The Bride of Blackbeard

by Brynn Chapman

  “To Governor Alexander Spottswood, Virginia

  “Born Edward Drummond—or, possibly, Edward Teache, from Bristol, England—his direct ancestry, I have been unable to discover as yet. He had begun his marauding career on a Jamaican sloop in 1713 as a crewman, under the pirate Benjamin Hornigold, a coincidence that I have extreme distaste for, and then by the spring of this year of our Lord 1718, Blackbeard, as I have begun to refer to him, had in his command four vessels, and up to 300 crewmen, until this May. His ships, Queen Anne’s Revenge and the Adventure, were lost at Beaufort Inlet, not far from where I am writing this journal. I have been made aware that Stede Bonnet ‘the gentleman pirate’ as he is called (as if there were such a creature!), who once sailed with Blackbeard, escaped the fate of his crewmen, who were all hanged two days previous to this one. He is said to be at large and in hiding. I thought you should know that Blackbeard double-crossed Bonnet in May when the ships were marooned, so he will probably not provide any information as to the whereabouts of Bonnet.

  “As per our discussions, you were right in surmising that Teache is continuing his marauding ways, even after the pardon from Governor Eden. I believe, Governor Spottswood, that you should indeed send the Royal Navy to intervene in his treachery. Rum-running, piracy, and murder, possibly rape, just to name a few of his current infringements on the pardon as he continues to wreak havoc on the locals, who are just now recognizing him for what he is.”

  Abe stood and stretched his lanky frame. He gazed out at the harbor and knew he could be idle no longer. Teache was forever up to no good. It was imperative he find him again as soon as possible and intervene.

  ~ Chapter Fourteen ~

  Constanza forced down Megan’s hands from her frilly frock for the twentieth time.

  “Listen to me, sweet pea. Your mama wants you to wear this dress. I know it feels itchy, just leave it on a while and then we will come back upstairs and put your shift on.”

  Meg pulled at her collar. “You are Mama. Not that...other lady.”

  “No honey, she is Mama.”

  Megan shook her little head in disagreement, tossing curls back and forth, but said nothing further.

  As Stanzy led Meg by the hand down the front grand staircase, the child’s legs shook so badly she lost her footing. Halting Megan at the bottom, she straightened the girl's dress one last time.

  In the drawing room sat four of the best-dressed females Stanzy had ever laid eyes on. Each smiled sweetly at Megan, who indeed looked absolutely beautiful with her black curls all combed out and lying on her back—try as she might, Stanzy still couldn’t get the little thing to tolerate anything in her hair, due to her oversensitive skin and hair follicles.

  Stanzy led Megan into the room, placed her on a stool and sat directly behind her on a chair, poised to intervene at the slightest outburst from her pupil.

  ~ * ~

  Katrina took her finger and gently traced it along the line of the mantel. Mrs. Drummond’s house was immaculate and beautiful, and she was married to a sailor. Katrina was filled with envy. What an exciting life she must lead with her husband bringing home gifts to her from all over the world, and the waiting for him after months of not being together. Indeed, if Edward Teache were to ask for her hand, she would accept his proposal. So what if he was overzealous to bed her. What man would not be? She smiled at her reflection in the looking glass above the mantel, giving her hair a little flip.

  Her reverie stopped short when her eyes fixed across the room and landed on a portrait.

  She headed in that direction straightaway, so single-mindedly she almost tripped on her petticoats. Then her mouth dropped and her insides squirmed. Katrina felt violently ill at the sight before her.

  The portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Drummond was indeed beautiful. The only problem was the man in the picture was supposed to be her betrothed.

  It was Edward. Edward Teache!

  She plopped hard in the chair behind her, and the room threatened to go black. But she willed it back with her anger, intently staring at the portrait.

  Her mind raced through the previous months at the townhall dances, and the words echoed in her head: “They are never all into port at the same time, so we have never met one another’s husbands.” And the tide of massive pregnant bellies swam into view as well. That was when she actually retched.

  Her hands flew to her middle again, and she inadvertently spoke out loud. “He almost had me, too, my chastity—and me...so willing to give it to him.”

