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dwgmACK! Internet problems are the DEVIL!!! It's still Sunday, however, in California at least, so I'm not late yet. Here's Chapter Two of Harry & the Pirate V: Caribbean Quests, with thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hereswith for taking time from her vacation to beta read.
Chapter One |
Chapter Two
“Ahoy there the foretop!” Michael Owens’ call came drifting aloft. “Tom Sparrow, are you up there?”
“Blast,” said Tom, who was indeed perched on the foretop – with Anne Norrington. She was wearing the shirt and breeches he’d loaned her –too big, but better than a gown – and Tom himself had plaited her gold hair into a long sailor’s pigtail, but he suspected there would still be some objection to her having climbed so high on their second morning out from St. Claire. She’d made him promise to take her, however, and Tom Sparrow was a man of his word.
He peeked out over the side of the platform, but only Michael’s wife, Suzanna, could now be seen far below on deck, staring up and clasping her hands as though Anne was about to fall and break her neck when anyone could see she was safe as houses. Michael must be climbing up the ratlines to spoil their fun. Tom said to Ann, “We’re like to have company,” and she winced in reply, then turned her eyes back to the glorious morning unfolding all around them.
In the dim light before dawn, they had climbed up, careful as they could be, and Tom had helped Anne through the lubber’s hole. She’d settled herself on the platform next to the mast, braced against the swell, breathless but ecstatic.
“Oh, Tom! It’s glorious!”
“Aye. This is where the sharpshooters are stationed during an action.”
“Tell me again about the corsairs that attacked you off Africa,” she’d begged, most gratifyingly.
Nothing loth, Tom had made himself comfortable beside her and had been in the midst of painting a vivid word picture of the engagement when Owens had interrupted with that hail. “Just like Owens to rise with the sun,” Tom grumbled.
“He and Suzanna did go to their cabin right after supper last night.”
“Hmmph. That doesn’t mean they slept.”
“But their cabin is so small. What else could they do?”
“Talk. And… wrestle.”
“Wrestle?”
“Aye. Wrestle ‘n’ kiss.”
“At the same time?” Anne stared, obviously trying to imagine her own parents, the admiral and his elegant wife, doing such a thing.
Tom, who had gleaned through various sources that it was more than mere wrestling but had not yet fathomed the particulars, shrugged. “That’s what my mum and da do. I broke in on ‘em a few times when I was little, but they didn’t like it so I try not to, now. It’s because they do it bare, and Mum’s so modest.”
Anne looked horrified. “Bare? Why?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Tom said loftily.
“Tom Sparrow—“ Anne began, hotly, but her words were cut off by Michael Owens, whose head popped through the lubber’s hole.
“Aye, Tom Sparrow! What the devil d’you think you’re doing bringing Anne clear up here? Your da’s going to have your hide, and maybe the admiral will, too.”
Tom scowled. “Not unless you peach! I promised her, Michael, and she likes it, see?”
Michael looked at Anne accusingly. “You made him promise?”
In point of fact, Anne had begged to go aloft only after Tom had repeatedly extolled the joys of skylarking and now she appeared to be speechless at the possibility of immanent consequences. But to Tom’s relief she nodded firmly, her chin at a defiant angle.
Tom’s mouth twitched against a relieved grin, but he said to Michael, “I’m to blame, if there’s blame to be laid.”
“It’ll be laid, all right, if your da gets wind of it, and Mr. Gibbs’ll be up on deck in five minutes. Move over. If Anne can hold on tight as a monkey we’ll take a backstay down.”
Michael ascended the platform and stood to scan the vast horizon. The clouds were every shade of red imaginable, save in the southeast where the vivid color faded to a distant darkness. He stared, frowning. “Sit tight,” he told Tom and Anne, and he pulled out his fine spyglass, the one Tom and mother had bought as a birthday gift for him in an expensive shop in Italy. One arm ‘round the mast, Michael studied that darkness in the southeast intently, and at last he said, “There’s lightning flashes amid those clouds.”
“A storm?” Tom asked, his blood rising. He loved the noise and motion of a storm at sea. He was his father’s son in that.
“Aye, a good one from the look of it.” Stashing his spyglass, Michael turned and said, “All right, Anne, up you go, and hold fast!”
He crouched to take her piggyback and Anne complied with such zeal that Michael laughed. “Come on, Tom, before she chokes me!” He grabbed a backstay and slid away, and Tom followed suit, unable to refrain from giving a little yip of delight during his rushing descent. It was mere seconds before they were on deck again.
