"I Will Not Watch the Ocean"

            It was years before I understood why it was that William Turner ever married me. I wasn't anyone…interesting, that was certain. Not the sort of woman who merited or deserved the interest of such a dashing sailor, no…not I. I was just…a woman, plain and plump and ordinary, the daughter of a harbourmaster of a port in Cornwall who couldn't afford the latest fashions from London for both of his daughters. Papa doted on both of us, to be sure – my older prettier sister got gowns and corsets and suitors; I got a large hat to shield my eyes from the summer son and the freedom to run about the docks, helping my father with his recordbooks. The sea called to me, just as it always had done to my father. During the winters, I dreamed of the feel of the sun on my face in summer and the tales I'd heard of the new world, of a place called the Caribbean, of places where the sun shone al the time and brightly-coloured birds flitted through the trees and the scents of exotic flowers filled the air. If I were beautiful like my sister, I would have longed for a wealthy suitor who would take me to the new world – as it was, I merely counted the coins set aside for my dowry and wondered how long it would be before I could declare myself an old maid.

            And then…a ship with black sails came to our harbour, and before I knew it, everything was changing.

            Everyone else called him Bootstrap. Bootstrap Bill. But he let me call him William – an honour that only his fascinating flamboyant young captain shared. He stayed there, talking to me…me, of all people…until Papa shooed him away. He returned, many times…every day, in fact, stopping and chatting and I encouraged his attention even if I wasn't quite sure I deserved it. The day before the Black Pearl left our harbour, he asked for permission to court me. He kissed me once, tenderly, after I'd given it – and he sailed away at dawn.

            A year later, he returned with a ring and three yards of silk for a gown. He apologized that he hadn't any treasures to spill at my feet, because I deserved them, but it was more than enough for me and for Papa. We were married on a spring morning. Our wedding night was neither like the horror-stories the ladies at the tavern told nor like the passion in the scandalous novel my sister brought home from London. He loved me tenderly, cautiously, sweetly. We bought a house with my dowry and William took over my job as Papa's assistant, leaving me cooped up indoors preparing for the arrival of little Will or Sallie.

            Three months after young William was born, the Black Pearl once again returned to our harbour. Captain Sparrow had found a new first mate, a handsome man with brilliant blue eyes and a tiny baby monkey whose cries were louder than young William's. My husband seemed…changed when the crew of the Peral returned. He was dimmed, sobered, dulled. His eyes followed Sparrow when he thought no one was watching; the blatant hunger and adoration I saw there was at once heartbreaking and terrifying.

            One night, when I was supposed to be asleep, I overheard a conversation – and everything suddenly began to make sense. I understood now…why he was the sort of man who would prefer a patient and understanding wife to one that was beautiful and cold. I understood why his love was true and his passion absent – and it wasn't that he was incapable of it, no, merely that I was the wrong sort of recipient for it. He did not return to my bed that night, nor the next. I understood why. The look in his dark eyes when he gazed on me was quietly apologetic, and as heartbreaking as the one he gave Sparrow. And so I drew him aside and told him that he needn't worry, that I understood. We talked, long into the night, until it was morning and my husband preparing to sail off with the crew of the Pearl. He was off in search of treasure, he whispered, when saying goodbye. He would bring home gold and jewels to pour at the feet of little William and myself, enough for us to movie our lives to the new world, to buy me a house and let me sit in the sun and listen to the songs of the birds while little William played in the gentle aqua sea.  It was irresistible. His stories always were. With a heavy heart, I kissed his lips and sent him on his way.

            The next year passed swiftly. I returned to my childhood task, helping my father keep the records of the comings and goings of our harbour. Little William learned to toddle around behind me, wide-eyed, forever pointing out at the boats. I told him bedtime stories about his father. The sun rose and set, the world turned, and eventually….the Pearl returned.

            William had no treasure to pour at his family's feet. They had yet to find it, it seemed, but once they did we'd all be wealthy beyond compare. He fussed over little William, told tales of the voyages…and then drifted off with Sparrow, leaving me alone with the first mate and his inquisitive monkey. The lonely sailor told stories of his youth, of a pretty young girl and an orchard. She'd been pretty like me, he said, and it was a statement that unaccountably made me blush. He'd been penniless and joined a crew heading out to sea and promised to return to her – yet a fever took her, in his absence. A decade had passed and he could no longer remember her face, just the taste of her kisses. He rested his head in my lap and I fed him bites of apple and eventually we discovered a way to fill the long lonely nights. What can I say…I was neither the first nor the last married woman to be seduced by a charming pirate.

            It would be two years before the Pearl would return. Neither little William nor I returned to the docks – we stayed inside, safe indoors, away from the sea. I taught him how to read and write and cipher; I encouraged him to go with his cousin and watch his uncle work at the forge. They were a safe sort of occupations to cultivate in the little one. I did not want my son taken away, charmed off by the lure of the sea. We got news, occasionally. And eventually the Pearlreturned.

            The entire crew seemed…older. They'd had a brush with death, the details of which none of the men would share. William returned to my bed, clinging to me as if he'd never let me go. I comforted him, the best I could, listened as he told tales of a new treasure that they would hunt – and once they'd found it, he swore he would leave the sea behind. He would bring home enough…just enough to get us all to the new world, enough so that he would never have to risk his life to the seas again. He told of the danger of this trip, and I knew – with a sudden sense of surety – that he would never return.

            He left at dawn, and as I slept I felt him go.