by Kristy Tate
Something rammed against the ship with so much force she flew across the cabin. The ship shuddered and groaned. Cami’s thoughts traveled back to her physics class. An object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. She wondered if, in this instance, the British were the unbalanced force.
Or maybe, she thought as she pulled herself up from the floor and settled on the bed, she was the unbalanced one and none of this craziness was real. Rubbing first her throbbing head, and then her achy shoulder, she listened to the mayhem directly above her.
The ship’s groans and sounds of grinding wood were quickly drowned out by the boom of cannon fire.
Cami covered her ears, crawled into the bed and shivered beneath the covers while the men above her screamed, swore, and shouted. Metal clanked against metal. Although terrified, Cami wondered if they were sword fighting for real, as opposed to the choreographed swordplay she’d seen on TV and in the movies.
Fear drove away all curiosity and she had to think about what could happen to her if Phillip Fleur and his men lost the battle. Would she need to defend herself? And if so, with what? She peeked out of the quilts, searching for a weapon. The most lethal objects she could see were a quill feather pen and a bottle of ink.
Remembering her mom kept a pistol hidden between the mattress and box spring, Cami scooted to the edge of the bed and looked beneath it. Rope fashioned as a net crisscrossed beneath the mattress. No box spring and nowhere to hide a weapon. Cami propped up her knees and studied the desk.
Shivering more from fright than cold, she padded across the floor and searched the desk. In the second drawer from the left she discovered a false bottom. Adrenalin helped her smash the thin wood paneling.
A pearl-handled pistol lay nestled in a swath of blue satin. Cautiously, Cami picked it up. It felt solid and cold in her hand. Unsure if it was loaded and, therefore, dangerous, Cami deposited it on the bed. She stared at it.
She and her mom had spent several Saturdays at the shooting range, so she was familiar with modern-day hand pistols, but this gun was a different sort of creature—as foreign to her as the men scuffling above her.
While the sounds of the battle raged, Cami dragged a chair so that it faced the door and picked up the gun. Holding it made her itchy and twitchy with nerves, so she placed it in her lap.
On deck, the fighting continued on and on, and she didn’t know if she sat waiting for an hour or only minutes. Finally, the din onboard quieted, and the door latch rattled.
Cami grasped the gun with both hands and held it in front of her. She tried to remember all she’d been taught at the firing range while her shaking hands bobbled mid-air. Cursing, she tried to hold them still. She took a deep breath and recited the laws of guns safety.
All guns are always loaded.
Never let the muzzle cover anything you are not willing to destroy.
Keep your finger off the trigger until your sights are on the target.
Be sure of your target and what is beyond it.
But that was just it. She didn’t know what or, in this case, who her target was. She knew she could never shoot anyone, so when Phillip flung open the door, barged into the cabin, scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder, she did little more than let out a peep of surprise while the gun clattered to the floor.
CHAPTER 4
“I apologize for this, wench,” Phillip said as he stormed up the steps with Cami slung over his shoulder.
Facing his back, Cami thought about pummeling him with her hands and kicking his chest, but the sight of the deck swimming with blood, gore, and injured men froze her. The smell of blood and smoke sickened her, and she limply bounced against Phillip as he climbed down a rope ladder to a waiting rowboat.
With a thud, he deposited her onto a bench among his men. He shouted at her, but it took a moment for her to understand what he was saying. She looked to her fellow passengers for help, but they kept their gazes focused on the rolling waves. No one would meet her eye.
“How did you signal the British Navy? What form of communication did you use?” Phillip stood at the head of the boat, his arms folded, his legs wide and his expression glowering.
“Why do you think I had anything to do with this?” she asked. “I don’t even know anyone British. I don’t even like British comedy.” And she never watched Dr. Who—so why was she caught in one of his episodes?
Phillip continued to bellow at her, cursing, using words she’d never heard before. She held up her hands, surrendering. “Okay, I get it. I show up, and minutes later the enemy ships appear. That’s suspicious. Do you want to give me to them?”
His eyes narrowed. “No, you will be my leverage!”
In spite of her jittery nerves, Cami laughed. “They won’t want me anymore than you do, I promise.” Cami looked out over the water at the burning ship flying the Union Jack in the distance. A grim realization struck her. “Did you kill all of them?”
Phillip sat down, braced his hands on his knees and frowned at her. “No, my first mate will deliver the prisoners to Virginia.”
She swallowed. “Did very many die?” It was one thing to watch an action movie where hundreds of people died, but that wasn’t real. This was. Or was it?
The water splashing over the side with each oar rotation, the hard wooden bench beneath her, and the rolling waves all felt real. The smoke from the burning ships, the ocean’s briny scent, and the stinking men sharing her space told her it smelled real, too. Eyes, ears, touch, and nose told her that this was real. The only one of her senses not having an opinion was taste.
Cami’s gaze sought out Phillip’s lips.
#
When an island appeared on the horizon, a well of excitement bubbled in her chest. Palm trees swayed in the wind and gulls wheeled and cried overhead. Natives in bright colored clothing worked in the fields. Cami wondered what they harvested, tobacco? As they drew closer, Cami realized why Phillip would want his island to remain a secret—it looked like paradise.
