by Lora Thomas
A Pirate’s Heart
Lora Thomas
Copyright © 2015 Lora Perkins
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1511807654
ISBN-10: 1511807652
Copyright © 2015 Lora Perkins
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
All characters and locations in the work are fictional. Any resemblance to living persons or places is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: SelfPubBookCovers.com/Shardel
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A special thanks to my husband, Michael, for being my rock and my biggest fan. And to Laurel Heidtman for being my editor. Without eitherof you my dream would not have came true.
Prelude
Harbour Island, 1767…
The black-haired young boy peered into the open door of the mercantile. The owner and his son were talking to a tall black-haired man. Max knew the store owner would be distracted talking to the Earl. He had learned they were business partners and their discussions would keep their attention drawn to each other for quite some time.
Max slipped his small frame into the store and eased along the wall unseen. For a seven-year-old, he was quite crafty. Yesterday, he had seen the other child in the store playing with a small toy ship. Max wanted it. His mother, Sybil, never bought him any toys. In fact, his mother never bought him anything, never showed him any type of kindness or affection. The only thing his mother ever gave him was the back of her hand or a beating with the heavy, brown leather strap she kept hanging on the back of her door. To her, he was a pawn she had tried to use to coerce the Earl of Hyntington, Lord Robert St. John, into marrying her. Sybil told Max many times that the Earl was his father and that he wanted nothing to do with his illegitimate son.
Max looked at the Earl now, discussing business with the store owner. Oh, how he longed to be wanted by his father. He could imagine his life living in the Earl’s large three-story brick home. He dreamed of playing with the Earl’s other children: five boys—no, five brothers to Max, with another on the way—or so his mother constantly reminded him. Her constant reminders kept ringing in his ears—of being unwanted by anyone, even her, of the Earl being ashamed of him. Taking a disheartened sigh, he moved towards the small wooden boat.
He looked around the store; the two men at the counter were deeply engrossed in their conversation. Max tentatively reached out, carefully picked up the toy with his small hand and gazed upon it. The toy wasn’t much. It was cheaply made, but better than anything he ever possessed. He still wanted it. He could play with the boat at the beach during low tide. Clutching the boat tightly in his hand, he quickly placed the toy into the large pocket of his oversized, tattered, gray coat.
“What do you think you are doing?” he heard a small voice question behind him.
Max turned quickly and noticed the merchant’s son behind him. “Nothing. Mind your own affairs,” Max replied, trying to sound older than his age.
He looked at the small kid beside him. There wasn’t much difference in their age, but Max knew this child was Nicholas Sinclair, the store owner’s son. He had to get away from the meddlesome kid before he was caught with the boat in his pocket. If he got caught, not only would he get his ears boxed by the store owner, but the beating he would receive from his mother would more than likely remove the flesh from his back.
“It is too my business, as well as my father’s. So answer me!” demanded the blond-headed child.
Max stared at the smaller boy. Looking around the store, panic began to set in as his heart raced. Spying the open door in the back of the store room, he said, “I’m just leaving.” He shoved the smaller child down and raced out the back door.
Nicholas jumped up and chased after the other boy. The two men at the counter looked over at the commotion. “Nicholas, quiet down,” Jonathan scolded as he went back to the discussion at hand with the Earl.
Nicholas ran to the back door and spied Max rounding the corner, heading towards the docks and gave chase. He may have been two years younger than the other child, but he was fast. His small legs soon caught up with the older boy. As he neared his target, he reached out with his hand and caught the older boy by his coat, sending both children stumbling to the ground.
“You stole from my father!” Nicholas replied as he tussled with the other boy.
“Get off me!” Max protested as he raised his fist attempting to strike Nicholas’s nose. His fist missed its mark, but connected with Nicholas’s right ear instead.
Tears formed in Nicholas’s eyes from the painful blow, but he held them back as he fought the older boy. Both children rolled in the dirt and mud. Max’s fist connected with Nicholas’s right eye, causing the boy to cry out. Nicholas retaliated with a fist of his own, striking Max’s nose, causing blood to pour.
“Here now! What’s this all about?” questioned the passerby. He separated the two squabbling youngsters. “Nicholas Sinclair! Your father will be furious with you, knowing you’re fighting and in this area, too!”
Nicholas looked up at the man who held him by the collar of his shirt. He recognized the man as Mr. Jones, one of the merchants his father conducted business with. Looking around, he noticed the rotting structures as the foul stench invaded his nostrils. A scantily clad woman caught his attention, and he realized that he was in Tavern Row. He held his chin up high. “It does not matter how or where, but a thief must be brought to justice.”
“I ain’t no thief!” Max defended.
“Well, whether you are or not, we’ll let Mr. Sinclair decide the fate of you both,” Mr. Jones informed the boys. He took both youngsters by their upper arms and led them down the street towards Jonathan’s store.
Max struggled against the man’s tight grip the entire walk to the store, his “Let me go’s” and “I ain’t no thief’s” repeated continuously. The protests fell on deaf ears as they entered the store.
