Gardening was an activity that Melissa Reynolds had always found as an escape. She had developed a great fervor for it as a girl, and often spent hours out in the garden with her parents. She and her mother had cultivated a modest plot of vibrant color at their home in England. When her mother passed away, Melissa spent a great deal of her time outside tending to the delicate blossoms that her mother had cared so well for.
After her father's death, Melissa once again retreated to the familiar company of the flowers. She was a more mature then and had been much more prepared for his death than she had been with her mother's. The one comfort she had with her father's passing was that he and his beloved wife were once again reunited. She thought of them often, even after moving to the Caribbean. The bright atmosphere seemed to send her thoughts far away and up to Heaven where her parents were undoubtedly watching over her. Melissa would smile whenever she thought of her mother's rosy cheeks and her father's broad smile. She had never known a happier couple on this earth, and could only hope for half the satisfaction with whomever she was to marry.
But for some reason, the gardens she had spent so much time in since moving to the Caribbean had nothing to offer her this day. Melissa knelt down and smoothed out her apron before half-heartedly moving the soft earth about and examining the roots of the various plants. She sighed as she picked up a handful of moist soil and examined it. It fell through her fingers, and as she watched it fall, she could not help but think of those she had lost. They, too, had fallen through her desperate grasp.
Melissa let her hands fall to her sides. She felt as if she was meant to be alone throughout her sad existence. How could so many of those she had held so dear leave her? Why had misfortune chosen her as its victim? Melissa hung her head. Pain swept through her delicate and soft features. Strands of her fine blonde hair blew across her face. Her face began to redden with emotion as one question played over and over within her mind – Why?
The tears remained well hidden as she looked up once more, for she could no longer bear to look at the ground. It reminded her of funerals. The soft earth she so delicately handled for her flowers was the very same earth that claimed her dearest friends. She could take no more. Melissa gathered herself up and began to walk back into the house, but not before gazing into the humble little rose bush to the left of the door. It struck her, but she knew not why. She had never had any luck with roses, though she could not understand why their importance was suddenly so apparent. Then she finally remembered.
Melissa nearly ran up to her room and began to sort quickly through her piles of saved letters. Dozens upon dozens of papers scattered across the desk as she continued her frantic search. Minutes later, she discovered what she was looking for – an old letter from Katherine, written four years ago after they had departed company in London. Melissa covered her mouth as she began to read.
My Dearest Melissa,
How good it is to hear from you! I daresay I shall sincerely miss our friendly banter, though I hope that my departure will not cause ill feelings between you and I. I cannot fathom not having a dear friend like you about to converse and gossip with. My father does not believe in such things, you know. 'Women should avoid engaging in such waste of breath,' he says. It is as if simple chatter will bring his entire livelihood to a terrible end. How mother ever survived him I shall never know. It is no matter. I received a letter from my brother, James, last week and I was thrilled to hear he has been given command of a vessel and granted the rank of Captain. 'Master and Commander,' he says. He is still a Lievtenant by the sounds of it, but with the authority of a captain. Captain at 27! That is positively unheard of. It seems as if he is finding great success in the Caribbean – I should like to go there someday. It would be nothing less than a relief to my being to escape the dreary London atmosphere and sail somewhere exotic.
My eldest brother, Thomas, was blessed with his first born not more than three weeks ago. I am an aunt to a lovely little girl. I suppose I shall have to teach her all the fine intricacies of everything that is being a member of London society.
I hope that you are well and life is blessing you with great things. Send my compliments to your dear father.
And do try to stay out of the rose bushes, Melissa!
Yours,
Katherine Norrington
Melissa sank to the floor. Rose bushes. She could remember now when she and Katherine had gotten into a great deal of trouble passing through some public gardens. It would not have been a problem if Melissa had not snagged her dress a hundred times over on a bed of rose bushes. She and Katherine emerged minutes later, the stitching in their dresses and petticoats ripped and pulled apart. However embarrassing that might have been, they came out laughing about it later. Since then Melissa was careful to avoid rose bushes, and Katherine was careful to remind her without fail.
Katherine, dear Katherine! Why must you be taken? You had not yet begun to live…Melissa sat there, her tall and thin frame slumped on the floor, and allowed memories to flood her head. Four years she and Katherine had spent in each other's company, and it was more than enough time to create lifelong memories. How hard Katherine had tried to teach Melissa the art of painting, and how hard Melissa had tried to master it. One such episode ended in both girls emerging from the parlor with their faces and hair covered in oil paint. Mr. Reynolds found it rather funny; Mr. Norrington however, was less than amused. Her father's constant reprimands never bothered Katherine, and Melissa admired her security. Katherine knew what she wanted at all times. Melissa, on the other hand, was less confident and outgoing than her companion. Oftentimes Katherine would be confident enough for the both of them.
