That night, I was awoken by shouts. At first, I thought it was a part of a distant dream. Then they grew louder. More frantic. Terrified.
Father.
As soon as I was cognizant, I immediately fumbled for my pistol, which I kept on my bedside table on the off chance that exactly this sort of need should arise. I raced out of the room and ran across the hallway to mother's room, pushing open the door.
Though it was pitch black dark, I could clearly see my parents, sitting up in their bed. Father's back was to me, Mother was holding him while facing in my direction. Both of them were each respectively unable to see me due to their position and the darkness, but my panic calmed significantly upon hearing my mother cooing gently, "Shh…shh…James, breathe. Breathe. That's it. Shh…je suis la. That's it, there. It's only a dream. You're here with me now. Je suis la, mon amour…" Father was gasping for air as he held tightly to her.
A nightmare. That's what had caused this disturbance. I finally let my arm which held my gun drop to my side. I returned to my room, putting away my pistol and instead lighting the wick of the candlestick at my bedside table. I returned to the open door to find them both still holding tight to one another. The flicker from my candle altered them to my presence. Father's head whipped around, and before I could ask if he was alright, he was already to his feet, wiping his face with a quick swipe of a hand. Mother tried to simultaneously keep him near her with one hand while gesturing in the direction of my light, saying calmly, "Go back to sleep, Anna, it's alright."
Father only gave me a slight glance, keeping his gaze primarily averted as though mortified. "Please, both of you go back to sleep. I am sorry to have caused all this." He then started to leave the room, but Mother, still seated on the edge of the bed, put a hand out to stop him.
"James, you need sleep," she warned. "You're mortal."
"As are you," he replied. "Please don't let me take a moment more from you."
He then sidestepped her, crossing quickly around the end of the bed and then slipping by me in the doorway. As he passed, he gave me a brief, consoling squeeze on the shoulder. "Back to bed, please," he said softly.
After he had left, I turned to Mother. "Where is he going?"
Mother, who looked equal parts exhausted and exasperated only sighed and shook her head. "James!" she cried, crawling over the bed and past me into the hallway, where he was presently descending the steps into the storeroom. "Where are you going in the middle of the night?"
"It can't go on like this," he said. "It's not fair to you. You haven't had a restful night since I've been back."
"Mother can sleep in my room," I suggested. "Really it's no trouble at all."
He hesitated, but was insistent. "Do whatever won't inconvenience you. Really." He then turned once more to continue his descent.
"You're still leaving?" Mother asked.
"Yes," he replied. "I need to take a walk. Catch my breath."
Mother's eyes searched for him blindly in the darkened hallway until finally she conceded, "Alright. If that's what you need. Be careful."
With that, he disappeared from sight. I stayed in my place in the doorway, my eyes glued to my mother. At last, she brightened, teasing me, "Alright, come, come. I know you'll need to clear a path in that mess of a room of yours before I come in, so step-to!"
I led the way into my room, where she made her way to my bed by touch and at last flopped down onto one half of it with a satisfied, "oomph!" I replaced my pistol back in its proper spot and settled down next to her. She turned on her side to face me, snuggling into my sheets and mattress. "Just like the old days, c'est vrai?"
"Oui," I said smiling, remembering how I used to cry bitterly before bedtime, forcing my mother to stay at my side when I was young. "You used to say you'd stay only until I was asleep, yet I would always wake up the next morning to find you had fallen asleep next to me!"
"Your bed was always the most comfortable, that's why," she said, grinning and pulling my blanket closer towards my chin. Something was off. This all seemed too…normal, especially given what had just surpassed.
"Mother?"
"Hm?"
"…this wasn't the first time this has happened, has it? The nightmares?"
She gave a long exhale through her nose. "No," she said simply.
"How many times?"
I had expected her to say, "A few," or "Once every few days." Not what she actually said, which was, "Every night."
"Every night!"
"All except for the first. I doubt he dreamt at all then. His body needed to repair itself. But every night since, he's woken up in a panic. Tonight has been the worst it's been, though."
Finally, the question that had been eating away at me all night bubbled to the surface. "Is there something you're not telling me?" I asked.
Mother stiffened. "What?"
"Is there something you're not telling me?" I repeated. "You used to tell me everything. Nothing was secretive between us. If that has changed…I will regret that deeply."
"Why on Earth would you think that?"
I gulped. "I caught Father and Will tonight conspiring outside. I didn't know what they were saying, but they instantly stopped when they saw me and pretended like nothing had happened. If you know something is amiss…please, I beg you, tell me."
Mother took a deep breath and stroked my cheek. "My sweet, neither you nor I nor anyone could ever imagine the horrors that monstrosity put your father and Will through down there. For over a decade, they were tortured. That amount of trauma will bury itself deep inside its victim. It doesn't just go away." She darkened as she said, "I know this firsthand."
"What?" I asked. "You…?"
