Chapter 2: Heat Building

All through that next week, Elizabeth found herself anxiously waiting for Friday.

Or, rather, Thursday, as it would turn out. A few days after meeting the blacksmith apprentice, she received postage from him, written on simple parchment. There were smudges of what might have been soot on the papyrus.

"Dear Madam Elizabeth:" it read. "I hope this missive finds you in good health. The repairing of your husband's ceremonial sword of commission shall be ready by the evening of Thursday, in time for the swearing-in of officers, as was agreed. Please reply expressly, if it conveniences you, as to whether you or a representative shall receive it at my shop, or if, rather, you would prefer I pay a call on your household with the package for delivery."

Scanning the words line by line, Elizabeth found herself impressed by such a simple note. For a tradesmen, he was verbose, clearly knew his letters. He was polite and considerate, more than most gentleman even. What shone through even more so was his humility. It was signed: William Turner, Jr.

There was a postscript at the bottom of the note: "P.S. If I may be so bold, I enjoyed your conversation."

Elizabeth smiled softly to herself, letting out a curious hum. For a moment, she considered dictating a reply to Carlotta, then thought better of it. Flitting over to her writing desk, she penned a reply herself, sealed it in an envelope and headed downstairs.

Even as she waited outside for the passing courier, Elizabeth almost didn't send it, suddenly consumed by the urge to return to the smithing shop in person, on foot if she had to, even just to convey the reply herself if it meant seeing the blacksmith's apprentice again. As it was, she contented herself with the knowledge of what she had made clear in her reply to his letter, as the courier arrived to receive it from her:

She would pick up the repaired sword herself.

That Thursday evening, her husband was kept late by his duties at the garrison, so Elizabeth summoned a carriage and coachmen herself to take her down to Brown's.

William was waiting for her, the repaired ceremonial sword in hand. Removing it reverently from its case, the man admired its craftsmanship, even as much of it was now the result of his steady hand. He tossed it high, only this time when it came down on his finger, the sword did not tilt dangerously neither one way nor the other.

"The blade is folded steel. And that's gold filigree inlaid into the handle."

Elizabeth eagerly reached for the hilt and William passed it to her. She took an experimental swipe at the air with it, and her smile became radiant. It did not feel too heavy, nor too light.

She was surprised to turn back to William, only to find him watching her. "If I may?" he prompted politely.

Elizabeth swallowed hard, unable to help gazing into his hazel eyes. "Please."

She passed the sword back to him, and Will resumed balancing it on his finger. "Perfectly balanced. The tang is nearly the full width of the blade."

Elizabeth beamed. "Most impressive, Mr. Turner! I'll be sure my husband pays you handsomely. And I daresay my father would be most intrigued to have you inspect his swords…"

"The Governor himself?" William took off his hat. "Madam – I… I mean Mrs. Norrington, I would be honored!"

Elizabeth chuckled, her smile shining. "William, how many times must I tell you to call me Elizabeth?"

"At least once more, Mrs. Norrington."

"You are too kind, sir, but thank you, no. I must insist."

William grinned. "Then I must insist on you calling me William."

"Not Will?" her eyes twinkled.

William swallowed hard. "Ma'am, you may call me whichever pleases you more."

Elizabeth smirked happily. "Will, then."

Elizabeth's father, the Governor, did indeed have many swords in his possession, and before she knew it, Elizabeth was suddenly making a habit of inspecting them whenever she paid a call to her father's house. She was no expert in smithing or metallurgy, but if she even found one thing that might be wrong or defective in any of the blades, she encouraged her father to send them on to the blacksmith.

"He is quite talented, Father!" she would tell Governor Swann. "James was duly impressed by the repairs to his ceremonial sword at the officers' commissioning ceremony!"

"Indeed. I heard as much," Weatherby Swann warbled. "He informed me he's never seen a more finely repaired piece in all the colonies!"

"Your collection would improve wonders, Father!" Elizabeth encouraged. "The blacksmith is quite talented!"

"Mr. Brown, you mean?" Weatherby chortled. "I've heard tell that he has become a drunkard of late!"

Elizabeth blushed. "His apprentice, I mean. He… he has been taught well."

Weatherby pursed his lips in bemusement. "Indeed. We must pay compliments to his master, then."

