No, he would ferret out the answer. Then he would make them all pay.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The fight on deck happened weeks ago. Declan hadn’t called for a fight day since. Rook healed but was none too happy with Willie. Though Declan enjoyed making life miserable by throwing the worst of the worst jobs at him, Willie got the impression that he’d also put out word that no one was to touch him—which made him wonder what Declan planned next. Rook made guttural noises every time they were in close quarters, but never made a move. Long John and Bucktooth remained friendly, though Willie wasn’t about to trust them with his life. Still, it was better than being alone.
Declan would never trust him. Willie didn’t bother to convince the man otherwise. No pearls before swine. Instead, he observed the comings and goings the few times they allowed him on deck.
He eventually located Andrew, seasick and full of fear. Until recently, Declan systematically frightened and isolated the boy, but in the last few days he’d started a campaign of kindness toward the lad. It was the second part of getting Andrew under his spell. Willie saw where this was going. He also could figure that the third step in Declan’s plan was to turn Andrew against Willie.
One thing about Declan, he was as smart as he was devious.
And the truth of the matter was, Willie had enough on his plate trying to save himself. Could he save himself and someone who, soon, might not want to be saved?
Still Willie kept his eyes open. If the chance presented itself, it would be a one-time thing. He’d better be ready. So he took every opportunity to study the sloop and the crew. He was getting most acquainted with the cook.
Declan enjoyed assigning Willie to galley duty. The old cook reminded him of Cookie until he opened his mouth. Then it was foul language and foul odor. Pegleg Pete had little in common with the other gentleman. Instead of quiet wisdom, Pegleg was gruff and crude. He did his job. Not that he did it well, mind you, but he did cook the meals.
The stores were spoiled and disgusting, reminding Willie of what Mr. Cox had said about passengers ship he might’ve booked in the spring to bring Maybe and the baby to Beaufort. And then some. Moldy and mildewed grains, maggots in the flour, and rats populating the larder. It whittled Willie’s appetite to nothing—he ate only when he had to and what was the cleanest he could find. Still, it was disgusting.
More than once he overheard the cook telling Declan that they needed more stores. That would mean contact with another ship or port. Willie never mentioned it, even with Long John and Bucktooth, but he continued to listen and keep alert. This might be his only chance.
But even that played to Willie’s advantage. Coming back from the larder with a load of flour, he noted Declan getting an earful from Pegleg and stepped to the shadows.
“You’d best be finding a port or another ship if you want any more meals after this week. There’s not enough left, and I can’t feed this scurvy crew with air, you know.”
Declan spewed a few choice expletives. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’ll do more if you want to eat.”
“Don’t threaten me, Pete.”
“Declan, I don’t have to threaten, I’m giving you the facts. You can stick ’em—”
“I said I’d do what I can. Now get to work!”
Pegleg turned away, whipping up a new string of profanities.
Willie retreated to the larder.
Declan walked past without a notice, and Willie breathed a sigh of relief. If they went to port, he’d be off the ship, one way or another. If they captured another ship… He pushed that thought away. The British Navy rarely checked with a pirate crew to distinguish between guilty and guilt by forced association before hanging.
* * *
Maybe had an overwhelming urge to pray for Willie. She often prayed for him throughout the day. Today was no different. Except now. The urge burned within, and it had to do with his safety. She lay aside the baby blanket she was knitting and bowed her head. An icy tingle slithered her spine that had nothing to do with the January chill. Willie needed her prayers. Now. She was sure of it.
Each time she thought she’d finished, another wave flooded over her, insisting, urging, and she’d begin again. She prayed with everything she had, tears streaming over her cheeks, her mind calling up every conceivable need.
Something touched her. She jumped.
Mother stood beside her. “Are ye all right, lovey?”
“Aye, I just felt the need to pray for Willie.” Maybe wiped her wrist across her eyes.
