Acknowledgement
Sincere thanks to my agent, Lois Bennett, for supporting my work, and to the excellent literary judgment of my editor, Patty Howell, for always helping turn words to polished fiction.
~ Chapter One ~
July 1718
I cannot let him strike me again. I am going mad from it.
Her father’s massive fist darted out and connected with her cheek. Pain exploded in her face and her knees buckled. She landed on the floor in a heap. Stunned, she lifted her hand, staring in horror at her father, and felt a welt rising on her cheek.
His fingers were round as sausages—the hands of a butcher, not a surgeon.
“I hate you and your cursed sister, and yes, even the boy,” he growled. “I regret the day I ever lay with your mother. She has gone and left me with what? A heart that will not mend, and three mouths to feed; I ask you—how can that be fair?”
Constanza slowly raised her head, hoping she wouldn’t have the vertigo. She didn’t. Not this time. She gazed out at the rising sun. If I tell him what I really think, this will escalate into an all out brawl. Soon, Kitty and William will rise, and then they will see it. Stay down, do not speak. Hold your tongue...but I so want to tell him what a miserable drunken lark of a father he is... No, do not rise.
With much effort, she forced a look of calm on her face. “You have patients in less than two hours and you have just returned home. I suggest you go have a lie, or we will be turning away our day’s wages.”
~ * ~
Constanza woke from the dream and looked around. I have traded one nightmare for another.
She regarded the bowels of the ship, which contained the chattel. As the ship cut through the swells, every board creaked in protest. A small girl of six lay curled up against her mother for warmth—the child’s father had passed on yesterday. Constanza watched as the little girl’s hand covered her mouth, desperately trying not to wretch at the fetid stench that filled the air.
The sound of gunfire exploded nearby; close enough to render Constanza deaf for a moment. She bolted upright and purposely began to open and close her mouth, all the while sticking her fingers in her ears in some stupid, sleep-filled attempt to restore her hearing.
She looked to her left, searching for her sister, and saw Katrina moving behind her, as she had since the day she was born.
“Where is William?” Constanza shouted.
“I do not know,” Katrina replied.
Constanza stood and fought the ever-present light-headedness that always occurred the morning after a full night to and fro on the Brigantine ship.
Once the dizziness subsided, her nostrils were assailed with the next onslaught. The stench—an overwhelming miasma of human misery. The future colonists were wedged in between crates of unknown contents. The smell from the combination of their inability to cleanse themselves properly, and vomit from those who were still unable to get their sea legs, presented a cauldron of pestilence.
She wound her way through the sea of bodies, trying not to stare at the half dead, newly dead, or pitifully sick.
What was I thinking? America, humph. We would have been better off on the streets of Bristol than to die on this floating cesspool before even stepping foot on North Carolina soil.
“William!” she bellowed. “Where are you?”
She began to climb the ladder to the deck, where seamen only permitted ‘the cargo’ out from the hold two times a day, but she didn’t care.
If they shoot me now, at least the suffering will be over. A quick death would be preferable to enduring the rest of this voyage.
Careful to mind the rigging, she walked around the deck. Her eyes darted so frantically she feared she’d vomit on the spot and draw attention to herself. The few crew members who’d spied her leered almost uncontrollably. After ninety days at sea, it amazed her only two rapes had occurred. Purposefully, she cast her eyes downward, so as not to encourage them. She didn’t plan on becoming another victim of morally destitute men.
Then she saw him. William stood at the bow of the ship with the captain. As she approached, she could see many rope knots lying about the deck. A figure eight knot laid at Will’s feet and a partially constructed slip knot in his hand.
“No offense, Captain. But I am of the mind William would be better off learning how to use a spade and a plow as we are destined for North Carolina.”
The man looked up from William. Even in the dawn’s light, the captain was a menacing creature. His full head of black hair and shaggy mane of a beard made him appear more animal than man. However, he had looked after her family since they’d boarded his vessel. Captain Teache took a particular interest in Will. But she wasn’t a fool. This was merely a ruse for his real interest—herself or her sister.
And let us be realistic; between me and Katrina, there is no contest. Katrina has always been the fairest.
Arranged by her ailing uncle for a much decreased fare, the captain had agreed to take the three of them to the New World. After a lifetime toiling at sea, the captain was to become a gentleman of leisure. On more than one occasion, Teache had expressed that this was his first and last voyage with passengers. An agreement had been reached through Charles Eden, Governor of North Carolina. All misfits had been allowed passage to the outer banks—the barrier islands that protected a major portion of the coastline of the North Carolinian colony.
“Come, Will. You have troubled the captain long enough.”
As she slipped her arm around her eleven-year-old brother’s shoulders, she felt the eyes of every crew member on her, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
“It will be a miracle if we make it to North Carolina,” she whispered into William’s ear.
~ * ~
In the ship’s hold, Constanza’s foot jerked in response to her dream, connecting with William’s backside. She slept as much as possible since she could never escape the seasickness. He pushed her leg out of his back and rolled away.
~ * ~
Constanza! Get in here right now!” her father bellowed.
She sat on the side of her bed and trembled.