How Melissa missed her. She allowed her head to fall forward as she thought about moving on. She now felt quite alone without anyone to turn to. Marcus, her younger brother, was trying desperately to aid his sister, but he could only do so much. Her uncle, Joshua Meyerson, was quite supportive, but at the same time had to focus on his merchant vessels. Melissa thought of James, but could not bring herself to go to him. She had seen in his eyes the pain she had been feeling, only perhaps sharper. She wanted to speak to him the day of the funeral, but nothing of value came to her tongue. She could sense a barrier between her and James, and it worried her. Melissa began to feel as if the one person she needed to talk to was beyond her reach.
"Melissa?" a soft voice called from the open doorway. She looked up and saw Marcus standing there, a worried expression worn on his features.
Melissa smiled an embarrassed smile then quickly dried her tears. "I'm sorry," she began as Marcus came over to assist her to her feet.
"I did not mean to intrude. I heard you come in hurriedly and thought to check in on you," he said as she turned to face him. Melissa suddenly noticed how tall he was getting. Marcus was only fifteen, yet he was nearly her height already. She smiled faintly once more.
"That was good of you. I was just looking at some old correspondences, that is all…"
"Of Miss Norrington's?" Marcus asked after a moment of hesitation.
"Yes." Melissa's eyes fell to the floor. Marcus watched her for a moment and then drew a slow breath. He, too, had become accustomed to losing those around him, and he knew what it was to feel alone. He was initially angry at his parents' deaths, but with Melissa's coaxing he had grown to accept them. He always had his sister to guide him, but he knew not how it was for her, with no one for her to look up to and follow.
"I look forward to seeing the Commodore again," Marcus remarked in an effort to draw his sister's attention to another subject. "He has been good enough to teach me a bit of fencing in the past few weeks. He says I have been making remarkable improvements."
Melissa only smiled briefly and fumbled with her apron. "Perhaps the Commodore will call on us one day soon."
"He thinks I have great potential as an officer," Marcus noted, folding his hands behind his back and emulating the stance he had seen so many times out of those in His Majesty's Service. Melissa turned and looked to her younger brother. He was maturing faster than she had ever imagined, and soon he would be finding his own path, undoubtedly in the Navy. She could see him sailing off on the proud ships and serving king and country. But one thought she could not bear was him leaving and never coming back. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought, and she took a step toward Marcus and too his hands in hers.
"I have no doubt in my mind you will be everything you dream of," she started softly. "But you must promise me one thing, Marcus."
His eyes looked up into hers as his brow furrowed slightly. "Anything," he whispered.
Melissa hesitated as she looked him. "Don't ever leave me." Marcus nodded and drew his sister into a warm embrace. He did not have to ask after her meaning, for he already knew.
*
A week had passed since Katherine's funeral. James had spent a majority of that time alone in his office at Fort Charles, pouring over ships' muster books, logs, fort rosters…nearly everything in order to keep his sharp mind focused. Wherever he went outside the Fort seemed to remind him of Katherine. He had sent a letter off to his family in London only days before, after spending many sleepless nights over the tragic events and how best to inform everyone at home. Even as he sat down behind his desk and dipped his quill into the ink he did not know what he was going to say. He had gone through at least five drafts of the notice before finally settling on one that left him at ease. For an hour he struggled with the paper, his mind unable to express the terrible news, and his hand unwilling to write it. Three drafts were crumpled and subsequently thrown in the rubbish – it was after a fourth failed attempt that James finally broke down and wept alone in the dead of night, his head resting on his desk and his tears soaking the parchment.
He was doing the one thing he had never imagined himself doing. Time and time again he had sent notifications of sailors' or marines' deaths, and sometimes those lost were quite close to him; however, he never could fathom writing of his own sister's death. In James's mind she was a woman that deserved to live a much longer and happier life than he. The letter would take more than a month to arrive in London. He noted that he intended to sail with the Dauntless when she set out for Portsmouth the next month for refitting, and would make his way up to London during his stay. The time between now and then would be nothing less than agony for James. He would be forced to count down the days to his most undignified return.
It was another bright Saturday over Port Royale. The sun and sky seemed to have forgotten the dreary atmosphere and agonizing scene a week before. All about the town activities were continuing on as they always had. James was sitting in his office reviewing the list of stores for Fort Charles and the three Royal Navy vessels under his command. He had also been looking over the last correspondence he had received from a Captain Joseph Moody from Plymouth. Moody was due to arrive in Port Royale prior to the Dauntless's departure with his 60-gun fourth rate to take over patrols while Norrington and his first rate were out of the waters. He would be a useful, if only temporary, addition to the Port Royale fleet.
