The Bride of Blackbeard (10 page)

You are being as daft as your grandmother.
Stop it you fool! You finally have some happiness, just accept it
graciously.

She remembered her mother’s extreme
behaviors when Stanzy was but a child. Every September, when the
Irish festival of Samhain would have taken place in her native
land, her mother would make them stay indoors for days at a time,
as this was the time the Dollahan would ride. Legend claimed the
fairie unstoppable, except for one Achilles heel—gold. Obsession
often drove her mother to check outside her children's windows at
night, to reassure her tortured mind the piles of coins she placed
there remained untouched. Her grandmother had passed down this
tradition to her daughter, and although her mother was a Christian,
she couldn’t shake the customs she'd been raised on. Stanzy’s
knowledge about fairies rivaled her wisdom on birthing babies. She
was delivered the teachings in equal measure, each from her
parents’ separate views.

Pulling up on Pilot’s reins, the horse
stopped abruptly. Had she heard something in the dark? The gloaming
was coming and a hazy light faintly illuminated the distant ground
where the earth met the sky.

It sounded again—the snort of a horse.

Her primitive brain awakened as her
heartbeat filled her ears. A horrid recollection arose. Her
mother's disjointed portrait of the Dollohan, illustrated at the
end of her life, when her mind revolted against sanity. A fairie
depicted atop a black steed, his fly-like compound eyes
bulging—searching for its next victim. As a child, she completely
avoided the room housing the picture
.

The snort of the Dollahan’s horse is what is
heard as he sits outside your gate, bringing with him the
announcement of death if his horse ceases its ride.

In the misty distance, Constanza spied him—a
cloaked rider, holding a large, round object in his hand at the
side of his horse.

It is his head, which he will hold aloft
to scan the fields for me, and when he sees me, he will call my
name...and I will die
, her unchecked brain screamed within her
head.

She involuntarily put her fingers in her
ears, and still heard the horse’s whinny as the rider pivoted to
face her. Beneath her, Pilot pranced back and forth and whirled to
face the manor from whence he came. His obedience knew its limits,
the horse reared and bolted like a shot in the direction of the
barn.

This cannot be real. Am I losing my mind?
The first time in my life I am happy and now I am going daft? What
is next, another fantastic fairie portrait from the next generation
of lunatics?

As Pilot whipped her around, from the corner
of her eye Constanza caught the rider’s hand, rising to lift the
round satchel high into the early morning air. Body curled toward
his neck, she urged the horse on. Sweat wet her palms, making the
reins slip. Pilot's flanks were white with perspiration as the
horse fled on instinct.

Who could that have been?

She resolved to tell no one, for fear they
would think her mad. Indeed, Father had fastidiously hidden many of
her mother’s behaviors from anyone outside their household. He knew
of her grandmother’s mental illness, and the fear that it might be
passed on in her mother or his children had been a real
concern.

So, she was very reluctant to discuss this
incident with anyone. But reconsidering, she felt surely she
could...should...tell Lucian.

Would he really want a mad bride?
her
brain purred viciously.

She locked it in the Pandora's box in her
mind, which now contained so many secrets she pictured a hairline
crack forming in its façade. She decided not to decide. Best to
think on it later, when she was capable of more rational
thoughts.

Not thoughts of Fairies and Dollahans.

When she heard a horse snorting in the
distance, goosebumps covered her entire body.

~ * ~

In the schoolhouse the next day, Constanza
held the girl’s small body close to her own. She released her and
checked the window for what seemed the fifteenth time...where was
he?

She gently rocked Megan. Stanzy’s face
flushed as she thought of Sarah Hopkins. Birthing babies with her
father, it had been very clear to her—not all women should be
mothers. Maternal instinct was not inherent in every creature, as
she’d witnessed too frequently in her lifetime. Many babes had been
dropped on their doorstep over the years—babies abandoned by their
mothers. Constanza had decided men and women contemplating
parenthood should be tested for compassion, as too many were so
selfish, their children merely represented a status symbol or
another pair of laboring hands. They had no inclination that their
role was to love, nurture, and help their children reach their full
human potential.

