Isle of Broken Years

by Jane Fletcher

  “Excuse me, miss.”

  Catalina looked up.

  How old was he? Fourteen? Fifteen? She assumed he was somewhere thereabouts. He was going to be tall, if he kept growing, although currently he had only a few inches on herself. He was lanky, all knees and elbows. His face was hollow to the point of gauntness, emphasizing the lines of cheek and jaw. Combined with the thatch of ash-blond hair and hazel-green eyes, he was almost too pretty for a male.

  “Yes?”

  “You need to pack some things. You’ll be off ship for a while.”

  Catalina felt her heart jump. But no—the ransom could not have arrived so quickly. She could not stop herself from asking, “Why?”

  “We’ve dropped anchor at an island. You, me, and a couple of others will be setting up camp ashore. You’ll be safer there.”

  Safer was a relative term. Catalina said nothing.

  “The food will be better too. I promise. We can get fresh fruit. Hunt game. I’ll cook for you.”

  Was he expecting gratitude? None of the pirates would get any from her. Catalina had seen the trap and knew how close she had been to falling in. She fought back the memory of the men hauling her from her bed—the smell of their bodies, their breath, the touch of their hands, the way candlelight glinted in their eyes. Then Captain Williams appeared, and she had been so thankful. But he had not been there for her; he cared only for the ransom money. She owed him nothing and would ask for nothing.

  She would not even request information beyond the minimum. “When do we leave?”

  “Whenever you’re ready. We’ll be ashore for a few weeks, but the ships will stay at anchor. If you forget anything, we can send for it.”

  “I’ll get Lu—” But Lucia was no longer with her. Either she packed her belongings herself or she asked the cabin boy. “—my things together. Give me a half hour.”

  “Right you are, miss.” He ducked out of the cabin.

  Catalina looked around. Packing would be straightforward. She could leave her church gown and wedding dress behind, also her stays. They were impossible to put on without aid. But did she want to take the Bible? Would she get bored, sitting on the beach? Was it too much to think the tropical island would be more interesting than being stuck in a cabin?

  Leave it. She made the decision. She could always send for the Bible later, when things became dull.

  * * *

  After days in the cabin, the sunlight was dazzling, blinding her. Catalina’s eyes started to water as soon as she emerged on deck. She could only hope nobody would think she was crying from fear. Her concentration went into keeping her back straight and her head up.

  “The longboat is on the starboard bow, just over here, miss.” The cabin boy was at her side. “I’ll help you down.”

  “I ca—”

  Catalina looked over the railing. She had been about to refuse, but it would be impossible to clamber down the rope ladder unaided. In fact, even with help, it was not going to be easy. How would she maintain any decorum? And she was going to have an audience. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the sunlight, she could see every pirate on board had come to watch.

  “There’s a box here you can step on.”

  The cabin boy took her hand. His fingers were rough, gritty with dirt, and surprisingly warm. Catalina resisted the urge to snatch her arm away. She was going to need help, and rather him than any of the leering men.

  From the box, Catalina was able to sit on the railing. She gathered her skirts with one hand while grasping the rigging with the other. Now all she needed was to get her feet on the ladder as gracefully as possible. However, as she swung her legs over the side, her petticoat snagged on rough wood. Her grip on the rope slipped, and she felt herself toppling. Twenty feet below, the pirates in the longboat were watching her. Catalina was suspended over their upturned faces. If she landed on the boat it would hurt, but if she dropped into the sea, would they be able to fish her out before the weight of her skirts dragged her down?

  The cabin boy caught Catalina around the waist, steadying her. “Careful there, miss.”

  His quickness raised a cheer. “That’s it, my lad.”

  “Give her a kiss.”

  “Don’t stop there.”

  For the first time, they were close enough for Catalina to see the soft down on the boy’s cheek, smell the sweat and tar on his body, feel the hard, young muscles of his arms and chest. He continued to hold Catalina while she hunted around for the first foothold.

  “Are you all right now?” He loosened his hold.

  “Yes. I…I don’t know your name.”

