AN (12/9): We finished "Death of a Salesman" today in English...and I kept thinking the same thing over and over as I went to my next class...it was a very good idea for a fanfic. So, here I am, writing this story. It was originally going to be about Jack...but I decided it would make more sense this way.
(12/10): I have now officially been putting my writings online for a year now...wow...I can't believe that it has been that long. I hope that you enjoy this new venture of mine...if not, well, don't read it. But I assure you it will get better as time goes on...
Death of a Blacksmith: Chapter One
William Turner the second stared at his hands numbly as he walked forward. They were shaking, almost convulsively with each second that slowly faded into oblivion. What was his problem? There was a small burn on his left thumb, and the nail looked like it had been smashed, for there was a nasty dark bruise underneath hinting that he would lose the fingernail completely. Each time he blinked, the same horrible scene played through his mind. It'd just been moments ago that he'd been working on that dreadfully ornate sword Commodore Wibble had ordered...it seemed like ages ago.
He blindly wandered his way back to the small home he'd finally been able to find in Port Royal. Governor Swann had disowned Elizabeth, when Will had married her, so they'd been forced to find an abode (for Elizabeth had flat out refused to live above the barn that Will had been living in since arriving in Port Royal) within their budget. It isn't easy, buying a house with the amount of money an apprentice blacksmith makes, but they'd somehow managed to do it.
Upon reaching the house, Will tiredly opened the door and set his hat down on a side table peacefully perched on the cheap wood floors next to the peeling white door. That door really bothered him...it seemed to need to be repainted every time he turned around. Frowning at the door as he quietly shut it, still lost in his mind, Will started muttering several rather choice phrases to himself as he wandered his way into the parlor and sat down on what he now realized was a threadbare red sofa.
"Will...is that you?" A feminine voice called from somewhere upstairs. She was probably in their bedroom...or maybe the boys' bedroom, tidying up. It definitely sounded worried.
"Yes," Will replied, just loud enough to be heard as he took his shoes off and put his rather dirty stockings up on the coffee table Elizabeth had received as a wedding present from one of the maids that had liked her...Estrella or something similar. Will wasn't entirely sure what her name was, though Elizabeth mentioned her frequently in the past.
"Why are you back so early?" was the response as Will looked up at the ceiling and heard his wife heading towards the rickety staircase. He could hear as she grasped the railing to help herself down. Elizabeth wasn't the petite woman she once had been...nor was she quite as graceful as the swan she'd been as a young woman. Will seemed to remember that particular carefree young woman whenever he mentioned something about their only real adventure in the Caribbean. Of course, he tried not to mention it...it was too painful.
"I...the funny thing is...well, I'm not really sure, but I couldn't stay in there any longer," Will responded as he smiled ever so slightly at Elizabeth as she reached the last step and walked towards the parlor. Of course, she couldn't see him through the thin walls...but he could almost see her again, the first day they'd moved into this house...things had been so warm and full of hope back then. Now Will realized what a dump he'd let his cultured wife live in for the past twenty years.
"Why not, Will?" Elizabeth asked softly as she stepped into the parlor, running her hand sub-consciously over her distressed and slightly graying hair above her ears...she could've sworn one was out of place. Of course, she always seemed to reflexively do that around Will these days. She could tell that something was dreadfully wrong with him, but had no idea how to help him.
"I really don't know," Will replied with a sigh and a frown. "Why do you always do that?" It bothered him, seeing her so concerned with her hair. Didn't she realize that not everything could be perfect?
"Habit, I suppose," Elizabeth soothed as she sat next to him on the sofa. "What happened?" she questioned softly, rubbing at his left shoulder. It usually calmed him down. It didn't seem to be working this time, for he turned to look at her with that look of intense weariness.
"I was working on the order for Commodore Wibble...like Mister Brown wanted me to...and I was doing a wonderful job. A spectacular job..it was balancing just right...had perfect lines." Will trailed off for a moment, his eyes lost in the memory of just a few moments ago.