"No," she assured me. "Not me. Someone I knew very well." She became misty at the memory of this person, who she left unnamed. "I watched as his demons ate away at him until he was the shell of the man he once was. But your Father is stronger than he ever was and has more resolve than he ever did. So does Will. Together, we will persevere," she whispered through a reassuring smile. "It just takes time and patience and support."
I nodded in understanding. "And…if you know anything, you promise you'll tell me as soon as you do?"
"Of course, my sweet," she vowed.
I closed my eyes to return to sleep. I didn't know at the time that it would be a restless night for my mother, as she already was breaking her promise to me. She knew something that she wasn't telling me. She wasn't telling anyone.
Carina and I had arranged a time to go into the town in order to seek out any information regarding her mother. The afternoon we were to depart, I made my way up to the lighthouse where I was to meet her, only when I ascended, it wasn't Carina there waiting for me, but rather Will, crouched low with his back against the curved, inner wall of the domed lighthouse interior.
"Wha—?" I began to question, but will hushed me immediately and beckoned me to duck and join him where he hid.
"What's going on?" I whispered.
"I've lost Henry," said Will with a wild grin. "He hasn't the faintest idea I'm here."
I joined in with his elation. "Always go high," I corroborated, "For some reason, he never expects it! I know from experience!"
Recording this now in retrospect, my heart breaks. I was young and eager for fun at the time, but now with distance, I only recall a father spending a moment of levity with his son for what would have only been the second time in their lives, despite both of them being grown. This was how Will filled his days during that time. It was an odd state to be in for James and Will—spend thirteen years trapped beneath the sea, then suddenly expect to rejoin society. Father saw the challenge ahead and made himself useful where Mother and I needed help, which, during that time, help was needed anywhere we could get it. Will, however, was without purpose here. The only practical skills he had were leading a crew and blacksmithing, and both of those roles were either unneeded or already filled on Shipwreck. Elizabeth was an established leader independent of her husband, and Will wanted little to do with the Dutchman, his former home and prison. So, he filled his time with Henry, and given the time they had lost, both were contented with this.
"So we have no idea where he is?" I whispered to him.
"No," he confirmed. "I outran him in the forest and made a break for it up here."
"Hmm," I pondered. "Henry's fast. Odd for him to not have materialized yet…" My voice trailed as we heard a creak from the stonework ceiling above us. Will and I gave one another a knowing glance—of course! He hadn't tarried, but was waiting for his perfect moment to strike from above. Silently, we listened as the footsteps neared closer and closer toward us from overhead. Unheard, Will tiptoed away, mouthing for me to stay there as he swung his upper body out of the lighthouse window and pulled himself up to the topmost portion of the roof to attack Henry from behind. I suppressed a giggle at the shock this was going to cause my old rival. However, it was not Henry's sound of surprise I heard, but rather…Will's! Clanging and swiping and stomping across the roof overhead clamored all at once, and I craned my neck out of the lighthouse to try and get a peak at the action happening above me. Instead, I had to duck back inside as Will's body somersaulted through the air right towards me and down to the ground below. There, he landed like a cat and posed to rise to his feet swiftly, when out of the bushes bordering the house, Henry sprang, sword pointed at his father's neck.
"And that's a check mate!" Henry boasted, breathless. But wait, I thought, If Henry was below…then who was above?
"Well done, mum!" Henry called, looking up to the lighthouse just past me. At that moment, Elizabeth, also breathless, leaned out over the edge. "Hello Anna!" she said with a smirk. "Thank you so much for distracting my husband!"
"Whose side are you on, anyways?" Will said, squinting up at his wife.
She only snorted, "I like to keep you on your toes! Prove I've still got what it takes!"
"You want to prove it?" he called back. "Go on then! Jump!"
"Like you just demonstrated?" she laughed. "Not a chance! Don't forget I'm older than you now, Turner," she teased. "Not a chance these weary bones could take a fall like that!"
Instead, Elizabeth opted to take the stairs back down, swinging her legs over the edge of the roof and climbing back into the lighthouse interior with me before we descended together. "I hear from Carina that the two of you are to go into town to find what you can out about this Margaret Smyth, is that correct?" she asked me.
"Aye," I replied eagerly. "We'll see what we can find. My plan is to ask around some of the shops in the market, of course seeing what we can scare up around the pub, and maybe—"
"I had told Carina to try the Church records as well," Elizabeth added. "Though I'm not sure just how helpful they would be. We really only hired on people to keep an annual log of our residents and visitors in the years after the War. There's a chance she might have evaded the count if she had gone by then." I took silent note of Elizabeth's careful use of the word "gone," meaning either gone off the island or gone off this mortal coil, as one of these two options were the reality at hand. "Still," she continued, "It's worth a glance. Ask for Nathaniel."
