My dearest Margaret,

Business in Cadiz has been fruitful. I will not bore you with the details, but it was well worth the journey here. I am in no rush to return to Spain. It is too hot, and too far away from those I love most. Delores sends her warmest wishes, and has loaded me with gifts for you and the children - so many I fear I will need a separate ship just to bring them back to England.

I hope the children have behaved in my absence. I have missed them something fierce - and you most of all. I dream of you each night. I believe I will be back in Milton no later than the 10th of September, calm seas willing.

All my love,

John

"What are you reading?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, just a letter from your father. I have been too busy to open it, and I could not wait any longer to hear what he had to say. He sends you all his love, and hopes that you are being good."

"You're smiling."

"Am I?" Margaret felt her cheeks heat. "He says he will be back in Milton by next Tuesday, as long as the journey is without delay."

"Will he bring us presents?"

"Arthur!" Margaret scolded, shaking her head. "He says there is something for all of you, but if you are so demanding perhaps you shall not receive yours."

"I was only joking!" Arthur pouted, crossing his arms. "And I'll say thank you!"

"I should hope so! Now, to bed with you all."

"Mama, a story! Please!" The four voices chimed in unison.

"Alright, alright. Into bed. What story would you like?"

"Tell us one about the sea." Joseph said. "About a ship like Papa will be on."

"I think that will be a terribly dull story, darling. The ship sails from one port to the other, no adventures to be had at all."

"Oh." Joseph sagged, before brightening up. "Then tell us about a scary ship, with pirates!"

"I'm not sure if-"

"Pirates!" Joseph insisted, scowling deeply and inadvertently performing a rather impressive impersonation of his father. "Pirates!"

Margaret sighed; she was exhausted, and arguing with Joseph was an utterly pointless exercise that never seemed to end in her favour. John was much stricter with him, whereas she found herself succumbing to their son's iron will more often than she cared to admit.

"Very well. Into bed."

The four of them ran to their respective beds, diving beneath the covers as they waited eagerly for her to begin. She folded the letter from John neatly, placing it on her lap as she sat down on Susannah's bed. The youngest and by far the most delicate, Margaret kept her close as she began to tell the story they had demanded.

"A long time ago, on the open seas, there was a pirate by the name of Blackbeard." Margaret began, trying to piece together a story that would keep them entertained but not terrify them too much for sleep. "He was a fearsome fellow, with a great black beard - which is how he got his name, of course."

She continued on, spinning a story about the notorious pirate whilst trying to omit the more gruesome parts of the tale. It was such a success that the children asked for more tales of pirates each night, until they began to invent their own stories. The stories the children told seemed to be wilder and considerably more violent than Margaret's own, until Arthur eventually made the girls cry by talking about chopping off heads and pushing off planks into shark infested waters.

That proved to be the end of the pirate stories.

The house was blissfully quiet, most of the children occupied in the nursery whilst Susannah and Margaret sat quietly in the parlour together. Susannah sat at the window, little hands pressed at the glass, staring out into the yard. She loved watching the daily bustle of activity in the mill; she was her father's daughter through and through. These past months had been difficult for her, Margaret knew. The poor little thing was quite lost without her beloved Papa, and had in turn become rather attached to her mother - quite literally, for Margaret could not seem to go anywhere without Susannah clinging to her skirts.

John was due to arrive home any day now, and Margaret was anxious to know he had made the journey across the sea safely. There had been no news from him; that was not unusual, for the post was known to be slow. Still, her mind would not rest until he was safely back in Milton where he belonged.

She turned the page of her book, barely registering the words she had already read. Everything felt wrong when John was away; duller, somehow. As though she were merely existing, a vital piece of her missing. She could not seem to settle, barely sleeping at night, finding food a terrible chore. She had never counted herself as the type to pine, but there was no denying it; she was miserable without her husband.

"Mama." A high pitched whine broke the silence and interrupted Margaret's melancholy thoughts. "Mama!"

Margaret looked up in alarm, the book falling instantly from her hands as she leapt up. Susannah ran to her, burying her head in her skirts.

"What?" Margaret asked in panic. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"The pirate from the story." Susannah sobbed, pointing towards the window frantically, still hiding her face away.

"Hmm?" Margaret asked, trying to prise the child from her skirts so she might speak to her properly. "You're not making sense, darling."

"He's here, Mama! He's going to chop off my head!"

Margaret admitted defeat, snapping her book closed and sinking down onto the floor. She knelt, gently peeling Susannah's hands away from her face. Blue eyes welled with tears, her lower lip wobbling. Margaret pulled her to her, rubbing small, soothing circles against her back.

"Now, now, that was only a story. And we know stories aren't real, don't we?"

"He is real, Mama! He's in the yard! He has the big beard an' all!" Susannah insisted, her voice muffled against the expanse of her mother's skirts.

"Let me see this pirate for myself, then. Come on, come and show me."

Clinging to Margaret's arm, Susannah led her mother to the window. Margaret peered out into the yard, seeing nothing but the usual working day's activities. Then, so far away she almost did not notice him, she saw the pirate. Biting her lip to hold back the laugh that threatened to escape, she kissed the top of her daughter's hair fondly.