“My home.” Phillip’s gaze ran over her as if he’d just noticed her wearing his clothes. His lips twitched and an incredulous expression crossed his face. Placing his hands on her waist, he picked her up and swung her toward the sand. She landed on dry ground.
“Your prison,” he said, before letting her go. He turned to the hairy man at his side. “Take her inside, show her to my sister’s room, find her something decent to wear, and make sure her door is secure.”
The white mansion gleaming in the warm sunshine reminded Cami of George Washington’s Mount Vernon—except for the palm trees and hibiscus plants, of course. The hairy man led her up the beach toward the house. He seemed friendly, but his hand on the hilt of his sword told her if she tried to run he would probably not think twice about cutting her off at her knees.
He marched her up the wide steps and held open the heavily carved wooden doors. Cami brushed past him into a great marble foyer. A circular staircase twirled in front of her and paintings with thick gold frames lined the walls.
“Follow me.” The man headed for the stairs.
“What’s your name?” Cami asked.
“Why?”
“Well, it would be nice to know what to call you.”
“You may call me Roi,” he said without looking at her.
“Is that your name?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” She paused. “You may call me Princess.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I took French in high school and I know you are no more a king than I am a princess.”
“Touché.” He threw a grin over his shoulder. “I see we understand each other.”
“Not really,” Cami muttered. How could she expect anyone to understand anything about her when she didn’t even understand anything about herself?
“This is your room,” Roi said, flinging open a door. A tapestry
rug in soft pastels lay on the floor. A bed draped in a white gossamer frame dominated the room. Large windows looked out on the calm blue sea.
His gaze roamed over her and his mustache twitched. “Your apparel grows ever more outlandish.”
“Well, at least it’s clean, which is something you can’t say about your clothes!” Cami said, smoothing down the cotton.
“How does the Captain feel about you wearing his undergarments?”
“This is underwear?”
“The Captain’s undergarments, I believe.”
Cami stuck her chin in the air and tried not to let her embarrassment show. “I could put my tennis skirt back on. Do you think that would be better?”
The hairy man looked Cami up and down. “No. At least now you are covered.”
“That’s what I thought, too.”
“There are sure to be gowns somewhere.”
Cami stepped inside, and as soon as she did, Roi slipped out and closed the door. A key turned in the lock.
As quickly as she could, Cami tore off the Captain’s under-things and kicked them into a corner. She’d wear just her bra and panties from now on if she had to. Shuddering, she climbed into the bed, buried her face in the pillow and cried.
Hours or maybe minutes later, she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Here now, babe,” a kind voice said. “I brought you tea and a warm roll.”
Cami sat up, brushed the tears from her eyes, and stared into the face of a small, round woman with frizzled gray hair, dark brown skin, and ebony eyes.
“Who are you?” Cami asked.
“Lilou.”
“Are you a slave?”
“I am a free woman. All of us in Dr. Fleur’s employ are free.”
Cami sniffed. “Do you think he’ll let me be free, too?”
Lilou smiled gently and retrieved a tray from a table and placed it on the bed beside Cami. “I think he’ll let you be whoever you wish.”
Cami’s stomach growled. She hadn’t realized until that moment she was starving. The whole wheat roll on the plate looked better to Cami than even the cafeteria cookies.
“This is a snack to tide you over until dinner. The Captain would like for you to join him.” Lilou patted Cami’s knee. “You eat now, child, while I find you something appropriate to wear.”
Lilou returned with an armful of dresses by the time Cami was swallowing her last bite of the roll.
“Where did you get those?” Cami asked.
“They belonged to the Captain’s mother. She died two years ago, God bless her.” Lilou placed the gowns on a chair by the window and held one up for Cami’s inspection. It was made of a blue shimmery fabric and had lace around the bodice and sleeves. “You favor her. No wonder the Captain is so fond of you.”
“The Captain isn’t fond of me!”
“Well, if he’s not already, he soon will be!” Lilou shook the dress at Cami. “Let’s get you dressed.”
“I can dress myself,” Cami said.
Lilou laughed. “Laws, child. Aren’t you a funny creature!”
But when Lilou handed her the dress riddled with tiny buttons running down the back, Cami had to admit she needed help. And she also really had to pee, and she wasn’t sure how or where to do that.
#
After Cami found and used the chamber pot beneath her bed, she sat in a chair before a large gilded mirror while Lilou did her hair. “Why am I getting dressed up?” Cami asked.
Lilou’s gaze met her reflection in the mirror. “Don’t your people dress for dinner?”
“No. I mean, we wear clothes, of course, but not like this.” She motioned at the shimmery blue dress.
“Why don’t you tell me about your folks in Connecticut?” Lilou suggested.
Cami bit her bottom lip, unsure what to say. Obviously, women in the seventeen hundreds didn’t work as attorneys, like her mom, and the men probably couldn’t take off and leave their families like her father had. “I live alone with my mom—mother. My father is…gone.”
“Laws, child, if’n there’s just the two of you, your mother must be missing you something fierce.”