"I'm sure it is a wonderful sword, Will," Elizabeth hastily replied, smiling and lightly kissing his cheek. "But why did the sword turning out well mean that you had to come home?" He liked to get lost in his memories. Elizabeth hated it, for it was happening more and more frequently as the weeks ended. Will always seemed to be at his worst when Edmund happened to be at home. Edmund was their oldest son who had left the Turner household as soon as he could and rarely came home after venturing out into the world to seek his fortune.
"I...blast it all, Elizabeth! I can't believe...I was working on the sword, minding my own business, when I heard something...someone...in the smithy! It surprised me so bloody much that I nearly dropped the heated metal on my foot, I hit myself with the hammer...and I was staring at the blade for a long time...and suddenly I realized...I've been stuck in the same job for the past thirty-two years of my life, Elizabeth! And I can't...well, it was a very good sword." Will sighed softly, and Elizabeth got the distinct impression that he hadn't meant to tell her half of that.
"I'm sure it was good...you are the best blacksmith in all of Jamaica, after all," Elizabeth said encouragingly, wincing sympathetically as she noticed the bruise and burn on his thumb. "I'll bandage that up for you, dear," she announced suddenly, standing up and walking towards the kitchen. "Don't worry...I'm sure that Mister Brown will understand." She smiled encouragingly at him one last time before turning her attention to the very vital task of retrieving a spare bit of cloth to wrap around his wound. Of course, Elizabeth was just distracting herself, so that she didn't have to deal with the fact that Will possibly could've killed himself, losing concentration while working on a hot sword. The cherry blade could've singed him enough to kill him...
Will smiled thankfully back at Elizabeth's backside and watched her as she strode out of the room, her light green skirt swaying with each delicate step she took. It was amazing that she still remembered most of the techniques she'd been taught as a girl. Funny...she had a very similar dress years and years ago...in fact, it was probably the same one.
"Watch this, dad!" Dalen said proudly as he started swinging at imaginary targets with the crudely constructed sword Edmund had given him after Will brought home a dull practice sword for Edmund one day. "I think I'm ready for lessons!"
Will laughed lightly and looked at the Dalen's rather sloppy method for a moment. His youngest son couldn't hold a candle to Edmund. No one could. "Maybe in a few years, Dalen," Will said with the air of a parent who didn't plan on ever really giving their child what they wanted. Dalen didn't need to know how to fight.
"Hey, dad! Watch this!" Edmund was standing up on the balcony of their small home with two floors. As Will turned his head, Edmund sprit ely jumped off the balcony and pulled out his sword, looking almost like a gymnast from ancient Greece as he started fighting with his younger brother.
"Will!" Elizabeth called out from the kitchen window. She'd seen the whole thing. "Aren't you going to tell Edmund how dangerous that is?" Her face was lined with slight worry as she stared at her husband, her hand smoothing out the light green dress he'd bought her just last week. She looked incredibly lovely right now...how could Will not reprimand the headstrong child for her?
Will frowned slightly as he glanced at his sons and held up his hand. They both instantly stopped fighting. "Edmund...that was a very stupid thing to do, son," he said sharply until he heard Elizabeth turn away from the window to continue working on dinner once more. "But it was rather amazing...I don't think I've seen anyone do that sort of move before! You'll definitely be able to best any threat in the Caribbean."
Edmund beamed and soaked up the praise almost like a puppy soaks up meaningless words of endearment. "I hope so, dad," he said as Dalen both glared and idolized Edmund near his side. Once that brief moment of tenderness passed, Edmund and Dalen started fighting again.
It really was an unfair fight, for Dalen was directly facing the setting sun and had only a wooden sword. In a few minutes, Edmund had snapped the sword in two and nearly cut Dalen's cheek. It was only then that Will stopped the fight...Edmund needed all the practice he could get. He'd be big, one day. Not like Will...he wouldn't be stuck in a bloody blacksmith. He'd make it to Admiral. Imagine that...Admiral Edmund Turner. It had quite a ring to it.