“Then I will join ye, if ye do not mind.” Mother pulled up a chair next to her and they clasped hands.
They began to pray together. They prayed for his strength, his endurance, his wisdom, his safety, his life… though it always came back to his safety. The air was so thick with emotion. Maybe could hardly choke out a word. She didn’t recognize her own voice, but she couldn’t stop. The need to pray was strong.
And then there was a release. As if the burden to pray melted into the floor beneath her feet. Air flowed in her lungs again. Her throat was no longer constricted. A blanket of peace dropped over her shoulders and she sighed.
She opened her eyes as Mother did the same.
Mother patted her hands, wiped her face with her apron, and returned the chair to its place. “Whatever the need, it is now met.” She went back to working on her spinning wheel.
Maybe nodded and smiled as the baby kicked. She let out a breath as if she’d been holding it for hours, rubbed the growing bulge in her belly, and picked up her knitting. Her baby needed some attention too.
* * *
Though stuck below deck, Willie felt the ship slow its course. Every fiber of his being became taut and alert. Was this it?
Long John and Bucktooth entered the galley. “Declan needs you.”
Willie wiped his hands across his breeches and followed them to the corridor. Long John let him slip past, so they moved single file with Willie sandwiched in the middle. That alone raised suspicions. His heart pounded harder, but he couldn’t let them know. They must believe they had the upper hand.
They led him to a small room in the hold, too tiny for a cot. Bucktooth opened the door and Long John shoved him from behind. The door slammed, and a key turned.
Willie pounded on the door. “Hey! Hey! What’s going on here? Why did you lock me in?”
“Pipe down. We’re doing you a favor. Declan wanted us to hit you and knock you out. This way you don’t get hurt.”
“But why? What have I done?” He needed to keep them talking. Any information would help.
“It’s not what you did. Declan’s worried about what you might do. He hates to lose crewmen. I don’t think he’s through with you, anyway. I think he has plans.” Long John was the most talkative.
“Hush, John. Rusty, don’t worry about it. Relax, we’ll come back in a bit to let you out.”
“Come back? You’re leaving me?”
“Don’t worry. It’s all going to work out. Now just sit quiet, matey, and we’ll be back later.”
Willie did just that. He sat on the floor and leaned back against the wall until the footfalls faded. A dim beam of light filtered in through the bars in the wooden door. It wasn’t much, but more than when he’d first been taken. The hold at the other end was pitch black. He studied the door. The hinges were on the other side. So much for taking them apart. He felt around for anything to use as a tool. Nothing but dirt and some wood splinters.
He examined the wood on the door and noticed one board, closest to the hinges, was rotting at the bottom. He also peeked through the keyhole, but it was blocked. Just as he hoped.
Willie kicked at the rotted board until he heard some cracking. He then worked his fingers under and pulled it toward him. It broke off just below where the cross piece attached a foot or so from the base. He couldn’t help but smile. This might work, but he hadn’t much time.
Next he slid the rotten piece under the door unti
l only the last of it remained for pulling back. Then he used the longest splinter he found and worked it into the keyhole, twisting and pushing until he felt the key moving out on the other side. One last push and it dropped. Onto the piece of rotted wood. Now to slide it under the door.
It wouldn’t go. The key on top made it too tall. Willie paused and sighed. Then another thought gave him hope. He pulled the board back in, knowing it would knock the key to the floor. That was fine. He used the board and pushed it back next to the key, then made a sweeping motion and dragged it over to where the gap was from the missing rotted part. Now he could reach out and grab the key.
He stood, freedom in hand, and fitted it into the hole. With a pounding heart, he took a breath and turned it—the door unlocked.
Tingles pulsed through his veins. As quiet as he could manage, he made it to the stairs going to the upper deck. On impulse, he grabbed a crate and hoisted it to his shoulder, hoping it would hide his face.
