Although you would never know anything happened to look at Lucian. He is all kindness and joy. Unlike me.
Lucian’s arm was healing well, and he often refused her attempts to tend to it, reiterating, “It's fine, leave it.”
Bess waited for her on the porch of the slave quarters and shuffled her inside, shutting the door behind them.
“Who is ill, Bess?”
“It is Stephen, the fool. I am not gonna lie to you, Miss Constanza. That boy is always getting into the hidden storehouses of rum at the main house. He is drunk as a skunk, as well as ill. He is over there on the cot by the fire.”
Stanzy hurried over, knelt beside the cot and proceeded to examine him. She gagged from the strong stench of rum. His hands shook involuntarily and drool seeped from the side of his mouth in a thick, white foam.
“Stephen. Stephen, answer me. Look at me.”
The young slave made no indication he’d heard her speak. His eyes slit briefly, revealing the whites before rolling back into his skull once again. His body shook more violently, setting the cot to banging off the floor.
“Does he drink often?”
“Yes, he does. Most every day he can be seen sneakin’ somethin’ or other.”
“It is probably alcohol palsy. We saw it frequently in Bristol.”
“What?”
“It is a drinking disease, Bess.”
She proceeded to tell Bess the ingredients she would need for the herbal concoction she’d prepared so many times in the past—cayenne, chili powder, cinnamon and sugar. Relating to Bess how to prepare it, she then told her to have Stephen drink it daily and, of course, stay away from the rum.
Sadly, she remembered the first time her mother had taught her how to brew it for her father—she’d been only seven years old. A mere whiff of it brought to mind her father’s face... and fist.
As Constanza left the quarters, she noted the roof. Moss grew everywhere, except running down the center was a peculiar sight—a stark line with no moss. As if God's finger had drawn an Almighty singular stroke. She made a mental note to consult her walking, talking seasonal almanac as to what could cause such a phenomenon.
~ * ~
Abernathy Hornigold's wits were trying to pour out his ears. His strict puritan upbringing to control his emotions wrestled with his righteous indignation as he slowly unraveled the life of one Edward Teache.
A man of principle himself, a family man with six children and one devoted wife, the more this plot unwound before him, the more his hatred for Teache grew exponentially.
He knew to expose himself now would likely find him a court-marshal and no effective way to support his substantial brood of children, but emotions he usually held tightly in check were boiling at the top of his searing mind. After seeing the Blackwells off, he’d returned to his post.
He lagged behind as the carriage he followed lumbered its way around the bend, stopping in a wooded area with a winding brook in view.
“Oh no, the scalawag. Does he mean to merely rape the governess or kill her, too?” he asked himself, aware that he’d been acting alone and clandestinely far too long. “Why she cannot be as old as my eldest daughter. I shall not stand by and watch this.”
He observed Teache and the young woman amble down the path into the woods, talking quietly—too quietly for him to hear—and laughing. Keeping out of sight, he followed them for a quarter of a mile, losing sight of them in an attempt to remain undetected.
“Blast! Where did you go?”
Then he saw them, on a blanket by the clearing, and, by the looks of the situation, about one breath’s moment from a loss of chastity. He dug his heels into his horse and slammed down the trail, intentionally breaking every branch in his wake.
Mission accomplished.
He watched Teache scramble off fair lady, and the look of horror on her young face was perfect—hopefully perfect enough to bring her to her senses!
“Good day, sir! I hope I did not disturb you and your wife? I thought I heard a gunshot from this area and I was just investigating its source.”
Teache all but glowed with fury. He stood up to his full height and glared at Hornigold, certain if fair lady wasn’t sitting nearby, he would already be dead. Indeed, he may still be dead despite her presence.
“I heard no such shot. I suggest you be on your way, sir. And let my wife and me enjoy our day together.”
Hornigold urged the horse forward, fully realizing he may have compromised his mission. But as he watched the girl gather up the blanket and her skirts, then walk back up the trail, he knew it had been worth it.