Katrina, for instance, should never have
children...

“It is all right, baby,” she said soothingly
as Meg's eyes darted frantically back and forth. Her hands flew to
her ears, and her eyes opened and shut against the bright light.
The sunlight still plagued her at times, occasionally making her
cry out in pain.

Constanza's gaze was drawn to the chains in
the corner of the room. It was her turn to close her eyes.

The door to the schoolhouse opened, and
Lucian rushed in, face flushed from running. “I’m here, I am sorry.
I was detained by a problem with the water and the fields. Hello,
Meg.” He moved slowly, dropped to his knee in front of her as he
searched her face. “You want to go play?” With his left hand he
simultaneously made the sign for play Stanzy had taught him.

They kept Meg between them, each holding a
hand, as they walked toward the back field, out of sight of
StoneWater.

As they walked, Stanzy reflected on this man
who was her husband.

Husband.

Unbelievable.

She’d been sure she was fated to be alone.
Facets of his personality continually revealed themselves to her
like rings in a tree, each idea larger than the next, but all still
part of a master plan.

He is so quiet one might think he never has
a clever thought. Quite the opposite. When he finally speaks, I am
astounded with his ability to discern the character of others.

“I hope we can get our homestead finished
soon,” Lucian said. “This is going to be a bad winter.”

“Oh, really. Tell me farmer, how is it you
are so sure of this?”

“All right, Mrs. Blackwell. You may know a
lot about how
my
body works, but as for the seasons and the
dirt...well I think there is no contest there.”

“Please, amaze me.”

“Well, number one, it is almost November and
the trees have not shed their leaves as yet. That is a sure sign
that this winter will be hard.”

Stanzy looked around and indeed the trees
were all still sporting the amazing fall kaleidoscope of red,
yellow, brown and green. She so loved this season. In England, the
seasons changed so quickly that the leaves merely fell off the
trees, missing the colorful landscape North Carolina provided.

“Number two, again it is almost November and
it is still very
warm
. Number three, the wooly worms are
almost completely black, not brown. These are all signs we’re in
for a bad winter.”

“Hmm. I believe you need to come and give
the boys a lecture on the North Carolina climate.”

“Well, maybe I will.”

Stanzy’s head whipped around—a crackle in
the underbrush echoed in the still air.

Lucian calmed her. “Don’t worry, Stanzy, I
have a whole plan arranged. Bess and Alphonse are to alert Ben or
one of the boys if the Hopkinses arrive home early from chapel.
They know where to find us.” Then he changed the subject. “I
remember what you said the other night about Megan needing to
improve her balance, so...”

An old tree with a massive trunk towered
ahead, overlooking the meadow. A newly mounted wooden swing
oscillated in the breeze. Meg wrenched free her hands and broke
into an all out run for the tree, whooping with nonsensical
words—her language as they called it.

Lucian caught up and propelled her tiny body
forward, sending her flying into the air. Megan dipped her head
backward, smiling from ear to ear. Her long, dark hair fluttered
behind her like a bride's veil. Stanzy tore her eyes from Megan to
regard Lucian. Tears streamed down his cheeks, or so she thought.
She could barely see through her own.

“B-B-B, D-D-D! Megan talk to me!” Stanzy
jumped in front of the swing grabbing Meg’s legs as they swung to
her. For some unexplainable reason, when Meg was moving she could
get more speech from her. She thought it something to do with
Megan's brain fever.

Megan softly repeated “B-B-B” and tried to
sign every motion she’d been taught over the past few months.
Pointing to the sky, she nearly fell from the moving swing signing
Bird! Dog! Mama! Pa! Sky! Happy! Play!

Lucian wordlessly broke away from the
overwhelming situation, and headed toward the rushing river below.
Stanzy knew he was trying to compose himself, so she let him
go.

“Baby’s safe, in her room. She looks up and
sees the moon. She will sigh, so will I, as I rock her back to
sleep,” came the eeriest, wonderful little voice Stanzy had ever
heard.