Once on deck, he noticed Rook and several others forward, near the gangplank. He wasn’t going that way. Glancing around, he spotted a rope ladder and dropped it over the side. He slipped a belaying pin in his waistband, took one last glance and then slipped over the side, too, hustling down the ladder into the bay.
The frigid water sent a shock through his body, but he swam for the pier. A minute later he found the wooden ladder and pulled himself onto it. Before getting all the way up, he scanned the ship. No one paid attention in his direction, so he finished the job. He wanted to stretch out and catch his breath, but he knew better. He might be missed or spotted at any moment, so he ran toward land.
Five yards more. Then he spotted trouble. His hand went to the belaying pin just as Declan stepped on the pier, spotting him.
The pirate was talking, his hands animated, when recognition flashed across his face. He reached for his knife. The person behind him, the audience of all the talk, stepped into view. Andrew.
Willie didn’t want to hurt the boy, but nothing would stop him.
“So, you got off. Where do you think you’re going?” The expression on Declan’s face shouted anticipation. But his eyes told Willie it was bravado.
“Andrew, I don’t want to hurt you, but I am getting off this ship here.”
Declan laughed. “You belong to me. I will let you know when I am done with you.”
“Do you hear him, Andrew? Is that the life you want?”
The laughing stopped. “Tell him Westy. Tell him you are one of us.”
“Are you Andrew? Has he changed your name so you will forget who you are?”
“Shut up!” Declan widened his stance and leaned in, tossing his knife from hand to hand.
“Have you forgotten your family? Are they waiting for you? Will you leave them not knowing what happened to you?”
“I said shut up!” Declan lunged.
Willie was too intent on reaching Andrew. He moved just in time, the knife leaving a red slice on his upper arm. It only grazed.
Declan froze, appearing uncertain.
But Willie knew his next move. He pulled the belaying pin free and slapped the club end in his other palm. “We don’t have to do this Declan. You can let me pass.”
“Can’t do that, Rusty. Now I have to kill you.” He charged with his knife fisted over his head.
Willie grasped the pin with both hands and swung.
Declan landed on his stomach, skidding along the weathered pier.
Willie didn’t wait to see more. He took two steps.
Andrew stood in front of him, a boarding pike brandished in his hands.
“Don’t do this, Andrew. I don’t want to fight you, but I’m going home.”
Andrew remained quiet but grasped the pike tighter.
“Andrew, don’t—”
“Agh!” The boy ran past Willie.
Declan staggered to his feet.
Andrew plowed into the pirate, knocking Declan Blackheart Stryker into the bay. “My name is Andrew! You do not own me! If you come near me again, I will kill you!”
Willie put his arm over the boy’s shoulders. “C’mon, let’s get out of here before anyone else comes.”
Andrew glanced at him and dropped the boarding pike.
Willie pointed with his head toward the beach. “Let’s go.”
They ran and never looked back.
* * *
Joseph wandered into the kitchen, the delicious scents soothing his soul the tiniest bit. Sarah never blamed him, but he blamed himself. Even Maybe behaved as if he were guilt-free. But he wasn’t. His boy was out there, in danger, because he hadn’t insisted he come home.
This blaming himself put a wedge between him and God. It was hard to lead his family in Scripture reading and prayer when he could see his failing, a sackcloth cloak he couldn’t remove. Trying to hide it from Sarah was as useful as trying to hide it from God. They both knew how he saw himself.
So he took long walks down by the docks, praying and searching and hoping. The January winds blew him back home, with no change but for a drive to keep going for his family. He plastered a smile on his face and greeted the bevy of females working to put the evening meal together.
Sarah left the oven to embrace him. She never doubted, never wavered in her faith. Instead, she pulled him into her circle of belief that Willie would be home, one day soon. It crushed him to tell her that today was not the day. Instead, he buried his face in her mobcap and shook his head.
