The Siren's Call

by Candace Osmond

  I could only muster a nod before leaning my head against his good shoulder.

  “I’ll shall return in two days,” he said quietly. “Lottie will stay behind and watch out for you and the baby. Gus and Finn will be by my side. No harm will come to me, Dianna.”

  “Okay,” I replied, just barely above a whisper. This was it. The moment we’d been waiting for. Months of sailing and nearly losing our lives time and time again… the end of it all was in our grasp. I just wish I felt better about it. I wish my heart and my mind would agree for once. But I just couldn’t shake the feeling that something loomed in the darkness ahead. Waiting for us to blink and take it all away.

  ***

  Exhausted from worry, I sat and stared out the carriage window and watched as the deadened winter trees passed us by. Silence filled the small space that early morning as we bound for the little farmhouse just outside the city where Charlie had grown up. I’d been promising to take him home to see his dying mother for so long and, with Henry and the men gone and some free time on my hands, I figured it was just a good a time than any.

  I couldn’t sit around idly at The Siren’s Call, waiting for Henry to return. So, after convincing Lottie that I was fine enough to travel by coach for a few hours, she agreed to accompany us to Charlie’s home. I stole my gaze from the hypnotizing winter landscape that rushed by and smiled at Charlie who sat quietly by my side.

  “Are you excited to go home?” I asked him.

  He nodded happily.

  “How long has it been?” Lottie asked.

  He held up four fingers.

  “Four years?” she replied, eyes wide.

  She and I exchanged a knowing glance. Four years was a long time to be away from a mother who’d been ill when he left. There was a high chance that we’d be bringing Charlie home to a grave and my heart squeezed in my chest at the thought of his pain. My poor, sweet boy. Even though he was far from it now. I looked at how the softness of his cheeks had somehow hardened to manly cheekbones and how his once-thin and boyish frame had grown and stretched with the muscles of a young man.

  I patted his hand. “I’m sure your mother will be over the moon when she sees you.”

  “What will you tell her of your injury?” Lottie inquired.

  Charlie shrugged and pulled out his paper and lead, scribbled something down, and then held it up for us to read.

  That I helped save a life.

  My eyes glossed over and I hid it with a laugh. “I’ll be sure to tell her how brave and foolish you were.”

  The carriage jostled with a quick turn and Charlie slid forward on the seat to look out the window, eyes wide in wonder and longing. We must have been close. I glanced out and spotted a tiny farmhouse at the end of the dirt road to which we rode on. Cows and horses in the barren winter meadow. A large rickety barn out back.

  The house was quaint. A small bungalow with a wide veranda that stretched across the whole front. The carriage came to a stop just as an older man came around from out back, clothes soiled with dirt and a large shovel in his hands. He sat it down on the ground and stood waiting for the carriage to open, a blank look of curiosity on his face. When the door opened, and Charlie stepped out, the man’s face brightened and then faltered with a cry as the young man ran to him.

  Lottie and I exited the carriage but lingered nearby, so as to give the father and son the chance to reunite without prying eyes. My heart swelled with happiness that at least one parent still remained.

  “My boy!” I heard the man say with blubbering lips and his arms wrapped around Charlie tightly. “My boy. You’ve come home.”

  They broke free of the intimate embrace and Charlie’s father hooked a curious finger inside the white handkerchief he wore around his neck to hide the nasty scars. “What’s this?”

  Charlie touched his hand and gently pulled it away from the fabric. “Mother?” he croaked.

  His father, still unsure about what to think of the glimpse he’d caught of the scar, looked over his son’s shoulder at the two women waiting nearby before smiling sadly for his boy. “Mum is… she’s inside. Who are your friends?”

  Charlie turned and waved us over. My leather boots crunched against the frosty ground as we neared, and I smiled for the man.

  “Welcome,” he greeted and held out a hand to shake. “I’m Charles Senior. Charlie’s father. You’ll have to excuse the state of my appearance, we weren’t expecting visitors today.”

  I shook his hand. “Oh, no, please. Don’t fuss for us. We’re just here to see young Charlie home to his mother. It’s quite the pleasure to meet you, Sir. I’m Dianna White and this is Lottie Roberts.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” he replied. “Thank you for bringing my boy home.” He ruffled the hair atop his son’s head. “We thought we’d never see him again. Come, let’s get you poor things inside and warm up. I’ll put some tea on.”

  We stepped up onto the veranda and followed the man inside the little farmhouse. Tones of warm wood and handmade quilts surrounded from every side and the warmth of a small potbelly stove hugged me tightly as I moved further inside. Charles senior went directly for the tiny white kitchen and put a metal kettle on the stove. Charlie tapped him on the shoulder and raised his eyebrows in question.

  It took a moment for his father to follow what his boy wanted, but then replied, “She’s in the backroom.” He turned to us. “Have a seat, ladies. I’ll get your tea ready. Cream and sugar?”

  “Yes, please,” we both replied and took a seat at the small, wooden farm table. I was surprised when Charlie joined us. But I could see the nervous tremble in the way his fingers wrought together.

