No. That was her thought, no. She held the dried red rose between her delicate fingers. The thorns so petrified they no longer posed a threat. The stem long ago shriveled drooping under the weight of the crimson bloom. The petals had shrunk away into a mess of wrinkles wilting to one side.
This was what was left of her wedding bouquet.
Ireland bent over the table crying her eyes, running mascara with eye shadow and pink blush to create a horrid brown mushy color. She held up the flower; having shrunk away so very long and stared into the depths of its murky red.
"Could it be that long ago?" she began to remember.
There was quite a stir in the port that day. A strange ship had arrived. Black as night sails, and dark mahogany wood stained with pitch. She had tilted her head in wonderment. What was the Pearl doing back here? She looked around at the strange faces on shore with her. She couldn't find an answer.
James Norrington strode loading his flintlock as fast as he could; accompanied by his many men. He was scurrying to Jack's ship looking rather flustered. Ireland dared to follow him.
"Will? Jack? What's going on?" Ireland called reaching the gangplank before Norrington and his men. She looked around, the crew looked sullen. The parrot didn't bother to squawk a greeting, and no crew member bothered to tell her this is no place for a lady. They all sat hats on their chest. William stood, next to him Anna and Elizabeth crying softly. Ireland began to worry. Jack would've pulled into that hidden cove just a way down the island, not come into the main port. And speaking of Jack, where was he? Ireland looked confused.
"Mrs. Sparrow I'll have to ask you to leave the ship, as of now everyone aboard is under arrest," Norrington said backed by his men.
"Have ye, no respect for the dead?" Gibbs barked. "Can ya not see the grief here?"
"Dead sir?"
"Josh, who died?" Ireland asked worry coming over her. Gibbs didn't answer. Horror stricken Ireland ran into the Captain's Quarters. The large bed was neatly made the red silk sheets undisturbed, maps and charts strewn about scattered with quills and empty ink bottles. But no Jack to turn from his desk and greet her warmly like he always did. "No," she said denying the horrible truth. "He's still here!" she cried.
"We've got his body in rum," Gibbs offered. But it was too much Ireland sunk on her knees crying hard. Grief racking her delicate body.
She isolated herself from the rest of her husband's friends from then on. She still dared to speak to no one living off the money Jack had left her. The ship she had given to Will knowing he would take care of it. Gibbs lived close by with his wife. Anna had run off with another crew member. Elizabeth was the talk of high society and Norrington comes to call every now and then. Life never seemed the same after Jack had died. Everything so empty and hollow….but this...this soul reminder of that life so long ago...this rose...this rose he had givien her...the rose of the Caribbean...