Jonathan and Robert had just finished their business when they heard the commotion coming through the door. “Mr. Jones, what brings you by today?” Jonathan questioned. His eyes were drawn to the two children being dragged into the store, one of them his son. “Nicholas! Look at you!”
Nicholas’s hair, face and clothing were covered in mud. There was a small streak of dried blood on his lower lip. His right eye was beginning to turn a dark color and swell. Nicholas’s fawn-colored trousers had holes in both knees and the sleeve to his navy jacket had been ripped.
Jonathan glanced at the other boy and noticed his clothing looked worse than Nicholas’s, not so much from the fight itself; they were barely rags as they were. His oversized, tattered, dingy gray coat was worn at the elbows with frayed sleeves. The pocket on the left side had been ripped and all the buttons were missing from the front. It was open, allowing a partial view of the almost transparent white linen shirt. The maroon trousers he wore barely covered his knees and had more holes in them than a sieve. The boy was not wearing any stockings and his shoes were mismatched—one brown with a hole in the toe and one black with a large tarnished buckle.
Jonathan’s inspection was disrupted by, “He stole from our store, Father!”
“I found him fighting in Tavern Row with this one,” Mr. Jones said as he shoved Max towards Jonathan.
Jonathan looked at the frightened black-haired child in front of him, his nose still bleeding. Jonathan reached into his left breast pocket, pulled out a silk handkerchief, held it o
ut to the boy and motioned towards his nose. Max proudly held his head up and refused the cloth, wiping his bloody nose on his dirty coat sleeve instead.
Jonathan recognized him as belonging to one of the tavern wenches at the dock. “Is that true, lad?”
Max glared at the man in front of him, pride and fear making him refuse to open his mouth.
“Answer him, boy!” Robert demanded.
“Yes,” Max answered through gritted teeth.
Jonathan placed his hand out in front of him and motioned his fingers towards Max. “Hand it over.”
Max reached into his pocket. He squeezed the hull of the toy boat tightly with his right hand as if saying good-bye to a longtime friend. Pulling the boat out of his pocket, he placed it forcefully in the store owner’s hand, “Here, I don’t want the stupid thing anyway,” he mumbled, the hurt evident in his tone.
Robert looked at the small toy and then at the dark-haired boy. He could see the tears the child was fighting. He knew who the boy’s mother was—that mousy-haired wench at Red’s Tavern. Her name was Sybil Hart. Robert frequently visited her when she was a prostitute at one of the higher end brothels. She became pregnant and tried to convince Robert to marry her before he married his current wife, Elizabeth. She thrust the infant boy at him, told him that Max was his son, and demanded that he wed her. But he wasn’t fooled. She was a whore and the baby she had presented to him could have belonged to anyone. Hell, everyone knew she was favored by several well-off pirates; for all he knew the child could have belonged to those men. But Robert sent her money for the boy’s upkeep anyway. If the child was or was not his, he still needed money for his care. Deep down, he knew Sybil didn’t use the money to buy her son anything, but it helped ease his conscience knowing she could.
Looking at Max now, Robert wondered if Sybil had been telling the truth about the boy. This proud, frightened child before him looked so much like his other boys. Robert shook the thought from his head. He took the small boat out of Jonathan’s hand and placed it into Max’s. “Here, take it.”
Max looked at the Earl strangely and opened his mouth to protest. He would not be pitied. Before he could say a word, Robert replied, “Go now before I change my mind and allow Mr. Sinclair to call the authorities.” Max wrapped his fingers around his prize and raced out the front door.
“Now, why did you do that?” Jonathan questioned his business partner.
“It was the Christian thing to do. I know for a fact that he has nothing.” Robert reached into his pocket and placed a coin on the counter. “That should cover the price of the toy.”
Jonathan acknowledged the payment with a nod of his head, but said no more. He had known Robert too long and knew that you did not question his strange ways.
“But—” Nicholas began to protest.
“Enough, boy,” Jonathan interrupted, turning to his son. “ ‘Tis done. Now go wash up and change in my office before your mother sees you. It will be hard enough to deal with her because of your eye. If she sees your tattered clothing, she’ll have both our heads.” Nicholas glared at his father and stomped up the stairs to his father’s office.
Once out the door, Max made his way through the back alleys until he was a safe distance from the store. Pulling out the boat, he gave a triumphant smile. Finally! A toy to call his own!
Max made his way to a section of the beach and played where the water had pooled along the sand. Pushing the boat across the warm pool to the other side, he pretended he was sailing across the ocean to a better life. He was so lost in his own fantasy world that he hadn’t noticed the tide coming in. He watched in horror as a wave crashed onto shore and over the boat. Panic stricken, he raced frantically towards the edge of the pool and began looking for his prize. Feeling something slide past his feet, he reached down just before the boat was taken away by the incoming tide. Clutching the toy in his hand, he brought it to his chest.
His eyes turned skyward and he noticed the pink cast as the sun sank lower in the sky. A squadron of pelicans flew overhead towards their nightly nesting grounds. He followed the flight path of the birds and spotted the approaching thunderheads. Placing the toy back into his pocket, he turned and made his way back to the tavern where he lived.