  “Sam.”

  “Thank you, Sam.” Anything less would be ungracious.

  Catalina looked over his head, straight at Alonzo, standing amid the rabble on the quarterdeck. For the second time, Catalina nearly fell. Why was he there, with the pirates? Alonzo’s eyes met hers, embarrassed, pleading, then he shook his head and took a step back, disappearing into the crowd.

  “Hang on, miss. I’ll help you.”

  Sam hopped onto the railing, grabbed a dangling rope, and abseiled down the side, moving with monkey-like agility. Presumably, he thought she was frozen with fear or uncertainty. Catalina felt him pull one foot off the rope ladder and reposition it on the loop below.

  “There you go.”

  “Thank you.” The response was automatic.

  With Sam’s help, they finished the ladder and settled in the boat. The half dozen pirates already there took their seats. Somebody on deck tossed down the bundle of her possessions, and four oarsmen began to row. Throughout this, Catalina was lost in a state of bewilderment.

  Alonzo had been part of her life for as long as she could remember. As a youth, he had been her grandfather’s squire, and as a man, her father’s trusted advisor. He had played with her when she was a child and listened to her when no one else could be bothered. He had volunteered to come with her to meet her new husband, and there was nobody she would rather have along. She trusted him with her life. Despite doubts about the effectiveness of prayers, especially retrospective ones, she had offered numerous pleas that he had survived the battle. He was more than a servant; he was a friend. Of all the men who might have joined the murderous thieves, Alonzo was the very last.

  Had she imagined him? Were her eyes playing tricks? The sun had been very bright. But Catalina knew what she had seen. Her surprise faded. One thing she was sure of—whatever reason Alonzo had for being on the pirate ship, it was honorable.

  Catalina looked back over the previous days, when she had felt alone and surrounded by enemies, there had been a true friend close at hand, and now it was too late to talk. The Golden Goose was some forty yards away, with the Santa Eulalia behind. Both ships lay at anchor, their sails furled. The figures of pirates still dangled in the rigging, whooping and catcalling. Catalina ignored them and faced the other direction.

  A perfect bow of golden sand bent away on either side. Behind was a vibrant wall of green. Far inland rose a single, flat-topped mountain, half lost in haze. The breeze carried the scent of wet soil and leaves. It ruffled the ringlets around her face, tickling her forehead and cheeks. Catalina took a deep breath, filling her lungs. The stale cabin air was flushed away.

  After a few minutes, the hull of the longboat rasped on sand. Sam and the rowers jumped out and dragged the boat farther up the beach. Even so, water lay between Catalina and dry land.

  “Would you like me to carry you ashore, miss?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Catalina lowered herself over the side. The sea was warmer than she expected, but also deeper, as high as her knees. Maybe she should have given more thought before rejecting Sam’s offer. Her petticoats became soaked and as heavy as lead. Each step was a struggle to stay upright. Yet somehow she managed it, fighting inch by inch. Luckily, the day was warm. Her clothes would dry quickly.

  Catalina finally waddled from the sea, taking a fair amount of it with her. The inner layers of her pettico
at clung to her legs like wet clay, despite attempts to kick her ankles free. With each step, her shoes squelched. The sand worked its way through the pattern of her lace stockings. She could feel the skin being stripped from her shins and heels.

  Another painful step and she stopped. This was ridiculous. After checking that none of the pirates were watching, Catalina quickly removed her shoes and stockings. The sand was hot and dry between her toes. Tiny seashells crunched when she moved her foot.

  Catalina stood on the beach while her dripping skirt made a wet ring around her. She was just beyond the point where smooth, wave-washed seashore met the higher, windblown banks. A dark line of dead kelp marked the boundary. On the seaward side, a tracery of bird footprints crisscrossed the sand. They were not the only creatures to have been there. Something else had left trails, like those of giant spiders, eighteen inches or more across. Were they crabs?

  Meanwhile, the pirates were busy carrying supplies from the boat to a spot on the tree line. Would Sam know what made the marks? But it was unimportant. Maybe she would ask him later. Catalina continued up the beach until she reached the pile of sacks by the base of a tall palm tree.

