Chapter 18: Sacrifice
We buried her that night.
The moon and stars gleamed that night – it was perfect weather for a wedding. But we were having a funeral instead.
My mother's garden, the one I had weeded for countless years of my childhood, lay in a pile next to the deep hole my father and my husband had finished digging a few minutes before.
Father brought her out, cradling her in his arms. Tears may have carved tracks in the remnants of the dirt on his face, but he did not falter as he climbed into the grave. Gently, he laid his wife into the ground and arranged her body. She looked as if she was sleeping as he kissed her lips one last time.
"Elizabeth … I'll join you soon enough. That I can promise," he whispered. I don't think he meant us to hear that, but chills went up by spine when I realized what he meant.
I stepped forward, scooped up a handful of rich, garden dirt, and looked down at her. Memories flooded though my mind: us waiting for my father to come ten years ago, my arguments with her about stupid things, Jacks wedding, my wedding, Jack Sparrow's arrival, us laughing together when we both completely mess up our sewing projects … Laughter infused with giggling and even more laughter. That was who my mother was, in the end. A laughing woman with two headstrong children, just like the other half of her soul.
"You'll be here, always. You'll always be in my heart. Forever and always." I let the dirt trickle from between my fingers, letting it hit her folded hands.
Michael paid his respects next, and was silent as his handful of dirt dropped into the grave.
Father was silent as well.
I suppose there wasn't much to be said. What needed to be said had already been said. It would have been redundant.
Dirt was lifted over her body, as if by invisible workers. Calypso appeared and gave her last respects, while the ghosts of fallen mermaids filled the grave.
~*~The Flying Dutchman~*~
"I need to leave soon. Sunset is almost here." My father paused, frowning slightly. "Calypso, I … I know that you probably don't want to … but … come with me. Please."
I sighed, glancing at Michael. "Father … You do know what you are asking me to do, right? Leave everything behind – my home, my brother, my husband …"
"I know. I know. It's just … I want you … to be … to be captain after me." It spilled out of his mouth quickly, as his last request had ten years ago. My eyes widened.
"But, that would mean …"
"That I would die. Die at your hands," my father finished for me.
"Yes. I cannot." Tears had been shed, and new ones began to form. "I can't kill you. You're my father, and I love you."
I glanced at Michael again, unhappy. I sighed, thinking rapidly.
If … what if … If when how why I don't know should would could be captain I don't know how why can I should I would I shouldn't Michael a family but wait no I can't children are out of the question I don't know how Jack Michael time family love leave them all I don't know I don't know not enough time decisions quickly bloody hell I DON'T KNOW
"Calypso," Michael said. "We've discussed this before. You know where I stand." His voice was strangled, sad.
I closed my eyes and nodded. "I know Michael. I know."
I got up suddenly, and with courage almost nonexistent, went to my mother's room. Reaching under her bed, my fingers met hard wood and vibrations emanated from it. I brought it to the table and lay my knife next to the chest. It was the knife I was given on my tenth birthday.
"Here," I whispered. "You hold the last piece."