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Chapter 3: Memories and Nightmares
"Elizabeth, darling, you must think of the baby!" Governor Swann felt panicky as his daughter was filled with a determination he loathed to view. It always boded trouble. The storm brewing under her skin would be a horrible one and though he was in no shape to stand through it, he didn't-couldn't think she was able to leave Port Royal.
"The baby and I will be fine. I still have three months before the birth." The aforementioned woman was stuffing a long white chemise into a small trunk. Her pale hands shook as she rolled another of Will's overcoats into the same piece of luggage. She would find him. No matter the cost.
Her attention was onto the next article of clothing. It was a pale green gown with sleeves and hem trimmed in soft lace and creamy white embroidery. But it was not the beauty or delicate handiwork that took her breath away.
It was the reminder of Will. He had loved that dress on her. She remembered the first day she had donned it as if it was yesterday.
Elizabeth tucked up the last curl laying her on shoulders and pinned it firmly into place. Then with a critical air she surveyed her face.
"You look beautiful."
She started at the low voice in her ear. Pivoting in her chair, she saw her husband leaning over her. "Will, don't do that!"
"Call you beautiful? I was under the impression you liked that." Will grinned at her like a Cheshire cat.
"No, sneaking up on me." She focused on the mirror and poked a tiny curl resting on her forehead. Absently, she watched in the reflection as Will seated himself on a chair nearby. "Will, are you worried about tonight?"
He looked taken off guard. "No, should I be?"
"I suppose not." Elizabeth opened a little box and chose a slender gold necklace. "It's just…" She trailed off while her fingers fumbled with the clasp until Will's warm fingers closed over her own.
"Here," he loosened the catch and laid it around her neck, closing it firmly. He waited until she patted the jewels before speaking again. "It's just, what?"
Elizabeth pulled her chin down so he couldn't see the apprehension building in her eyes. "I'm nervous." It was barely a whisper.
"Lizzie," Will came around to sit by her side, tipped her head up, and stared at her intently. "You have nothing to be concerned about. Your father will be thrilled with our news."
Elizabeth smiled weakly. "It's not that."
"Then what is it?"
"You'll think me silly." Her cheeks began to burn and not from the warm evening air.
"I could never think you silly. Now tell me what has got my wife in a fix the night we announce becoming a family?"
"This dress…it…"
"Yes?"
"It makes me look more pregnant than I am." Elizabeth blurted then felt her face grow three shades darker.
Will almost laughed but caught himself. "Elizabeth, you look more beautiful than the first time I saw you. And then I thought you an angel."
"Will, you really mean that?"
"Of course I do."
"Still, I think I'll just put on the blue gown-" She stood to enter the dressing room but Will caught her hand.
"Elizabeth…don't…this dress…it suits you."
She gazed at him for an explanation.
"Your eyes…it brings out the green in them."
"And you don't mind the lump?" Elizabeth smoothed the cloth over her womb.
"That lump, as you so eloquently put it, is our child." Will's dark orbs twinkled like the sky at midnight. He transferred her hand to his other and led her to a tall gilded mirror in the future child's bedroom. Then, with his chin resting over her shoulder, they gazed at her reflection.
"Do you know what I see?"
Elizabeth resisted the urge to fidget with the skirts. That fold there is just didn't…work. "What do you see?"
"I see the deepest amber eyes a woman could posses. I see an unearthly breathtaking face. And I see a glow in you that no other person I know boasts. Never doubt yourself, Lizzie." He pressed a light kiss to her high cheekbone and vanished into the corridor.
As she buried her face in the delicate, flowing fabric, emotions she had long been suppressing surfaced. Tears seared her eyes and threatened to tumble free.
A warm hand came to rest on her shoulder but even the slim strand of comfort offered there broke her heart further.
It should have been Will to hold her close and tell her everything would be alright. It should have been Will's callused hand resting on her trembling shoulder. It should have been Will!
Arms closed about her waist and her father's voice spoke in her ear, "He'll be just fine, Elizabeth. And if your heart truly beckons this strongly to follow him then I can no longer stand against it."