"It's Papa!" Margaret said, squinting to see him more clearly. "I am certain of it!"

"No it isn't." Susannah retorted, reaching up to her mother so that she might be lifted. Margaret obliged, hauling her into her hip and silently wondering when her baby got to be quite so heavy. "Papa doesn't look like that."

Margaret looked again, wondering if she had been mistaken. No, there was no mistaking her husband, for she would know him in a room of thousands. That sharp nose, the crinkling of his eyes as he spoke, even the curve of his shoulder. She knew every inch of him, and there was nothing that could disguise him.

"Darling, I promise you. It is Papa."

Finishing his conversation, John turned towards the house. His face, which had been set in a grim line, instantly brightened as he caught sight of them in the window. He offered a wave, which caused Susannah to whimper once more, burying her face in her mother's shoulder. Margaret kissed their daughter's dark hair.

The front door opened and closed. Margaret looked up, gladdened to see John standing in the doorway - though the sound of the "pirate" growing closer had caused their daughter to cry even more.

"What's wrong?" He asked before he said anything else, rushing forward to investigate the sobbing child in his wife's arms. "What's wrong with her?"

"Oh dear, I'm afraid this is all my fault." Margaret said, running a hand over Susannah's hair as she frantically shushed her, praying the wailing would stop soon.

"What?" He asked urgently, worry etched on his features. "What is it?"

"The children have been asking for pirate stories all week, and they've developed a fascination with Blackbeard.."

John raised a hand to his face. Presumably he had been too busy to shave on his travels; as a result, he had grown a rather impressive beard. He shook his head, his eyes crinkling as he chuckled. He knelt down, gesturing that Margaret should put her squirming captive down in front of him. She did so, though she was forced to kneel too as Susannah had an iron grip around her neck.

"She thinks you're.."

"Aye, I know what she thinks. Susie." John said softly, rubbing her back. She flinched away from his touch. "Hey, hey now. It's me."

She didn't move. John looked at Margaret with a frown; though he claimed not to play favourites, their youngest child held a rather prominent place in his affections. She seemed to possess a charm about her that nobody else could replicate, and quite frankly had her father at her beck and call - a most devoted servant. He seemed rather disappointed that his arrival home should be met with unhappy tears.

"I told you, it's Papa." Margaret said, desperately trying to loosen her daughter's iron grip on her throat as it was becoming rather painful to speak. "He's grown a beard, that's all. Look."

Margaret took her daughter by the wrist, turning her gently and guiding her hand to John's face. He waited patiently as the child ran a trembling hand against the bristles on his chin. She was cautious at first, before boldly grabbing a handful of the dark hair and tugging. Margaret could not stop her, and John yelped with the sudden pain.

"Ah, not so hard." John gently pushed her hand away, rubbing at the spot she had pulled. "I knew I should have shaved on the way home."

Margaret shook her head, watching with a smile as Susannah continued her meticulous inspection. Her hand, gentler this time, continued to run through the hair on his chin. Seemingly satisfied, she pulled her hand back, narrowing her eyes.

"You're really Papa?" Susannah asked. "My Papa?"

"Aye, it's me. Your Papa, always."

"If you're Papa, what's my dolly called?"

He must have been exhausted after such a long journey, but he showed no signs of weariness or impatience at this sudden line of questioning.

"Betty." He answered without hesitation.

"What's my favourite colour?"

"Yellow."

"When's my birthday?"

"The fifth of February."

"What-"

"Susannah Maria Thornton, that's quite enough. It's me." John said wearily. "Come here and give me a kiss, I've traveled a long way."

Casting a wary glance up and down, Susannah turned to Margaret, who simply raised an eyebrow, silently saying 'you see?' After a few moments and another careful inspection, the child seemed satisfied that the man kneeling before her was who he claimed to be. She rewarded him with a kiss to the very tip of his nose, earning a chuckle. He pulled her into his arms, peppering her tiny face with kisses. Margaret watched on, her heart almost bursting with the love she felt for the family they had created.

When Susannah had been set on her feet, Margaret gave her a little push towards the door.

"Go, run along and tell the others Papa is home."

Susannah dutifully ran off up the stairs towards the nursery.

Rising to his feet and holding out a hand to help her up, John smiled down at her. Margaret wrapped her arms around his waist, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss him. She had never kissed him with more than a day or two's worth of stubble before, and the bristles of his beard scratched her face in a manner she was not sure she enjoyed. Still, he was here, safe and sound. She would tolerate a little scratching - for now, at least.

"I am so happy you're home." She sighed, leaning her head against his chest. "I missed you."

"I missed you. Though I've had more pleasant homecomings."

"I've never seen you with such a beard. You look rather handsome."

She raised a hand to touch his face, the soft bristles ticking her fingers. He caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"I believe you mean I resemble a terrible and fearsome pirate. I'm not sure I like being poked and prodded. I'll shave it in the morning."

"Very well. A shame to hide a face as handsome as yours away."

"You tease me."

Margaret laughed, kissing him once more.

"I would never tease a pirate!"

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If there's anything you'd like to see in this little series, please let me know as I'm totally open to requests.