James had been studying the notes Moody sent along on the HMS Gallant when a knock fell upon his door. He looked up and paused before bidding the person to enter. The door opened and James could tell by the distinct feathering on the wide-brimmed hat who had arrived. Governor Weatherby Swann strode confidently into the room, followed right after by Lievtenant Gillette. James stood up to greet them.
"Commodore," greeted Weatherby as he removed his hat. Gillette followed suit. "How do I find you this fine afternoon?"
"Trying to keep my head above the water, Governor Swann," Norrington remarked. He could see the Governor's partially concealed look of worry. Weatherby made no secret of his concern for his finest officer. The pair had spent nine years now in each other's company, and Swann had known what it was to lose someone so dear. He, too, had seen Norrington nearly destroyed by the whole incident, and was more than sympathetic to the man who had helped bring him so much success.
"It seems as if you are weathering the storm," Swann commented with a hopeful tone. His smile faded some as he watched the Commodore's eyes fall to the floor. Weatherby shifted his stance and cleared his throat before beginning what was a most unfortunate discussion, and one he did not look forward to. "I regret that I have not sought you out before now on this issue, but I have a piece of information I would care to share with you regarding the conduct of one of your officers."
Norrington looked up to the Governor. "Of course, sir. Please, Lievtenant, if you would be so kind as to close the door."
*
Outrage. Sheer, unbridled outrage swept through the Commodore. It was an emotion he was unaccustomed to and was by no means comfortable with. Throughout his life and career he had sought to maintain a strict sense of discipline, but he found he could not do so now. On the outside he appeared as collected as ever, but inside, James was seething. How dare Martin, that insolent bastard, he thought as he strode out of his office and down the corridor, Lievtenant Gillette on his heels and Governor Swann struggling to keep up.
Under any other circumstance Norrington would have acted differently, particularly if there were men around. He had never been anything but proper in front of those under him. But now was another story. Now was the time for rash actions. Norrington was more than pleased to find the corridor deserted and Captain Thomas Martin alone in his office. The Commodore burst in without knocking and found a surprised Martin behind his desk.
"Good…Sitting on your hands as usual I see, that is just splendid," Norrington spat as Governor Swann and Gillette entered the room. "I have known you to do some despicable deeds, but not to force yourself upon a lady of respected society."
Martin looked around the room and paused before answering with a visibly fake demeanor. "Good afternoon, Commodore, to what do I owe the pleasure of your fine company?" he asked, with a certain venom in his tone. Norrington stepped around the desk and stopped only a foot away from Martin's face.
"I want an explanation this very instant," he declared as he tried to maintain some vestige of civility.
"Well, you take such fine care of those close to you, if you don't mind my saying," Martin remarked with little hesitation. Damn them, damn the Admiralty for this ridiculous assignment, and damn protocol, Martin thought. He would say whatever he pleased now.
James had heard enough. Martin was taken by surprise when he was pulled from his chair and thrown up against the wall in one swift motion. Trinkets rattled and fell from the windowsill as the Commodore pinned Martin against the wall and pressed his forearm to the smaller man's fat throat. Amidst his surprise, Martin managed to stare up to his angered superior - fire was in Norrington's eyes and his jaw clenched with fury.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't throttle the life out of you," James growled as he pressed a little harder against Martin's throat. Matthieu stepped up to Norrington's right and put his hand on his friend's shoulder to help calm him. James hardly acknowledged Gillette's presence as he stared down at Martin. He then leaned swiftly into Martin with his arm and then removed his grip. Martin came crashing to the floor, gasping for breath.
"There is a frigate leaving out of Port Antonio next week, and you will be on it on your way back to Portsmouth with a severe letter of reprimand," Norrington declared, the angry emotion still present in his voice. "I have seen enough of your wretched face in my service. You, sir, are finished."
And with that, the Commodore swung around and exited with Gillette and Governor Swann, leaving Martin once again alone in his office. His undermining of Norrington's authority had come to an end. Lievtenant Gillette smiled a private, smug smile as the trio strode down the corridor. He had been waiting some time to see Captain Martin dealt what was coming to him, and was a bittersweet victory in light of all that had happened. Governor Swann followed Norrington with a new appreciation for the younger man's resolve. Never before had he seen the Commodore display a temper, but in this case he was willing to dismiss it without a second thought.
Matthieu stopped suddenly in the corridor as he realized James was not returning to his office. "Where are you going?" he called. Governor Swann came to a halt as well.
James kept walking purposefully to the stables. He called over his shoulder, "To apologize to Miss Reynolds for the wrong that has been done."
