The Bride of Blackbeard

by Brynn Chapman

  “What did he call the child?”

  Constanza sighed. How am I going to be able to forget what I have seen if Lucian insists on discussing it with me?

  “A changeling.”

  “What exactly is a changeling?”

  She sighed again, reached into her mind and heard the fairies scratching at the door, anxious to tell their tales. “Changelings are known throughout Ireland as the children of fairies. They are usually abhorrent to look at, and as fairies are typically beautiful, legend says they steal human children and put their changeling babies in their stead.”

  Lucian looked at her intently, and his expression reminded her of Ben, staring animatedly during one of her lessons. She smiled into his rapt face.

  “What?” he said perplexed.

  “Nothing.” She continued with her explanation of changelings. “After a few weeks, the babies’ spines become hunched and they grow long, taloned fingers covered with hair and a full set of sharp pointy teeth. They usually do not live very long, only three or four years. Oh, yes—and they cry most of the day and night.”

  “Hmm...does not sound very pleasant.” He didn’t ask any further questions.

  Propped against Lucian’s shoulder, Stanzy felt sleep coming to claim her again. Eerie flute and fife music played in her head as she dreamt of every child she’d ever delivered with a birth defect.

  The wagon hit a stone on the path, startling Constanza awake from her deep sleep. She was disoriented for a minute, until she felt Lucian’s thigh under her head. Her soul swelled with unaccustomed feelings...comfort and relief. They were going to spend a week at Nags Head to celebrate their union with his Great Aunt Rose. All Lucian had told her about his aunt was that she was in sixty or so years out.

  They’d also decided to wait until their trip home to visit Katrina in Bath. Perhaps she would want to return to StoneWater with them.

  She could have lain in the back of the wagon, but she felt an indescribable urge to stay at his side. It was embarrassing to admit, as she’d always secretly laughed at women who were so taken with their husbands. Describing her previous views of love as cynical would be an understatement.

  Closing her eyes again, she relished the feeling of security; knowing tomorrow it all could disappear. Take each good day for what it is.

  Soon the wagon stopped. “Wake up, we are here.”

  A simple, but tasteful cottage sat near the surf line. Staring out onto the waves licking the beach, her breath caught in her chest.

  She turned and caught Lucian eyeing her, then he looked back out to sea. “She can be beautiful, or she can be cruel as anything, like most women I know.”

  “I hope present company is excluded,” Stanzy said, jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow.

  Entering the kitchen of the cottage, a woman peered into a pot boiling on the stove. She turned to smile widely, and Stanzy thought she looked amazingly young for her age. Her graceful movements showed no sign of rheumatism or rigidity. Long, white hair streamed down her back past her shoulder blades, and she possessed the remnants of once great beauty.

  “Aunt Rose!” Lucian bellowed, striding over and lifting the tiny woman off the ground in an embrace.

  “Oh, my boy, it has been too long since you were here to visit your wizened old aunt!”

  “Constanza, I would like you to meet my favorite aunt, Rose. Aunt Rose, this is my lovely wife, Constanza.”

  “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.” Stanzy took the woman’s hand. “I have heard so much about you.”

  “So you are the one who has captured my boy’s heart so completely?”

  Lucian turned puce, the color his skin reserved for his most mortifying moments.

  “He is like no other,” was all Stanzy could say.

  Later, as they walked down the stretch of beach holding hands, Lucian described the tides and the birds, and told her stories of the sea. Suddenly he dropped her hand and bolted down the beach toward something bobbing in the shallow surf. As he darted into the waves, he reminded her of a schoolboy who had been released to play in the water. He reached the object, picked it up in his hands and turned it over and over.

  “Lucian, what are you doing?” she said breathlessly, running to see what had captured his attention so fully.

  “Sorry. I thought it might be a piece of Ambergris.”

  “A what?”

  “It is from the internal organs of Sperm whales. It has the finest oil, and is very dear. Perfume manufacturers will pay hugely for it! But it is not...”