  I felt wrong encroaching on this very personal moment for Charlie, but he’d insisted on having me with him. Wouldn’t have it any other way. I realized now, that he must have been terrified of what he’d find. After so many years away. So, I had to keep reminding myself I was there for him. For support.

  “You have a lovely home,” Lottie told the man as he brought four mugs of hot water to the table and took a seat with us.

  “Thank you.” He appeared tired. Not just the kind from a poor night’s sleep, but many. Years and years of sleepless nights probably spent caring for his dying wife. His fingers moved without thought to prepare his cup of tea.

  “I do what I can when I’m not with Hellen,” he continued and then looked to his son. “You should go see her before…”

  He couldn’t finish the words, couldn’t bring himself to say it about the woman he loved. The mother of his child who now sat before him a young man. I stared at the soiled trousers and thick knitted sweater he wore, then remembered the big shovel he dropped to the ground outside. My blood ran cold and my eyes met the man’s in understanding. We exchanged a silent nod. Charlie made it home just in time. His mother was dying. Soon. The soil on his father’s clothes, grated under his nails, were from the grave he must have been digging out back. Charlie stood from the table and his childlike eyes begged me to come.

  “Oh, no, Charlie,” I said, “you go. Be with your mother. I shouldn’t be–”

  But he held out a shaking hand and pleaded. How could I say no to him? How could I let him face it alone? I stood and slipped my fingers into his awaiting hand as he led me to the back room. Slowly, he turned the knob and the door creaked open to reveal a bright and sunny room, a low bed off to the side, and a frail shell of a woman lying in it.

  With great difficulty, she raised her heavy head and her mouth gaped open, lips trembling. “Charlie? C-Charlie, my boy?” I could tell she wanted to get up, wanted to stand and hold her boy in her arms, but all she could muster was a set of open hands, beckoning him to come.

  He did. Quickly and desperately, Charlie fell into his mother’s arms and sobbed into her neck as she held him tightly. I stood in the doorway, unable to look away, trapped and entranced by their love. A mother’s love for her child. Something I hadn’t witnessed in so many years. It was unlike anything this world could
ever conceive. No feeling or entity could match the raw beauty and power of a mother’s love for her creation.

  Finally, they pulled free of one another and Charlie, eyes swollen and reddened from the tears that poured down his face, took a seat next to her on the bed. It was then that I could get a good look at her. See how frail and sick she truly was. Her beauty was evident, but washed away with pallor skin and dark, sunken eyes. Her lips, grey and cracked, smiled happily for her boy at her side. Then, as if just noticing me there, she glanced up and regarded me.

  “And who is this?” she asked and lowered her gaze to my stomach. “Charlie, have you brought home a grandchild for me?”

  Charlie laughed and strained to speak with his hoarse voice. “No, Mother. This is Dianna. A friend. She’s taken me in. Cared for me.”

  Her frail, bony hand reached to me and I darted forward to take it, not wanting her to use what little energy she clearly had.

  “Thank you,” she told me. “For taking care of my son. You don’t know what that means to me. I spent years worrying for him. Assured by his letters that he was fine but, still, I worried.” She smiled for her boy. “A mother always worries.”

  “He’s a good kid,” I told her and then amended quickly. “A good man. Charlie is a fine man. You should be very proud.”

  “And what’s this?” she asked. “Your voice?”

  Charlie struggled to find words, to tell his mother in a way she wouldn’t worry. He cleared his throat but said nothing.

  “Uh, he was injured,” I spoke up. “He… saw that I was in danger, and stepped in. He saved me from a very bad woman. But it nearly cost him his life. And now, I owe him mine.”

  Hellen fought back tears and gently pulled down the handkerchief that wrapped around her son’s neck, brushing her fragile fingers across the jagged scar there.

  “That sounds like my foolish boy,” she said. “Always jumping in without thinking. Trying to be the hero. He left to find work when I fell sick,” she added and glanced up at me. “Wanted to send money home so his father wouldn’t have to worry about the farm. So, he could take care of me.” She rubbed his face gingerly and he melted into his mother’s touch.

  “Yes, like I said, he’s a good man.” I dropped my gaze to the wooden floor, trying not to think of the way my own mother used to touch my face the same. All this time, I’d tried so hard not to think of her. Tried not to wonder where she was or if she were close by. The woman was everything to me and then she was gone in an instant, pulled from my life like an appendage, leaving me incomplete. For years, I’d blocked out the pain, forgot her touch, and tucked away the love I harbored. And there I was, standing before Charlie and Hellen, suddenly wishing I’d done things differently. That I’d used one of my enchanted pearls to find my mother and not my sister.

  “Be a dear and get me some water, would you?” she asked Charlie.

  Dutifully, he stood and left the room. I turned to follow but Hellen called to me in a whisper.

  “Dianna, please,” she croaked weakly, finally letting on just how sick she was. “Do not leave. Tell me. Tell me about Charlie. How he’s been.” She coughed pitifully. “T-the things he’s done.”

