Disclaimer: This universe is owned by Disney, not me. I
write solely in admiration, with no intention of
intellectual theft, and I profit from this in no way, shape, or form.
*******
The room was close with the smells of illness and the smoke of the fire that kept his mother warm. The boy stood by his mother's bedside, listening to her faint voice.
"When I am gone," she paused and coughed into the rag she held, leaving a stain of blood to add to the many that already spotted it, "there will be nothing for you here. You know why you haven't been apprenticed yet."
"My father left no word with you what trade he wished me to follow," he said.
She nodded. "Now it has been three years since he has been in Portsmouth. It may be that some ill has befallen him, or he may simply have been unable to come for some reason. I hope it is the latter. I do not know where he might be, but he told me that most of his trading was done in the Caribbean, out of Port Royal in Jamaica. I want you to go there, Will, to find him."
"How?" Will looked around the small, nearly bare room. Since his mother had become so weak, she had been unable to work and they had been selling off their possessions one by one in order to pay the rent and buy food, though Will had contributed what he could, running errands for the local shopkeeper for a few odd pence. The only thing of value that he could think of they still had was the medallion that his father had sent to him two years ago, a gold piece with a skull on it. Will thought it must be a souvenir of an encounter with a pirate ship, in which his father's vessel had defeated those criminals, and treasured it – he would not sell it for any money.
His mother's sunken eyes gleamed. "Look in the trunk. On the right-hand side, at the bottom, there is a loose piece; pull it up."
From its hiding place Will pulled out a large folded piece of paper, a bit rubbed along the creases.
"That, Will, is a warrant on a moneylender. Your father left it for you."
Carefully Will spelled out the writing on it, and looked at his mother in amazement. "Two hundred pounds?"
"I didn't want it to be spent on small things," she answered his unspoken question. "It was always meant to ensure your future. I had thought to use it for an apprenticeship, perhaps even in London, but now it would be better spent to take you to your father. This man might be reluctant to give you the money, though, so we must go to him together, tomorrow."
Will was still too much astonished to argue with her, despite his worry that she was unfit even to walk from their lodgings to this banker, or whatever he was.
His worry was not misplaced. She managed to walk so far, secure the money, and return partway home, and then collapsed on the street. Some kindly bystanders helped Will carry her home, but they both knew that time was short. His mother sent to find one Captain Charles Kirtland, master of the Berenice, whom she knew slightly and trusted to take her son safely to the Caribbean.
Kirtland was a genial man with a short black beard and a broad face. Will liked him and was glad that he would be traveling on the man's ship. He was not privy to the negotiations his mother made with the captain, but after Kirtland had gone, she told him that his passage was paid for and that he would have a share in the cargo, so that once he arrived and it was sold, he would have money to support him while he looked for his father. She gave him five pounds that she had held out for any immediate expenses he might have on arrival.
"William Turner," she said over and over. "A merchant sailor, last known to be sailing on the Yancy. Ask for him – from what he told me he is well known in those parts. Someone will be able to help you."
Will assured her that all would be well, but his throat was tight as he looked at her. Her skin was drawn fine and taut over her bones, and there were hectic spots of color on her cheeks. She smiled and said, "Now that is settled, I can rest comfortably for a change. Sit here by me."
Obediently Will sat and held her hand as she fell asleep. He curled up beside her on the bed and dozed off himself.
In the morning he woke, stiff and cramped. He had forgotten to bank the fire and it had gone out. He went next door to borrow some coals, and after making it up again, turned to shake his mother gently awake. She did not stir.
Will sat on the floor, holding her unmoving hand, his head bowed to the mattress on which his mother's body lay. Through the morning he sat so, but at last he moved and searched through the room for anything he might want to take with him. There was little enough, and it all made up into a bundle that even a lad of thirteen could carry. Hoisting it, he went to tell Father Thomas, vicar of St. Michael's, and ask him to see that his mother was buried decently, giving the man fifteen shillings.
The vicar looked concerned. "What are you going to do, lad? Not apprenticed yet, are you?"
"No," Will spoke proudly. "I'm going to emigrate. My father left money for me. I'm going to the Caribbean – I sail on the Berenice in three days."
"We'll have the funeral service the day after tomorrow, then, so you can be here. I'll send for Goody Hutchins to prepare your mother for burial. Ten of the clock."
Will nodded. He was glad that the Berenice sailed no sooner.
His last few days in Portsmouth passed in a blur, as he visited his favorite places and said farewell to his friends. The day of the funeral was rainy, and he thought it seemed only right. There were only a few people present – his mother had always been close-mouthed about her family. Will did not even know if he had any living relatives besides his father, assuming William Turner still lived.
When it was over, he went back to the ship, where he had been staying under Captain Kirtland's eye. They were to catch the mid-morning tide out of the harbor next day.
After a brief period of seasickness, Will quickly adjusted to the motion of the ship and grew to enjoy it. As a paying passenger, and one with no responsibilities until they reached Jamaica, he found himself with nothing to do, and so spent much of his time observing the sailors as they worked, and watching the sea and sky slip past. Day by day brought small differences: the color of the water became brighter as the sun's rays strengthened, and when the men fished for a change in their diet he saw varieties he had never seen at the fishmongers' at home. He thought the life of a sailor seemed quite desirable, and hoped that when he found his father he might convince him to let him do that, rather than some dull and ordinary apprenticeship as a tanner or such.