He’d stopped the naive from sleeping with the devil himself.
~ * ~
The puppy squirmed fitfully, trying to break her hold on it, and Constanza worried it was going to kill itself if she dropped it down the stairs.
“Stop it. Hold still,” she chastised, attempting to kick open the door to Megan’s apartment. The child lay in her bed, the covers over her head, as she’d been from the previous day. No words had been spoken for many days by their beautiful little one, but Constanza was bound and determined to pull them out of her today.
Stanzy sat on the end of the bed and bounced up and down on it wordlessly.
Megan peeked out from beneath the covers and squinted at her.
Encouraged, Constanza scrambled upright on the bed and jumped gleefully up and down, laughing as she did so. Finally, despite herself, Megan started to laugh. Then she, too, stood on the bed and jumped alongside Stanzy.
“There is my girl!”
Constanza then brought the puppy from the other room and sat him on Megan’s lap. Megan stroked the dog in hard even strokes and—eyes shifting to Stanzy then back at the puppy—began to laugh again.
“Dog,” Stanzy said and simultaneously performed the sign.
“Dog.” Meg parroted.
“Wahoo!” Constanza whooped as she twirled around in circles, reminding herself of a game she used to play as a child where she would spin until she could spin no more. She refused to believe the girl possessed any malice as she watched her stroke the new pup.
~ * ~
Edward Teache rode his horse hard. Sweat streamed off her flanks despite the cold weather. Once he reached town, he dismounted in front of the saloon, pushing his way through the dark smoky crowd to the bar. He was no fool and knew the near mishap the other day with Miss Katrina had been no accident. A careless fool followed him, but he had no idea who, or why. And he was good and tired of that farmer as well. He’d tried to be discreet, but when that failed... well...it wouldn’t be the last time he’d had to take what he wanted by force.
Whoever was following him, though, could be certain that if they met in an alley, it would be the end for him. It had nearly cost him his betrothal to Katrina. She was his favorite betrothed so far, second only to her sister.
~ * ~
“Stanzy, I am not going. I will tell Hopkins this is not an appropriate time for me to be traveling to port.” Lucian chewed his lower lip and gazed out the window into the fields.
She noticed the early morning light betrayed the slight trace of crow’s feet forming around her beloved’s eyes.
“Too much has transpired,” he added.
“You worry too much,” she replied. “Do not be vexed. The boys and I will be fine.”
“I cannot put my finger on it. I just do not feel right leaving you. It is as if 'round every corner trouble is waiting to pounce on us.”
She slipped up behind him and laid her head against his back. “True, we have endured many unforeseen circumstances, but surely Providence will permit us space to breathe. You will not be tempted beyond what you can bear,” she teased.
She felt the broad strength in his back relax. “Ah. Well, I am sure someone as headstrong and utterly impossible as you can mind herself and the lads. I acquiesce. I will be back in a month. If anything untoward happens, send post to the port and I will be back as fast—”
In
one quick movement, she placed a finger to his lips to silence him, then wrapped her arms around him. Momentarily, all else in the world faded away.
“Pa, when will you be back?” Ben and Will burst through the door, returning from the barn.
“Manners, boys,” Lucian scolded halfheartedly. “Soon. You watch over your mom and the farm. I am counting on you. You know where all the muskets are kept?”
“Yes, Pa.”
Lucian quickly left the kitchen after ruffling the hair on the boys’ heads.
Later, Stanzy sat on the back porch and stared out into the woods. The uneasy feeling had tripled since Lucian departed for the ports to conduct his business exchanges. Recently she felt the line between reality and her memories of childhood was beginning to blur.
From infancy she’d believed all the tales of the magical creatures her mother remembered from her Irish descent, passed on from generation to generation. Then the days of her father had begun, making her mindset change drastically to one of extreme realism.