Suzanna hurried toward them. “Anne! How could you?” she scolded, taking advantage of her prerogative as grown up sister.
But Michael, bending to allow Anne to regain her feet, said, “She’s fine, love.”
And indeed, as he straightened, Anne grabbed Michael’s hand. “Thank you! That was beyond anything!”
“Told you she was a right one!” Tom grinned, and then gave a startled ooof! as Anne attacked him with a happy hug.
“Thank you, Tom,” she said, and when she released him she gave him such a glowing look that Tom was struck anew at how pretty she was, for a little girl.
“Well!” said Suzanna. “It seems you’re none the worse for risking your life. You are a fortunate girl, Anne Norrington.”
Anne tuned to her sister. “I am! You should make Michael promise to take you aloft, Suzanna!”
And Suzanna finally smiled. “Perhaps I will, at that.”
Michael gave a chuckle, but said, “It’ll have to wait. There’s a bit of nasty weather on the horizon. Feel how the swell’s increasing already? Come on, we’ve got to tell the captain.”
*
Jack already knew, as any good captain would.
“Glass’s been dropping steady this past hour. And lightning, you say? I’d best get on deck.” He slid back his chair and got up, but stood by the table where breakfast had been going forth and gulped the last of his coffee. “Ah, that’s good. Anatole’s a genius, even with something as simple as this.”
“There’s nothing simple about coffee,” James said. “It’s an exact science.” He stood, as well, but frowned at Anne, who was hanging back, holding Tom’s hand, and dressed in some of the lad’s clothing, too. James said, “Tom Sparrow, you’ve not risked my daughter’s life climbing into the maintop, I trust?”
“Oh no, sir!” said Tom, far too innocently.
“See that you don’t.” James turned to Will. “Are you coming. Turner?”
“Yes, I’m with you.” Will grabbed the last two pieces of toast, putting one in his teeth and folding the other to stuff in his coat pocket, then followed James out the door.
Jack lingered a moment, eyeing Tom. “Took her up to the foretop, did you?”
Tom’s guileless phiz cracked a bit, though he kept mum. Anne’s expression, however, was disastrously transparent.
Jack briefly shook a finger at his son, but then negated the effect by musing, “Not but what your mother might’ve lost her fear of heights if she’d had some early training.” Really, it was startling how his thoughts could waft him back to St. Claire and Harry, all in an instant. He gave himself a mental shake, and scowled at the pair of young scallywags before him. “You two watch yourselves. You don’t want to give me reason to regret bringing you along. Savvy?”
“Aye, Da,” said Tom, and Anne nodded, both equally earnest.
Jack said, “You’ll stay in here, Tom, and take care of Anne and Suzanna. I’ll send Anatole with more breakfast -- the galley fires’ll have to be put out soon if I read the signs aright. Mr. Owens, are you coming, or staying in here to take your ease?”
“I’m with you, Captain,” Michael said, but it was seen that he first took the time to kiss his pretty wife.
*
Suzanna Owens was a seasoned sailor. As a young girl she had traveled from England with her widowed mother and her siblings to find a new life in the Caribbean -- which had indeed materialized, thanks to the good fortune that threw them in the path of Captain Sparrow, Lady Harry, and best of all, Commodore James Norrington, mother’s beau when she was a girl and now mother’s beloved husband, and father to her six children. Then, only five months ago, Suzanna had returned from a much longer voyage, eighteen months on the Black Pearl, virtually a protracted honeymoon, for though she’d been very young, she and Michael had been permitted to marry just before the ship had embarked for England and, ultimately, Italy.
Storms were a part of life at sea, yet in spite of vast experience, Suzanna disliked them nearly as much as Tom and his father enjoyed them. Moreover, within a remarkably short space of time she realized that the current instance of inclement weather was something quite out of the ordinary. She and the children had barely finished breakfasting when the wind, which had been rising in pitch throughout the meal, suddenly became a veritable shriek and the ship heeled alarmingly, sending crockery skidding across the table.
“Whoa!” Tom exclaimed, grabbing at the plates and mugs, which were fortunately empty now. He grinned at Suzanna and Anne, and shouted above the din, “What I wouldn’t give to be on deck!”