  He waded out of the water, his breeches wet up to his thighs.

  “How is it you know so much of the sea, too, farmer?”

  They sat on a dune and stared out at the white froth that tipped the incoming waves as they hit the shoreline, again and again.

  “My father was on the lifesaving crews here. Because of the diamond shoals, shipwrecks are completely commonplace to us. There are groups of men to this day, who brave the swells in the hurricanes, to rescue stranded voyagers.”

  “Like you did for me...” She couldn’t help but be amazed that she’d actually found someone so true and pure in motives. Unfortunately, she had come to believe people like Lucian didn’t exist anymore, except in fairie stories her mother used to tell her as a child.

  “Yes, but one night, when I was fourteen, during a particularly bad hurricane my father went out with the boats as he always did and did not return. He was lost to the sea that night. I had begged him to let me go with him as I felt I was old enough to help. I was so angry with him that he would not take me.”

  Constanza said nothing. She held very still and waited for him to continue.

  It is so rare he opens up, I fear to even breathe lest he quit speaking.

  “My mother and I were left alone. I knew I would never be able to make my living at sea as my father had done. I could not stand to see it every day, and peer into its depths...wondering if he might be down there. My mother and I were hired at StoneWater—I to learn the fields and my mother as a servant to Mr. Kirkaldy. Mr. Kirkaldy and I were close as he never had any sons, and well, you can see what Sarah is like. She has not a whit of common sense and neither did her sisters. They were appalled when he wrote me into his will. He was a wonderful man who helped me countless times when he had no obligation to do so. Her father worked the land, and knew everything about it, unlike Ian. Anyway, I have long since forgiven my father. I look at Benjamin and know there is no way I would let him follow me out to sea at fourteen. He made the right decision. Otherwise, my mother would have been totally alone then.”

  She grabbed his hand and they sat in silence for a while.

  On the way back to the cottage, when it was almost in sight on the horizon, he asked, “Tell me about your hand, Constanza.”

  She turned and put her face into the wind. The sun was setting now, and she didn’t want to spoil this perfect day by reliving the memory. But he had given her something today—a piece of his past...of him. How alike we are, carefully choosing our words and to whom we speak them.

  Guarded.

  At peace with her decision, she sat atop a sand dune and very unladylike, hiked up her dress so she could sit cross legged.

  Lucian slid beside her and quietly waited.

  “It is quite simple really. I was fourteen and assisting my father in an amputation. Infection had set into the man’s leg and I was holding his knee still, as Father sawed below the joint in an effort to salvage the rest of the leg. As usual, the lout had been drinking. I was not strong enough to use a bone saw, so I merely assisted. In his inebriated state, Father slipped, quite unintentionally. I felt the pop before I felt any pain. Surprisingly, I did not feel anything for quite a while.”

  She sighed and permitted a few tears to fall, then faced her husband. “All right. That is only the second time I have ever told that story in its true form. I have fabricated every possible scenario to save face for my father.”

  He drew his gaze away from the
shoreline and swallowed hard as he looked at her. “When was the first?”

  “To my Uncle Delvin.”

  He leaned over and started to kiss her. “Thank you.” His kisses became more urgent and he pulled her down between two sand dunes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Constanza, we are married,” he said as he continued to kiss her.

  He stopped abruptly, and pulled back from her. His gaze stopped her and she waited.

  “You can trust me. I will not hurt you. I am never letting you go.”

  “Even though I am wicked and stubborn? And completely unconventional?”

  “Well, I have finally met my match, haven’t I?”

  ~ * ~

  “Are you sure you don’t mind then?” Lucian, smiling like a fool, had nets and poles slung over his shoulder.

  “Lucian, you have not left my side in three days. Go ahead and go, they won’t wait much longer!”

  From outside, two men waited. One yelled, “Lucian, some time before the new year! It is fishing, not leaving for battle!”

  “Shut that door, boy, it is freezing out there!” chastised Rose.

