Continued. I'm hoping to keep up with this, so far (knock on wood) it hasn't been that hard to write...

New Arrivals

The sky had been a dull blue-gray for hours, the wind had been picking up until the waves were frothed with white and the sea had turned an angry purple. Young William was taking a nap and I was gathering the laundry, what little I'd managed to wash in the few hours while William slept. He was a happy baby but one who didn't seem to understand that night was for sleeping. I sighed and wandered about, tucking clothes pins into my hair and folding sheets and diapers as I pulled them off the line. An especially strong gust tore a sheet from my outstretched hands and it danced merrily away, over the hill, down to a salty death on the rocks of the cove. Frustrated, I wiped hair from my forehead and blinked sweat from my eyes.

And I kept blinking.

On the horizon, which minutes before had been clear of ships, most being tied down in the harbor in preparation for the coming storm, sat a sleek vessel with dark sails I could recognize from a mile away. Sails so ragged one often wondered how such a ship could gather wind. A ship whose timbers I knew like the back of my hand, like the lips of my lover, like the arms of a friend.

The Black Pearl.

I must have stood, basket in hand and jaw dropped for almost a minute before the sounds of William waking up reached my ears and brought me back to reality. I snatched the remaining clothes off the line, not even bothering to fold them, just tossing them into the basket and dashed into the house. I switched the basket for the fussing child and danced around my kitchen with him in my arms, wondering at how lonely I must have been to be so giddy at the arrival of my friends' vessel.

"They're here!" I yelped, utterly gleeful. "They're here, they're here, they're here! Thank God" I gulped down tremendous breaths and twirled around the lower floor of the house alternating between cooing at the baby and hugging him tightly to my chest, hoping desperately that news of my husband would arrive with the storm weary pirates.

As we swirled around the dusty floor, I hummed an old song from my pirating days, one I had learned as a child, one I had then taught to a pirate captain in a fit of rum-soaked madness thus dooming the crew to hear it sung in celebration for the next several years. Ad nauseum.

We're rascals, scoundrels, villans and knaves.
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!
We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs!
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!

Finally, with my rush of happiness having run out, started a small fire in the kitchen hearth and settled the baby back into his cradle. I folded the laundry and returned everything to its proper places and then, on a hopeful, and perhaps desperate, hunch, made ready one of the smaller guestrooms. I didn't expect anyone to stay over, but pirates were an impromptu lot and one always did well to be prepared for anything when they were about.

I found myself sometime later, digging through an old sea chest and discovered within it my effects from the old sea-dog days. I plopped a weathered tri-corn hat onto my son's head and cuddled up next to him on the bed. It had been not even a year since I'd retired to land but I felt much older than I had then. I had since had a child; bought and moved into a house and learned most of the domestic chores the life of a pirate and a governor's daughter had not taught me. The new house, more of a cabin really, was on a high cliff and had a widow's walk, though I would never be a widow, from which the entire horizon was able to be viewed. You could see the most spectacular sunrises from up there…

I curled a protective arm around my boy and tickled his sides with an index finger. His happy laugh made me smile and his cobalt blue eyes had yet to darken into the eventual brown which I hoped would mirror his father's. I sighed and hauled myself up from the bed. The sight of the old ship had me reminiscing about the days when my life had taken that sudden daring plunge into the world of danger and freedom. To quote an old friend, it's remarkable how often those two traits coincide.

I bent down and slid a hand into the old trunk, running my fingertips over the cracked leather of my old sword scabbard and baldric. In a rusty, though well remembered, motion I drew the sword. I hefted it a few times to remind myself of its weight, twirled my wrists once or twice and ran my gaze down the blade, checking for flaws in the metal. The edge was still sharp and, excepting a small spot of rust which I mostly rubbed off with the hem of my dress, untarnished.

I grinned and tried a few slashes, remembering the many fights I had landed myself in with this sword. But sword-fighting takes strength and endurance and very good calluses, all of which I had practically left behind. A few fake parries and the sword felt as if it was made of lead and the skin on the sides of my fingers burned. I sighed once more and slammed the sword back in its scabbard. On a whim I buckled the baldric over my shoulder and grabbed the hat from dear William, who was happily sucking on the corner of the salt marked leather.

"Dashing, Will. Quite dashing…" I murmured as I moved down the steps and back into the kitchen. Rain had apparently started during my rummaging and was tapping insistently against the windows. I paused for a moment, the baby still in my arms and watched the stormy seas. I turned Will around, careful to keep his mouth away from my hat, to show him the sea. The storm's ferocity had increased and the waves were now a sickly color of indigo, green and gray.

I whispered in his ear, 'Your father's out there somewhere, baby boy. And mummy misses him so very much..." My voice trails off so I lay him down in his cradle and head off to make dinner, humming that godforsaken old song once more as I go.

After our meal, I built up the fire and settled into a chair for the air had grown uncommonly cold. The storm still raged outside and lightning flickered around the house. I knew that I made my way up to the widow's walk I would be able to see lightning far off at sea strike the waves. I prayed that the Black Pearl's crew was safe in the storm, preferably off the ship and hunkered down in several fine taverns or inns, downing copious quantities of rum and eyeing a pretty whore or two.

Thinking of rum, I rose and hauled open the door to the cellar. I grabbed a candle, lit it with a slender piece of tinder and went down to decide if my rum stash would be able to withstand a pirate invasion.

After about 20 minutes of blowing dust off bottles to check dates, popping corks for test swigs and stumbling about in the dark, I clambered back up the stairs to the kitchen. I caressed the best bottle I had chosen with an aching thumb as I wiped a years worth of dust and grime from the label.

I put the bottle on the table and headed over to check on William and make sure he wasn't getting too warm, so close to the fire. As I bent over his cradle, a soft, slurred voice rose from the shadows near the door, "'e's the spittin' image of his father, it would seem… and 'ere's his mum dressed up to play pirate too…"

A startled breath found me with sword in hand whirling to face the intruder even as I recognized his voice; the voice that had first proclaimed me pirate.

"Jack Sparrow," I manage through gritted teeth as I eyed the soaking pirate for a long moment. He seemed no more inebriated than usual, though that didn't mean much. Normally I'd have kicked him out 'til he was sober, but knowing Jack, it could be a long while before he would be able to come back in. I sighed once more, "I've been expecting you, or someone else, ever since I saw the Pearl's sail on the horizon. What took you so long?"

He grunts and gives a lopsided grin which answers the question only all to well. "I thought to enjoy your lovely town's hospitality. You know I'm never one to say no to hospitality of any sort…"

I roll my eyes, sheathe my sword and balance my son on one hip. "C'mon into the kitchen… I've just brought up the rum... and don't drip everywhere."

"Ah, love, I knew there was a reason Will kept you 'round… 'Fore he left and all…"