Peas in a Pod Part the Third ~ Fin ~

by Saahira

It was a beautiful night, with a gorged moon spilling milky light through the kitchen windows. Since I had given Estrella the evening off, I sat by myself at the large kitchen table, a single lantern flickering in one corner of the room to augment moonglow. Black shadows hid in corners and slid along baseboards. A soothing outside breeze from the opened backdoor stirred my hair and cooled my face as I labored over my project, applying the last of the icing to my daughter's birthday cake.

Two years old. Two years, yet in that time I had never failed to be amazed by the miracle of her.

Estrella had helped me bake the cake, for I am no chef. She made the batter, and to it I added fresh ripe bananas, smashed into an unrecognizable mush. The icing was also something Estrella had conjured; a singularly sweet mixture, made buttery and honey rich. Any child, she assured me, would love it.

Because it was so gooey, so clinging, it was hard to smear properly smooth. But smooth it I did, with painstaking care. I wanted everything to be perfect.

"Looks like hard work."

I gasped, dropped my wide spoon with a clatter, and nearly fell out of my chair. Which only made him smile.

"Didn't mean to startle you, Bethie."

"Yes, you did."

"Well ...only a ~little~." Jack glanced around the dimly lit kitchen. "No maid tonight?"

"No maid," I confirmed, reclaiming the wayward spoon. I primly straightened my spine and assumed a more ladylike posture; ladies, after all, do not slump over birthday cakes no matter how stubborn the icing might be. Neither do ladies show surprise at an unexpected guest arriving for dinner, not even if the guest is a pirate named Jack Sparrow. Though the latter, admittedly, was a harder feat to accomplish.

"Just as well," he commented, "she was a skittery lass." He hooked the leg of the chair beside mine with a booted toe, pulled it out and plopped himself into it.

I spared him a quick glance. "Here for long, Jack?"

"Leavin' before dawn, luv. No sense teasin' the tiger, eh? And speakin' of which, how ~is~ my good friend Norrington?"

"He's getting married next month."

"Oh, so he ~did~ finally find a girl willin' to put up with all his faults then?"

"Something like that."

He nodded approvingly. "And William?"

"He's incredible." I sighed dreamily, wondering if Jack saw the contentment in my face when I spoke of my husband. "He's in the parlor just now. He's keeping the baby entertained while I finish this."

"I assume that's harder work than makin' a cake?" He nodded at said cake.

"Indeed it is," I chuckled.

Jack leaned forward to study the bowl wherein the dregs of icing remained. He sniffed loudly. "Banana icing?"

"Banana cake," I corrected him, diligently applying spoon to cake in long, slow, meticulously sweeping motions. It surprised me how casual we were with one another, how at ease, almost as if it had been two days rather than two years since we had last met. Had two years healed all our wounds? I doubted it, but it was nice to think so. I knew it had healed many of mine, and cured many of my confusions. Perhaps that was the difference. "I have no idea what the icing is. Estrella made it before she left tonight."

"Smells sweet."

"She assured me it is."

Jack looked at me askance. "Have you not tried it yourself then?"

"No."

"Why not?"

I shrugged slightly. "No reason really. I'll have some when we cut it later."

"You'd feed it to the little tyke without tryin' it first?" He scrunched his face, a comical expression. "What if its not fit to eat, Bethie? What if its ... sour? Or poisoned? Servants are always doin' that, you know. Killin' their masters that way."

I smiled, sighed with elaborate patience, and pushed the all but empty bowl toward him. "You try it then, Jack. If ~someone~ has to die, it may as well be a notorious pirate."

Jack quickly pulled the bowl closer, a look of immense satisfaction on his scruffy face. This was, after all, what he had wanted.

When I saw his forefinger darting toward the bowl, I grabbed it. Aghast: "You're not putting that thing in your mouth, are you?"

He frowned into my face, frowned at his finger, frowned at my face again. "What's wrong with it? It's a finger."