  Quickly stepping outside, he winked at Stanzy and pulled the door closed. Alone with his aunt for the first time, Constanza stared at the back of Rose’s head, unsure what to say.

  Rose turned and set a steaming mug of coffee in front of her. “You do like coffee, don’t you?”

  “I was raised on tea, but I have to admit I drink coffee more and more the longer I stay. So Rose, are you going to give me any tales of pirates? I hear so many of them now, I feel like I know some of them.”

  “Well, when you live down here on the island, The Brethren of the Coast are a somewhat necessary evil I am afraid.”

  “How so?”

  “We are isolated here so we rely on goods brought in by boat. At times, the Brethren provide us with items we cannot get elsewhere.”

  Constanza nodded understanding. This woman was so practical it was like looking into a mirror. A spinster, Rose was self-sufficient and didn’t require a man’s support or care. Stanzy thought Rose the most clever woman she’d ever met.

  “I have known many a merchant in Portsmouth to be more crooked than some of the Brethren.”

  “Really?” Stanzy sipped her coffee.

  “Yes.” Rose nodded, then changed the subject. “Many of us Bankers live well into our nineties. It must be something in the water on the island.”

  Constanza smiled broadly as she could see where Lucian had derived part of his personality.

  “Rose, what was Lucian’s first wife like? I hesitate to ask him about her—it just doesn’t feel right somehow.”

  “Mae? She was a good girl and much like him—very forthright and kind.”

  “Were they happy?”

  The woman stood and peered out the window. She gathered the shawl tighter as protection from the constant drafts seeping in around the windows.

  “Yes, they were. She loved him very much, and he loved her. But I have to tell you, I have never seen him look at a woman the way he looks at you. You have obviously bewitched him.”

  “Well then, I guess I am under the same spell.”

  Rose laughed and nodded. “When he and his mother lost his father, they were quite broken for a long time, and I do not feel Lucian was ever quite whole again ‘til he had Benjamin. It was like another side of his soul opened. Tell me, what was your family like?”

  She shrugged. “Oh, you know, normal upbringing,”

  Oh you liar! Amazing how lies still roll off my tongue when the situation demands it!

  The afternoon wore on, and she awaited Lucian’s return. Reclining on the chair by the fire, the sounds of Aunt Rose banging around in her kitchen were oddly comforting, the fire made her sleepy and warm.

  ~ * ~

  She heard the office door tinkle its silver bell. Deep voices reverberated through the halls downstairs. She had no idea what was going on, as it was Sunday and her father didn’t work on this day, except in dire emergencies.

  She hadn’t spoken to him for going on two weeks, except for the necessities of assisting in the office. Outside of direct commands, she had no communication with him. So she had no clue who might be visiting.

  Her father no longer had any friends. The friends he’d managed to maintain while her mother was alive had drifted quietly away as he slid deeper and deeper into the bottle—leaving his children there to drown with him in the dregs.

  Quietly tiptoeing down the stairs, she placed herself strategically outside his study door to listen.

  “Well, there is no doubt of her beauty as I observed last week at the market. My only concern is her...disposition.”

  “How so? Please speak plainly.”

  “Your oldest daughter is attractive, but, well, you must admit highly irregular. Unconventional. I have seen her ride a horse to best my eldest son, and she works here with you.”

  Her father laughed cynically. “And she shoots a musket as well. I assure you, you will find none of that temperament with Katrina. She is concerned with the typical pursuits of ladies and has none of her sister’s irregularities as you put it?”

  Constanza sucked in her breath and peered through the cracked door. The man was red faced and portly, but worst of all, as old as her father. Probably around sixty-two if she surmised correctly. And he intended to hand off Katrina—young, naive Katrina—to this man. No doubt for a heavy price.

  Stealthily, she moved back up the stairs to the room where Katrina was fiddling with a piece of jewelry.

  “Katrina, please, you need to leave NOW!”

  “Whatever in the world are you talking about?”