  Angry tears spilled and she furiously swiped them away with the back of her hand.

  Mrs. Drummond hurried her descent down the stairs, as fast as her stomach would allow, at the sight of Katrina’s tears.

  “Katrina darling, whatever in the world is wrong?”

  “Elisa, we have to talk.” And I have quite a few homesteads to visit, she added under her breath...

  ~ * ~

  Bess entered the sitting room and handed Meg a cup of water, as she refused to drink tea.

  “So far, so good...” was all she’d muttered when all order disintegrated.

  Megan flung her head backward and tumbled off the stool to the floor, her shrill shrieks echoing through the manor. The ladies covered their ears in fright, and stared first at her, and then her mother with revulsion. Megan's limbs shook and her head banged off the wood floor as the fit ravaged her body.

  Stanzy dropped to her knees. “Bess! Help me!”

  Bess flew back into the room and knelt at Megan’s feet. They tried to keep her from hitting any nearby objects as her tiny frame violently quivered.

  “What is wrong with her?” said her mother, from across the room.

  “I will tell you what is wrong with her. The Hopkinses are being punished for their sins, they both love their belongings entirely too much!” said the most elegantly dressed lady.

  Stanzy barely heard the woman’s words. All she could think of was how she was going to save this child from an awful fate. She looked to the floor and her eyebrows knit together; the dregs of water at the bottom of Megan’s cup contained water tainted yellow.

  ~ * ~

  Katrina swatted the reins on the chestnut’s flanks. She wanted the horse racing at least as fast as her mind.

  How was this possible? Could Edward really have fathered all these children? She thought of his forceful advances and her mind screamed, Yes! How many children had been at the town dances she’d attended, twelve? Fifteen?

  Fifteen pairs of small brown eyes from the town dance filled her memory. Eyes the color of chocolate—like their father’s.

  As she stepped through the gate of the white picket fence, Mrs. Thatcher stood hanging sheets on the line to dry. Around her in the yard were her three-year-old twin boys, fighting over a kite. Her six-year-old girl handed her pieces of wash from the overflowing basket at her feet. The woman's rotund middle made it impossible to bend and retrieve them herself. Through her thin shift, her protruding belly button was clearly visible.

  Katrina swallowed hard. How was she going to shatter this woman's life?

  “Good day, Katrina!” said Alissia as she waved her chubby arm in greeting. This woman was perpetually happy. Katrina had fleeting thoughts that perhaps she should leave it alone. Once these words were spoken, the lives of this woman and her children would be forever altered.

  “Hello, Alissia. It is good to see you.”

  “Come. Let’s have some tea, deary, and tell me what brings you here?”

  Inside, Katrina sat at the table and Alissia handed her a cup. The boys raced around the table smacking one another. Thankfully, their mother called a halt to their warfare. “Enough! Take it outside!”

  Alissia's expression turned shrewd. Staring at Katrina, her eyes narrowed. “What is going on Katrina? You look...well...forlorn. I have never seen you wear it, and it does not become you!”

  “How many years have you been married?”

  “Why? For six and one-half years, why do you ask?”
<
br />   “I really do not know how to say this, so please just take a look at this.”

  She reached into her bag and retrieved the portrait she’d taken from Mrs. Drummond’s house.

  Alissia’s eyes widened and before Katrina knew what was happening, the huge woman slid off the chair, collapsing onto the floor in a heap.

  An hour later, Katrina handed her a handkerchief as Alissia repeatedly dabbed her eyes.

  “How many are there?” Alissia said pointedly.

  When Katrina didn’t answer, the distraught woman’s voice raised to a shriek. “How many?”

  “Truly, I am not certain, but I am set on finding them all and telling them.”

  Horse’s hooves clopped up the stoned lane. Katrina shot to standing so quickly she sent the kitchen chair clattering to the floor as she raced to the window.

  “It’s bloody Edward! I have to get out of here, and my carriage is out front.”

  “Go! Hurry. I will walk down to the lane and try to distract him. Take the southern exit.”