“Stanzy!” It came again through the floorboards.
Her door cracked open and her mother poked her head in, squinting through the gloom.
“Constanza, honey? Are you awake?”
“Yes, Mama. I don’t want to go down. He has been drinking again, hasn’t he?”
Her mother bit her lip, her dark-circled, hollow eyes staring at Constanza. She moved to the end of the bed, picked up Constanza’s chemise and folded it. “Yes, dear, he has, but he is trying to overcome it. Three months have passed since he has been this way.”
Stanzy sat for a moment trembling, from rage instead of fear.
“For mercy’s sake, Mother, he is a surgeon and a drunk! A worse combination than any I can think of. Yet you expect me to go down and assist him again?”
“Constanza, you know you are his favorite.”
“I am a substitute for the son he so desperately wants. And the only reason he has taught me everything he knows is for occasions like this, not out of concern for how I will make my way in this world.”
A woman’s screams wafted up through the floorboards, echoing in the huge old manor.
The door opened again and tiny Katrina entered rubbing her eyes, “Momma, I’m scared.” Her petite arms encircled her mother’s legs.
Her mother turned and looked at her eldest daughter, desperation on her face, and whispered, “Please...”
Constanza hung her head and squeezed her eyes tightly shut... “For you, Mama. Only for you.”
She made her way down the back steps—the servants’ stairwell, if they had still possessed any—opening the door to her father’s operating room. The stale smell of old spirits smacked her in the face and she wondered how the woman on the table hadn’t already been anesthetized.
“What is it, Father?”
“What took you so long, child? She is ten c
entimeters dilated and the baby is not progressing down the birth canal. What will be your course of action?”
Constanza moved to the foot of the bed and peered between the pair of open legs. She could see the crown of the baby’s head. The mother was lying still, however, as Stanzy watched a huge contraction hit her belly. The woman made no sound or movement.
“Father, did you give her laudanum? How will she be any use to us now to extract this child? And each time you have done it in the past, the babies are groggy and never feed well the first few days.”
“She was screaming and I could not concentrate,” he slurred.
“I am sure the Scotch had absolutely nothing to do with it,” she hissed under her breath.
“Pigeon, let us not squabble, there is work to be done.”
Constanza walked to the side of the bed and held up the woman’s legs to attempt to widen the birth canal. Dr. Smythe stumbled to the foot of the bed and blinked, attempting to focus on the baby’s head. He rubbed his eyes and ran a hand down his whiskered chin.
Gently setting down the woman’s legs, Constanza reached behind her, snatched up a glass of water and threw the cold liquid straight into her father’s bleary face.
He shook his head back and forth, lucidity returning to his features.
Another contraction hit and hardened the belly, but the woman didn’t stir.
“How much did you give her? What if her labor stops? The baby will die.”
“No, they are coming hard and steady every minute. Look, here is another one!”
The rounded belly rose with another rippling contraction. Grabbing the other leg, Stanzy angled her arm, applying downward pressure to assist the child's descent along the birth canal.
“That is it, my darling. It is coming now.” As if on cue, the sound of Dr. Smythe collapsing to the floor echoed through the now quiet house.
Constanza raced to the end of the bed, and in concert with the next contraction placed her fingers in beside the head. The child slid into her arms in a rush of fluid. Swaddling the child with the birthing blanket, she gently rocked him. A soft, cat-like mewling issued from the child.
Her eyes fell to the new mother, lying on the table, sleeping the blissful dreams of laudanum, then to her drunken father at her feet. She watched as if outside herself as tears dropped from the end of her nose, dotting the baby's blanket.
~ * ~
Finally opening her eyes, she felt displaced in time. She blinked and rubbed them in an attempt to get her bearings. She dug inside the pocket of her shift. Where is it? Relief flooded her body when her hand grasped the cold steel of the knife she’d hidden.
William, Katrina?
With both hands she searched in the dark for her siblings, sighing when she felt their warm, soft skin. Both snored softly despite the despicable surroundings. They had started the voyage with fifty men, women and children and now thirty remained. By her calculations, they’d been tossed to and fro at sea for one hundred days, with approximately twenty more to go.
Will’s Sheep dog snuggled peacefully at his side. She thought it highly unusual that they’d been permitted passage for the dog. More than likely, she reasoned, it was because the seamen would probably kill and devour him if grave circumstances arose.
I do not want to dream again. I am not sure which is worse, being home in the past or here on this rubbish vessel.
Quietly standing, she stole away from the sleeping trio, and headed again for fresh air. During the day, she was able to make peace with her woeful upbringing, but at night the wars battled on inside her damaged mind.
As she made her way up the ladder, a pair of legs dangled into the hole—pretty, shapely legs—which was most likely the reason why this person was being permitted to take this perch by the most dishonorable seamen—so that they might enjoy the view.
Of course, she knew the girl—like she knew everyone below deck now. Her name was Amelia and she was traveling to the Carolinas with her parents in hope of making a new start.
“Allo, Amelia. Couldn’t sleep either?”
“No. I come up here most every night to get a bit of the breeze, and the boys, they never tell me to go...”
