Authoress' Note: Sorry for taking so long to update, everyone! College has really been eating up all my free time, and this was a tough vignette to write. At any rate, I hope you like it, as it wasn't in the original planning of this series who follows plans anyway?. Thanks very much to those who have reviewed! – hands out cookies – All characters © Disney
The First Untitled
It has been a very long night spent pacing the same worn path of flooring in my study. A large map of the Caribbean and Florida lie across the expanse of my desk dotted with points of interest and activity. I stop and stare down at it, tracing the paths of British and Spanish naval ships.
For the past 8 months I have been asked to monitor the activity of the Spanish around the Florida coast. King George has been eyeing the area for quite some time I have been told, and he is determined to seize it from our friends of the Iberian Peninsula to add to the wealth of the British Empire. In Mad George's mind it is an opportunity for expansion. In the English peoples' mind it is an opportunity for disaster.
Yawning, I rub my strained and aching eyes and decide that if I do not get any rest I shall sleep straight through my meeting the following day with the newly appointed Admiral, who will be heading all naval operations against the Spaniards.
Elizabeth is sound asleep when I open our bedroom door quietly to look in on her. A sliver of moonlight falls across her still form, and it gives me just enough light to undress and throw a nightshirt over my head. Bending down to unbuckle my shoes, I am suddenly startled by the rustling of sheets and a muffled cry from behind me.
Slipping off my shoes, I turn toward Elizabeth, who is sitting bolt upright, her face pale and her chest heaving as the glint of tears on her cheeks catches in the faint light. Her heavy breathing slows as she peers around at the familiar room.
"Elizabeth?"
When she does not respond, my hand lingers over hers for a moment before I take it in my own. She starts at my touch and suddenly bursts into tears, launching herself into my arms. With her face buried in my neck her words become indiscernible, and so I sit awkwardly, cradling her, until her sobs subside into silence. After some time, Elizabeth moves out of my embrace slightly and wipes a hand across her reddened eyes. She sucks in a deep breath before speaking in a shaky voice.
"I had the most awful dream about you, James," she whispers, her brow furrowing as she strains to remember. "It was so realistic I could almost feel everything going on around us." The fear in her eyes is real as she recounts the unpleasant images in her head.
"Come now," I say, falsely cheerful, "It couldn't have been all that terrible."
Elizabeth fixes me with a pointed stare. "You were dying in my dream, James. How can that not be terrible?"
The pseudo smile on my face falters and is replaced immediately with a sober look. "It was only a dream though, Liz," I say in an attempt at consolation.
"Yes," she replies vaguely, staring down at her hand, which is still clasped in mine. "Yes, it was only a dream."
"I'll be fine."
She nods, but I can tell there is something still on her mind. She is doubtful, and I have no way of reassuring her.
"Do you promise?"
"Do I promise I'll be fine?"
"Yes."
"You know I can't, Elizabeth," I say kindly. "I can promise you I'll come home though."
The implication of my words lies heavy between us, unspoken. Elizabeth leans back into her pillows and closes her eyes. Knowing the conversation to be over I kiss her forehead, lie down beside her, and turn over on my side. Perhaps the dream will become a thing long forgotten by the morning when the brightness of the sun can dispel its menace. Elizabeth shifts uncomfortably beside me. Her voice pierces the darkness.
"I'm much too young to be a widow, James."
I close my eyes against the gloom.
"I know."
--
Elizabeth's head lolls against my shoulder as the carriage jolts and bumps down the road to the docks. She stirs and opens her eyes as we roll to a stop.
"Tired?"
"No," she replies, glancing out the window at the crowd of sailors and their sweethearts and wives gathering at the gangway of the ship. "I was just thinking."
I nod and do not press her further. Suddenly there is a commotion as an ornate carriage moves passed ours and stops further down the dock. The steps are lowered and out strides a rugged looking gentleman decked out in the garb of an admiral.
"That's him," I say, nodding toward his retreating back. "I must leave you now to report to him."
Elizabeth nods, a defiant look on her face, even as her chin trembles. One tear manages to spill down her face, which I brush away with my thumb. Smiling, I rest my hand on the contour of her cheek.
"There now, why all these tears?" I ask quietly.
Elizabeth sniffs loudly and tries to wipe her eyes, but the tears are already brimming over and they cannot be stopped.
"I'm sorry, James," she cries, taking out a handkerchief to blow her nose. "I'm being terribly silly, aren't I?"
She attempts to smile through her tears, and that seems to dispel the mood she has put herself in.
"No, not silly at all," I say sincerely. "I'll miss you greatly."
"As will I," she responds.
I lean forward, my mouth hovering above hers, before I kiss her waiting lips and push open the carriage door, stepping into the light of the garish sun.
