To celebrate my thirteenth year, my mother, Rose Hexfury, presented me with a diary. Its width was the length of my hand, from wrist to fingertip, and it had a binding made of Italian leather that was soft to the touch, with a darker piece of leather that served as a strap binding the covers shut when not in use. Within its pages, I kept a detailed account of my daily life, be it the most mundane daily tasks or the wildest situations that I found myself in. I've always had a penchant for history, so I took the task of keeping a diary very seriously as though I was recording the travels of a famous explorer. For three years I kept these writings alive, and when one diary was full, I began another. I was the hero of my own journey, a woman of status whose scribblings would later be preserved and treasured by scholars for generations, I figured. Only now that a significant amount of time has past since filling theses journals do I realize how juvenile these aspirations were. It was a selfish ambition to think that my story would be more important than other famous pirates of the Caribbean I have been fortunate enough to be aligned with.
However, I do still consider the stories I recorded in those diaries important, especially as they detailed the years surrounding the epic fight that would test my family to the utmost; We were separated, cursed, chased, hunted, and stretched to each of our limits. These years redefined the idea of "family," for me, and I know that living through them altered who I ultimately became.
For months now, I have poured over these diaries, looking over my chronological accounts, binding them together into one story, and adding in details in retrospect that could not have been known to me at the time of their writing but I have since come to uncover.
Without further ado, I present to you The Anna Diaries.
- Anna J. Norrington
"April 23, 1765," I penned excitedly using a quill and ink into the new pages of my diary. Although now gone from years of wear and weathering, I can still remember how those freshly-pressed pages smelled when I first started writing within them. I breathed in the aroma and began scribbling as many details about myself as I could as a sort of introduction. I was laying across my bed on my stomach, my feet swinging lazily from the knees as I held them above me.
Although Mother had given me the diary as my birthday gift mere hours ago, I was wasting no time at all in beginning my writings, and I learned that day just how quickly time can pass when one is fully immersed in their work. I heard the crossed and haphazardly constructed floorboards of our abode creak with the weight of my Mother as I heard her call out to me from above, "Anna!"
"What?" I yelled back, eyes refusing to wander from the page as I listed off physical details about myself. Skin: Brown, Hair: Brown, Eyes…
"Don't 'what' me, mademoiselle!" she scolded. "Come up here! They'll be arriving at any moment now."
I let out a huff of exasperation, reluctant to stray from my new passion. I quickly finished the line, Eyes: Green, replaced the cap on my ink, and put the quill and diary away. I left my room and crossed the narrow hallway to the stairs, being careful to avoid the jutting beam at the foot of the steps that had conked the heads of many a visitor to the Brethren meeting room before. I skipped up the steps, brushing my hand along the wooden globe, causing it and its many nicks from years of being stabbed by the nine Brethren Court Pirate Lords to spin wildly. I slowed only upon seeing the candles of the chandeliers lit and three dining places set at the grand meeting table.
My mother, Rose Hexfury, crossed into the room from the back with enough dishes to set a fourth place. "You would have spent the whole night in that room had I not called you up!"
I grinned sheepishly. "I suppose I got a tad carried away."
She raised an eyebrow, saying sarcastically, "Oh, do you think so?" Placing the final plate down on the table, she put her hands on her hips and looked to me. "I hope pork will suffice."
I came closer, leaning up against one of the chair backs. "Certainly!" I replied. I then furrowed my brow and counted out the place settings. "How many are we expecting tonight?"
"Well, seeing as I see four chairs, four plates, and four mugs, I would have to say…four," she replied humorously.
I tried to not reveal my disappointment as I said, "No Grandfather?"
"I'm sorry, love," Mother said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "If he was in the area, you know he would make the effort to come back."
I nodded in understanding. Mother's father, Edward Teague, who once resided within the Cove we now lived in, was the Keeper of the Pirate Code when the Brethren Court was still a ruling body over the seas before the War on Piracy, and now traversed the world in his ship, the Misty Lady. He would occasionally stop by to visit, bringing with him many souvenirs and stories from his adventures. I had hoped to see him on my birthday, but I knew well that a life at sea meant uncertain conditions for an expected return. "It's alright," I replied. "This will be a joyous night nonetheless."
