Harry & the Pirate IV: The Chalice of St. Francis

Prologue

It was mid afternoon on a pretty day in late May, and the Black Pearl, dusky Queen of the Caribbean, was sailing into the South Bay of St. Claire Island on a fair wind and a following sea, as per the old saw. The weather was as near perfect as could be had in this part of the world, which was saying a great deal: sparkling, sunlit days were the rule here, rather than the exception as they'd been in England. Much of the crew had originally hailed from those cold, damp regions, including Captain Jack Sparrow. That had been long ago, of course, and one might have expected that the Captain would by now be so accustomed to the excellence of the Caribbean clime as to take it for granted, but it was not so. He greatly appreciated every day of fine weather, for if it turned inclement there would be little rest for him in his well-appointed cabin at the stern of the ship. He'd been known to stay at the helm for days at a time, with short spells to recruit his strength, much to his crew's consternation. He was quite adamant about it, though: the Pearl was vocation and avocation, his responsibility, and his love.

Not his only love, however, and just now, as he stood at the helm, guiding his ship into the bay, he was uncommonly grim of countenance in his concern for the other: Henrietta Sparrow, formerly Dowager Duchess of Wyndham, sister to Governor Weatherby Swann of Port Royal, Jamaica, and his wife of nearly five years.

"She's not on the beach," he said to Gibbs as he looked through his spyglass at the small crowd that was gathering to greet them.

"It's a bit of a walk, Jack," said Gibbs, trying to keep his voice light. "Probably watchin' from the window."

Jack raised the spyglass, but the trees around the big plantation house blocked his view of the French doors that opened onto the balcony from their bedroom. "Maybe," he acknowledged, refusing to dwell on grimmer scenarios. He turned the spyglass toward the beach again, and a smile touched his lips. "There's Tom, jumpin' about like a wee monkey.

"Chip off the old block, ain't he?" grinned Gibbs, encouraging this more cheerful line of thought.

"I suppose so. Been a good many years since I was that lively, though."

"So old cattish as ye are," agreed Gibbs, facetiously with a sidelong glance at his Captain. In Gibbs's opinion, Jack still retained a good share of liveliness in spite of his position of father and husband. Or maybe because of it, with a son like Tom Jackson Sparrow, and a wife like Harry.

Jack had told Gibbs more than once that he was ill-suited to the role of the sober and sensible patriarch, but damned if it had not been thrust upon him, perforce! Gibbs never noticed him struggling too hard against it though. Jack's First suspected, in fact, that the captain missed his little family like the very devil when the Black Pearl was away from her berth on St. Claire Island. But that was a sailor's lot, wasn't it? And made the dear ones all the dearer for the time away. Jack knew this, and so did Harry, but often and often Gibbs had needed to surreptitiously brush a tear from his eye at the sight of the reunited lovers. Gibbs had always been a sentimental fool, of course. Still, it seemed to him that, in spite of the couple's original reluctance to wed, they'd grown uncommonly fond as the years passed.

Which made the present circumstance that much harder to bear, of course.

"Da'! Da'!" yelled Tom, breaking away from Rachel and bounding into the water with a splash to meet his father's boat as it nosed onto the sand. Grinning Jack jumped out and was just in time to grab the back of Tom's coat and haul him up when the four-year-old lost his footing and fell, floundering and splashing. The boy was untroubled by this, though, and threw his arms about his father's neck as Jack picked him up.

"I missed you, Da'!" he said, hugging tight.

Jack feigned choking and staggered a bit, and Tom laughed and loosened his grip.

"That's better!" Jack held his son a little away, and could not help but grin with delight. A chip off the old block, indeed, was Tom, with Jack's own dark coloring, slight build, and gay spirit. "You've been good, then? Behaved yourself an' all?"

"Oh, aye!" Tom assured his father, gravely. "Except for the cat. And the pies."

"The cat and the pies!" exclaimed Jack, frowning.

"And therein lies a tale, eh, young Tom?" said Gibbs coming up beside them, grinning.

"Aye, it does that!" Tom grinned back. Then he looked at his father again, and pasted a sober look on, though his brown eyes twinkled in an amazingly familiar way. "'Twas only Duchess, the parti-colored one. I tied goose quills to 'er tail, an' first she chased 'em 'round an' 'round, and then she got scared and ran up a tree!"