"Its a filthy finger. When's the last time you bathed?"

Jack considered it. "Last week. I took a swim in the ocean."

"A swim is not a bath."

"It is if you're a pirate."

"Here." I thrust the still coated spoon into his hand. "Use this."

He eyed it with pleasure, for the icing on it was thick. "You're finished with it?"

"I am now."

"Well ... alright then." He brought the spoon to his mouth and licked it slowly, cautiously, delicately. Then popped the whole thing in his mouth, savoring the sweetness.

"Not dead yet?" I queried dryly.

"Not quite." He rolled the spoon in his mouth. He brought it out and licked it again. Languidly.

Once it might have stirred me to passion, watching the sinuous play of his mouth and tongue. Now I watched him as a parent might watch a happy child. Or as a friend might enjoy a friend's contentment.

Two years is a long time. I had grown up.

With newfound maturity, I waited for him to bring it up.

Concentrating too hard on scraping the bowl clean, he did. Finally.

"You been gettin' the gold alright?"

"Every Christmas," I concurred. "Though the old woman bringing it could do with some lessons in personal hygiene."

A fleeting smile. "Aye, old Gerdie's well known for her stench. But she's a good soul. I can trust her not to steal too much of it from you."

That surprised me. "You know she takes some of it?"

"That's why I put extra in the bag. She'll take no payment for her good deeds, but she's more than willin' to snatch it on her own."

"Oh," I said, because there seemed nothing else I could.

"Gerdie tells me it was a girl," Jack commented more softly. Careful nonchalance. He did not look up at me.

"Yes," I quietly replied, watching his profile. "And you must have learnt her birthdate too, for here you are."

"Aye." Amazing how fascinating icing could be when the alternative involved making eye contact. "Didn't hear her name though." He looked up at last. "I assume you gave her one?"

"Society does demand such things."

"So what is it?"

I smiled. "Mercy."

Jack frowned. "Mercy?"

"That's right." I sighed deeply. "I ask for God's mercy every night in my prayers, for I have done much that begs forgiveness. It seemed only right I name my daughter Mercy too."

"~Mercy~," he repeated distastefully, scrunching his face in disgust. "That's a bloody awful name for a pirate's get to carry. Surely you could have come up with somethin' better, Elizabeth?"

His rancor did not disturb me. Tranquilly, I replied, "Mercy Marie Turner." Then clarified, "Marie was Will's mother's name."

"I remember. But ... namin' the little chit ~Mercy~? Surely that's a sin wantin' forgiveness all on its own!"

"Eat your icing, Jack."

"Well, it is," he pouted.

We sat in companionable silence for a while, with Jack meticulously scraping the bowl clean and with me watching him do it. There was small talk too, chitchat, all of it inconsequential. Then out of nowhere, he asked, "Did you ever tell him?"

I glanced away. Newfound maturity or not, there were some things that were still too hard. "No."

"Didn't think so." He pushed the bowl away, satisfied that he gotten all he could of the sticky, sugary elixir. He gazed at me almost sympathetically. "There might come a time," he murmured, "when you have no choice."

"I will deal with the issue then, Jack." I reached out, clasped his hand, wanting him to understand. I stared into his eyes, willing him to see the depths of my sincerity. "Will loves her so much. I would not spoil that for him without good reason."

"It'll be worse if he figures it out on his own, luv," Jack cautioned, reiterating warnings of two years before. "And he's bound to, sooner or later. You know that."

"I know," I whispered. Rallying, I met his gaze and stated firmly, "But its my decision to make, Jack. I will bear the consequences of my actions."

His smile was kindly, a strange expression on a pirate's face. He quipped, "Just like a Turner to say somethin' like that. You're all bloody daft."

"Daft like Jack." I repeated the old phrase, not caring that my eyes misted with tears. Maybe I did love this man. Just a little.