“Tom Sparrow, don’t you dare leave this cabin!” Suzanna shouted back, rescuing a beautiful blue and white china bowl in the nick of time.
“I won’t!” Tom assured her. “Da told me to stay and take care of you both, and I mean to do it.”
The three of them removed all the dishes and silver to a big basket Anatole had left for that purpose and put it on the cabin floor. Then they retreated to the captain’s wide, luxuriously appointed and well-padded bunk, making themselves as comfortable as possible. Attached to sole and bulkhead, the bed seemed the safest place to be at a time like this.
Suzanna lay among the pillows, watching the hanging lamps swing in wide arcs. The rain beat down the stern windows in relentless sheets, and the deafening blast of wind and sea was almost more than was bearable. But even worse were the thunder and lightning, which had moved directly overhead, now, each flash and crackling boom so close together that they seemed simultaneous. Poor Anne was inclined to be frightened, but Tom hugged her, laughing. His unconcern was no help to Suzanna, however. Concern for those on deck (Michael! Dear God, keep him safe! All of them safe!), combined with the terrifying noise and motion, took its toll and she found herself squeezing her eyes shut, hands tight over her ears, trying not to weep.
And then there came a booming crash, an explosion, dwarfing all that had gone before, and at the same time the Black Pearl gave a horrid lurch and shudder.
Even the insouciant Tom was shocked. “Bloody hell, we’ve been hit!!” he cried, springing up, abandoning his post and running for the door before Suzanna could stop him.
“Tom, no!” she shouted, trying to sound authoritative, but to no avail, and Anne began to sob as the wretched boy slipped carefully out the cabin door.
*
Two minutes later the door slammed opened to admit a great deal of wind and rain and Captain Jack, a look of almost maniacal fury on his face, his struggling son slung over his shoulder. They were both streaming water, and when Jack dumped Tom on the floor a puddle was already forming.
Tom instantly flipped over and shouted, “But Da, I can help!”
“Not on deck!” Jack roared, far louder, and he raised his arm and pointed a finger of doom at Tom. “By God, I’ll deal with you later, and that’s a promise!” Then he forcibly straightened his hat, turned, and strode out, slamming the doors behind him.
Tom put his hands to his head and just sat, and Anne, who’d been clinging to Suzanna, first terrified at Tom’s defection, then horrified at the manner of his return, clambered off the bed and ran over, falling to her knees beside him, oblivious to the spreading puddle. Suzanna followed somewhat more carefully, for the deck was heaving dreadfully.
“Tom, what happened?” Anne asked, her voice cracking.
The boy looked up at her and tried to smile, but it faded as he spoke, “The mainmast was struck. There’s nothing left but a shattered stump. And there were some fellows hurt, burns and splinter wounds and the like, and one man killed.”
“Killed! Who?” Suzanna demanded in dismay.
“His name was Beech, new to the Pearl, came on about a month ago.” His mouth twisted, and he suddenly hugged Anne to him, half hiding his face against her hair.
Tears were streaming down Anne’s cheeks, and she bit her lip, stroking Tom’s damp head, but she didn’t fuss, just held him close. It was exactly the response Tom seemed to need, and Suzanna found herself hoping that their affinity and deep affection would endure as they left childhood behind.
After a minute or so, Tom pulled himself together. Anne sat back and said, “You’re all wet, you know.”
He laughed at that. “So’re you! And we’d better get this puddle swabbed, Da wouldn’t like… .” His voice died away.
“He was awfully angry, wasn’t he?” Anne ventured after a moment.
Tom gave another chuff of laughter, but there was no humor in it. “I’m for it now, I reckon.”
Anne paled.
But Suzanna said, briskly,”You’ve tried his patience, but he was speaking in the heat of a truly terrible moment. I daresay he’ll be less angry with you later, particularly if you mind your duty.”
*
Suzanna was correct, but though Jack’s anger had cooled he would certainly have carried out his promise that very evening if he hadn’t been so bone weary.
The storm had finally blown itself out in the late afternoon, and after dropping poor Beech over the side -- decently sewn into a hammock with a couple of round shot at his feet -- the Pearl had limped to an island Jack knew of, anchoring in a cove that lay several miles distant from the indigenous inhabitants (“Just a few natives, mostly friendly, no cannibalism – I think.”). It was dusk by that time, and there was still all the work of bringing order out of the chaos to which the Pearl had been reduced, as well as scouting out the local environment and setting up a camp on shore where the injured would have an easier time of it while the ship was undergoing repairs.
