The Bride of Blackbeard (8 page)

I cannot breathe.

His thumb gently traced the spot where the
finger should have met her hand, and he said, almost shyly, “Are
you ever going to tell me what happened here?”

She looked at him. His sincerity almost
compelled her to tell the story, but decided it wasn’t the place or
time.

“Someday.”

~ * ~

Stanzy tossed and turned all night with
dreams of Edward Teache and Katrina, as screaming muffled cries for
help from the deck of the
Freedom
echoed in her head. Faces
of the young girls she’d known who had each met a watery grave
floated in and out of her consciousness, their heavy dresses
pulling them down like jaws to the murky Atlantic bottom.

~
Chapter Four
~

“Oh Stanzy, the Hammock House is beautiful!
You were daft not to accept Edward’s invitation! He has told me of
how it once was a place of many grand parties for all sorts of sea
captains, and it was built with materials from as far away as
Scotland. I do not have use for such tales, but I know you would
love to hear all of it! It was built on high ground so that the
seamen could use it as a guide from the Beaufort Inlet to wind
their way through the deadly shoals, similar to the ones on which
we ran aground on our arrival in the banks. He has done nothing but
talk of you throughout our stay. He is such a man of the world and
has seen so many places. Tortuga and other ports I have never even
heard of before.

“Sarah and I have already been to several
balls and we may even stay another fortnight.

“I have made the acquaintance of so many
ladies here in Bath, as well. Many are married to seafaring men,
and pregnancy must be in the water here. I met a Mrs. Drummond, and
a Mrs. Thatcher, both of whom are due to deliver at any time. Their
husbands are out to sea currently, but I look forward to returning
to see if they perhaps have a mate that would meet my standards—my
standards, Stanzy, not yours!”

Constanza put the letter down and shook her
head.
The silly girl. She’d been silly since the moment she
opened her eyes on this world and it didn’t help that Father had
spoiled her rotten because of her beauty. Her beauty couldn’t save
us, Daddy. Another of your colossal miscalculations.

Her father had always hoped Katrina would
marry into money and not forget her family after her bags had been
packed. In the end though, her beauty hadn’t been enough to keep
the debt collectors away, nor had it stopped her father drowning
his daily sorrows in a tall glass of ale.

Picking up the second letter, her eyebrows
knitted with concern. Sealed with a blood red wax, she didn’t
recognize the handwriting. She opened it with shaking hands,
fearing further bad tidings from Bristol, possibly regarding her
dear uncle, who was getting on in years.

Her eyes opened and jaw dropped at the
contents.

“Dearest Constanza,

“Once you were aboard my vessel, I have had
trouble thinking of any other woman. I think you are a good match
for me and I am asking for your hand in marriage. I can offer you
far more riches than your current station at the plantation and, as
there is no father to speak to, I intend to speak to Hopkins about
it on my next visit. I will be out to sea for a few weeks, and when
I return, I will come to collect my bride!

“Yours,

“Edward Teache”

Chest heaving, her heart pounding so
furiously in her chest she felt it might escape her ribcage and
drop to the floor, she bellowed into the quiet, “That arrogant
idiot!”

What will I do when he comes here? For
some reason, that peacock Hopkins seems very intent on keeping
Edward Teache happy
.

Thank goodness they were all still
traveling. She would have some time to sort it all out before their
return.

She made her way out of her room and down to
the servants’ quarters in a daze, not registering any of her
surroundings. The life of a governess was a difficult one. She was
expected to have the manners of a gentlewoman, but ate and roomed
in the servants’ quarters. As fate would have it, she wasn’t fully
accepted by the servants either, as she had access to the master’s
children.

If not for Lucian, her life would have been
very solitary indeed. He’d been raised on the plantation with all
the slaves, so was accepted by them as family. His position as
liaison between the two made her welcome in the servants’
quarters.