"Nathaniel?" I asked. Growing up an avid researcher of my father's plight, I was very familiar with the church logbooks, specifically how mother had edited the records and kept my father's identity blank for the sake of my protection when I was young, especially after British forces had come sniffing around for Elizabeth. In all my years working with those records, never did I know a Nathaniel to work there.
"He's new," Elizabeth explained as we neared the foot of the stairs. "Brought him on while you and Henry were away. I caught Father Mathias using several of them as kindling."
I grimaced. "Ah yes, his mind…it's starting to go."
"Sadly yes," she replied. "But no matter! We found young Nathaniel as an assistant cartographer off a passing privateer's ship out of Northern England. He chose to stay on once I offered him the position. He's been hard at work for months now, I'm sure he's familiar enough with them to be of use to you."
Upon entering the hall, we found Carina. She wore a mint green dress and wore a braid that began at the crown of her head and tied up half her dark, curly hair. "Ready to go?" she asked me.
"Sorry to distract," Elizabeth said, passing Carina and leading us out of the house. "There was a battle to be won!"
Carina and I both laughed at this, then, covertly, Carina muttered through her teeth, "It's constant. They never stop."
With this lot? I'd believe it. "What, and you don't join in?" I whispered back.
She scoffed, "I don't have the energy! I don't know how anyone would!"
We together followed Elizabeth outside, where Henry and Will were clearly still comparing the craftsmanship of their weapons. Henry looked up at Carina, but frowned upon seeing me with her, the two of us clearly ready to depart. "What's this?" he asked.
"Anna and I are going into town," answered Carina.
"And why is that?"
"I've already told you, remember? She's going to help me find out the truth about my mother. Hopefully."
Henry nodded slightly, then said something that made my heart drop. "Shall I come along?" Oh please no, oh please oh please oh—
"No, no, it's fine!" Catherine insisted. "Stay. Catch up with your family. I'll be back before sundown."
She then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before turning towards the road. I could conceal a smug smile that crept along my face as I left to follow her. Though what exactly was I celebrating? Carina spending time with me instead of Henry? Though we had always been a competitive bunch, this was an altogether different sort competitiveness that blossomed within me so quickly that it caught me quite off guard.
Carina, blessedly, shook me from my confusion. "You have no idea how much I've needed the separation," she said once we were out of earshot. "I love the Turners but I feel rather…out of place there. There's just so much time they've missed together, I simply feel in the way."
"You're always welcome at the Cove, you know," I offered.
She smiled. "I appreciate it," was all she said. I knew then that despite meaning that, she would never take me up on it. It mattered not where she laid her head at night — with Turners or Norringtons, these were not her people. She'd be isolated either way. "So, where to, first?" she said, turning from the subject. "I've been introduced to most of the town, but I'm grateful you're here, otherwise I wouldn't have the slightest idea of where to begin!"
First, the marketplace. We made a clockwise circle around the neighboring establishments, questioning butchers, blacksmiths, bakers, craftsmen and fishermen from all walks of life. Some of them had heard of a Margaret passing through at one point, though their stories conflicted and we never quite got a solid description of what she looked like. A few had heard of a "Robert Smyth" or a "Lillian Smyth," or a "Margery Smyth," but never Margaret Smyth. We then turned to absolute strangers— visitors off the street, newcomers drunkenly rambling about whatever crossed their mind at the pub, but again had no luck.
With the afternoon was rapidly passing us by, both of us felt disheartened by our lack of reliable leads. "In a town of so few, how is it that no one's ever met a Margaret Smyth." I took a moment to think. "…could she have used it as a false name."
"Perhaps," Carina pondered. She had remained cheery throughout each respective failure, though I could see the beginnings of disappointment start to shine through the cracks of her brave facade. "At this point I'm not wondering if she wasn't just a visitor herself. Just someone passing through who happened to cross paths with my father."
"Hmm…" I hummed, considering this. "Alright, I think the church might be the best place to check for certain. We can seek out this Nathaniel fellow and see what he can scrounge up."
"And, you think he'll know about my mother?"
I snorted. "He won't. But the logbooks might. Since I was born, everything has been jotted down as it happened and from the memories of those who clearly remembered the past—every person who has come and gone from this island, every captain, every king. If there's a record of it, the church has it!"
As we made our way along the winding path up to the church, nestled in the crook of shipwreck's largest peak, Carina said, "I appreciate you taking the time to help me. And I should also thank your parents, as I'm sure I'm denying them help they need at the Cove, aren't I?"
The answer was yes, but I replied with a shrug, "Not at all!"
"It's just not everyday that you get a professional historian on your side."
My face grew red at her compliment. I brushed it aside with a modest, "Aspiring historian."
"No, I've seen you scribbling away!" she teased. "You'll run out of room in that diary soon!" She shook her head. "I wish I could write, I just don't have the tolerance for it. My mind works in facts and figures, not in stories of the past."
"Ah, but that makes you a realist!" I said.
Carina's expression darkened as she replied, "There are times I think I'd prefer to be an idealist."
