Chapter 3

Five years later...

The sea was an unbroken expanse of steel gray, extending unbroken to the horizon. A gentle spring rain fell, creating the tiniest ripples in the ocean's surface. Tiny droplets ran in meandering rivulets down the windows of a gray, clapboard house on high, grassy bluff. Elizabeth Turner gazed out one of those windows at the misty landscape and sullen sea and sky. For a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of wondering what the weather was like wherever Will might be. Then, she resolutely dragged her eyes back to her desk and the pile of correspondence waiting for her attention.

Some of the letters were bills: Grocer, milliner, and dressmaker. Those she laid aside to deal with later. It had taken a long, hard year of negotiations with her father's solicitors in London but ultimately, she'd out-stubborned them and gained her inheritance. Thankfully, Billy had been just a baby then; three months old and too young to remember the sordid boarding houses she had endured and her quick escapes when the Navy got too close. Inheritance in hand, she'd been able to have a modest house built. She chose for its location am isolated island inhabited only by a small herd of wild horses; Elizabeth supposed they must be survivors of a Spanish wreck for they were very fine-looking animals. The lonely island was well-situated: within a day's sail of Jamaica and Port Royal, but far enough outside the shipping lanes that her presence went largely unremarked.

She laid aside a stack of broadsheets newly come from England. Her face had long since ceased to appear in them along with the offer of 10,000 pounds sterling to whoever brought her to justice. Her location kept her hidden and her money bought the silence of the few who might speak out of turn or ask untidy questions. She, herself, cared nothing for public opinion, rewards or notoriety. All her thoughts, every day, focused on one thing only: the well-being of her son.

But at night, matters were quite different. It was only in the solitude of her bed, in the tropical scented darkness, that she allowed herself to think of Will for more than a fleeting second. Some nights she smiled into the darkness, the sweetness of memory bringing a curve to her lips. Some nights she cried desolate, lonely tears. Some nights she raged at the unfairness of it all, screaming her fury into the pillows so Billy would not hear and be frightened. "More than half the time gone now," she thought. "I am on the downward slope." She would not allow herself to think past sunset on the glorious day when she would be reunited with Will. The idea of beginning the climb anew would surely crush her should she dwell upon it overly much.

She piled the bills neatly and opened the drawer where she kept outstanding correspondence. But when she tried to close it, it jammed on something. Sliding the drawer out again, she reached into the back where her fingers touched a crumpled piece of paper. Pulling it free, she turned it over, immediately recognizing the slanted handwriting. James. If hearing his name in her head made her frown slightly, the name that followed on its heels considerably brightened her expression. Molly. She settled back in her chair, scanned the crumpled letter and for a moment, was overcome with fresh gratitude. James had, all unknowing, saved her sanity when he'd sent her Molly Weaver. And no small feat that must have been for him. If he had not found Gibbs, and if Gibbs had not consented to bring the girl to her hidden sanctuary, Elizabeth was quite sure she would have lost her mind long since.

Half-mad with grief and depression, all alone on a deserted island with helpless infant, she had frankly stared at the waif who stood beside Gibbs on her threshold. She turned on Gibbs, ready to flay him alive for revealing her secret without her permission but when she saw the letter in his hand bearing James' familiar handwriting, she stopped cold. She snatched it from his hand and broke the seal with trembling hands, terrified thoughts whirling in her mind. She had been discovered. Will was dead. Jack was dead. The possibilities had been dreadful. But in the end, James simply wanted her help and to help her in return. She let out a half-sob of relief and silently motioned the pair inside. Molly had been her constant companion ever since.

A small noise made Elizabeth cock her head, listening in the way all mothers do for possible mischief or premature awakening. But all was silence. Billy was still sleeping. At nearly five, he still took a short nap in the afternoon. She idly wondered how much longer he would need it. A melancholy sadness gripped her, and she felt torn. He was not her sweet baby any more yet the more he grew, the closer she was to reuniting with Will. Musing on growth and the passage of time, her thoughts drifted once again to Molly.

The girl had come to her unschooled and ragged. She had not known her letters save to laboriously spell her own name. At table, she displayed atrocious manners and seemed ignorant of even the most basic grooming tasks. After a few days of observing the girl with undisguised horror, it gave Elizabeth new purpose to begin patiently instructing Molly in the niceties of behavior. Washing and brushing the girl's shining auburn hair became a nightly ritual. Slowly, as Molly bloomed and Elizabeth emerged from her cocoon of despair, a bond developed between the two young women and Elizabeth began teaching Molly her letters. A stranger watching them bend over their books, hair freshly washed and streaming over their shoulders, might have mistaken them for sisters rather than maid and mistress.

The first years on the island were hard. A small garden provided a meager crop but Elizabeth, Billy and Molly relied upon Gibbs for the bulk of their supplies. A wanted man himself, it was not easy for him to meet the needs of a woman and two growing children. Rum and hardtack he could easily supply, but if a man could not show his face in decent places, decent goods could be hard to find. They often went without such essentials as meat and milk until Gibbs finally managed to procure one evil-tempered she-goat. It was during their second year together that Elizabeth began to learn from Molly. Unlettered though she was, Molly knew the housewifely skills Elizabeth had never learned: milking, churning, cheese making, canning and preserving the small fruits of the garden. Molly took over the washing and mending of their few precious clothes and was a wonder at altering small Billy's things so they might last another season. She was also marvelously skilled with plant dyes though they had precious little fabric to spare.

The second year passed, slightly better than the first but still perilously close to hand-to-mouth. Then, two days after Molly's sixteenth birthday, Gibbs and Molly approached Elizabeth with an audacious plan. Gibbs would sail Molly to Port Royal in the single-masted skiff Elizabeth kept for emergencies. There, Molly, using Elizabeth's money would purchase the supplies they needed under the guise of a maid to an eccentric hermit who preferred to live apart from society. It was a dangerous plan. Molly could be robbed of the money. She and Gibbs could be followed back to Elizabeth's hideaway. Worst of all Molly, the only one of the trio without a price on her head, could be declared a pirate by association and face the gallows. Molly readily accepted the dangers but Elizabeth refused agree until Gibbs and Molly played on her maternal concerns. Billy needed better food if he was to thrive. Eventually, more books would be required to see to his education. They argued these points until finally Elizabeth agreed to try the arrangement on a trial basis.

That had been three years ago. Since then, the trio had worked out the wrinkles and kinks until Molly's quarterly trips were now seamless and uneventful. The gnawing worry that Elizabeth had felt each time Molly and Gibbs set out had faded to a slight nibble. In fact, the girl was currently in Port Royal and would not return until week's end. Elizabeth glanced at the calendar, looking forward to Molly's return with the muslin for their new summer gowns. No one would see them, but it was something different to do during the long, boring days. Particularly since Molly was intending to experiment with some new dye combinations of plants and berries.

"Mama?" a sleepy voice roused her from her reverie. Her son stood at the door to the study, rubbing sleepy, black-velvet eyes. She refolded the faded letter and put it away, then she went to her son gathering him in a warm embrace.

"Good afternoon, Master Turner!" she said lightly. "Are you hungry? There is bread and milk in the kitchen." She led her son away, the letter, James and Molly forgotten for the moment.

Author's Note: Although others have interpreted that Will's captaincy of the Dutchman would end after ten years, I have always thought that his fate was to captain the ship forever, only allowed to visit dry land once every ten years.