Red’s Tavern was a vile place. It was filthy and infested with vermin. The brown front door was broken and no longer attached to the hinges. The large broken section had been removed years ago, but the outside frame was still attached to the building. The door had been replaced by a tattered red sheet, hence the name. The windows were so filthy that you could not see into or out of the establishment through the layers of grime that had built up over the years.
Max made his way to the back of the tavern. He knew better than to enter through the front door. Mr. Bailey, the tavern owner, would tan his hide if he did so. Entering through the back was fine by Max; he needed a place to hide his new treasure. Peering around the corner of the tavern, he checked to make sure no one was out back and made his way to a stack of crates beside the door. He placed his hand into his pocket and pulled out the toy. Pride was evident in his dark eyes as he looked down at the object in his hand.
“Wot ya hidin’, boy?” asked a woman from behind.
Max’s heart sank upon hearing his mother’s voice. “Nothing.” He turned around and placed the toy behind his back.
“Yer hidin’ somethin’. Now wot is it?”
“It ain’t nothin’,” he insisted.
Sybil marched angrily to her son and jerked his hand out from behind his back. She looked down at the toy and back to her son. Max could see the fury in her cloudy, brown eyes. The wind blew and wrapped a strand of her dull, lifeless, brown hair around her face. She took her bony fingers and pulled the tress away from her pale, scarred face. In an instant, she jerked the toy out of his hand.
“No!” Max protested as he attempted to retrieve the toy from her grasp.
“Is this wot ya stole?!” she asked, shaking the toy in his face
Max said nothing as he looked horror-stricken at his mother.
“Dontcha lie ta me, boy. I done heard all about it. Ya stole from the Earl.”
“I didn’t. He give it to me!”
“Liar!” his mother yelled at him as she raised her hand and struck his face with the back of her hand. “Ya ungrateful little bastard. If he quits sendin’ me money fer ya ‘cause ya stole from ‘em, I’ll sell ya ta one of them slave ships.”
“Honest, he give it to me!”
“Stop lyin’ ta me, boy!”
“Please, Mommy, give me back ma boat,” Max pleaded as he attempted to reach for the toy again.
“Don’t call me that!” Sybil hissed with disgust. “Ya ain’t been nothin’ but trouble since ya came out of me. I should’ve tossed ya in the sea when ya wuz born. Ya don’t deserve this.” She shook the boat in his face again. “Ya don’t deserve nothin’, ya ungrateful brat.” Max watched in horror as she pulled her arm back and threw the boat down the alley. He turned to run after the boat, only to feel his mother’s fingers around his arm. “I’ll show ya wot happens when ya steal and then lie ta me!”
“No!” Max protested as he placed his hands over his head to protect himself. He could feel her cold hands hit his face over and over again. Her last backhand sent him tumbling to the ground.
“Get up,” she spat with hatred.
Slowly standing, tears ran down his cheeks. He wiped them away with his dirty sleeve, leaving a mud and blood covered streak across his face.
“Dontcha be cryin’. Ya got what ya deserved, sa man up and take it. Now go ta yer room and change.”
Max nodded his head and made his way into the back of the tavern. The nauseating smell of the tavern hit him full force. Every tavern he entered had the same smell. The only description of the stench was dirty, disease-ridden women and sex. He climbed the steps, his heart filled with disappointment over losing his toy. The beatings he could handle. His mother had beaten him daily for as long as he could remember
, but the loss of the toy was a different matter.
Max opened the door to the back room he shared with his mother. The strong smell of cheap liquor and opium was powerful, but he had grown accustomed to the irritating fumes. He took off his oversized jacket and placed it on the broken wooden chair by the window. He took off his thin shirt, folded it neatly and placed it on the chair. The sound of the door slamming caused him to jump with fear. Turning his head, his heart sank as he watched Sybil take down the brown, leather strap from the back of the door.
“Mother, please. I won’t do it again. I promise. Please don’t use that,” he pleaded with desperation as he pointed to the strap.
She said nothing as she approached him. She grabbed him by his thick, black hair and pulled him to her bed. He attempted to pull free, but his small frame was unable to overpower his mother. She tossed him onto the bed face down and placed her knee onto his legs to hold him in place.
“No!” he yelled with panic.
“I’ll teach ya, ya ungrateful thief!” she yelled as she raised the strap and brought it down across his back.
“Stop!” he pleaded to no avail. His desperate pleas for her to stop fell on deaf ears. She hit him over and over again with the heavy, thick strap. When he stopped begging, she stopped her beating.
She looked down at the welts forming on his back and sneered. “Now get dressed and get the hell out of ma sight. I have more important people ta attend to other than dealin’ with you.”
Max felt her body rise off him and winced as he pushed himself up from the bed. The door slammed behind him. He walked over to the chair and placed the same shirt back on. A grimace crossed his face as he pulled the shirt over his tender back. At least she didn’t cut his flesh, which was what he was expecting. Most of her beatings usually didn’t. All that they did was leave nasty red marks and dark bruises.
He opened the door. As he turned, a hand touched his shoulder causing him to jump as if the devil had just spoken his name.
“She wasn’t always so hateful,” the old prostitute said in a shaky voice.