Her father had been fiercely pragmatic, so much so that it had drowned out every bit of creativity Stanzy had inherited from her mother. She’d forgotten all about fairies, except for the precious few times she’d told Kitty and Will some of their mother’s stories when they were tiny.
With the history of mental illness in her family, and the recent jaunts of her mind to her troubled past, she was seriously beginning to question her sanity. First, the appearance of the Dollahan in the fields, and then the possible changeling she’d delivered. It was as if her Irish past were invading her mind and insisting she acknowledge it.
The forest captured her attention as she spied an odd multitude of fireflies. Exquisitely lighting up the cypress trees, the beetles danced in a choreographed pattern that resembled a smattering of stars across a darkened sky. The sheer number of them made it impossible to look away.
She sucked in breath through her teeth, then froze. A flame streaked through the swarm of fireflies, whisking through their gathering like a comet. Jack, sitting beside her on the porch, rumbled low in his chest; his hackles rising in warning at the sight of the flame.
“Sit, Jack!”
He barked his displeasure and took off for the brush toward the suspended fire.
She charged after him. An ominous feeling rose in her chest, intuition screamed this might not be a wise choice.
Jack had entered the mouth of the woods and had been swallowed whole.
“Jack!” She pelted headlong into the trees, searching wildly for him. The dog was nowhere to be found, and neither was the source of the mysterious fire.
As quietly as possible, she picked her way through the underbrush, all the while scanning and listening with her whole body for any signs of Jack.
Where are you? Why does everything have to happen the moment Lucian leaves StoneWater's lands?
Movement flashed at the corner of her eye, and she whipped her head around in time to see a whisk of flame disappear over an embankment. She picked up her pace, heading in the direction where she’d seen the light. The air developed a surreal quality, and she was surrounded. The fireflies swarmed into the woods. Thousands of them flickered on and off, forming a lighted net all around her. When she tried to walk toward the direction of the flame, they would swarm and impede her progress.
As if struck dumb, she stood wondering if she’d indeed stepped into one of the enchanted forests from her childhood readings.
Finally, she relented and turning on her heel, headed in the opposite direction. The swarm broke apart with her decision. Hurrying down the alternate path, it parted, permitting her to quicken her pace.
Jack lay sprawled on the ground, his foot wedged between two abnormally large tree roots. By its grossly twisted angle, she knew his foot was broken.
Snap.
The breaking branch sounded so close the hairs on her neck rose in alarm. Someone, or something, was in the woods. Watching them.
Snap, snap, snap.
Footsteps echoed in the forest, crashing through the brush without any attempt at surprise.
Pulling at Jack’s foot, she tried to dislodge it from the woody trap. He let out a great yelp and struggled to stand, making it more difficult for her to free him.
“Stop it, Jack!” She pulled again at his paw, aware the snapping drew nearer. The underbrush was breaking faster.
“Release him!” she yelled at the root. Yanking with all her strength, the twisted brambles parted to free his foot. In disbelief, she shook her head and hoisted the Sheep dog over her shoulders, dashing for the forest exit.
Leaping over a log, her toes tangled in its branches and she plummeted to the ground.
The sound, snap, snap, drew ever nearer.
“Will!” Stanzy screamed in desperation from her position on the ground. She struggled to stand with the dog atop her shoulders.
Will’s voice then penetrated her conscience.
“Stanzy, where are you?” His voice trembled in fright.
“Will! Get the musket!”
Legs burning as she ran pell-mell for the opening in the trees, she forced herself to keep running, despite the weight of the dog. A blow to her head caused her to lose her footing again, and although careening forward, she managed to stay on her feet. A low undercurrent of sound arrived, and out of nowhere a hailstorm struck with gale force winds.
Breaking free from the forest into the grassy clearing, its ragged breathing came in spurts close behind her. She ran on, not chancing a glance; sure that a glimpse of its face would push her to madness.
A shot rang out. Will stood on the porch, aiming toward the woods to her left.