"I shall!" Elizabeth bubbled. "And if you are in need of any repairs yourself, I could deliver them!" Internally, she chastised herself for sounding too eager.

"Elizabeth," her father admonished. "Your husband and I are happy for your help, but don't you think these little errands would be better suited for the servants?"

"Does a lady not need fresh air now and again? I, for one, find it torture to sit with a book idly when I could be helping my household!"

"How true, how true!" her father clucked amusedly. "Very well, my dear. If you are that insistent, take this rapier to the young blacksmith apprentice and do pay my compliments upon his master."

Elizabeth set off for the smithing shop the very next morning and presented her father's rapier to Will.

He studied it judiciously. "This should be a simple repair," he noted. "Why, a few whacks with the sledgehammer and it should be right as rain! I can have it ready in minutes – unless, of course, you are pressed for time, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth beamed. "Not at all."

She was quite content to watch him work. She marveled at his strength as he wielded the heavy sledgehammer high and brought it down hard on the heated steel.

"Were you born in Port Royal?" she found herself wanting to know more and more about this talented, polite, friendly man.

"Nay, madam…"

"Ah-ah. Elizabeth," she corrected him with a grin.

"Elizabeth," he acceded. A slight pause and then:

"I was born in Glasgow, the Scottish highlands. But my mother raised me in England. She was a schoolteacher before marriage, and taught me my letters." He paused in his wailing with the hammer. "She… she passed when I was very young. Scarcely twelve."

Elizabeth felt a piece of her heart pang in sympathy for him. She knew what it was like – deeply – to lose a mother. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I… When…. When my mother died, I was even younger. Eight. My father nearly refused his appointment as Governor of Port Royal, he was still so sick with grief, but His Majesty insisted."

Will lifted his head and looked at her intensely. "You carry on her legacy well." Elizabeth had to turn her face away so he wouldn't see her blush. Will resumed hammering on the rapier.

"And your father?" she inquired.

"He was a merchant seaman. Away sailing for months at a time. I only ever saw him but once, when I was a tiny boy, and I hardly remember it. All the same…. I am proud to share his name."

Elizabeth smiled. "I should someday like to meet this William Turner, Sr., should he live."

Will laughed. "I have my doubts he does, Elizabeth. I've heard word of how he was apparently lost at sea, sometime before my mother died. When she passed, I at last received word from relatives that I was to have passage on a ship to Cuba – an uncle on my mother's side owned a plantation there. We were nearly there when….. pirates attacked our frigate."

Elizabeth gasped, enthralled. "Pirates?"

"Yes. They came aboard. I tried to hide. See this?" And he suddenly held up a medallion gold piece hanging from a chain around his neck.

Elizabeth reached out to touch it, hesitated, then retracted her hand back. "It's beautiful! …." she breathed.

"It 'tis, isn't it? I found it my pocket after I had been knocked out…."

"What?!" Elizabeth cried, stricken.

"Yes. Received a nasty bump on the head. I must have gone overboard for next thing I know, my ship and all her crew had sunk, and I was being pulled aboard the HMS Dauntless, having floated in on a piece of driftwood."

"I know the ship of which you speak," Elizabeth exclaimed. "It was in His Majesty's fleet in this port; my father sailed for England on it once! It's since been retired, as I understand it."

Will nodded, turning back to his work. "Anyway, by the by, the Dauntless docked here in Port Royal. I had no money and no prospects. The blacksmith Brown, kind fellow that he was, took pity on me and took me on as an apprentice to pay for my room and board. I learned smithing – a valuable skill."

Elizabeth grinned. "Clearly, for your hands are so tailored for it."

Will sent her a tousled grin and Elizabeth sucked in a breath sharply. Her heart seemed to skip a beat. Shyly, she held out her hand.

"See this?"

Will glanced down from his work. "Your wedding band?"

"No," she chuckled. "That would be the other hand. This…." she held it up to the light of the forge. "…. is my mother's ring."

Will took her hand to inspect it, and Elizabeth exhaled a tiny gasp as a spark flickered up the length of her arm.

"It's an exquisite piece… I daresay it has no equal." Will lifted his head to peer at her.

Elizabeth nodded slowly. "So, you see, I know just how you feel about that medallion."

Will fingered the gold piece around his neck and smiled to himself, nodding slowly.