"I love you," I say to her so that only she may hear, my hand resting on the door handle.
Something curious happens then. Elizabeth opens her mouth to respond and suddenly closes it as though she has changed her mind about something. Before I can say anything more I am called away to report for duty, and I shut the door with a snap. Something akin to anxiety settles in my stomach as I mull over her hesitation. Where had I seen her act in such a manner before? I wrack every corner of my mind yet I cannot seem to remember, and I find myself more confused and apprehensive than before.
--
It has been a long 3 months and we still have not seen anything more than local fisherman out for a hard day's work on their boats. It has been hard adjusting to life without Elizabeth constantly by my side. I miss her quiet strength and dry humour, as well as those subtle touches around our home which make her presence known: her shawl draped over a chair, books left in bed after a late night read, and teacups in my study.
At the same time I find myself realising how much I have also missed the pitching of the ship in the sea, the crews' rough voices coupled with their gentle natures, and spending late night shifts with some of my closest companions from my bachelor days.
This very morning I stand watch with the Admiral staring out at the sea, which stretches around us in all directions. Nothing moves except the glowing sun rising up over the swells of the waves. Just as the light hits the deck the Admiral cups his hands around his mouth and shouts upward toward the crow's nest. "Report!"
There is a scurrying from above, and then my good friend Jonathan drops down from the rigging.
"There's a ship, Sir, off the starboard side. It looks to be about 3 miles off of us."
The Admiral nods his head to show he has heard, takes out a long glass, and trains it on some point in the distance.
"She isn't flying any colours?"
"No, Sir. Not that we can see anyway," Jonathan replies. His place is in the rigging, and I can tell he's eager to join his mate up above the ship.
"Keep your eyes fixed on them, lads," the Admiral says as he snaps the long glass closed. "I won't have us ambushed by Spaniards."
"Aye, Sir," Jonathan calls as he disappears up to the crow's nest once again.
As the sun climbs higher in the sky the non-existent ship becomes a speck to our right and eventually becomes a full vessel. A line of worry creases the Admiral's forehead as they raise the Spanish flag high above their ship. We have been caught.
The tension permeating from every member of the crew increases ten-fold as we move to our stations to prepare for battle. I survey the activity from behind the Admiral as the men dash to and fro, strapping on pistols and swords, whilst hurrying to swab down the cannons. Finally, all goes quiet as every man stands at his post waiting expectantly for orders to be given. My own heart hammers violently in my chest in time with the seconds ticking by.
The first shot, from the Spaniard's largest cannon, volleys across the deck and lands on the opposite side of our ship. The second blows a hole into the lower deck sending splintered wood flying over our heads and out across the water. I watch our admiral, hoping and praying he will allow us to fire our own cannons soon. "Load!" comes the call a few seconds later.
Frenzy ensues as men dart in all directions to load the gunpowder and rounds as quickly as they can, so that they may be ready when the command to fire comes. When the last ball is dropped into the cannon and is ready, the Admiral turns and nods to me. "It's your call, Commodore," he says roughly.
Swallowing my heart, which feels as though it's beating somewhere up in my throat, I raise my voice to address the eager men. "Fire!"
Our assault tears across the waves, rips across the enemy's deck, and lands on the other side in the water. It was an unlucky shot, but already our cannons are being swabbed and loaded again. This time the Admiral gives the command. We do not miss. Several of our shots strike down the Spaniards mast, which falls with a splash into the ocean's depths. Hooks are now being prepared so that we may board.
We spill onto the deck of the enemy vessel and are greeted by Spanish curses and the clang of metal on metal. I pull my sword from its sheath, block a swipe at my neck, and am immediately swept into the heat of battle. Sheer minutes, which feel like hours to me, pass by as I move around the deck parrying each thrust of the enemy sword. Pulling my sword out of a fallen man's gut, I wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead and look around to assess the situation. Things are going well for us, and yet the Spaniards refuse to surrender. Jonathan, who is an intense fight with a man twice his size, calls to me from the bow.
A flash of heat slices through my back and between my ribs. My breath catches in my throat as the swaggering smile slides from Jonathan's face. Staggering backward, I put a hand to my side, and when I look down crimson blood seeps through my coat, dark against the navy blue. The smell of copper and death washes over me, and I feel hot bile rise in my throat. Suddenly, Jonathan's face is above me, swimming in and out of focus. He is yelling something, but I can't seem to hear him anymore. When I open my mouth to tell him this I find that my jaw feels much too heavy. I struggle to keep my eyes open, yet the harder I try the more I slip into blessed blackness.
Authoress' Note: As you can see, I'm having a hard time coming up with a title for this one. If anyone has any ideas please feel free to share them. Don't forget to review!