I do not own PotC. I own Calypso, though.
Daughter of the Dutchman: William Turner
A week later, nine months exactly before my birthday, Mother was anxious. Very anxious, it scared me.
She had refused to answer any of my questions about my father. Jack just smiled, shook his head, and went back to the shop. I pestered her as she cleaned the house. She finally lost her patience with me.
"He's coming soon, and that's all I or your brother will say! Now go weed the garden!"
"I did that yesterday." I look up at her, worried.
"Then go play outside with your friends." She pointed out the front door, but I went through the kitchen to the back. It leads to a trail that took you down the cliff, straight to the ocean. This was where my "friends" where, and where I found solitude and strength.
I guess you could say I've always been a solitary child. I've never had that many friends, due to our house's location. It was three kilometers to the nearest town. I could read and write, but I've never been to school.
I was pale, with skin that refused to darken in the sun. I had the deepest brown eyes, and almost the same color hair. I was tall for my age, and very skinny, no matter how much I ate.
The sea called me, always has. I don't know why, but the idea of sailing appealed to me.
I stayed on the beach for many hours, perched on a rock and watching the waves roll in. High tide was coming, night was falling. The sun touched the water, it seemed, and sank. Farther, farther it went, until the sun was but a sliver on the horizon.
There it was, the green flash I had seen the week before. I blinked, and there was something on the edge, where water met sky. I watched with fascination as it came closer. A ship! What was it doing here, and where did it come from?
Suddenly I heard my mother come down the cliff path I had taken. She stopped next to the rock I was perched on, looking more alive than I had ever seen her. Jack followed, smiling slightly to himself.
A small dingy detached itself from the larger boat. The silhouette of a single man could be seen rowing the boat towards shore.
"Who is that?" I asked Jack, since my mother was probably beyond hearing.
"That is who you've been asking about for the past week, Calypso. Captain William Turner, and our father." The bitterness in his voice surprised me.
"Why are you angry?" I asked, frowning.
"Because, he is cursed. And I don't like the whispers in the village about us. They call us bastard children, because he isn't around. They call mother a slut, no matter the fact she's Mrs. Turner. I have no intention of talking to him."
"Oh." I murmur, after a pause. Jack shook his head, then turned and went back up the cliff path.
I didn't see why he was angry, but perhaps that was because I didn't know what 'bastard' and 'slut' meant. I slid off the rock as the boat hit the shore, and the man, William Turner, jumped out.
He had the same hair color as me, though most of it was covered by a blue bandana wrapped around his forehead. His face had a mustache and a neatly trimmed beard.
Mother stood, a little ways away from him, as he dragged the boat farther up shore and tied it to a rock. I peered around her elbow, watching as he completed a sturdy knot around the rocks.
Only then did he meet my mother's eyes, smiling broadly. She took a step forward, then another, and then they were running toward each other. He caught her in a hug and spun her around. For the first time in my life, I heard my mother laugh. It was cut off as he kissed her.
I felt like I was intruding on something private, but I couldn't take my eyes away. I'd never seen my mother like this.
They broke away from each other, and then held each other close. He stiffened, meeting my eyes over my mother's shoulder.
"And who is this?" He, my father, eased out of my mother's embrace and came toward me. My eyes darted to my mother, then settled on my bare feet.
Rough hands gently forced my head up, and made me meet his eyes. "What's your name, child?" He smiled reassuringly. That smile gave me confidence.
"Calypso." I tilted my head to the side slightly as he released me. "You must be William Turner, whom Jack says is our father."
"Jack? Jack Sparrow?" William glanced at my mother. She shook her head, laughing.
"No, I haven't seen Captain Jack Sparrow in years. That is what he insists on calling himself now. Ever since I told him the stories, he has become … stubborn." Elizabeth ran a hand through her loose brown hair.
"And where is William … Jack … now?" My father asked, looking down the beach.
"Presumably back up to the village." I say quietly. "Jack said he didn't want to talk to you, even see you. Why?"
Elizabeth answered. "Because that is his way."
William just nodded, watching his wife with troubled eyes.
My enthusiasm was not going to be contaminated with my brother's bad manners. "Let's go back to the house!" I grinned, tugging at my father's rough hand. "Come on, come on!"
William laughed and let me lead him to the path up the cliff.
Jack wasn't there when we go to the cottage, but that was to be expected.