Joyous screams suddenly erupted, echoing briefly off the hallway walls, and Mercy burst into the kitchen, little arms upraised, wobbling with a toddler's precarious balance, and squealed, "Boo!" She dissolved into baby giggles, pleased by a performance no doubt inspired by her father's prodding.

Always amazed by the miracle of her, I knew exactly what wonders Jack Sparrow saw: a beautiful child, tiny and petite, as fine-boned as a baby bird, with deep chocolate eyes and jet black hair wanting very badly to twist into snarls. Her skin was a perfect ivory, though I suspected it would darken to ruddy gold in the summer sun. She was wearing her new birthday dress, pink with white lace, a delicate and ladylike gown; although admittedly there was nothing ladylike about my two year old tomboy, who preferred wrestling and punching to playing with her dollies.

"Come here, sweetheart." I held my arms out to her and she ran to me, still giggling, her small bare feet ~pat-pat-patting~ across the kitchen floor. She threw herself into my hands and I lifted her onto my lap. Even at two, she weighed almost nothing.

Giggles abruptly ceased. First and second fingers found safe harbor in her mouth as she surveyed the stranger before her with big, suspicious eyes.

Jack studied her with no less intensity.

"Jack," I grinned indulgently, "this is Mercy. Mercy, this is your ... Uncle Jack."

She leaned her head against my chest, still sucking her fingers, assessing the man she would never know as a father.

"She's a pretty little thing," Jack commented quietly. His eyes were full of emotions I no longer had to guess at ... love, pride, joy ... ~sadness~ ... though I did wonder what he might do about them. Somehow though, I sensed he would never steal her from me. When he raised his eyes to mine and grinned crookedly, I knew everything was going to be alright. "Takes after her father, no doubt?"

"Very much," I whispered truthfully. A secret shared.

"Of course she does." Will appeared in the doorway, beaming happily. "Jack, why didn't you have Elizabeth come fetch me?"

"William!" Jack grinned broadly, genuinely pleased to see my husband. "I thought to help your bonny wife with the cake first. Hard work, finishin' a cake up like that."

"Jack helped by licking the icing bowl clean," I added with a wry smile.

"Well, someone had to do it, I'm sure," Will laughed. His eyes fell on Mercy in my lap and lit even brighter. "So you've met our daughter?"

His question gave Jack permission to gaze at the only thing he ~wanted~ to gaze at. He smiled affectionately. "Aye, I've met her."

"Well, what do you think?" Will prompted.

"She's pretty enough. For a baby." Was I the only one who saw the yearning in Jack's eyes?

"'Pretty enough,'" Will mimicked sarcastically, coming to stand beside me. "She's beautiful, Jack! Just wait til she grows up. I daresay she'll look just like her mother."

"One can only hope," Jack muttered.

"What?"

"I said when do we get to eat the cake? Or do you plan on lettin' your guest starve to death?"

Mercy returned to an upright posture, still staring. Wet fingers were slipped from her mouth. She used them to point at Jack Sparrow. Or more precisely, at all the baubles in his hair.

"Canny?" she queried in her whispery, baby soft voice.

"No darling, that's not candy," I told her. "Those are Jack's ... decorations," I temporized, lacking a better description.

Mercy looked up at me, not willing to tackle such a big word. "Mama canny," she insisted. Again she pointed out the coins and beads in question. Then she squiggled and wormed away from me, stretching her arms out for the pirate.

I glanced a question at Jack, but he was already reaching to take her.

"Now there's a bonny lass," he grinned indulgently, setting her on his knee with the ease of long experience. "Barely two, and she's already got an eye for treasure."

"More like an eye for sweets," Will corrected cheerfully.

"Not all treasure is silver and gold, William. Eye of the beholder, eh? And this little poppet knows what she wants." Jack frowned at me even as Mercy found a particularly colorful bead and tugged on it. "Do you have any candy for her, Elizabeth?"

"She doesn't need candy, Jack. She has a whole cake right here."