She squeezed him tighter, kissed his cheek, and then let him go. “I’m glad yer home, love.” She returned to the oven. His brother Robert went hunting with his sons and brought back several wild turkeys. Sarah basted one of them in the oven now. Even expecting the great meal did little for his outlook.
“Father, might I speak with ye?”
He turned to see Maybe behind him. “Of course, Maybe. Let’s go to the sitting room.”
She followed him and took a seat on the settee.
He pulled up a chair. “What can I do for you?”
“Ye can stop blaming yerself.”
He sat back. He didn’t realize she’d noticed. “I’m sorry, child. For so much. But it is my fault. I should have made him come back. It wouldn’t have happened if I had.”
She took a breath, and Joseph got the impression she’d practiced her words. “Ye’ve ken me husband longer than I. And even I ken he would need that time alone. It is who he is. That is how he pulls his thoughts together, in that alone time. If ye’d pressed, ye’d had an argument on yer hands. How were ye to predict he’d been in danger? No, this is not yer fault. But I believe God can use it to make things better.”
Her faith had grown in her time with Sarah. He could almost hear his wife’s wisdom coming from her. “Thank you, Maybe.” Not that it changed things. Or not much.
“Consider it, Father. If my stepfather had not sold me, I wouldn’t have run away. If Willie had not left school when he did, he wouldn’t have been where I would meet him, he wouldn’t have helped me, we wouldn’t have found my sister or fallen in love or be about to give ye this grandchild. I know that we made the wrong choices more than once, but God can bring beauty from ashes. He has done that a lot lately, and He’s not done yet, I’m sure. We canna change the past, but we can watch for what He will do next.”
She was not making it easy to argue. “I’ll think on what you’ve said. I know you are speaking the truth.”
“If ye feel that ye’ve committed a mortal sin, then ask for forgiveness. Didn’t Jesus already pay for it?”
He sighed. Why was she so right? Nodding, he smiled at her earnest face. “You are right. Perhaps I need to go spend some time alone. Call me for supper?”
“Aye, of course.”
“You are a Crockett female. They all seem to be praying women with a lot of wisdom. Someday I might tell you about my mother. You remind me of her, a little.” He stood and tweaked her chin. It was time to take this burden where it needed to go.
Chapter Twenty-Five<
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To be honest, Andrew, I’m not even sure where we are.” Willie and Andrew ran to a village. But it was the outskirts of a larger city. Not hearing English, Willie didn’t panic. At least the signs were in pictures instead of words. Those made sense.
“Declan spoke of St. Thomas, though I don’t know if he was talking about here or going there.”
Willie remembered St. Thomas from his geography lessons—God bless his mother. It was a Danish island colony in the Caribbean. No wonder the words sounded strange. “We’ve got to do something. Either find someone who knows English or learn to speak their language. We need clothing and food, most importantly food. Then shelter. If we might get work, we could save for a trip home. It’ll take time, but we can do this.”
“What if Declan comes for us?”
“It isn’t worth his time to comb this whole place. If this is St. Thomas, the Danes have a fort on that hill. See there? Burning the city to find us would not be in his favor. He needs this port. Don’t worry about him anymore. He’ll be angry, and the next ones he impresses will have a harder time of it, but he’s not coming after us.”
“Are you sure?”
Willie nodded. He was mostly sure. Some of his words were for his own security too. Perhaps getting more into the city he’d find someone who spoke English and might help.
Before long, they were among bigger buildings and people, though few resembled them. The white population dressed quite proper and appeared to be more affluent. The poorer population comprised African slaves or freed men, and they looked as poor as Willie and Andrew. They needed work. But why hire? Slaves did the work. Without the work, there was no income. Without income, there was no money. No going home.
Willie’s shoulders slumped. He searched for a place to just sit and think. For the first time, he wanted to give up. He’d worked so hard to get free, but to what end?
Thwack! Willie was so lost in thought, he walked into a man. “Oh, pardon me. I am sorry.”
The Crockett Chronicles- The Complete Collection Page 82