Mother grinned. "I hope so." Her expression then changed as she said, "There's a few things I would like to discuss with you before the others arrive. Would you please take a chair?"
I did so, inwardly fearing some serious discussion or scolding for any various chore in Mother's storeroom below that I might have rushed through or carried out improperly. She must have seen my hesitancy, for she continued with, "All good news, I assure you. And a present!"
"Another one?" I asked. "But the diary…"
"—Was from me!" she exclaimed, darting into her father's old quarters in the meeting room to retrieve said present. "This is from your father!"
My heart sank as she said this. I was getting a bit old for this lie, I thought. There was no possible way that this gift could be from my father. But for the past nine birthdays, this had been a tradition she had kept, and I hadn't the heart to break it to her that I knew Father had nothing to do with the presents, lest I hurt her. So I obeyed when she ordered that I close my eyes and extend my hands out towards her. I suddenly felt an object of significant weight get placed into my palms, and while my eyes were still closed, I felt the cold metal and ran my hands along the curious shape of this item.
"Good lord, just open them!" Mother said impatiently, though still with a smile.
I did, and I felt my heart soar when I saw that it was a pistol. It had a dark red wooden handle, a long barrel, and shined with the light from the chandelier above us.
"It's time you start learning to defend yourself, though you must be careful," she explained, taking a seat next to me. "You've seen the horrors of some gunshot wounds that enter our shop. And if you don't want that to be you, you'll take caution. And you won't shoot a thing until you've been properly trained. I've already talked it through with Elizabeth. I was never much good with the blasted thing, but she was always quite the marksman. Perhaps you can discuss it with her this evening."
"Absolutely!" I cried, thoroughly enjoying the feeling having my own weapon had upon me. "Thank you!"
She shook her head, saying with a wistful grin, "Don't thank me. This was your father's doing."
A pang hit my stomach when she said this again. I took a moment, then corrected myself with, "Well, thank…him."
Mother nodded slowly, then said, "And on that vein…" She looked over my head towards the stairway entrance to the room to ensure that we were alone, then leaned forward towards me with her voice lowered. "Would you like to join the meeting tonight?"
My mouth fell agape in awe at this request. "You mean…"
"I do," she finished. "When I was thirteen, I was taken in as Tia Dalma's apprentice and was trusted with a great many things beneath her guidance. Now you are that age as well, and I think it is high time I take on a skilled apprentice myself. You have done well with the research you have accumulated thus far, and I think you would prove a valuable asset to our meetings."
I threw my arms around her neck in a firm embrace. "Thank you!" I cried. I had grown up watching my mother take her leave late at night to go to these meetings once weekly, and I yearned to be present at them. Informal as they might be, feeling included in them made all the difference.
As I drew back from our embrace, my mother grasped me firmly by the elbows, her eyes darting from one of my eyes to the other as she looked earnestly into them. "You know what this means, however," she said. "You must be discreet."
I nodded. "I know."
"This stays between the three of us. He can never know."
"Who can never know?" another voice said behind us.
Mother and I nearly leapt out of our skin at the unseen visitor who had just entered the room. Henry. Mother quickly recovered, rising to her feet and sweeping over to him to place a kiss on his cheek in greeting. "Oh nothing," she lied masterfully. "Just a down-on-his-luck customer who keeps insisting that he knows where the Chest is."
Henry narrowed his eyes, clearly alarmed by the mention of the chest that held his father's undead and still-beating heart within its metal confines. "How does he know of the Chest in the first place?"
Mother's lie appeared to have worked, but Henry was now causing undue alarm for something that wasn't even real. I chimed in, coming to Mother's aid, "Oh, you know how legends get around. The bloke still thinks it's Davy Jones's heart that's inside. He's a few years late to the chase."
"Still," he said, "It's a concern that he's found the island where it's hidden, don't you think?"
