Disclaimer: I own nothing but Gwen and a few other bits and pieces. I turn no profit but egotistical satisfaction from readers and reviewers like you.
Chapter 13: Gwendolyn Webster or Just Gwen?
Jack stayed pretty much on deck all day long after Gwen sacked him early in the morning, even skipping the midday meal, which he normally took with the crew in the galley. He didn't care to confess it to himself, but the truth was that he was avoiding Gwen, who had gone below decks and never emerged again.
She could match him blow for blow in all categories of wit, criticism, and insult. Not only that, she had demonstrated rather vividly, in less than twenty-four hours, that she also had quite a bit of control in being able to affect him physically, both positively and negatively. He wasn't sure he liked any of it. Or, more accurately, he found all of these aspects about her to be new and exciting and challenging. The real trouble was, he wasn't sure he liked them to be new or exciting or challenging.
None of the crew really seemed to notice his pointed interest in staying above deck. The captain was damn near impossible to predict anyway. Skipping meals or lingering at the helm for long stretches at a time or climbing through the rigging painstakingly and meticulously inspecting every line personally- none of these were particularly suspect to anything amiss about the quirky captain.
But if no one else made any particular note of the captain's remaining above decks, Gwen certainly did.
Predators and their prey often have one thing in particular in common: each always strives to know the location of the other. And it was certainly true that, at least in Gwen's subconscious thoughts, Jack had become a predator of sorts, though she pointedly didn't let any of what she told herself were his crimes against her seep into her own blame-pot. (She couldn't know that Jack himself saw her as the predator in the light of his unsavory injury.)
Jack represented some darker side of herself- both a mental loosening of restraints regarding propriety and morality and a physical step or two toward permanently breaking through some of the more stringent of those mental attitudes and codes. Already, she'd kissed him- and she didn't deceive herself on how innocuous it had been. Or hadn't been, really. In polite society only a couple at least firmly betrothed would kiss with such abandon. And she'd used violence against him now as well. Both faults could clearly be attributed to him. (She seemed to have forgotten that she still wasn't really sure if Jack had been the one to move first to kiss her, and ignored the fact that she didn't necessarily have to punch him that morning.) But there was also no denying that she was turning loose of many of her ingrained aversions to such things as lying, theft, and general lawlessness.
And so, with this sense of him, Gwen made it a point to avoid him so she could try to avoid thinking the thoughts that went with him. She stayed below deck all day.
The rest of the morning, after she left Elizabeth's company, she spent not alone as she had intended, but helping a group of five crewmen whom she met on their way to the hold. There the half-dozen of them passed several hours organizing and reorganizing the recently-replenished stock of food and supplies and other cargo.
At first she found the very idea of the rather dirty men caring about organization ridiculous, but the surprise faded quickly. The men needed something to occupy their time. Apparently, the captain made use of such predictable restlessness while assuaging it as well. He assigned his men such necessary tasks from time to time to help alleviate boredom.
The crewmen were actually rather chivalrous towards her helping them, despite their occasional joking allusions to certain uses women had. They didn't want her to strain her slight, feminine body, but she insisted on helping lift and move some of the smaller crates and barrels, which they finally permitted after a light debate or two. She soon lost herself in the logic and rhythm of the task.
Foodstuff had to be stored in a very handy, easily accessible part of the hold, so that the cook and his drafted helpers would have ready access to it. Also, some of the crates required special care that they be placed where air could circulate a bit more freely around the flesh of the fruit they contained, to keep the perishables from spoiling too quickly.
The extra ammunition for the cannons and especially the gunpowder and crates of grenades had to be stored equally as handy but with even greater care. If a pirate wandered into the hold and accidentally held his candle or torch too close to the stuff, it could only spell disaster.
All of the barrels and crates had be stacked carefully and lashed down in such a way that even high seas wouldn't send them crashing against each other, which would spoil the contents of the cargo, as well as the hard work of Gwen and the pirates. However, the lashing couldn't limit the accessibility of certain key stores, especially the food and ammunition.
And so on and so forth until the morning and the crate-stacking were both finished.
After lunch, Gwen spent her afternoon in stark contrast to her morning, frittering away the hours with a deck of cards and a handful of men that she was reluctant to admit, at the end of several hours of banter and gaming, were becoming as much her friends as the more civilized Turners.
When dinnertime arrived, however, it finally managed to flush her out of the underground- or the under-deck, as it were. She was drawn inescapably to the captain's cabin. Where else could she possibly go? She was startled to realize she hadn't spent her evenings, with the exception of the few days they were docked in Tortuga, anywhere other than with Jack in his quarters.