She sat at the table, and Bess placed a cup
of tea in front of her. Her hand traced the underside of the table
which was smooth, unlike the rough hewn top. It must be an
additional table for guests when the plantation became too full for
the regular dining room. She wondered if the table had been turned
this year at all. The only guests she’d seen the family entertain
were Teache and his mates. The only time the Hopkinses did any sort
of socializing was when they went into town.

The door opened from the kitchen and Lucian
entered, smiling at her. His face was so carefree this morn, he
looked ten years younger. Walking to the stove, he scooped oatmeal
into two bowls and filled one with milk, and two spoons of
sugar.

He set one wooden bowl down in front of her,
“I believe this is how you like your oatmeal, Stanzy.”

I cannot believe someone actually handed me
my breakfast, or noticed my preference for anything. It has been
twelve long years since anyone handed me anything other than a baby
or a broom.

She felt her eyes well, and tears splatter
down onto her cheeks. Since her mother had passed, no one in all
these years had ever thought to consider her needs. Lucian’s
thoughtful gesture touched her so much she ducked her head and wept
into her hands. With him she actually felt safe enough to admit she
was perpetually frightened, even though her daily attitude conveyed
the opposite.

She raised her head and wiped her eyes,
watching Lucian's decidedly uncomfortable expression at her
reaction to his kindness. He sank into the seat beside her,
awkwardly placing an arm around her shoulders.

When she looked sideways at him, she burst
out laughing. His expression changed from awkward to utterly
dumbfounded.

“Stanzy?” he said very carefully.

“Lucian. I have never seen the likes of
you.” She leaned and kissed him full on the mouth.

Never losing contact with her lips, he
hauled her onto his lap. His hands caressed her hips.

Bess shook her head in astonishment. “My
word! Would you two just go on and get it over with! Neither one of
you is goin’ to be of any use around here ‘til you just go on and
get together! These folks is puritans, and if they sees you two
goin’ on like this out where others can see, you two both gonna be
outta work!”

When Bess quit speaking, he broke the kiss.
His face was serious again, and he gently extricated her entangled
body from his.

“She is correct, Stanzy. Puritans can be
punished for even caring too much about any one thing, even their
own children. They believe God may punish them for attributing too
much value to possessions and family. We have to do this
right.”

He kissed her again, quickly. Then dropped
to one knee on the hardwood floor, the noise resonating through the
kitchen.

Mouth agape, Bess plopped down the spoon she
was stirring the oatmeal with and yelled. “Alfonso! Get in
here!”

The elderly man ambled in as quickly as his
rheumatism would permit and looked wildly around for trouble. Then
seeing Lucian on the floor, he nodded and grinned at Bess.

“Stanzy, I know we have known each other
only a month’s time, but sometimes in life you just
know
.
Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

He looks so vulnerable. I have never met
anyone who could be so self-assured one moment, as when he stood up
to Teache, or when he looked so frightened of me, a woman, as if I
have the power to strike him down.

She swallowed hard. Never in her wildest
imaginations had she thought this day would come for her. Long ago
she’d resigned herself to being alone.

“Yes, Lucian, I have never wanted anything
more in my life.”

The joy on his face mirrored her own
elation. Reaching for her, he pulled her down to the floor. He lost
his balance and took her with him, falling in a heap of arms and
legs.

Bess guffawed and added, “They are perfectly
matched—perfectly insane.”

~ * ~

Constanza walked across the dim apartment
toward Megan's bed. Bess felt Meg had to be sick as she hadn’t so
much as ventured out of her bed for a whole day. Her tiny body was
wrapped in the blanket so tight, Stanzy was afraid she might
smother herself.

Megan began to cry in earnest as soon as
Stanzy touched her back. Peering under the covers she saw Meg
cradled a doll to her chest. This doll wasn’t like the others she’d
decapitated or maimed. It was soft, and she desperately clung to it
as she sobbed.

I knew she was in there, stuck in her
mind…

Empathy was an easy emotion to feel toward
this tiny, sick creature whose parents no longer visited her, who
perpetually felt uncomfortable in her own skin, and who was unable
to communicate even her most basic needs. Life could be crueler
than death at times.

