YAY! Two chapters in one night … I feel accomplished!
Daughter of the Dutchman: Gone. For Now
The stew was finished. To me, it was the best I've ever made. And my parents agreed.
Their smiles made me forget Calypso's visit and her warning. She frightened me more than Jack's friends from the village, and they were the ones …
Best not think of that. Better to forget, let it fade. It makes me shiver just to think of it.
I glanced out at the horizon as I cleaned my bowl. The sun was fading, and with it, time. Time with my father.
I went back inside and replaced the bowl on its shelf. The stew I left over the embers of the fire; Jack would be hungry when he came back. My parents went outside to clean their bowls, leaving me alone.
On some mad impulse, I went to Jack's room and opened the door a crack. I didn't expect to see anything.
Until something thumped into the doorjamb just inches from my nose. A quivering dagger was stuck in the wood.
"Jack?" I asked, opening the door wider by a fraction. "Please don't kill me Jack."
"Calypso? Aren't you supposed to be doting on your father like a good girl?" Jack asked scathingly.
I scrambled for an answer. "I thought you might be hungry." I opened the door, then closed it behind me. "I made stew." I yanked the dagger out of the wood. Simply made, the blade was thin with relentless sharpening. The harsh wooden handle was blackened, and fit in my palm almost perfectly. "If you want some." I added, not meeting his eyes.
Jack lounged on his small bed, a maniac smile on his lips. "I'll get some later. And don't even think of telling Mother I've been here all day, listening. She won't like that."
I nodded and placed the knife on his bedside table. Then I left. I quickly closed the door when my parents noticed whose room I had come out of.
"Calypso?" My mother smiled from the doorway to the back door. The sun disappeared under the cliff, leaving the house in shadow. "Is he there?"
I shook my head slowly. "Why does Jack hate you so?" I asked, meeting my father's eyes.
He shook his head sadly, but smiled slightly. "I don't know. He wasn't always like this. But his choices are his own; I can do nothing to change it if he insists on staying away." He shrugged, then looked at the sun and cursed.
It was a word I didn't know, but I repeated it ten times to myself to memorize it. It sounded useful.
"William!" My mother scolded. He just laughed, and she muttered: "Never mind me. I'm just a mother, trying to protect the ears of my only daughter."
"She'll learn eventually," my father muttered, smiling. "As you did, and I did, and everyone did. It comes from growing up."
Father looked at the horizon and cursed again. "It's time." He turned to my mother and held out his hand. She took it, and then reached back for mine. I shook my head, and took my father's free hand.
Father smiled wryly. "Lead the way, niña."
I lead the way down the cliff path, puzzling over the new word. "What does ne-ninya mean?" I asked, struggling with the unfamiliar sound.
"It's Spanish for 'Little girl'." My father answered with a smile. "You are my little girl, niña. Always will be."
We got on the beach as the sun began to sink into the waves. It was a replay of last night, but all the action was backward. Father hugged me first, and then kissed my mother. He turned away, then worked on the knot that held the dingy in place through the night. My mother ran, and kissed my father again.
I clambered on top of the rock I had last night, watching my parents and the sinking sun at the same time.
"Ten years …" My mother started to cry, holding on to him. "It's too long!"
"It'll be over before you know it." Father said, holding her in one arm and the boat's rope in the other. "I have to go, Elizabeth. Now." He peeled her arms off his torso, then stepped into the waves.
"Be strong, my love. Keep a weather eye on the horizon …" He glanced at me, eyes sadder then sad. "Both of you."
With that, he got into the little boat and began to row. Mother started to cry harder, tears pouring down her cheeks like a rainstorm. I let a tear go, but I couldn't let go of all the sadness I felt with salt water on my cheeks.
"Calypso!" He suddenly called, about twenty-five feet out from the shore. "Remember what I offered you! And remember the dreams!"
The wind blew the rest of his words away as he got farther from shore. But a familiar voice I had heard not long ago whispered:
"He said, 'And go wid my love, my niña. Love wid all your heart, for widout it, life holds noding for you.'"
Together, my mother and I comforted each other on the beach.
A flash of green, and he was gone. For now.