And so she found herself standing at his door. Screwing up her nerve to prepare to face whatever mood or grudge he threw at her, she opened the door. She paused before entering the room, frowning at herself as she realized something. She hadn't knocked. Was she in the habit of not knocking at his door? She bit her lip, slightly disconcerted at the obvious sign of familiarity.
When she stepped inside and pulled the door to behind her, Jack looked up at her from where he stood in the center of the room. As if merely continuing a conversation that had been going on for some time already, he said, "Women slap. It's in yer Code somewhere, some bedeviling womanish code on men."
Gwen, lost in thought, didn't say anything.
"They certainly don't," Jack continued, pointing a finger accusingly right between her eyes, "try to damage any of the goods."
"I never signed any such 'code,'" she answered, somewhat absently, as she walked past him toward the food-tray on the desk.
"Ye should have," Jack said grumpily.
"Actually," Gwen said slowly, quite without the courage of a gulp of rum but not wanting to miss this opportunity while the subject was so close, "I was thinking of signing your Code."
Jack didn't respond, only staring blankly at her.
"I don't have any experience sailing, I know, and Gibbs thinks it's bad luck and all," she rushed on, "but I'd like to join the crew!"
"I'll think about it," Jack said casually, and he couldn't be persuaded to talk of it again for the rest of the evening.
Gwen spent the next few days enjoying herself, avoiding thinking too much about her still-unanswered request. She spent time with Jack. Their playful friendship seemed to pick up right where it left off with no one but Elizabeth and Will the wiser.
She spent time with the Turners, who were thoroughly enjoying what was to them simply a nice vacation. And she spent time with the crew, whose catcalls and indecent suggestions had tapered off into friendly jesting and sport. They seemed to accept her, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, into the sort of fraternity they comprised as men who lived and sailed together.
In fact, if it weren't for the stealing, and drinking, and other such vices... well, these men were almost more civilized and friendly in some ways than some of the finest of English society.
Gwen found herself playing cards for hours a day, with groups that varied in size and members, sometimes playing in the morning and sometimes in the afternoon.
The men told her, as they taught her the hierarchy of the different hands in poker during one card-playing session, that by their Code, they didn't gamble with each other. It promoted bitter feelings and envy when a man lost all his money to someone with an unfair amount of luck. And as shipmates, they couldn't afford to be angry at each other over such things. Gwen nearly laughed out loud then as the men drew out their own stacks of silver and gold coin to play with. The men wordlessly all contributed to giving Gwen a small pot to begin with so she could play a few hands, and the game began without further mention of the Code.
Despite being a beginner, once Gwen had played for a while to get a feel for the strategies, she found herself on a winning streak, with a growing heap of coins to show for her amazing luck. Some of the men seemed to be getting very aggressive by this point in the game, however, and she was almost glad when the group made to break up. She had begun to worry about the fact that many of the men were showing signs of the bitterness, envy, and anger they'd mentioned avoiding.
But then a slip of paper, which one man had scratched a few names and figures on before the game had begun, was brought out, and everyone's winnings were pooled again and sorted back out into neat stacks in front of their original owners. The men clapped each other on the back- and Gwen as well- and shook hands and grinned at each other as they left the table exactly as rich as they were beforehand. Gwen left feeling strangely energized and feeling that she had been allowed to participate in a bonding ritual of sorts with her new-found companions.
Gwen also spent some more time roaming and exploring the ship. Among the interesting things she found was a gymnasium of sorts. The pirates had cleared a rather wide space toward the stern of the ship, a couple of levels below decks, to use for dueling and sparring. At any time of the day, there were usually at least a few of the thirty-seven pirates spending long hours there honing their fighting skills with each other.
From what she could gather, the men actually avoided killing their plunder-victims unless necessary. So, for not only their own protection but for the lives of the men who tried to fight against them as well, they needed to be superior swordsmen so as to quickly subdue and restrain defensive merchants before duels turned unnecessarily deadly.
One evening, about a week after their departure from Tortuga, Gwen left her card-playing companions, which actually included both Turners as well that day, and headed above deck at dinnertime as per her custom. Once she was there, however, under the stars and the three-quarter moon and the dark wisps of cloud, she didn't head straight for the captain's door. Instead, she crossed to the starboard side of the ship, the opposite side to his cabin, and leaned against the rail, staring thoughtfully out into the night. She could hear the first night-watch assuming whatever posts they chose for themselves, but they seemed distant to her, and as if sensing her pensive mood, they all left her respectfully alone.
As much as she had tried not to, avoiding such thoughts as earnestly as she had thrown herself into enjoying her time on the ship without thinking too much about what it stood for, she hadn't been able to resist thinking about herself off and on throughout the last few days. Not just herself, not so broad a topic, but specifically how she had changed, for better or worse, in the short time since she had been aboard the Black Pearl.