*******
The room was close with the smells of illness and the smoke of the fire that kept his mother warm. The boy stood by his mother's bedside, listening to her faint voice.
"When I am gone," she paused and coughed into the rag she held, leaving a stain of blood to add to the many that already spotted it, "there will be nothing for you here. You know why you haven't been apprenticed yet."
"My father left no word with you what trade he wished me to follow," he said.
She nodded. "Now it has been three years since he has been in Portsmouth. It may be that some ill has befallen him, or he may simply have been unable to come for some reason. I hope it is the latter. I do not know where he might be, but he told me that most of his trading was done in the Caribbean, out of Port Royal in Jamaica. I want you to go there, Will, to find him."
"How?" Will looked around the small, nearly bare room. Since his mother had become so weak, she had been unable to work and they had been selling off their possessions one by one in order to pay the rent and buy food, though Will had contributed what he could, running errands for the local shopkeeper for a few odd pence. The only thing of value that he could think of they still had was the medallion that his father had sent to him two years ago, a gold piece with a skull on it. Will thought it must be a souvenir of an encounter with a pirate ship, in which his father's vessel had defeated those criminals, and treasured it – he would not sell it for any money.
His mother's sunken eyes gleamed. "Look in the trunk. On the right-hand side, at the bottom, there is a loose piece; pull it up."
From its hiding place Will pulled out a large folded piece of paper, a bit rubbed along the creases.
"That, Will, is a warrant on a moneylender. Your father left it for you."
Carefully Will spelled out the writing on it, and looked at his mother in amazement. "Two hundred pounds?"
"I didn't want it to be spent on small things," she answered his unspoken question. "It was always meant to ensure your future. I had thought to use it for an apprenticeship, perhaps even in London, but now it would be better spent to take you to your father. This man might be reluctant to give you the money, though, so we must go to him together, tomorrow."
Will was still too much astonished to argue with her, despite his worry that she was unfit even to walk from their lodgings to this banker, or whatever he was.
His worry was not misplaced. She managed to walk so far, secure the money, and return partway home, and then collapsed on the street. Some kindly bystanders helped Will carry her home, but they both knew that time was short. His mother sent to find one Captain Charles Kirtland, master of the Berenice, whom she knew slightly and trusted to take her son safely to the Caribbean.
Kirtland was a genial man with a short black beard and a broad face. Will liked him and was glad that he would be traveling on the man's ship. He was not privy to the negotiations his mother made with the captain, but after Kirtland had gone, she told him that his passage was paid for and that he would have a share in the cargo, so that once he arrived and it was sold, he would have money to support him while he looked for his father. She gave him five pounds that she had held out for any immediate expenses he might have on arrival.
"William Turner," she said over and over. "A merchant sailor, last known to be sailing on the Yancy. Ask for him – from what he told me he is well known in those parts. Someone will be able to help you."
Will assured her that all would be well, but his throat was tight as he looked at her. Her skin was drawn fine and taut over her bones, and there were hectic spots of color on her cheeks. She smiled and said, "Now that is settled, I can rest comfortably for a change. Sit here by me."
Obediently Will sat and held her hand as she fell asleep. He curled up beside her on the bed and dozed off himself.
In the morning he woke, stiff and cramped. He had forgotten to bank the fire and it had gone out. He went next door to borrow some coals, and after making it up again, turned to shake his mother gently awake. She did not stir.
Will sat on the floor, holding her unmoving hand, his head bowed to the mattress on which his mother's body lay. Through the morning he sat so, but at last he moved and searched through the room for anything he might want to take with him. There was little enough, and it all made up into a bundle that even a lad of thirteen could carry. Hoisting it, he went to tell Father Thomas, vicar of St. Michael's, and ask him to see that his mother was buried decently, giving the man fifteen shillings.
The vicar looked concerned. "What are you going to do, lad? Not apprenticed yet, are you?"
"No," Will spoke proudly. "I'm going to emigrate. My father left money for me. I'm going to the Caribbean – I sail on the Berenice in three days."
"We'll have the funeral service the day after tomorrow, then, so you can be here. I'll send for Goody Hutchins to prepare your mother for burial. Ten of the clock."
Will nodded. He was glad that the Berenice sailed no sooner.
His last few days in Portsmouth passed in a blur, as he visited his favorite places and said farewell to his friends. The day of the funeral was rainy, and he thought it seemed only right. There were only a few people present – his mother had always been close-mouthed about her family. Will did not even know if he had any living relatives besides his father, assuming William Turner still lived.
When it was over, he went back to the ship, where he had been staying under Captain Kirtland's eye. They were to catch the mid-morning tide out of the harbor next day.
After a brief period of seasickness, Will quickly adjusted to the motion of the ship and grew to enjoy it. As a paying passenger, and one with no responsibilities until they reached Jamaica, he found himself with nothing to do, and so spent much of his time observing the sailors as they worked, and watching the sea and sky slip past. Day by day brought small differences: the color of the water became brighter as the sun's rays strengthened, and when the men fished for a change in their diet he saw varieties he had never seen at the fishmongers' at home. He thought the life of a sailor seemed quite desirable, and hoped that when he found his father he might convince him to let him do that, rather than some dull and ordinary apprenticeship as a tanner or such.