During this activity, Jack hadn’t seen his son, though Suzanna assured him that Tom had been most attentive and somewhat subdued after his return to the cabin.
“He’ll be subdued, right enough, when I get through with him,” Jack said, but he wasn’t surprised when Suzanna spoke up for Tom.
“Forgive me, captain, but I don’t believe he wished to vex you, he truly wanted to help.”
“He wanted to be nosy,” said Jack.
“We were all most concerned!”
“You didn’t all disobey orders and come barreling out on deck in the middle of it!”
But her words had a palliative effect, nonetheless.
However, long after dark, he finally came across Tom and Anne as they were scurrying along a dimly lit passage on one of the lower decks. Anne was in the lead and, when they saw him and came to a halt, Tom made no effort to step forward in front of her. Jack said, “Taking refuge behind a lady’s skirts, eh? That ain’t going to help your case.”
“I am not!” Tom said, sounding only a little terrified. “Were you… do you want to see me in the cabin?”
“No, not just now. There’s still work to be done, and I’m already too tired to do justice to the occasion.” Tom shifted nervously and Jack, urged on by his baser self, favored his son with a humorless smile. “Plenty of time in the morning to settle accounts. As it were. Sleep well!”
On to Chapter Three
hereswith for taking time from her vacation to beta read.Chapter One |
Chapter Two
“Ahoy there the foretop!” Michael Owens’ call came drifting aloft. “Tom Sparrow, are you up there?”
“Blast,” said Tom, who was indeed perched on the foretop – with Anne Norrington. She was wearing the shirt and breeches he’d loaned her –too big, but better than a gown – and Tom himself had plaited her gold hair into a long sailor’s pigtail, but he suspected there would still be some objection to her having climbed so high on their second morning out from St. Claire. She’d made him promise to take her, however, and Tom Sparrow was a man of his word.
He peeked out over the side of the platform, but only Michael’s wife, Suzanna, could now be seen far below on deck, staring up and clasping her hands as though Anne was about to fall and break her neck when anyone could see she was safe as houses. Michael must be climbing up the ratlines to spoil their fun. Tom said to Ann, “We’re like to have company,” and she winced in reply, then turned her eyes back to the glorious morning unfolding all around them.
In the dim light before dawn, they had climbed up, careful as they could be, and Tom had helped Anne through the lubber’s hole. She’d settled herself on the platform next to the mast, braced against the swell, breathless but ecstatic.
“Oh, Tom! It’s glorious!”
“Aye. This is where the sharpshooters are stationed during an action.”
“Tell me again about the corsairs that attacked you off Africa,” she’d begged, most gratifyingly.
Nothing loth, Tom had made himself comfortable beside her and had been in the midst of painting a vivid word picture of the engagement when Owens had interrupted with that hail. “Just like Owens to rise with the sun,” Tom grumbled.
“He and Suzanna did go to their cabin right after supper last night.”
“Hmmph. That doesn’t mean they slept.”
“But their cabin is so small. What else could they do?”
“Talk. And… wrestle.”
“Wrestle?”
“Aye. Wrestle ‘n’ kiss.”
“At the same time?” Anne stared, obviously trying to imagine her own parents, the admiral and his elegant wife, doing such a thing.
Tom, who had gleaned through various sources that it was more than mere wrestling but had not yet fathomed the particulars, shrugged. “That’s what my mum and da do. I broke in on ‘em a few times when I was little, but they didn’t like it so I try not to, now. It’s because they do it bare, and Mum’s so modest.”
Anne looked horrified. “Bare? Why?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Tom said loftily.
“Tom Sparrow—“ Anne began, hotly, but her words were cut off by Michael Owens, whose head popped through the lubber’s hole.
“Aye, Tom Sparrow! What the devil d’you think you’re doing bringing Anne clear up here? Your da’s going to have your hide, and maybe the admiral will, too.”
Tom scowled. “Not unless you peach! I promised her, Michael, and she likes it, see?”
Michael looked at Anne accusingly. “You made him promise?”
In point of fact, Anne had begged to go aloft only after Tom had repeatedly extolled the joys of skylarking and now she appeared to be speechless at the possibility of immanent consequences. But to Tom’s relief she nodded firmly, her chin at a defiant angle.
Tom’s mouth twitched against a relieved grin, but he said to Michael, “I’m to blame, if there’s blame to be laid.”