Lucian turned back. She saw her awed
expression mirrored on his face for a brief second before she
tripped and fell backward to the ground, astonished.

It was the first time Megan had spoken.

~
Chapter Six
~

Katrina could hardly sit still. She fidgeted
with so much nervous energy her cup shook and tinkled on its saucer
as it teetered dangerously close to the edge.

“Katrina, have you seen Mr. Teache? Will he
be attending the ball this evening?” requested Emilia, her newly
found cohort, whose eyes never stilled. The girl possessed a
ruthless talent for picking apart each dress and its wearer as the
women flounced across the dance floor.

Her pregnant belly was so large that even
sitting was an awesome feat for her.

“No, dear. Edward is still out to sea, but I
expect him to return any day...and to be honest Emilia, I believe
he may be interested in me! My sister will so not be pleased, but I
care not. If it were up to her, I would marry some boring
barrister. But I want adventure! I want...passion.”

“Oh, well, there is passion with the sailors
to be sure.” Emilia patted her gargantuan middle. “However, you
have to be careful. See Mrs. Drummond over there, well her husband
is a seaman as well. And Mrs. Thrumble’s husband is a sailor.”

She pointed across the room to women nearly
as pregnant as herself. Both were sipping tea and holding the
characteristically uncomfortable posture of the last trimester.

“You see, our husbands are gone all the
time. When they return from sea...well let’s just say they make up
for lost time. Mrs. Drummond...this is her sixth child in seven
years...not counting her two miscarriages.”

“Oh my,” said Katrina who absentmindedly ran
her hands around her slim waist. Her vanity weighed the scales
between a huge mid-section or a married life to an exciting sailor.
“I do not particularly want any children. They require so much
work. Slaving as a governess has given me my fill of children.
Unless I might have my own—then she could deal with the
unpleasantness of child rearing. Have you ever met their
husbands?”

“No, they are never in port at the same
time. We also live quite a distance apart and only come into town
for social gatherings.”

Katrina barely registered the last three
words as a handsome lad in a soldier’s uniform bowed in front of
her. “May I have this dance, Miss?”

~ * ~

Perplexed, Stanzy sat at her teacher’s desk
and stared at the papers in front of her, waiting to be corrected.
They were not going to correct themselves. Rubbing her temples, she
shook her head to clear it; she couldn’t focus.

With some difficulty she tried to sort out
her feelings about her growing fear of Edward Teache. Could it be
that all of the misfortunes occurring since her arrival at
StoneWater were somehow connected to
him
? Her rational brain
waded through the feasibility of how this was possible...her
superstitious side said simply:
The fairies have followed you
from your homeland, and wish to torture your newly found happiness.
You will be the one to pay for all of your father’s horrible
mistakes, and deep down you are just like him.

“No. I am not like him. I choose to do good
despite what evil I see around me,” she said aloud, slapping the
desktop.

Familiar feelings of despair seeped into her
conscious mind like an icy draft under a door. Feelings so normal
for her, she didn’t recognize them at first. Depression cracked
open the box of mind memories. Visions of her grandmother flooded
her thoughts and her hands flew to her face in a feeble attempt to
stave off the images.

~ * ~

Her sixteen-year-old body shivered, but not
from cold, as her grandmother led her to Father’s study. Gran’s
bony hand a circlet around Constanza’s wrist. She knew it was
useless to resist, for the old woman would relentlessly pursue
Stanzy until the crone felt her task accomplished. Her reasoning
capabilities were lacking before her mental illness had taken hold,
but now there was almost no coherent pattern in her thought
processes.

They arrived at the study and her
grandmother scrutinized her. “Do you see that devil in there? He is
the reason my baby is dead. You and your brother and sister need to
come back with me to Ireland, away from him, before he kills you,
too.”

Constanza peered into the dimly lit study at
her father’s sleeping form sprawled out on his desk of papers.
Turning, she gazed into the eyes of a mad-woman. Her head
vacillated back and forth looking for a hallucination unseen to
everyone except herself.