Stanzy swiped at her face, surprised at the
tears wetting her hand. Groomed from an early age as a physician,
she’d been taught to be stoic and logical despite the pressure or
situation, and above all else, to assist the patient in feeling
safe and cared for. She’d successfully remained emotion-free for
amputations, births, and even an occasional death—however, children
were different for her.

This child was different.

She’d pierced through Stanzy’s protective
bubble like a needle through parchment paper.

“Meg. Meg, sit up.”

Meg stared at her from under her blanket
cave.

Constanza raised her hands and performed the
sign ‘mama.’ Meg sat up suddenly and grabbed Stanzy’s hands and
shook them. Stanzy quickly performed the sign again, then Meg took
her hand and imitated the gesture.

“Yes! Yes! Mama!” Stanzy stood up and
shouted an unrefined whoop of glee loud enough to send Bess flying
up the stairs.

Then the realization dawned on her. “Honey,
I am not your mama.”

Meg continued to stare at her and performed
the sign again.

“Bess, I am just going to permit her to call
me it, as it is the first attempt to communicate I have ever
seen.”

“She can call you cat vomit if she wants,
for all I care. You get her to talk and I will be sure to tell
Hopkins it was all your doin’. Then that Teache feller won’t have
no chance of sweepin’ you outta here!”

“How did you know about that?”

“You ought to be more careful where you
leave your personal effects layin’ open for the world to see. Does
Lucian know about the proposal?”

Stanzy cast her eyes down and nipped her
lower lip. “No. I haven’t spoken of it to him. I didn’t want to mar
the memory of Lucian proposing to me.”

“Only thing that is marred is your dress,
from rollin’ ‘round on the kitchen floor with him. You best tell
him soon.”

“I will.”

Two hours later, Stanzy walked down the
stairs, nursing an open wound to her arm where Meg had clawed in
frustration when she couldn’t comply with her requests. At the
kitchen sink, she began to clean the wound, wincing at the burning
pain. The door opened and the boys and Lucian emerged from the
field.

Arms wrapped around her waist, until he saw
what she was doing. “Meg?” he asked pointedly.

“Yes, but Lucian...she is signing...come
with me, you have to see her.”

~ * ~

The sloop made its way through the narrow
azure waterway between Ocracoke Island and the sandbar. To the
crew, it had now become known as ‘the hole.’

Morning sun rose over the island and the
crew—men not accustomed to idleness—was losing patience. One day’s
wait alone had resulted in three knife wounds and one death.

“Aye, Captain, I can see her approaching!”
Beaumont called from his lofty perch in the crow’s nest. “She is
coming in from the southeast.”

The sloop sprang into action, gliding out of
the hole and into the Atlantic proper. The small Dutch fleut was no
match for the sloop, which began to gain on it immediately.

Beaumont dropped to the deck, making the
cabin boy jump with fright. “You see, Johnny, the fleut is a prime
target. Cargo is housed in its hull, and it only takes twelve men
to man it. There may be twelve guns, but that means each seaman
will have to man a gun, with no one left to man the sails,” he
explained to the young cabin boy.

“Well that is just daft, they are asking for
us to come and take their loot.”

“Aye! The owners are cheap, and want to pay
as little as possible to get their goods to the Carolina’s, so that
usually means there will be a small crew aboard—” He was stopped
short by the sound of gunfire.

“Sir, the flag is red today...the other week
we sailed, a black flag was raised...what do they mean?”

“Red means no quarter, boy.”

The captain emerged. Although used to his
appearance each day, the cabin boy shrank back in fear and awe. The
captain had lit his beard on fire—or so it seemed—and his beard
grew all the way to his eye sockets, making him look more animal or
perhaps devil, than man.

The
Queen Anne’s Revenge
began firing
on the fleut, and sure enough, it stood still in the water as it
returned fire. They approached the vessel within yelling range and
the captain bellowed, “If ye surrender yer cargo now, we will let
ye swim to shore. If not...well the gate to hell has already been
open.”