“It’ll be laid, all right, if your da gets wind of it, and Mr. Gibbs’ll be up on deck in five minutes. Move over. If Anne can hold on tight as a monkey we’ll take a backstay down.”
Michael ascended the platform and stood to scan the vast horizon. The clouds were every shade of red imaginable, save in the southeast where the vivid color faded to a distant darkness. He stared, frowning. “Sit tight,” he told Tom and Anne, and he pulled out his fine spyglass, the one Tom and mother had bought as a birthday gift for him in an expensive shop in Italy. One arm ‘round the mast, Michael studied that darkness in the southeast intently, and at last he said, “There’s lightning flashes amid those clouds.”
“A storm?” Tom asked, his blood rising. He loved the noise and motion of a storm at sea. He was his father’s son in that.
“Aye, a good one from the look of it.” Stashing his spyglass, Michael turned and said, “All right, Anne, up you go, and hold fast!”
He crouched to take her piggyback and Anne complied with such zeal that Michael laughed. “Come on, Tom, before she chokes me!” He grabbed a backstay and slid away, and Tom followed suit, unable to refrain from giving a little yip of delight during his rushing descent. It was mere seconds before they were on deck again.
Suzanna hurried toward them. “Anne! How could you?” she scolded, taking advantage of her prerogative as grown up sister.
But Michael, bending to allow Anne to regain her feet, said, “She’s fine, love.”
And indeed, as he straightened, Anne grabbed Michael’s hand. “Thank you! That was beyond anything!”
“Told you she was a right one!” Tom grinned, and then gave a startled ooof! as Anne attacked him with a happy hug.
“Thank you, Tom,” she said, and when she released him she gave him such a glowing look that Tom was struck anew at how pretty she was, for a little girl.
“Well!” said Suzanna. “It seems you’re none the worse for risking your life. You are a fortunate girl, Anne Norrington.”
Anne tuned to her sister. “I am! You should make Michael promise to take you aloft, Suzanna!”
And Suzanna finally smiled. “Perhaps I will, at that.”
Michael gave a chuckle, but said, “It’ll have to wait. There’s a bit of nasty weather on the horizon. Feel how the swell’s increasing already? Come on, we’ve got to tell the captain.”
*
Jack already knew, as any good captain would.
“Glass’s been dropping steady this past hour. And lightning, you say? I’d best get on deck.” He slid back his chair and got up, but stood by the table where breakfast had been going forth and gulped the last of his coffee. “Ah, that’s good. Anatole’s a genius, even with something as simple as this.”
“There’s nothing simple about coffee,” James said. “It’s an exact science.” He stood, as well, but frowned at Anne, who was hanging back, holding Tom’s hand, and dressed in some of the lad’s clothing, too. James said, “Tom Sparrow, you’ve not risked my daughter’s life climbing into the maintop, I trust?”
“Oh no, sir!” said Tom, far too innocently.
“See that you don’t.” James turned to Will. “Are you coming. Turner?”
“Yes, I’m with you.” Will grabbed the last two pieces of toast, putting one in his teeth and folding the other to stuff in his coat pocket, then followed James out the door.
Jack lingered a moment, eyeing Tom. “Took her up to the foretop, did you?”
Tom’s guileless phiz cracked a bit, though he kept mum. Anne’s expression, however, was disastrously transparent.
Jack briefly shook a finger at his son, but then negated the effect by musing, “Not but what your mother might’ve lost her fear of heights if she’d had some early training.” Really, it was startling how his thoughts could waft him back to St. Claire and Harry, all in an instant. He gave himself a mental shake, and scowled at the pair of young scallywags before him. “You two watch yourselves. You don’t want to give me reason to regret bringing you along. Savvy?”
“Aye, Da,” said Tom, and Anne nodded, both equally earnest.
Jack said, “You’ll stay in here, Tom, and take care of Anne and Suzanna. I’ll send Anatole with more breakfast -- the galley fires’ll have to be put out soon if I read the signs aright. Mr. Owens, are you coming, or staying in here to take your ease?”
“I’m with you, Captain,” Michael said, but it was seen that he first took the time to kiss his pretty wife.
