Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or the places, just the plot and imaginative background collaborating this story. The standard disclaimer and all: Writer to reader and but to butt; stay off my ass you crazy nut. -_-;;
A/N: Just a quick note to say this story was previously started by Tortuga Wench, however, she's hit a rough spot and passed it to me where she'll continue to work on it as a co-writer with myself.
Exodus: From Past to Present
As time goes by, you realize with each year that your age isn't just a number; it's a story. Each wrinkle tells a tale, each tear is noted, and every heart-ache is remembered. After a while, you stop learning to view your life as an end, but see it more as a beginning, each new day the start of something good. And eventually, the book is closed on a setting sun, the memories collecting dust, but never forgotten. - Tortuga Wench
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On the southwest coast of the Garonne River rested a small city, quaint and picturesque as the first signs of day broke over the horizon. The residents of Bordeaux bustled about the port and market, the sun rising high in the sky as morning quickly turned to noon. Several small houses lined the sandy coast and followed it around veering slightly upward toward the center of town.
One house sat further back, it's quiet aura allowing it to go unnoticed. The small white building rested upon a knoll, it's stone foundation giving it little height above the ground. The paint was beginning to lightly chip offsetting the house as old, despite its good condition; the few windows lining the front were clean and visible, the outer panes edged with black shutters.
The front door was made of heavy oak, black to match the shutters and lightly embellished with a silver handle and a small doorknocker, a single name engraved in the metal: Smith.
Several feet from the house sat a tiny garden full of budding flowers, the colorful blossoms creating a beautiful landscape as they danced in the gentle wind. Amongst the flowers sat a small woman, her long hair pulled back and gathered at the nape of neck with a few hints of gray showing through.
She sat back on her heels and dragged an arm across her forehead, the dirt streaking her already brown skin. She lazily swatted at a fly that buzzed around annoyingly before going back to pulling weeds among the flowerbed. Using the sun's position in the blue sky, she guessed it to be somewhere close to noon or thereabout; several more hours before her husband was due home from the docks and she patiently awaited his arrival.
Having cleaned her small house hours ago, she had come across an old trunk buried beneath years of junk, dust and age, it's black leather faded and cracked. She was eager to share the discovery with her husband when he came home, sure that his reaction would be much like hers. While the trunk was familiar to her, she could not remember what was hidden away under its lid.
She could clearly remember them storing it away in the small attic of the house, leaving it there to fade and die with the memories locked inside. It had been there since they had, and soon its existence had ceased to even make itself known in both minds, therefore sitting there and rotting, never to be opened again. But today as she stumbled across it, something compelled her to open it and several times she had been ready to when the thought of waiting for her husband bombarded her.
So in the garden she waited, busying herself, trying to push the thoughts of the old trunk from her mind. As she moved to finish the last bit of her garden, she heard a familiar whistle echo on the wind and she brought her head up, her dark eyes dancing with joy. The sun was considerably lower in the sky; later than usual that her husband arrived home every night, but with the comfort of his gentle whistle, she knew all was well.
She saw him crest the small hill and turn up the walk, his tanned face aglow with a smile. Rising to her feet and dusting herself off, she turned and approached him, willing herself to stay calm as she bubbled with the days findings. She peeled her gloves off before meeting him halfway, her arms drawing him close as she kissed him.
"You're home late," she finally quipped when she pulled away.
He grinned at her, his head tilted. "Busy day at the docks, darling," he replied pulling a small coin pouch from his coat pocket. "And wonderful business."
She took the coin purse from him and jingled it. "A busy day indeed. What did you do- double the prices of some oranges?"
The man before her chuckled as he took the coins back and replaced them in his pocket. "Hit the jackpot when some noble stiff turned up asking to look at our line of ships," he explained as they casually sauntered to the house. "Guess he was impressed with the work by the boys because before he was done he had selected one frigate and a schooner. Obviously the latter is for personal pleasure, but it mattered not to me. He paid in full, and handsomely I might add."
The woman laughed at him. "Come inside before your dinner decides to jump up and run away, Jack" she teased, the heavy door closing behind them.
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After they had eaten, Jack followed his wife up the stairs that led to the attic, his weathered hand swiping at cobwebs. He coughed clearing his lungs of the dust as he knelt beside her in front of the chest. Studying it momentarily he suggested, "Let's take it downstairs. This dust isn't human friendly."
She agreed and together they carried the slightly heavy trunk to the kitchen where they placed it on the table, both pairs of eyes staring at it intently. A darkened hand swept across the trunk's lid, clearing it of the dust and exposing a small bronze plaque embedded into the cracked black leather. The faded outline of a ship and a bird was barely visible in the metal, and the name Sparrow was carved slightly below it. Jack left the room and soon returned with a small hatchet, the blunt end serving as a hammer to break the rusted old lock. Behind him stood his wife, cautiously peering over his shoulder as she cast a weary look in his direction.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked skeptically, a hand on his shoulder as she suddenly remembered the trunk. "We'll be opening up everything we locked away."
Jack glanced at her and tenderly took her hand in his. "Aye, I'm sure. We'll be allowing old memories to surface for sure, but what's in the past remains there. It's been so long, a little visit shouldn't hurt."
She nodded solemnly as she turned her gaze back to the chest, her fingers gripping his arm. With a deep breath and his heart racing, he pushed the dusty, old lid open…
Author's Note: I know there is not much to this story, it's only the first half of it. We've enjoyed writing this little piece and we hope you enjoy reading it as much as we did. -TW and J.L. Dexter.