“Yes,” Cami said slowly. “I guess she would be.” An ache that had nothing to do with the hundreds of hairpins Lilou had poked in her head began to pulse in Cami’s temples as she thought about her mom. If Cami didn’t show up before dark, her mom would alert the police, call everyone in the neighborhood, track down all her friends, and interrogate them. And no one would know what had happened to her. Which was completely understandable, since Cami didn’t know what had actually happened, either. Was her body lying on the science room floor while her mind had a holiday on a hidden island off the coast of Florida?
Cami tried to blink back her tears, but a few of them trailed down her cheeks. Using the back of her hand, she wiped them away, hoping Lilou wouldn’t notice.
“There now, child.” Lilou patted her shoulder. “We’ll get you back where you belong.”
“I don’t know how you can.” Cami sniffed and gave up on hiding her tears. Putting her hand on her forehead, she said, “Something’s wrong with me. I’m having some sort of a breakdown.”
“A breakdown? I know nothing about that. You look right as rain. You’re lost and a little confused, tis all. Somehow, you fell off a ship.”
“But I wasn’t on a ship.”
“Then how did you wind up in the middle of the ocean?”
“I don’t know.”
“You fell off a ship, probably hit your head, and now you can’t remember what end is up.”
“I hit my head…” Cami moved to touch her head, but Lilou swatted her hand away from the elaborate up-do. Cami folded her hands in her lap. “I guess that makes sense.” And it did, sort of.
What if Cami really belonged in the seventeen hundreds and her previous life in the twenty-first century was a delusion? Or maybe this new life was the hallucination. But did it matter? It wasn’t as if she could find her way back to Norfolk Comprehensive even if she wanted to. Maybe the trick was to enjoy where she was, right now. She was wearing a gorgeous dress, staying in a mansion, and about to have dinner with a man who looked like the guy she’d been in love with since she was five.
The implications dawned on her. No more college applications. No term papers. No exams. No reading assignments. No lab experiments. No tennis matches. Cami glanced out the window at the swaying palm trees, silky blue ocean, and cloudless sky.
Had she died? Was this her heaven? A sigh escaped her lips, and her tears suddenly stopped as if a faucet had been turned off.
“There, miss. You look beautiful,” Lilou said as she stuck the last hairpin in Cami’s up-do.
“Thank you,” Cami breathed. She gazed at her reflection in the wavy silvery mirror. She looked like herself, but different. No make-up, pink skin, fancy hair.
Lilou stood back and beamed at her creation. “Child, I do believe you are an answer to everyone’s prayer.”
“Really? Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s true. Captain Phillip has been lonely a long time.”
#
Cami paused in the foyer. Light from candles and lanterns filled the dining room with a warm glow. With his hands folded behind his back, Phillip stood by the window as he watched the ships bob in the harbor. The lights on the ships cast shivery reflections that stretched toward shore. In her mind, Cami knew Phillip La Fleur wasn’t the Joel Fleur she’d known and loved for most of her life, but he looked so much like him she couldn’t stop her heart from racing or her pulse from singing.
He must have felt her near because he turned. A scowl marred his perfect features when he saw her, reminding her he hated her and blamed her for the British attack.
“Your mother’s dress. Lilou gave it to me.”
“Yes.” He clipped the one syllable.
“I hope it’s okay.”
“O-K,” he repeated as if he didn’t know what that meant.
“I hope,” Cami fal
tered, “I hope you don’t mind…I didn’t want to wear your underwear anymore.”
His lips twitched as he fought a grin. “I think that wise.”
“Do you still think I’m a spy?”
His grin faded and he looked irritated as he pulled out a chair for her at the table. “It matters not. You can do little harm if you are carefully guarded.”
Cami settled in her chair and placed the linen napkin in her lap. “I’m really used to being carefully guarded.”
Suspicion returned to his eyes.
“I don’t mean I was in jail, or anything. It’s just my mom…my mother…was really, really protective.”
Phillip took the chair at the end of the table. “If this is the case, she must be terribly worried about you now.”
“I’m sure she is.” A smile crept to Cami’s lips.
“And you are not concerned?” Phillip raised his hand, and a man dressed in a black suit coat, a silky cravat tied over a crisp white shirt materialized from an open doorway, carrying a bottle of wine.
Cami watched as the man poured wine into her goblet. “I don’t drink,” she said.
Phillip raised his eyebrows in surprise.
Cami thought about telling him she’d promised her mom—actually signed a contract her mom had drawn up—stating that if Cami didn’t drink until she was of age then her mom would pay for her college tuition. But wait. ‘Of age’ in twenty-first century Connecticut was probably very different from ‘of age’ in the eighteenth-century Caribbean.
“I promised my mom—mother—I wouldn’t drink until I was an adult.”
His lips twitched. “And how old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“And you do not consider yourself an adult?”
“Well, of course, I do, but my mom, and actually most of the world, would say otherwise.”
“Many women are married at eighteen.”
Not knowing what to say, Cami smiled at him, picked up her goblet and raised it to her lips. The wine smelled like rotten fruit. She took a tiny sip. It tasted much worse than rotting fruit. Using her napkin, she patted her lips. “Can I have some water?”