She peered up at the acheronian dragon's-wings that were the Black Pearl's sails as she finally allowed herself to give in to those thoughts of herself and the pirate-ship. She was startled when she counted the days and realized that she hadn't been on board for much over a scant two weeks. She felt, quite literally, that she had always been a denizen of the Pearl, that its crew were the ones who had been new and that was the reason she had met them all as strangers before she started to get to know them. The Pearl had deviously made itself so much a part of her that she suddenly realized she couldn't even imagine leaving it, let alone gather any real conviction in telling herself she would surely have to at some point.
The Black Pearl wasn't just a ship, wasn't just a keel and a hull and a deck and sails, Gwen realized- the Black Pearl was the embodiment of freedom. Her heart was no longer chained down to the hope of family in Port Royal. But it still wasn't really hers either. The Pearl had silently stolen it from her.
She noted, somewhat distractedly, that her stomach hadn't even caused her any seasick trouble in at least the last week.
Gwen felt things toppling and crashing within her then as the realization of what she had just admitted to herself dawned on her. It didn't seem like so much, did it? Then why did she suddenly feel that things were making sense- almost too much sense?
She reminded herself grimly that the men of the Pearl, whether she enjoyed their company or not, were pirates, criminals and outlaws. She shouldn't let herself forget that.
If she didn't leave the Black Pearl along with Elizabeth and Will as soon as they returned to Port Royal, she would probably never be able to.
Feeling suddenly weary, she turned slowly to regard the familiar door across the ship and towards the aft. Her mouth felt suddenly dry and full of cotton as she looked at that door for what it had abruptly become: a door set before her by a Gwen very different, in many ways, from the Gwendolyn Webster who had set out for the Caribbean virtually alone several long weeks ago. Now, she was someone without a place to belong, trapped somewhere between two young women- one of them a decent and very respectable lady in her world, the other merely an enjoyable little lass in hers.
Gwen stared at the door for what could very well have been forever. She wasn't entirely sure how much time passed as she stood there, wondering if he really even noticed that she hadn't yet arrived for dinner. But finally, she made her choice, the only one she could allow herself to make, silently wishing and hoping that she wouldn't end up regretting it for the rest of her life. She began to cross the deck toward the captain's door to do what she had decided she had to do- what she really wanted to do- as part of setting out on the life that she had just concluded was the only one she could allow herself to live now.
Jack felt lonely. And he didn't like it.
She should have been there an hour ago. Perhaps two. He wasn't sure himself how long it had been since the cook had shuffled in with the usual double-portion of food.
He had considered going to look for her. There were only so many places on the ship that she could be. But he had reminded himself that just because she was a few minutes late didn't mean anything. She may not have been anywhere near the card-tables in the galley that evening, may not have seen the cook coming up with their dinner.
He had reminded himself that until he didn't believe it anymore. So then he had reminded himself that she was just another woman, and no real concern of his, and he certainly didn't care what she did in her spare time. 'But this part of her time is mine,' he thought. And immediately reminded himself he really didn't care.
The lass spent a great deal of her time with his crew, perhaps she had finally chosen to spend her evening with one of the men instead of with the captain.
Young ladies often married men ten or twenty or more years their senior in the world these days, but even Elizabeth had chosen Will, as young as she herself, over Norrington when it came down to it. Perhaps Gwen had finally been tempted to give up her token to John, or perhaps one of the other, younger men a decade closer in age to her than Jack was himself.
Frowning deeply, he firmly reminded himself that he didn't care as he crossed his room to the shelf where he kept his flags, amongst other things. Squirreling around carefully, he finally pulled a bottle of rum out of the folds of the Portuguese colors. Unstopping the bottle, he silently toasted to the Pearl and to freedom and downed nearly a third of the spicy liquid.
He flopped down in his desk chair, taking another swig of rum before setting the bottle down on the edge of his desk and tugging off his boots in preparation for going to bed. He tried to sit still and make himself relax for a moment, but he couldn't do it. Snatching up the rum again, he began to pace barefooted around the smallish space.
Suddenly, without the grace of a knock, the door swung open.
Gwen threw a quick glance around the cabin as she shut the door behind her, noting automatically that Jack was drinking more than his usual ration of rum. She also noticed, sitting on his desk, the cook's shining silver tray. The food on it was completely untasted. Somehow it touched her that he had obviously been waiting for her, though she didn't feel much like eating now.
Gwen bit her lower lip, reminding herself that she had made this decision solely for herself. She didn't really have to do this- but she wanted to. Wanted to very badly, if she was perfectly honest. Gathering her resolve and courage and quashing the last of her resistance, she looked up into the pirate captain's dark eyes, wondering what he would think of her as soon as he realized what it was she had decided to do.