  “Downstairs, there is a man about father’s age whom I believe wants to marry you.”

  “Oh! Is he handsome?”

  Constanza gritted her teeth. “Look outside the window.”

  Her father and the older gent were lifting boxes out of the back of the carriage to bring inside.

  “Oh my.”

  “Precisely. Run to the Inn and stay there until I come for you.”

  Tears welled in her sister’s eyes, “Stanzy, what can you possibly do to stop him?”

  “Leave that to me. Just go!”

  Stanzy made her way down the staircase and met her father in the entryway.

  “Constanza, this is Mr. Porterhouse. Could you go and fetch your sister for me?”

  “I am afraid she has gone to market.”

  Her father’s eyes narrowed. “I see.” Then to his guest he said, “Well, it seems you and I will have to reschedule our meeting today.” He began to lead Mr. Porterhouse back toward his carriage.

  Constanza paced back and forth, awaiting his return. She knew this wouldn’t go well.

  For a moment she stood at the window looking out at the falling snow. She again fought the urge to run and free herself from this house, from him, from all this responsibility which weighed so heavily around her neck like a millstone.

  She thought of what would happen to Will if she left. Visions of him going to the workhouse, or worse. She closed her eyes tightly and prayed. It seemed it was all she did nowadays. Her hands began to shake and she opened and closed them, trying to control the tremors.

  Her father reentered the house in a rage and flung open the door.

  “Do not strike me again. You pathetic animal, you continue to hit me when I am a quarter of your size,” she warned.

  “Where did you send her? You knew, didn’t you? We need the money, Constanza, if you expect to continue living under a roof. She is old enough to wed, and he has money to burn.”

  “He is your age, and drinks too much as well. I have seen him at the Inn, Father, and I know the likes of him. It was said he used to beat his first wife. As a matter of fact, it was rumored that he beat her to death. Because of his money and power, the charges were dismissed.”

  “Rubbish, all of it.”

  “You would sell your daughter, your own flesh
and blood, on the chance this might be valid? You are a monster.”

  His speed took her by surprise as he crossed the room. As he cocked his fist, then struck her hard, it was as if she were watching the scene from another’s point of view. A dream.

  She didn’t cower or cry out, but righted herself, and looked him directly in the eye. “I will go to Constable Englas and speak to him about your drinking. I will tell him you routinely operate and perform births while intoxicated.”

  Constable Englas had loved her mother all of her life, and Constanza as well as her father knew it. He was uncorrupt and would undoubtedly pursue the issue if brought to his attention.

  “You wouldn’t. Where would you go? What would you do?”

  “Anywhere is better than here and anything is better than assisting a drunk. Oh and remember all of my irregularities—I expect I can look after myself.”

  He raised his hand to strike again, but something in her eyes stopped him. He stared at her. “Get out of my sight, you worthless child.”

  “Well, I am your daughter, aren’t I? It would be difficult to be anything but worthless.”

  ~ * ~

  She started and sat bolt upright in the chair, only to see Aunt Rose staring at her from the other rocker, one eyebrow raised. “Nightmare?”

  “No, I am fine, really.”

  “Constanza, is your father still alive?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  You were saying, “Father...over and over again.”

  ~ Chapter Nine ~

  The days in Nags Head passed like a dream to Constanza. Never had she felt so welcomed, despite being a stranger to these people. Bankers were all (well most, every town has its loons) helpful and kind, and as Rose had said, lived to an extraordinary number of years. Stanzy’s medical brain told her it must be their diet, but her adventurous brain questioned if the place might be enchanted. Fantastic stories about the place abounded, as their trips to the beach or people’s homes attested.

  Storytelling was a profession in the Banks. Each night one person tried to outdo another with some spectacular tale of pirates, the sea or a local mystery.

  Constanza was officially warned that into the drink she would go, if she couldn’t produce a tale soon. Not usually a creative sort, she felt tonight would be the night the sea would call her name if she didn’t come up with a yarn to spin.