Chapter four: Why?
Jack sat on a deck chair and watched Anya. She was so strange to him. A puzzle if there ever was one, and the most vital clue; she claimed not to know. Was she really this Anya Jacqueline? Or was she just Jackie, the maid who worked for his late wife?
She was sitting in the morning light, squinting down at her work, her nose delicately scrunched as she worked on a piece of embroidery for Isaiah. A little Noah's Ark scene, Jack thought.
She was positioned to where he couldn't see the scars. Her profile was striking, and if he could only look at her this way, he would be pretty happy. Isaiah was in a small crib one of the crew made for him, besides Anya. She was singing in a dulcet tone a little tune he hadn't heard in a while.
"As I was walking down in Stokes Bay,
I met a drowned sailor on the beach as he lay,
And as I drew nigh him, it put me to a stand,
When I knew it was my own true Love,
By the marks on his hand,"
Jack closed his eyes as she took a breath to launch into the next verse. The crew started slowing their work; oblivious by Anya as she was concentrating on her stitching.
"As he was a sailing from his own dear shore,
Where the waves and the billows so loudly do roar,
I said to my true Love, I shall see you no more,
So farewell my dearest, you're the lad I adore."
By now most of the crew were standing still, either watching her or gazing out into the distance. Jack opened his eyes and smirked. It was a strange site to see these hard buccaneers wistful by the singing of a lady.
"She put her arms around him saying, O! My dear!
She wept and she kiss'd him ten thousand times o'er.
Oh, I am contended to lie by thy side.
And in a few moments, this lover she died."
Anya looked up startled to see such an avid audience, but after much protestation, started the final verse.
"And all in the churchyard these two were laid.
And a stone for remembrance was laid on her grave,
My joys are all ended, my pleasures are fled
This grave that I lie in is my new married bed."
The crew clapped and Jack mused that Anya looked like a startled dear. She smiled in thanks, and quickly started to round up her things; apparently going to flee to her cabin.
"Can you sew fairly well?" Jack walked over to the scrambling maid.
"Sorry?" She was always apologizing for things she needn't.
"I was wondering if you could stitch up a few sails. If you can do skin like a doctor, maybe you can do sails like a sailor. I'll pay you for your efforts."
Anya sat down heavily and looked around her. The morning was bright, the sea sparkling. They decided to sail to a bit deeper water, and try to avoid the sweeps that run out around the ports. They had false colors up, but one could never be too careful. That's one thing Anya always saw about the captain. He was always careful. Calculating. Never really giving up too much information at one time; if at all. There were thunder-heads out on the horizon, and a few crew members mentioned how it might rain. There was a smell in the air.
The sails were filled with wind, and they were making fairly good progress. The captain stated that they would reach Port Royal in a few days.
"I'm sure I can," Anya said slowly. She glanced at the sleeping Isaiah. Jack noted how her skin was a bit pinker from being in the constant sun, and it brought more color to her otherwise alabaster skin. "But you needn't pay me."
Jack called for someone to fetch the sails that needed mending, and sat down next to her, leaning against the bulwark. She crossed her legs in her skirt, and rummaged around her sewing box, frowning.
"I don't think I have a strong enough needle," She pointed out, emerging from the depths of her box, her dark brows now together in a look of frustration. She felt so put on the spot with him staring at her like that.
"And bring a needle!" Jack called over his shoulder, his eyes still on Anya. The items were brought and she began her work.
"Why do you wear that stuff on your eyes?" Anya ventured, her head bowed in work. That day she had let her hair down, and pulled back only the sides. She felt oddly free on a pirate ship, so this did not bother her. She bowed her head more, hiding behind the veil of hair that fell from her shoulders.
"The kohl?"
"If that is what it is,"
"It helps reflect the sun. Any small comfort helps." He made a mental note to try and make her wear it.
"I heard about your last ship," There was silence. Anya quickly shut her eyes in sypmathy and embarrassment. She was so stupid! She hardly knew this man, and was in an uncomfortable position as it were. I mean, come on! She was caring for his wife's baby by another man. Now she was bringing up what was most likely a sore subject.
"Who told you?" Jack finally asked calmly. He looked up into the large white billowing sails. It was a nice ship, the one that Lord Hanover had provided. It was no Black Pearl, but it was a large three masted ship. Fast too. He felt the wood under his hands. He would have to commend whoever did the swabbing.
"Francis–I mean Mr. Hanover,"
"He knows little of what happened." Jack grunted.
Anya sighed. He must not be too mad then, if he was talking somewhat. Her bravery slowly grew.
"Does anyone of the crew?"
"Hutt was about to sign the articles. So he knows a bit more then this crew. I just now picked them up. A few I have known before. Like Wyeth and O'Malley. I wouldn't have had them on my last ship, but they do for this one,"
Anya blinked, and lifted her head a little. He was in a talkative mood. "Why don't you covet this one like your last?"
"Because this one was free. Well...sorta. I have to do an errand." He carefully skirted around the subject. Maybe if he revealed a little of her, she would let her guard down and talk to him. "The Black Pearl...I bought her. I know...a pirate buying something. No, but I wanted her to be mine. Not stolen from somebody else. I made her. Black ship with black sails. Nothing like her in the seven seas. One day I will have her back."
Anya was quiet for a long minute. His voice had taken on such zeal and...what was it? Hunger. Hunger for his ship. This one may have been grand, but it wasn't his, as he put it. He was such a strange man.
"Who is your sister-in-law like?"
"What is y our past like?" They both asked at the same time. Jack sighed and answered first.
"Charlotte is very nice," He said, trying to draw memory of the older woman. "She sits ram rod straight. She has three children who are grown. Only her youngest daughter; May stays with her as her companion. I think she never married. May, not Charlotte. Perhaps now with you in the house, you can be Charlotte's companion, and May can find her happiness."
"Perhaps she will want to join you," Anya joked, putting aside a finished sail. Jack chuckled, but noted a hint of something in her voice.
"Maybe," he said more to himself. "So, what is your past like?"
"Maybe I could stay here?" Anya suddenly blurted. She wanted to say anything then what she had confessed to Francis. Jack was taken aback, and was silent for a long stretch of time.
"Very funny," he finally said. "You promised to look after Isaiah for Isabel,"
Anya threw the sails away from her and grabbed up the now awake baby.
"He's your child," She said defensively, standing up, and all but glowering down at Jack. He stood up in turn, frowning.
"No. He isn't."
"Yes he is! Why cant you take him? I may have promised Isabel to look after him...but I didn't know she would die! I can't take care of a baby!"
"Your doing a good job of it now," Jack reasoned. But she would have none of it. Maybe she wasn't Anya Jacqueline after all. Maybe she was just a frazzled maid with a poor memory.
"Good day," Anya said cooling, taking her sewing box and leaving the half-finished sails on the deck floor. Jack gathered them up and frowned after her.
Francis soon walked over to where Jack still stood.
"What was that about?" Francis asked, clouting the captain on his shoulder.
"I don't think she is a Russian Princess,"
"She would be an archduchess. Or Tzarina. Not princess. But I think you are right. If she was, could you imagine how she would take it?"