*
Suzanna Owens was a seasoned sailor. As a young girl she had traveled from England with her widowed mother and her siblings to find a new life in the Caribbean -- which had indeed materialized, thanks to the good fortune that threw them in the path of Captain Sparrow, Lady Harry, and best of all, Commodore James Norrington, mother’s beau when she was a girl and now mother’s beloved husband, and father to her six children. Then, only five months ago, Suzanna had returned from a much longer voyage, eighteen months on the Black Pearl, virtually a protracted honeymoon, for though she’d been very young, she and Michael had been permitted to marry just before the ship had embarked for England and, ultimately, Italy.
Storms were a part of life at sea, yet in spite of vast experience, Suzanna disliked them nearly as much as Tom and his father enjoyed them. Moreover, within a remarkably short space of time she realized that the current instance of inclement weather was something quite out of the ordinary. She and the children had barely finished breakfasting when the wind, which had been rising in pitch throughout the meal, suddenly became a veritable shriek and the ship heeled alarmingly, sending crockery skidding across the table.
“Whoa!” Tom exclaimed, grabbing at the plates and mugs, which were fortunately empty now. He grinned at Suzanna and Anne, and shouted above the din, “What I wouldn’t give to be on deck!”
“Tom Sparrow, don’t you dare leave this cabin!” Suzanna shouted back, rescuing a beautiful blue and white china bowl in the nick of time.
“I won’t!” Tom assured her. “Da told me to stay and take care of you both, and I mean to do it.”
The three of them removed all the dishes and silver to a big basket Anatole had left for that purpose and put it on the cabin floor. Then they retreated to the captain’s wide, luxuriously appointed and well-padded bunk, making themselves as comfortable as possible. Attached to sole and bulkhead, the bed seemed the safest place to be at a time like this.
Suzanna lay among the pillows, watching the hanging lamps swing in wide arcs. The rain beat down the stern windows in relentless sheets, and the deafening blast of wind and sea was almost more than was bearable. But even worse were the thunder and lightning, which had moved directly overhead, now, each flash and crackling boom so close together that they seemed simultaneous. Poor Anne was inclined to be frightened, but Tom hugged her, laughing. His unconcern was no help to Suzanna, however. Concern for those on deck (Michael! Dear God, keep him safe! All of them safe!), combined with the terrifying noise and motion, took its toll and she found herself squeezing her eyes shut, hands tight over her ears, trying not to weep.
And then there came a booming crash, an explosion, dwarfing all that had gone before, and at the same time the Black Pearl gave a horrid lurch and shudder.
Even the insouciant Tom was shocked. “Bloody hell, we’ve been hit!!” he cried, springing up, abandoning his post and running for the door before Suzanna could stop him.
“Tom, no!” she shouted, trying to sound authoritative, but to no avail, and Anne began to sob as the wretched boy slipped carefully out the cabin door.
*
Two minutes later the door slammed opened to admit a great deal of wind and rain and Captain Jack, a look of almost maniacal fury on his face, his struggling son slung over his shoulder. They were both streaming water, and when Jack dumped Tom on the floor a puddle was already forming.
Tom instantly flipped over and shouted, “But Da, I can help!”
“Not on deck!” Jack roared, far louder, and he raised his arm and pointed a finger of doom at Tom. “By God, I’ll deal with you later, and that’s a promise!” Then he forcibly straightened his hat, turned, and strode out, slamming the doors behind him.
Tom put his hands to his head and just sat, and Anne, who’d been clinging to Suzanna, first terrified at Tom’s defection, then horrified at the manner of his return, clambered off the bed and ran over, falling to her knees beside him, oblivious to the spreading puddle. Suzanna followed somewhat more carefully, for the deck was heaving dreadfully.
“Tom, what happened?” Anne asked, her voice cracking.
The boy looked up at her and tried to smile, but it faded as he spoke, “The mainmast was struck. There’s nothing left but a shattered stump. And there were some fellows hurt, burns and splinter wounds and the like, and one man killed.”
“Killed! Who?” Suzanna demanded in dismay.
“His name was Beech, new to the Pearl, came on about a month ago.” His mouth twisted, and he suddenly hugged Anne to him, half hiding his face against her hair.
Tears were streaming down Anne’s cheeks, and she bit her lip, stroking Tom’s damp head, but she didn’t fuss, just held him close. It was exactly the response Tom seemed to need, and Suzanna found herself hoping that their affinity and deep affection would endure as they left childhood behind.
After a minute or so, Tom pulled himself together. Anne sat back and said, “You’re all wet, you know.”