She nodded, the ability to speak strangely gone.
"I will arrange for your passage to the colonies. I can do no more for you as that will be out of British territory but I hope that you find him."
Slowly, she eased herself out to stare up at her the Governor. "Y-you will?"
"He has proven himself able to care for you and I wish for my grandchild to be raised by two parents." His wrinkled fingers brushed away a stubborn tear sliding down Elizabeth's cheek. "My only request is that you not forget about the father waiting for you in Port Royal."
"Lift your voice and raise the sail
Know that love will never fail
Know that I will sing to you
Each night as I dream of you"
Mo Ghile Mear
By Celtic Woman
The HMS Stanford was a sturdy, small frigate capable of a myriad of tasks. On this voyage she was lightly armed, able to speed through the water. She was not extravagant but serviceable and clean. Her crisp, white sails, loosed in the morning winds, fluttered and then jerked taught in the gusts.
The deck was spotless and the sailors who manned her were equally without reproach. A fresh strip of sky blue paint glistened around her hull and in clear black letters her name was proudly proclaimed to all.
Everything about her was summed up in one word, spotless. It was her maiden voyage and she showed in every respect her pride in the event.
Elizabeth had been given the captain's quarters, due to her gender. The room was snug but perfectly clean. She could only find one thing to critique and that was the lack of color.
The queen sized bed had a good mattress made of goose down feathers and white linen sheets smelling of lye. The fluffy comforter was a pale gray with no embroidery or embellishments.
A wide table was bolted down to the floor in the center of the room and on it rested a pile of blankets and two silver candlesticks. Cabinets lined one wall, crafted from dark, polished wood. The double doors leading to the main deck were lined with the same chocolate colored wood.
Windows lined the back wall and not a single smudge marred the perfectly translucent surface. A long window seat covered the window's base and even its cushions were covered with the same drab gray.
The one colorful thing in the room was a small painting near the bedside and even that didn't have much contrast. The image showed a troubled sea near a rocky shore. Pallid sunlight dusted the foam and crashing waves frozen on a piece of canvas. It was not the brilliant turquoise of the Caribbean waters but that of England. Each wave revealed a new shade of gray and dark blue. The heavens were nearly black and a tendril of lightning had been drawn as striking the turbulent waters, the feathery illumination etched white stripes down the dark waters. Mist hid the horizon from her and it almost was if she could feel the sea spray on her face and the chill of terror skittering up and down her spine.
"Mrs. Turner?" Captain Mitchell's deep booming voice startled her and she jerked away from the painting as a child caught in some forbidden treats.
"Yes?" she scrambled to retain her dignity.
"Is everything to your liking?"
"Yes, yes, of course. The room is very comfortable." Elizabeth chose her words carefully as to not comment of the color selections.
He nodded, clear blue eyes stern. "Excellent. Breakfast is served at precisely eight o'clock and dinner is at four."
Elizabeth nodded absently, finding her eyes drifting back to the painting.
Silence reigned for a moment until the captain spoke again following her gaze, "it's from England. An old codger painted it for me, said it would bring good luck." He paused, obviously debating within himself as to whether he had offended her, "if you believe such things." He added finally.
"Its very well done." She commented. In truth it reminded her frighteningly of the day she had nearly died on the Isla de Muerta. The same terrifying sensation lay in the painting as in her heart to that day. Will had always been there though to soothe away her nightmares with his affectionate words and tender embraces.
A commotion was heard above them and Captain Mitchell turned a degree or two. "It seems I am needed. If you'll excuse me?"
She affirmed with a nod and managed a small smile.
The door clicked shut as he left and Elizabeth crossed the room to stare out over the waters, purposely putting her back to the painting. It was bolted to the wall, that she knew from spending a good portion of her life on board such vessels, preventing her from removing it. All she could do was ignore it.
Curling into the smallest ball possible, she settled herself on the window seat and let her eyes drift closed.
TBC...