh, "Henry…please. You're only saying that to get me to stay."

"No," he insisted. "I love you, and the thought of spending a year or longer without you is unbearable to me."

Then, a horrifyingly long silence. This was painful. Painful for Carina, certainly painful for Henry, and painful to listen to. Finally, Henry winced, "Please say something. …Carina, I thought we were in agreement." Still, I heard nothing in response. One last time he desperately pleaded, "The cliffside? What about…last night?" That's when my heart plummeted. Last night… what happened between them last night, and why was it so significant that he brought it up in this moment? I took a deep breath and closed my eyes tight, as though it could make the feeling within me disappear.

"I don't know anymore, Henry," she finally answered him. "I just don't know." And the sound of her fading footsteps indicated to me that she was gone.

With this I stood and finished my descent, running directly into a forlorn-looking Henry. "Where did she go?" I asked him.

He ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "I don't know," was all he said, his voice weak and tired. He was in pain, and was utterly dashed by his exchange with Carina, so I dared not trouble him further. Instead, I raced as fast as I could past him and after her. I could see her running past the docks, through to the brush which led uphill over the Cove hillside and down towards the town. I quickly made my pursuit, following behind her. I knew if I called out, she would run faster and try to lose me. But I didn't know where she would run off to. What if she made an escape on a visiting vessel? Or worse, what if she was about to put herself in danger? I kept a steady pace, careful to stay far enough behind her that she wouldn't suspect my presence and get upset any further.

Now familiar with Shipwreck, she moved swiftly and assuredly, taking the well-worn path from the thousands of treks my Mother and I had taken to and from the fortress in my youth. Upon finally reaching the center of town, she raced across the square, past the shops and up the hill. I paused here. Where on Earth could she be going? And that's when I saw it.

The church.

Though completely winded, I increased my speed as I saw her grab a hanging lantern off a nearby doorway and disappear among the tombstones. The only indication of her whereabouts was from an occasional flicker of light as she passed and darted between them, looking once and for all for the resting place of her mother. I only slowed my pace to a walk upon slowly cresting the hill where I had seen her run around the church's fence to the graveyard. At last I opened the gates to Shipwreck's modest cemetery, mostly comprised of wooden crosses or humble placards. Examining the various rows, I came to a dead stop upon seeing her frozen in front of one. She dropped to her knees and bowed her head. Squinting in the light of her lantern, I read the painted name scrawled on the horizontal beam of the cross; "Margaret Smyth."

Oh God, I thought in horror. She's found her.

I instantly regretted being here, and backed away to give Carina a quiet moment, when she called out without turning her head, "I know you followed me."

I froze. Was she talking to me?

"Anna," she said. "I heard you trampling behind me."

Sheepishly, I began my slow walk to her side. I opened my mouth to begin my apology, but she shifted. Her eyes remained fixated to her mother's name, but she sat back, pulling her knees into her chest and allowing me space to sit next to her.

After a moment, she wiped her face where tears had been slowly falling, though her voice and breath remained level. "It's her, isn't it?" she asked me. "This is my Mother? This has to be her."

I said softly, "Yes. I think so."

She gave a small, bitter laugh, still wiping more tears. "When I was little I convinced myself that I wasn't an orphan. That one, if not both of them were still out there waiting for me. I knew when I got older I would find whoever was left, and learn the truth about who I was." She sat straighter as she finally looked at me. "Oh, I learned alright. I'm a product of a drunken night between a pirate and, what—a nun? A seamstress? A woman of the night? It matters not. They're both dead and there's nothing anyone else can tell me."

I hesitated before I said, "We might not know much of anything about Margaret Smyth, but Hector Barbossa was a good man."

She scoffed. "Oh, a good man who kidnapped Elizabeth when she was younger than I am now, who tried to kill Will and Jack repeatedly, who murdered Henry's grandfather? I've heard the stories."

"And the man who sacrificed himself to save you," I reminded her. "He was certainly a…complicated person who did many terrible deeds, but perhaps his one truly good deed was you."