“No, I do not expect they do.” Constanza leaned over and whispered, “A young lady as beautiful as you ought to be careful around sailors starved of female attention.”
Amelia blushed, tossing a long curl over her shoulder. “You really think I am beautiful?”
Clearly, the meaning of the entire conversation, what Constanza was trying to convey, was lost to this girl. Amelia was about Katrina’s age and they’d become fast friends. Both were fifteen, beautiful and obsessed with men and finding husbands.
Due to an unusual upbringing, Constanza had very little use for men. Since the age of twelve, her father had trained her to become a surgeon’s assistant. As such, she’d witnessed more births, deaths, illnesses and plague than any female she’d ever known. Her mother had been interested in herbology—what some folks referred to as a natural healer. When Constanza’s father found standard medicinal therapies ineffective, he would often consult with his wife as to what herbs had what properties to assist his problem patients.
Their entire small yard in Bristol had housed a tremendous herb garden, which Stanzy had been expected to learn, and had. She’d shouldered the burdens of the family instead of her mother, who’d spent her entire life trying to keep her family together despite her husband’s drinking. Although her mother was decidedly weak, Stanzy had once asked her, near the end of her life, why she’d stayed. Her mother’s chilling answer was one that rang in her ears to this very day.
“Where would we have gone, child?”
Constanza’s only meaningful relationship with a man of substance had been her mother’s brother, Delvin Ellwood Channing. Uncle Delvin had given her advice since the time she was old enough to walk.
He’d arranged this journey for all of them. She could still see her dear uncle’s hands shake as he perused the list of debts her father had hidden from her. He’d presided over the sale of their manor to keep her from debtor’s prison, and her siblings from the workhouse.
Another flip of Amelia’s blonde curls brought Constanza out of her reverie. The girl was peering around at the few seamen who were awake and smiling fetchingly at them.
Constanza shivered at the sexual tension on the deck. “Amelia, do you remember the women who were taken up on deck, and did not return?”
“Yes, my parents’ said they fell ill and died.” Her full lips pouted.
“No, dear, the crewmen forced themselves on them, in the husbandly way. Then I believe they were killed. They had no family to speak for them.”
“No!” Her doe eyes grew huge and clearly afraid now.
“Yes, so let us not sit here and draw attention to ourselves more than necessary.”
“Yes, yes. All right.”
Constanza snickered despite herself as Amelia slumped her shoulders in a feeble attempt to hide her plump breasts.
“So, what is tempting a woman of your age to the colonies, Miss Constanza Smythe?”
“A woman of my age, which is twenty and eight, by the by, is taking the post of governess to two children on a plantation in North Carolina. My uncle arranged it for us, allowing Will and Kitty to come along with me, which is certainly not the custom. My uncle was able to find a family who would take us; I guess they’d had some difficulties with past governesses.”
“Oh, you will make a fine governess. My father always says spinsters make the best...” She stopped, evidently realizing in her self-centered adolescent way perhaps spinster wasn’t the most favorable or courteous term.
Constanza smiled. ”Have you heard any tales about Currituck County?”
“No, ma’am. I do not read the written word. My father says it is indecent for young women. What have you heard?” She leaned close, hopeful that the gossip from Currituck was as juicy as that of Bristol.
“The word Currituck comes from
the native word for Wild Goose. And of course Dare County is named after Virginia Dare, the first child born in the New World.”
She watched Amelia’s eyes glaze over much like Katrina’s would when given a history lesson. Amelia was much more interested in vivid detailed descriptions of the latest frocks from France, or who had married whom last Sunday.
“Have you ever heard of Nags Head?”
Amelia nodded.
“My uncle is a retired merchant sailor. He recently told me the people of Nags Head are tiring of all of the rum-running through their ports, so they have devised a scheme to acquire some of the profits. When pirates come into their port, they have taken to tying a lantern to an old mare’s neck and walking her back and forth across the tall sand dunes that litter the coastline. The pirate ships see the light, think it a dock and when they arrive, they run aground! The townsfolk make the pirates walk the plank and plunder their cargo.”
“And that would be why we are heading for Hatteras Inlet, not Nags Head,” a deep baritone voice rumbled from directly behind her.
Oh my word. He is so massive those hands could snap me like a piece of kindling.
Amelia looked about to swoon at the sight of him. With his dark black locks combed into submission and a freshly shaved face, Teache was a ghost of his wild looks. Indeed, compared to his former appearance, the man could almost pass as handsome.
The young girl began to slip down the ladder, losing her balance twice in the first three steps.
“I believe she is seasick. I will go assist her, Captain.” Stanzy descended the ladder as quickly as possible. Anything to get out of eyeshot of that piercing black gaze.
Sleep was an unwilling bedfellow. Nightmares, perpetually plagued by the demons of her past life, reared their ugly heads each and every night like a macabre show of paintings, each more hideous than the previous one.
~ * ~
“Where could it be?”
Constanza felt her face flush as she checked the loose floorboard for the third time, hoping she’d somehow missed the stash of money. She only resorted to dipping in the savings when their household exceeded its monthly expenditures.
The Bride of Blackbeard Page 2