  Katrina’s heart was beating so hard she felt as if she might pass out. Her breath flew in and out in furious spurts, but she couldn’t catch it. She wondered how many of the women she would be able to reach, as Edward was certain to figure out her plan. She dashed as fast as her legs would take her down the southern path. She was determined to reveal his ruse to as many of his wives as she could before fleeing to StoneWater.

  Stanzy had been right about him—and oooohhh! She hated it when her sister was right.

  A carriage approached, its rumble not far off, so she vaulted to the side of the road into the thicket. She peered through the brambles at the passing carriage, her breath whistling out in relief. It wasn’t Teache. She waited until the carriage turned at the bend in the road and continued on. Recognizing it at once, she made her way up the lane to the Threacher's home.

  She knocked on the door; the afternoon air seemed too still and silent.

  Mrs. Threacher opened the door, her eyes were red and bloodshot to match her flaming red hair, which stood out at all angles. “Aloo, Katrina.”

  “Yes, allo, Katrina,” said the voice of evil from behind her.

  Katrina turned and bolted from the porch, heading toward the barn. She flung open the door and unharnessed the only horse already saddled and kicked him hard as she headed for the woods.

  She glanced back toward the farm and spied Teache's carriage hidden behind the barn.

  She could hear the horse’s snorts on the trail behind her. She should have ridden her horse down the road. If he caught her on this trail, no one would hear her screams.

  The sound of hooves drew closer as she urged the horse into an open clearing. She kicked his sides like mad, but it appeared Teache had chosen the younger horse. She could almost hear him breathing. His horse pulled parallel to hers, and Teache leaped across onto her horse, knocking her sideways from the saddle to the ground.

  Before she lost consciousness, she heard him snarl, “That will be enough of talking to my wives. You could be my favorite, Katrina. As a matter of fact, you will be my favorite.”

  From her prone position on the ground, she felt a ring slip onto the fourth finger of her left hand.

  ~ * ~

  Constanza heard them coming before she saw them. She automatically stood and grabbed the musket from beside her and dead bolted the door.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  “Who’s there?”

  “Mrs. Blackwell, it’s me Alphonse. Come quick! Something right terrible is going on!”

  ~ * ~

  Abernathy shifted in the saddle again, his sores had sores, and he adjusted his spyglass to try and locate the devil again. Teache was somewhere ahead of him on the road beneath, returning to Hyde County from Beaufort. Abe had a bad feeling about this. Teache had hurriedly left Hammock House after his attempt to soil the young girl’s virginity had been interrupted. As far as Abe had been able to track, Teache hadn’t seen her, or any other woman for that matter, since his foiled debauchery. This was worrisome since in his pursuit of Teache, not one day had passed, except when he was out to sea of course, that the scoundrel hadn’t kept the company of at least one woman. Abnormal behavior was never a good sign.

  Teache had also been riding hard without rest, so he had a purpose for this journey.

  Abe covered his eyes as lightning flashed and it began to rain. “Blast,” he uttered to the horse. It would be near impossible to keep up, if this turned into a squall.

  ~ * ~

  Constanza entered her brother’s bedroom and gently shook him.

  “Will, wake up. I have to go and tend to the slaves in their quarters. Wake up now. Here is the musket. I want you and Ben to go and sit by the fire ‘til I return. It should not be long. Bolt the door behind me.”

  Will sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Stanzy, what’s going on?’

  “I do not know, but you do not open for anyone except Lucian or me. Understood?”

  Quickly quitting the cottage, she splashed through the muck and felt the cold water shoot under her dress and down into her boots as the rain began to fall sidelong in sheets.

  “The place is cursed, ma’am,” yelled Alphonse over the wind. “Almost everyone is sick, and some of the animals, they are dying, too. It is because of Mr. Hopkins being in league with the devil himself!”

  “You mean Edward Teache? I know he is wicked, Alphonse, but I hardly think he is Lucifer in human form.”