She took a deep breath, then looked back at the cross. "Do you know how lucky you are, Anna? You and Henry both. To have parents who are alive, and love you, and love each other…" She motioned to the cross. "This wasn't love," she said. "This was a mistake. I was a mistake."

"The only reason we have two parents who are alive and love each other is because of you, Carina. Without your intelligence and skill—"

"—and notebook," she muttered.

"And you," I insisted. "Without you being a part of all of this, Henry and Jack would have died immediately and you know it!" This made her laugh slightly, which only gave me more confidence. I looked at her mother's grave marker and said, "They might not have loved each other, but they did in the moment and that brought you here, and isn't that all that matters?"

Her lack of response to this question indicate to me that I was getting through to her. After a moment, she asked, "How much did you hear back there? Between…Henry and me?"

"Nothing," I lied. When she raised a skeptical eyebrow, I sighed, "Alright. Most of it."

Her eyes were distant, unreachable as she went backwards in time to what had just commenced. "A fine man just told me he loved me. Why couldn't I answer him back?"

With sincerity, I replied, "Maybe…maybe it just wasn't the right time." I swallowed my apprehension as I boldly suggested, "Or…maybe you just don't love him. You know, my father and Elizabeth were engaged once."

She looked up at me. "Henry mentioned that I think. But it's true?"

"Aye," I replied. "It was practically arranged for them from the moment they met. It's just what was done. He loved her, but she loved Will. And she almost went through with it, but in the end she truly didn't feel affection toward him." I shrugged, trying my hardest to appear nonchalant. "Perhaps…I don't know. Perhaps this is a similar situation."

"How is that not strange for you?" Carina asked. "For all of you, for Will, for Rose… to have them both remain so close despite nearly wedding one another? They could have had completely different lives!"

"Because time heals." I then gave a small laugh. "Though you wouldn't know it from their squabbling tonight, would you? And honestly, I don't think James Norrington could survive without Elizabeth Swann, and reverse. They come from the same life. They keep each other sane amidst…all of this insanity." I looked back to Carina. "And they do love each other. Just not in the way that was once expected of them. That's why it will never be strange."

She nodded in understanding. "Love is more than she ever got," she said, pointing to where her mother lied deep in the ground beneath us. "Shouldn't…shouldn't I go with Henry when he asks me to? Shouldn't I devote myself to him? Henry is amazing, but…" Her voice trailed. Her eyes were distant, creating a wall around her that was insurmountable to all who stood outside it.

I trepidatiously offered, "If there's a 'but,' then something isn't right."

She nodded slowly, once again seeing reason in my words. Brighter, she replied, "Have you ever been in love, Anna?"

"No," I swiftly answered, face I'm certain turning crimson. This had been the second lie I had told her that night.

She smiled. "Then you're wise beyond your years." She then stood, offering a hand to help me up which I grasped perhaps a bit too tightly. She took one last look at her mother, then turned to go.

We walked silently back toward the lighthouse side by side as a light rain began to fall. Once we finally turned along the dirt path toward the lighthouse, I made a bold offer that surprised even myself. "You can stay with me at the fortress for a time. You know…if you need to get away."

She breathed heavily, her eyes searching the space in front of her for an answer. "I want to," she at last said, "But I feel like it will cause more harm than good. I should try to quell what I've started."

Crestfallen, I nevertheless nodded in agreement. She was probably right. I walked her to the doorstep to see her off just as thunder began to sound and the rain grew to a steady patter. We ran toward the lighthouse to get her out of the wet, and once she was inside, I wished her goodnight, then turned to go back to the fortress.

"Anna!" she called after me.

My heart leapt. "Yes?" I said, spinning around so quickly that I nearly fell over in the mud of the dirt path.

Her face half illuminated in light by her lantern, she smiled warmly. "Thank you for being so kind to me. I would have left by now were it not for you."

I gave a small laugh. "Given what we just discussed, I'm not certain that's necessarily a good thing!"

"It is," she assured me.