"~I'll~ eat the cake. The little one wants candy."

I sighed, knowing it was lost battle.



Later that night, after the cake, after the pirate had plied my daughter with far too many of her favorite candies, Will and I sat in the parlor enjoying one another's company, relishing the cool outside breeze billowing draperies. Mercy rode Jack Sparrow's hip as he prowled the room. Thick as thieves now, they snooped through our belongings together.

"This here," Jack's furtive voice carried to us, "isn't worth spit, luv. See those jewels?" Mercy's tiny finger touched the music box, tentatively. "That there's glass. Not rubies. Not emeralds. Nuthin but bloody glass. Worthless as a termite on a ship."

"I don't think I've heard that one before," Will commented, watching them.

"Nor have I," I agreed.

"Timite ship," Mercy repeated very seriously.

"That's right, luv. And one of these days I'll be takin' you on the grandest ship ever to sail the seas. The ~Black Pearl~."

"Back Poo?"

I saw Jack grimace. "Not quite. But we'll work on that later, eh? It's a name you've got to learn if you want to grow up to be a proper pirate." Of course I knew it was a jest, no doubt directed at my over-protective husband. Jack had already told me, two years before, that he wanted something better than piracy for his children. I knew that desire included Mercy.

"A pirate?" Will asked. "I hardly think you'll make a pirate of her, Jack."

"Really?" Jack approached with Mercy clinging to him like a little monkey. A very happy little monkey, full of smiles and giggles and sticky candy kisses for her new companion. She seemed to consider him a birthday gift more wondrous than the myriad of toys given her. Her very own pet pirate. "Why d'you say that, mate?"

"Well ... for one thing, she's a girl."

"So's AnaMaria. It never stopped her."

"That's beside the point," Will gently chided.

Jack leaned back to better peer into our daughter's face, giving her grave consideration as if looking on the inside as well as the out. Mercy laughed and smacked him in the nose. "Ouch!" He made a comical face and rubbed at his offended proboscis, causing Mercy to scream with glee. Undaunted, Jack continued, "We'll prove it then, won't we, Marie darlin?"

Mercy wriggled in his arms, a joyful little dance.

Jack waited until she had settled, then turned her attention to Will and myself. Pointing to us, he said, "Listen up now, poppet. Your parents have just told you 'no.' What say you to that?"

Mercy dutifully stuck her tongue out at us.

"Oh, my," I whispered, stifling laughter that would only encourage her. Will was not so strong.

But Jack Sparrow was already ~tsking~ and shaking his head. "You forgot the rest of it, luv. Remember?" He did something with his expession that Will and I couldn't see. "So let's try it again, eh? Your parents tell you 'no.' What do ~you~ say?"

That pink little tongue once again extended in all its rude glory, but this time it was accompanied by a terrible scrunching of facial features. An awful, twisted, horrible scowl mimicking, I'm sure, that of the angriest sea monsters.

"That's it, luv," Jack complimented her, smiling proudly while Mercy giggled and threw her pudgy little arms around his neck in a fierce hug.

"When did you teach her that?" I asked, wide-eyed and trying hard to look disapproving. And failing, I fear.

Will grinned, "What does teaching her bad manners have to do with being a pirate, Jack?"

"Disrespect for authority, mate. It always starts there. Come on, Marie luv, let's see what's in here." Together they opened the armoire and peered inside. Mercy mimicked Jack's every move, repeated ... or tried to ... everything he said.

"Like peas in a pod, aren't they?" Will commented affectionately, watching two faces scrunched in identical appraisal of the armoire's dark interior.

It was a perfect opening. I could have told him then, I suppose. Perhaps I should have, but I didn't. I couldn't. Not yet. The time will come, I know that beyond any doubt. But it would not happen this night. Not at this particular moment.

I don't know when I will tell Will the truth. I only know that I shall. I fear I will have no choice.

Just not tonight.

~ Fin ~