She stared off the side of the ship, daydreaming into the fog. A sound
behind her made her turn, and she saw the bulky man walking her way. She
grabbed the mop by her side and started pushing it back and forth on the
deck. Hopefully he didn't notice her lack of progress.
"You haven't even gotten a forth of the deck done! You started an hour ago. You should be done already!" She could smell the ale on the old man's breath, and she stared down at the deck, pushing the mop back and forth, back and forth.
He grabbed her chin and whipped her head up so she was looking at him, his fat belly jiggling with barely contained rage.
"I told you that I'd let you have passage if you worked," he slurred, his eyes foggy, "If you can't work, you have to find another way to barter passage," He smiled, and she almost let herself pull out of his grip. Oh, how she'd like to slap him when he suggested that.
"I'll work," she said, making her voice seem frightened and submissive. He was backing away, slowly, but he was leaving.
"If I see you not working, you won't have a choice," He stumbled back into the galley, leaving behind the thin girl, her face bearing a look of utter disgust. She stubbornly set her jaw and got back to work, muttering obscenities.
Exhausted, she placed the bucket and mop back in the closet, and slowly walked down the stairs to the dark and moldy hold. Lying down in between two barrels and a sack of dried rice, she pulled the dirty blanket up to her chin and curled into the fetal position, shivering in the cold, wet darkness. Silent tears fell down her cheeks and she didn't make a move to wipe them away. It had been like this for as long as she could remember. Bartering passage on ships, negating the advances of obese captains and always running, always crying herself to sleep. Why didn't she just stop? Why couldn't she give up and wait for them to capture her? Because that couldn't be much worse than always running. But she wouldn't do that. Her mother had given her life to free her daughter, and her daughter would stay free if it meant never having home, or love, or family. Her mother had paid dearly for this one thing she had never been able to have, but had been able to give to her only living daughter. Freedom. And Jacqueline would have her freedom.
"You haven't even gotten a forth of the deck done! You started an hour ago. You should be done already!" She could smell the ale on the old man's breath, and she stared down at the deck, pushing the mop back and forth, back and forth.
He grabbed her chin and whipped her head up so she was looking at him, his fat belly jiggling with barely contained rage.
"I told you that I'd let you have passage if you worked," he slurred, his eyes foggy, "If you can't work, you have to find another way to barter passage," He smiled, and she almost let herself pull out of his grip. Oh, how she'd like to slap him when he suggested that.
"I'll work," she said, making her voice seem frightened and submissive. He was backing away, slowly, but he was leaving.
"If I see you not working, you won't have a choice," He stumbled back into the galley, leaving behind the thin girl, her face bearing a look of utter disgust. She stubbornly set her jaw and got back to work, muttering obscenities.
Exhausted, she placed the bucket and mop back in the closet, and slowly walked down the stairs to the dark and moldy hold. Lying down in between two barrels and a sack of dried rice, she pulled the dirty blanket up to her chin and curled into the fetal position, shivering in the cold, wet darkness. Silent tears fell down her cheeks and she didn't make a move to wipe them away. It had been like this for as long as she could remember. Bartering passage on ships, negating the advances of obese captains and always running, always crying herself to sleep. Why didn't she just stop? Why couldn't she give up and wait for them to capture her? Because that couldn't be much worse than always running. But she wouldn't do that. Her mother had given her life to free her daughter, and her daughter would stay free if it meant never having home, or love, or family. Her mother had paid dearly for this one thing she had never been able to have, but had been able to give to her only living daughter. Freedom. And Jacqueline would have her freedom.