  “I been hearing stories down in the towns of Teache's comings and goings. There is not an ounce of good in the man, far as I can tell, especially after all he has put this farm through. I am telling you I have been on this earth nearly eighty years and that man is pure evil.”

  Stanzy said nothing. She believed there was definitely a God, and there was definitely evil as well in the world. Her doubts as to her own sanity and reasoning ability continued. Could a place really be cursed?

  She hurried to keep up with Alphonse as the rain poured on and on. When they finally reached the slave quarters the first word that entered her mind when she unbolted the door wasn’t curse, but plague.

  Everyone was either throwing up or their hands were violently shaking, Many covered their ears at the sound of the creaking door.

  “Something is making everyone sick. They are not cursed,” she said to Alphonse.

  She bent over a smallish boy, Joseph, a little younger than Will. He was shaking more violently than the adults, and his eyes reminded her of something important, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “Joseph, can you hear me?” She gently lifted him.

  His mother lay close by on a cot and opened her eyes at the sound of his name. Her hands shook as well, and her lips mouthed silent words, but no sound issued forth.

  Constanza sat beside her and cradled her hand in her own. The woman motioned for Stanzy to come closer and she leaned down to hear her whispers.

  “Save my boy, Miss Stanzy.”

  She squeezed the woman’s hand tight, pressed her lips together and nodded.

  “Write this word on the door and let no one enter.” She handed Alphonse a slip of paper: QUARANTINE.

  Sick at heart, she opened the door and strode toward the barn. Upon entering, she put her hand over her nose to ward off the stench. Something squished underfoot. Several slaves knelt beside numerous dead carcasses of cows and sheep which were already rotting. She glanced down to see what she’d stepped on and her breath caught. Two of the pups from the litter lay dead on the hay-covered floor, next to the yellowed water in their bowl.

  “Megan didn’t kill her pup. The water did.”

  Then it dawned on her...the yellow water.

  A hazy guess was forming in her mind and she ran toward the house in the driving rain. She looked into the air and saw that the sky was red, and inadvertently made a sound.

  Unconsciously quoting the Bible, she said under her breath, “And in the morning, it will be foul weather today; for the sky is red and
lowering.”

  She ran full tilt to the main house. Unable to maintain her balance, she skidded and fell in the water. The wind played tug-of-war with a massive bough, until it splintered with a resounding crack, like a wishbone. It winged directly toward her head. Dropping with her face in her hands, it sailed over, narrowly missing her.

  “I hope tornadoes don’t lead the way,” she murmured.

  She knew from experience the power of twisters that could arrive before or after the hurricanes on the coast. She uttered a soft prayer against the elements.

  She scrambled up and headed for the cellar entrance to the house. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light. At least one hundred barrels sat on the dirt floor, some cracked opened, and some sealed shut. Moving from one to another, she searched until she found an empty one—one like those being used to store water for the manor and for the livestock.

  With a trembling hand she scooped some of the water out and held it up to the candlelight. Sure enough, it had a faint yellow glint that was so slight it wouldn’t be perceptible in the barrel.

  “It is the water. There is something in the water from these barrels. They are contaminated.”

  That was the last thought she had before a beam struck her head and she collapsed like a rag-doll to the dirt floor.

  ~ * ~

  The hurricane winds bore down full force on the Outer Banks. Lucian lowered his head against the pounding rain as he rode on toward Hyde County. His coat provided little protection as his water-soaked clothing clung to his skin. He kicked the skittish horse hard and urged her on, encouraging her to stay the course despite the storm.

  News of the approaching storm had been circulating, and he’d started for home as soon as the words were out of the sailor’s mouth. It wasn’t the only thing about which the old tar had been telling tales. He’d told him about the now infamous Blackbeard the Pirate, whom Lucian could only assume was none other than their very own Edward Teache.

  Lucian wondered on the whereabouts of Abe Hornigold and wished he knew how to locate the man.

  When the plantation came into view, he fought down the fear rising in his gut. As he watched, ancient trees were hoisted from the soil like saplings, and loose boards on the manor were flying into the air in all directions. The nearby river had flooded its banks and he feared it would flow the whole way to the farm.