"It was real work, gettin' that cat down, too," said Rachel, grimly, but with her own twinkle. "Old Abel tried and 'bout broke his arm, falling. Had to send one of the younger ones up. He got scratched up, but he got her down."

Jack looked severely at his mischievous son. "I hope your mother took a switch to you for that?"

"Oh, no!" said Tom, blithely. "She wouldn't! And you would've helped me with the pies, Da': they were that good!"

"He's right, y'know," grinned Gibbs, and said fondly, "Cheeky little beggar!"

"Don't bloody encourage him, Gibbs," said Jack, nevertheless shifting the young miscreant to 'Uncle Josh' and turning to Rachel, and to Elizabeth and Will who were standing close at hand. "Is she all right then?"

"She will be," said Rachel, with a certainty that did not permit of doubt.

"She is," said Elizabeth, "But…" She stopped speaking, pressing her lips together.

"What?" demanded Jack, steeling himself.

Will spoke, as Elizabeth was unable. "She's lost the baby, Jack."

Jack nodded. "A girl?"

"Yes."

This was bad. But looking at them he knew there was worse. "And?"

"She…the doctor thinks there won't be another."

Jack stared, a bit numb inside, as when one was badly wounded and the body had yet to acknowledge it. "Oh. Well, no more worries, then, eh?" he said, his voice hollow. He tried to smile.

"Jack, she nearly died," said Elizabeth, in the same hollow voice.

He swallowed convulsively. Without another word, he walked away, crossing the beach and heading up the path to Island House.

She was sitting by the window, in her dressing gown, but stood, shakily as he entered, and smiled with every evidence of happiness. "Jack!"

His brows twitched together. He shut the door and came toward her, eyeing her narrowly. "What the devil are you doing out of bed?"

"I'm fine! Truly! I could not stay abed to greet you." She held out her hands as he approached.

He took them and looked down at her. "They told me."

Her gaze faltered. "Yes. I…I'm sorry."

He squeezed her hands and said harshly, "For what? For me being away, and you close to death?"

She squeezed back, hard, and looked up again, a little mulishly. "I did not! And you are a ship's captain! I'll not have you blame yourself for…for my shortcomings!"

"Shortcomings! Harry…"

"Yes! It…it's no one's fault but mine, is it? I should have rested more, as Rachel said…and taken that dreadful tonic the doctor left…and eaten more fruit…and…" but here her voice became suspended by tears.

"You bloody little fool! It wasn't your fault!" He shook her a little in his shock and frustration at this line of thought.

She swallowed hard, trying to control herself. She said, vehemently, "It was! It was, and don't tell me different! I'm not a child, and you know nothing about it! You weren't even there! And I…" She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Oh, God, I didn't want to do this to you." Her eyes, when they opened again, were full of tears. "Oh, Jack. I'm sorry." And her face crumpled, her heart breaking.

"Oh, Jesus," he whispered, carefully picking her up and carrying her to the bed.

He came down for dinner much later, face set, his eyes telling the truth in spite of it. Elizabeth came to him, and took him in her arms. He closed his eyes and let himself be hugged until it was becoming too much to bear, and he set her gently away.

"Is she all right?" Elizabeth asked.

"She's asleep now," he said.

"She…she didn't cry, you know."

"Did she not? Made up for it today, then, eh?"

Elizabeth's lip quivered.

Will came and put his arm around his wife, and she turned against him, snuffling. Will said to Jack, "She'll be all right. The doctor said so. She just needs rest now."

Jack nodded, and looked down at the wee monkey who'd just latched onto his leg.

"Hullo, Da'!"

"Hullo, Tom." He ruffled his son's hair.

"Up, Da'!"

Tom's Da' obliged. "Lord, you're gettin' too big," Jack groaned. "I'm like to break!" He bounced the little imp a bit, and kissed his soft cheek, hard. Tom squirmed and giggled.

"Scratches!"

Jack smiled and quite deliberately rubbed his bearded face against the boy's, making him squeal. Then Jack kissed him again, and pinched his backside, and said, "That's for the cat and the pies, old son. And you'd best learn to keep out of mischief, for I'm stayin' awhile, savvy?"

Tom squealed again, in sheer delight.