Will smiled as he put his simple gold wedding ring back on as Lottie laughed. "What's so funny?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, Will...you just make me laugh...you kill me with your little jokes." Lottie laughed again, her red hair falling into pleased ringlets as she let her hair out of the bun it had been in, to keep it from tangling. "I don't know what I'd do without your visits." She smiled and squealed as he suddenly picked her up and placed her on his knee.
Will blinked quickly as he watched Dalen slap his knee at some rather off-beat joke his brilliant son Edmund had come up with. He laughed as well. "That's definitely a keeper, Edmund. Where do you come up with all these jokes?"
"I hear a few of 'em, near the fort," Edmund announced proudly, smiling at Will. "Mulroy enjoys letting me stand guard with him."
"As he should...you're a fine young boy, Edmund. And you'll make a fine military man, someday. The best. Maybe even in charge of all the troops, in London." Will smiled proudly. "Just make sure you pay really close attention to what they do."
"I will, dad. Don't worry. They really like me, up at the fort. Mulroy said someday he'd let me watch the prison at night." Edmund smiled again as Will nodded his approval. It was clear he idolized his father...
Will flinched slightly as the cotton bandage pulled at the sore skin around the burn. "Ouch!" he said loudly, glaring at Elizabeth with utmost disgust for a few moments.
She merely rolled her eyes at him and chided gently, "You need this to be bandaged, Will. You don't want an infection or gangrene, do you?" She smiled slightly, a worried look in her eyes mixing with one of pity. He'd just been somewhere else...how she wished she could go along with him and see what bothered him so much.
"Of course not," Will replied sadly, calming himself down. He hated it when she looked at him like that...like he'd hit her or something. He'd treated her like a queen, for goodness sake! And she had the gall to look at him like he was nothing. "Don't look at me like that, Elizabeth!" he yelled, pulling his hand away from her gentle and worn hands to hit it down hard across his leg. "Don't look at me like everyone else does! I can't stand it...I can't stand it! I know that everyone in town talks about my work behind my back...they can't respect a man like me. No, they can't respect a man like me because I happened to once know a bloody pirate! Jack ruined my life! He ruined my credibility...now no one knows that I still make swords, Elizabeth...no one knows!" He sighed deeply and put his hand lamely up again. "Do we have any cheese?"
Elizabeth blinked a few times, but made no comment. He needed rest...and lots of it. But she didn't want to be the one to tell him that he needed it. He'd always been so fiercely independent. "Yes. I picked up some cheese at the market today."
"What type of cheese is it?" he asked softly as she finished wrapping the bandage around his hand. It was vaguely reminiscent of the first time he'd come close to telling her of his hidden affections....
"I'm not sure...probably cheshire." Elizabeth shrugged lightly, smiling slightly at the now wrapped finger. That looked much better. If only he could realize how much he was worrying her...
"Cheshire?" Will asked incredulously, standing. "Why do you spend money on such frivolities! My goodness, Elizabeth! Figue would've worked just fine!" Will was very agitated...he usually never came this close to swearing.
"I don't really like cheese from goat milk," Elizabeth replied, staring down at her hands. She never seemed to be able to do anything right anymore.
"Oh." That seemed to placate Will, so he sat back down. "Do we have bread? Cheese is never good just plain...it needs to be accompanied by some sort of bread."
"Yes, we have bread," Elizabeth replied, slowly looking up at his face again. He seemed to be calm again...why did Edmund have to torment his father so, by coming and going like some sort of north wind? "It's in the cupboard, next to the cheese. Why don't you go and fix yourself a snack? Dinner won't be ready for a few more hours."
"I think I'll go and have some cheese and bread, Elizabeth," Will announced as he stood up. "It should calm me down a bit. I've never been so scared in my life." He started walking towards the doorway leading to the hallway, muttering something about swords.