  The boat was now empty. Sam joined Catalina while other pirates shoved the longboat back to deep water and jumped in.

  “It’s just going to be four of us on the island,” Sam said. “You, me, Ellis, and Simon. You’ll be safe with us.”

  The only way she could imagine feeling safe was if Alonzo joined them. What chance he would be able to? “Will it just be you, or will others take turns?”

  “No. Just us. The captain picked Ellis and Simon because…well, they like each other a lot, and there’s no risk of them bothering you.”

  “How about you? Are you going to bother me?”

  “No, miss. I’m…No. I won’t.” A faint blush rose on Sam’s cheeks.

  Catalina lowered herself to the sand and adopted as ladylike a position as was possible. Teasing Sam was petty, but strangely entertaining.

  * * *

  The camp on the beach was soon set. The pirates erected a canvas awning to shade the supplies, and Catalina was given her own screened-off section, which allowed her privacy when wanted. However, the two older pirates made it clear they intended to sleep some way off, behind a dense clump of ferns. Sam showed no interest in joining them.

  Catalina was still barefoot. She sat, leaning against the palm tree and wiggling her toes in the sun-warmed sand. It felt good, although she should move into the shade. If she did not take care, she would become as tanned as a farmhand. On the voyage across the Atlantic, Lucia had continually nagged her not to endanger her complexion. Catalina did not want to meet her future husband looking as if she had just come from milking the cows.

  Staying pale was not an issue for common-born pirates like Sam. The cabin boy’s face appeared even darker by comparison with his mop of ash-blond hair. Currently, he stood a short way off, staring out to sea. The scene was pretty enough. Sunlight glittered on waves, rolling gently over golden sand. The sky was deepest blue, with just a few puffy clouds drifting by. Even the pirate ships looked worthy of a painting, bobbing on the ocean.

  Sam had also discarded his boots and stockings, displaying the sharply defined muscles of his calves. His knee britches were worn, loose and shapeless, but hinted at narrow hips. His shoulders were no broader than a child’s, yet to fill out, though it would surely come. In a couple more years, he would be a well-built and very attractive man.

  Catalina looked away. Not for the first time, she wondered what Don Miguel Perez was like. All she knew of him was his name, that he was a good Catholic widower, aged forty-five, and extremely rich. How would he fare as a husband? That was, if this marriage actually happened. Would it be third time lucky?

  Her first betrothed was the only one she had met. Although, since he was three at the time and she had just turned six, her memories of him were blurred, and she had no idea what sort of man he might have become, had he lived that long.

  Poor petit Chevalier Gaston. He had been heir presumptive to the Comte du… Catalina frowned. What had been his uncle’s title? It had been somewhere in France starting with an A. However, the marriage was not to be. Their parents were waiting until Gaston was old enough to make his vows. That day had been drawing close, but then a riding accident claimed him, aged thirteen.

  For her next prospective husband, her parents picked Freiherr Leopold of Bohemia. Yet it had turned out no better. Freiherr Leopold had been an active military man, in an age when military men did not get much chance to sit around idle. He had not even been able to attend their betrothal and had sent a junior officer to stand in his place.

  There had been numerous plans for Leopold to visit Spain and solemnize their marriage, but always something would crop up—a battle to fight, a treaty to negotiate, an audience with Pope Urban VIII. After four years of delay, finally he had been on his way after concluding business in Rome. But his route went via Genoa, which was in the middle of a plague outbreak, and Freiherr Leopold got no farther.

  All of which was becoming delicate for Catalina—twenty-one years old and still unwed. Her parents agreed to the first offer they received and put her on the next ship bound for Veracruz and New Spain. No more waiting for babies to grow up or soldiers to clear their commitments.

  Sam’s voice pulled Catalina back to the present. “We didn’t bring food, since there’ll be better here. I’ll see what I can find. There’s always fruit and eggs. Birds too. Some of these islands even have wild pigs and goats running round. Then we’ll get a fire going.”