"No," I instantly replied. "Shipwreck Cove is one of the most formidable pirate fortresses and supply areas in the seven seas. The mystery of it is all but gone now."
"Aye," Mother replied. "I expect we'll have a few more men seeking riches in the coming years insistent upon asking questions about the Chest."
Henry pursed his lips, clearly not satisfied by this answer. "Well, if anyone becomes a bit too insistent, never hesitate to retrieve me. I'll take of it."
Mother patted Henry's shoulder with a grin. "Much appreciated, my dear, but we can manage for ourselves."
Any further questioning by Henry was cut short, as just then, his mother, Elizabeth came up the stairs behind him, her dark brown hair pulled back in a single braid down her back. Upon seeing me, she crossed around her son to give me a firm embrace. "Thirteen already, Anna!" she cooed, then placing a hand alongside my cheek. "You really must stop growing up so quickly."
"I'm trying my best, I assure you," I said with a laugh.
Mother chimed in, "Anna just received the present I told you about."
Elizabeth's eyes gleamed. "Go on, now, let me see it." I obeyed, fetching it from the table and bringing it back to her to inspect. "It's a good model," she said, turning it over in her hand. Looking up at me, she said, "Let me know when you would like to begin training with it."
"As soon as I can," I replied merrily.
She smiled. "Then it shall be so! Come by the lighthouse tomorrow, and we'll see what we can do. Agreed?"
"Agreed!"
She returned the gun to me, then turned to my Mother. "Need any help with dinner, Rose?"
"I do, in fact," Mother replied, ushering her towards the stairs to the storeroom where she had been preparing our meal.
I called out from behind them, "Anything I can do?" secretly hoping that the answer would be "Yes."
"No, we've got it covered," Mother called back from the stairs as she disappeared into the lower levels of the fortress. "Stay above and converse with Henry!"
I cringed. I didn't want to converse with Henry. He was six years my senior and had lived on the other side of Shipwreck Island since I was four. He worked in the town and only on rare or special occasions like today would pay a visit to the fortress. We had little to nothing in common, and I always found conversations between us extremely forced and dull.
"So…a pistol, eh?" he started awkwardly.
"Aye," I replied simply, running my fingers along its shape once more. "It's my first weapon."
"Your first?" he said in disbelief. "You mean you don't have a sword?"
Here we go, I thought, knowing full well what was about to come next. "No," I replied.
Sure enough, he began his typical rant about swordsmanship. "You really should learn how to handle a sword. It's a valuable skill to have. That's why I sought out the apprenticeship in the Shipwreck blacksmith shop in the first place."
"Really? And it wasn't at all because your father was a blacksmith's apprentice?" I asked, unable to resist the jab at his ego.
He stood straighter, clearly vexed by my retort. "I won't deny that he had a great deal to do with it. He used to practice three hours a day with the swords he forged, you know. So I practice for four hours a day. I believe it's in my blood to be a swordsman."
Is it also in your blood to be a braggart? I stewed silently.
Henry continued his speech with something that really did make my blood boil. "You could be a skilled swordsman yourself. I've heard Norrington was rather good as well."
"I wouldn't know," I snapped upon hearing him postulate about my father. He then grew silent, clearly seeing my upset. We were quiet for a time, just letting the thick silence stand stagnant around us.
Finally, he took a step towards me, wringing his hands uncertainly. "If…if I told you there was a way…" His voice trailed off.
I narrowed my eyes, uncertain of his meaning. "A way for what?"
"To reverse it," he said. "To bring them back."
I felt my heart leap at this. He was referring to our fathers. But what did he know of how to reverse their situation? None of this made any sense.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"There's…" he began, but was instantly silenced upon hearing our mothers begin their ascent back up the stairs with the food. "Nothing, never mind," he said resignedly, taking a seat at the table without another word on the matter.
Soon, we would be dining together and speaking on other matters, but my head was racing, wondering what on earth Henry knew that he wasn't revealing and had possibly been concealing from the rest of us. And even bigger still was the anticipation that grew with every passing moment, as it meant that we were one second closer to my very first meeting.