He laughed at that. “So’re you! And we’d better get this puddle swabbed, Da wouldn’t like… .” His voice died away.
“He was awfully angry, wasn’t he?” Anne ventured after a moment.
Tom gave another chuff of laughter, but there was no humor in it. “I’m for it now, I reckon.”
Anne paled.
But Suzanna said, briskly,”You’ve tried his patience, but he was speaking in the heat of a truly terrible moment. I daresay he’ll be less angry with you later, particularly if you mind your duty.”
*
Suzanna was correct, but though Jack’s anger had cooled he would certainly have carried out his promise that very evening if he hadn’t been so bone weary.
The storm had finally blown itself out in the late afternoon, and after dropping poor Beech over the side -- decently sewn into a hammock with a couple of round shot at his feet -- the Pearl had limped to an island Jack knew of, anchoring in a cove that lay several miles distant from the indigenous inhabitants (“Just a few natives, mostly friendly, no cannibalism – I think.”). It was dusk by that time, and there was still all the work of bringing order out of the chaos to which the Pearl had been reduced, as well as scouting out the local environment and setting up a camp on shore where the injured would have an easier time of it while the ship was undergoing repairs.
During this activity, Jack hadn’t seen his son, though Suzanna assured him that Tom had been most attentive and somewhat subdued after his return to the cabin.
“He’ll be subdued, right enough, when I get through with him,” Jack said, but he wasn’t surprised when Suzanna spoke up for Tom.
“Forgive me, captain, but I don’t believe he wished to vex you, he truly wanted to help.”
“He wanted to be nosy,” said Jack.
“We were all most concerned!”
“You didn’t all disobey orders and come barreling out on deck in the middle of it!”
But her words had a palliative effect, nonetheless.
However, long after dark, he finally came across Tom and Anne as they were scurrying along a dimly lit passage on one of the lower decks. Anne was in the lead and, when they saw him and came to a halt, Tom made no effort to step forward in front of her. Jack said, “Taking refuge behind a lady’s skirts, eh? That ain’t going to help your case.”
“I am not!” Tom said, sounding only a little terrified. “Were you… do you want to see me in the cabin?”
“No, not just now. There’s still work to be done, and I’m already too tired to do justice to the occasion.” Tom shifted nervously and Jack, urged on by his baser self, favored his son with a humorless smile. “Plenty of time in the morning to settle accounts. As it were. Sleep well!”
On to Chapter Three
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Date: 2010-08-09 07:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 01:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-09 08:20 am (UTC)Tom, being a wondermus manchild, really doesn't fathom his limits and Jack's already seen example of his luck (overboard in the other storm). God love this baby tho', he has his Da's charm and love of adventure and his Mother's empathetic sweetness to carry him. I'm so tickled by how little kids will either decide aye or no to another. Partly, being the wee ones put them together, but the fact Anne thinks Tom hung the moon...well, **BIG old happy smile** told you already I'm an OHEP (original happy end piratista).
His description of adult activities of the noturnal kind was just perfect, the scandalous secret of the fact his parents kiss and wrestle bare--I laughed and laughed about that one!--it'd be hard for him to miss such at his house with his limited knowledge of boundaries and relatively young parents. Loved it, so glad to have them around!
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Date: 2010-08-09 01:43 pm (UTC)*hugs*
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Date: 2010-08-09 08:07 pm (UTC)Love Tom's enjoyment of storms and his "wrestling" comments, and Jack's assessment of the island natives, so CJS.
Your description of the ship's cabin felt like being there.
Here's to many chapters of this fine story. Drinks all around!
Felaine
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Date: 2010-08-10 05:22 am (UTC)Oooh, that makes me happy. Thank you again!!!
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Date: 2010-08-10 04:41 pm (UTC)I feel rather sorry for Tom, but Jack is right. Adherence to the rules is crucial if you're going to have whelps aboard!
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Date: 2010-08-18 06:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-14 07:14 pm (UTC)And ever so nice and nautically! It would seem that the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree: Tom has inherited his father's malady of good intentions (well, perhaps a bit misguided but well-intended at heart) going unappreciated. Maybe Jack knows that the most torturous aspect of being disciplined is the waiting. Poor Tom!
Good stuff!!
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Date: 2010-09-15 02:50 am (UTC)Of course, who should know better than Jack? *g*
Thank you so much for reading and commenting -- I do hope you enjoy the rest, too!