  Catalina’s mouth watered. However, she just nodded. No need to let him think she was grateful. She watched Sam prime and ready his pistol. His hands moved with practiced skill. He had done this before, many times.

  And fired his gun.

  And taken the lives of honest folk.

  Sam was a killer, and if justice was served, would end up hanging from a rope around his neck. The letter of marque was a poor excuse, granted by rebels without lawful authority to issue it. Catalina tried to swallow away the tightness in her throat. She refused to feel anything other than disgust for the pirates. On the day she heard of their capture and death she would rejoice—Sam included, despite his youth. She watched him stick the pistol in his waistband and take a step toward the trees.

  A breeze sprung up, growing ever stronger and raising spiraling sand devils across the beach. Overhead, the sky darkened, changing in seconds from blue to lifeless, gunmetal gray. The ground lurched. A pirate cried out in alarm, and Sam dropped to his knees. On the open sea, the water started to froth and bubble, like the contents of some monstrous cauldron.

  Catalina got unsteadily to her feet as another quake shook the ground. The horizon was covered by churning rolls of mist. The sun had vanished. In the gloomy half-light, the sea was growing wilder. Raging vortexes pitted its surface. As Catalina watched, the first ship ripped free of its anchor and started to turn in drunken circles, like a leaf sucked down a drainpipe. The Golden Goose rolled on its side. The bows dipped beneath the water, and then the masts. Tiny figures of doomed pirates dropped from its deck into the unforgiving waves. Roaring wind drowned out their screams, but closer at hand, she heard Sam give a wordless cry.

  Now the other ship, the proud Santa Eulalia de Merida, was caught in a whirlpool. The Spanish galleon was a larger ship, but equally helpless in the maelstrom. On the beach, the waves retreated, drawing back quicker than a man could run. The newly exposed seabed was littered with the wreckage of countless ships. This had happened before, many times.

  Sam grabbed Catalina’s arm. “Come back. The water will return.” He tugged her toward the trees. “We need to—”

  As abruptly as it had risen, the wind dropped. The sky turned blue. The waves rippled gently back over the sand, hiding their grim secret. In the space of a dozen heartbeats, the scene returned to how it had been before, except, instead of two ships, there was just debris floating on the o
cean.

  Sam released her arm. “What the…”

  “Was that an earthquake?” Catalina had read of such things.

  “I don’t think so. Not like any I’ve heard of.”

  Sam stumbled toward the sea. Catalina began to follow, then stopped and stared around. She expected a landscape of carnage, a world ripped open, devastated by the tempest. But apart from part of the awning being blown away, nothing had changed. Except she was now marooned, and regardless of whether Don Miguel paid the ransom, it was one more marriage that was not going to happen.

  The two older men were farther along the beach, standing motionless. Abruptly, one shouted and pointed out to sea. Something was moving in the water, a swimmer. At least one pirate had escaped the sinking ships. Sam and the others rushed to his aid. Catalina stayed where she was. Her heavy skirts would make her more hindrance than help.

  A niggling worry poked at her thoughts, an awareness she could not put her finger on. Absurd after what she had witnessed, but something had changed, something important, something that should be obvious. She tried to pin it down, taking in the ocean, the sky, the beach.

  Some way off, a second pirate was crawling from the sea, on hands and knees. Catalina watched Sam help him to his feet. A third body was rolling in the surf, but this one was inert, either unconscious or dead.

  Catalina turned around. The line of trees was the same as before. Maybe a branch or two was snapped, and a fine coating of sand dusted the leaves. Was it her imagination or was the weather warmer? The sky might be hazier, clouds more in evidence, but shadows still lay sharply defined on the sand.

  That was it. Catalina looked up for confirmation, as if it were needed. She had been right. It was obvious.

  The tempest had lasted only a few minutes, five at most. Before it struck, she was sitting in the sunshine, with her back against a tree. Yet, if she returned to the spot now, she would be in shade. The sun was past its zenith. Afternoon had arrived. Hours had gone by in an instant. But how? Catalina knew she was not mistaken.