“Run!” he yelled as he let another charge fly.
At last reaching the porch, she collapsed, laying the dog at Will’s feet. She whipped around to see the creature, but the only thing she saw were the fireflies once again.
“Did you see what it was?” she asked Will anxiously.
“No. But its shadow had almost overtaken you when you reached the grass.” He put his arms around her, and unsteadily said, “Stanzy?”
Following his gaze she stared into the sky. There was no hail to be seen anywhere, but there were frogs.
Everywhere.
They hopped through the hail that had previously fallen in the cottage yard, and littered the steps. The rain barrel overflowed with their slimy bodies that tumbled out in macabre freefalls from all its sides.
Croaking filled the air surrounding the cabin and she hugged Will tightly to her, wishing she’d never read a fairie tale in her life.
~ * ~
The days crawled by. Stanzy sat in her rocker by the fire.
Ridiculous. He is just a man. You are fine without him. Stop dwelling on him—on his smell and on his broad back. Stop it! He will be home soon.
Never had she permitted someone to know her so fully—for herself. Except Will of course. She pushed away the thoughts of a colorless life with Lucian. His fiasco with the foreign beauty gave her a glimpse of what life could return to, and the feelings left in its wake were cold and terribly lonely. An ache that started in her womb and spread to her chest engulfed her. She longed for a child with him, so that part of them would always be together.
She hoisted herself from the rocker, took a deep breath, and rallied to the task of teaching Megan. She grinned at the thought of her. Over the past two weeks she’d been able to take her out of her room several times, all without incident. First, she took her horseback riding, which Megan loved, and elicited so much language that Stanzy began keeping a medical record of her advancements. Twice she accompanied Stanzy to sup at the servants’ kitchen table—without her parents’ knowledge of course—and actually requested simple items she desired without tantrums or violence. Her signs were so fast and furious Stanzy often had trouble keeping up with the conversation.
Stanzy walked through the courtyard, the cold November wind cutting through her shawl. Fear bit at her gut with the thought of Meg's fate if
she ever left the governess position at StoneWater. Someday Lucian might want to leave for another county, that is if he ever decided to come back home to her. But she didn’t think she could bear to leave Meg, nor she knew, could Lucian. Megan was the primary reason Lucian had remained at StoneWater. That and the fact he was owed thirty acres bequeathed to him by the late, great Mr. Kirkaldy. Mrs. Hopkins’ father, Theodore Kirkaldy, had cherished Lucian from boyhood, even over his two daughters, whom he had regarded as silly and insensible creatures.
Opening the servants’ entrance door she halted dead in her tracks. Sarah Hopkins stood waiting for her in the kitchen, tapping her scrawny leg impatiently. Stanzy had only seen the mistress in the kitchen once since her arrival.
Bess stood behind her, a look on her face which said, ‘Hold ya tongue.’
The woman didn’t hesitate. “Constanza. It has come to my attention that my daughter has tolerated going out of doors daily for the past several weeks without incident. I am very pleased with your progress. Therefore, I would like you to have her ready for tea today, by one o’clock this afternoon, in the drawing room. Several important ladies are visiting, and I would like nothing better than for them to see my beautiful daughter.”
“Umm, it is true, mum, that she has tolerated being outside, but I really do not feel she is ready for any sort of—”
“Your feelings are of no consequence here. She is my daughter and you will do as I say. One o’clock sharp,” she snapped, turned, and with her nose in the air vacated the kitchen.
Stanzy hurried up the steps to Meg’s apartment, Bess following at her heels. “Her royal tusspot has gone and bit off more than she can chew this time.”
~ * ~
Abernathy sat in his room above the inn and examined his notes. This assignment was slowly driving him to pull out what little hair he had left. The wretched perfunctory spying on such a villain was taking its toll on his countenance.
“10 Novembre 1718
The Bride of Blackbeard Page 17