  I shook my head and wrapped the cloak around me tightly. “I’ve only had the pleasure of knowing him a few short months. Although, I’ve come to be very fond of him. Like a little brother. Charlie’s a good boy. Spent some time as a deckhand aboard a privateer ship under a good captain.” I smiled at the thought of Henry. “Now, he’s a deckhand aboard my ship, The Queen.”

  Her eyes widened as her thin brows lifted. “Your ship, you say?”

  “Yes,” I replied proudly.

  “And you’re with child?” she inquired.

  I nodded. “Nearly five months.”

  She gawked at my stomach incredulously. “My, you’re some size for only five months.” When I didn’t answer and self-consciously held my belly, Hellen continued with tears in her sick and clouded eyes, “Congratulations. It’s a wonderful gift. Cherish it every single day, even when they’re not around.”

  “Thank you.” Silence hung between us and I looked anxiously for Charlie’s return. Being around the woman, dying or not, it pained me. She reminded me of my own mother so much. Too much. I took a few steps toward the door. “I’m, uh, I’m going to go check on your water.”

  I slipped out and found Charlie, his father, and Lottie standing around in the kitchen, discussing something. They all turned at the sight of me and Charlie appeared happy but anxious.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  Lottie stepped forward. “Charlie’s going to stay.”

  “What?” I looked to him disbelievingly.

  Charlie nodded and then strained to speak to me. “Thank you for everything.” He paused to swallow hard, showing just how uncomfortable it was to talk. “Please tell Captain Barrett goodbye for me. And to the crew. I’ll… I’ll miss you all. But I’m home.” He looked to his father and then down at the glass of water he held in his hand. “I’m where I should be.”

  It was the most I’d heard him speak with his new voice since the horrible night in the woods, when Maria’s blade sliced through his throat and I watched his small body fall to the ground at my feet. I wasn’t ready to let him go then, and I wasn’t ready now. But I knew, Charlie was right. He should be with his family. Something I suddenly wanted myself with a deep desperation.

  “Of course,” I replied and grabbed him, pulling him to me in a tight hug. “God, I love you, Charlie. You’ll always have a place aboard my ship. Never forget that.” I pressed my face to his ear. “It’s your home, too.”

  I heard him sniffle into my face and I had to pull away, to head for the door before the flood of emotions I felt came crashing down on me like a tidal wave. I kept them at bay until I stopped in the doorway and turned back to them, waiting for Lottie to follow. When I caught a tear stream down Charlie’s face, I broke. Everything I’d been bottling up; the fear of my sister, the apprehension of seeing my mother, worry for my unborn child. All of it came toppling down on my shoulders and mixed with the sadness I felt over losing Charlie. But I had to remember, as Lottie followed me out to the carriage, I wasn’t really losing him. I was bringing him home.

  And now, it was my turn.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When we arrived back at The Siren’s Call later that evening, one person less than when we’d left the mansion earlier that day, I felt tired and defeated. I needed some time to be alone with my thoughts and the emotions I’d finally let come to life in my heart. Lottie retreated to her room while I made my way down the winding corridors to the one Henry and I shared.

  I entered the empty room, glanced over at the empty bed, and never felt more alone than in that very moment. The day had been long, but not as long as the ride home where I’d sunk into my own mind with thoughts of my mother. I had been pushing away my feelings about her until then, telling myself that I didn’t want to see her. That I was better off. Then worse, convincing myself that she wanted nothing to do with me. But now, in this moment, having so much to share, I ached to have my mom.

  And I wanted nothing more than to tell Henry about my new revelation.

  I walked over to the window and stared out at the sleepy winter landscape, the blinding moon in the black sky, and hugged myself tightly. Trying to contain the emotions that coursed through my body. There was no way I’d sleep. Not tonight. And not without Henry.

  I grabbed a small satchel of coins, tightened my fur-collared cloak, and poked my head into the hallway. Looking both ways before sneaking out and gently closing the door behind me. I crept down the hallway toward the front door, thinking I’d take a carriage or a horse myself, but then decided against it for fear of waking someone up. Once outside, I inhaled deeply the crisp night air, admiring the hypnotizing white smoke that exited my body. The evening was clear and free of any snowfall, so I decided to hoof it into the end of town closest to The Siren’s Call, the furthest from th
e docks. I could see the lights of lanterns in the distance and knew I could comfortably walk it in fifteen minutes. I could use the time to clear my head and calm my heart.

  As the lights became closer and the sound of a bustling nighttime village touched my ears, my feet sped up. I walked the stone-paved streets and admired the towering black buildings, the steaming stacks above houses, and the lovely warm glow of fire lit lanterns hanging from poles. I passed a tavern and peered in through the front window, cloudy with years of neglect, and watched the people inside. Drunken men, card players, and beautiful women to sit on their laps. Cheery music played in the corner and I envied them for the simplicity of their lives. Untouched by the unforgiving magic of the sea or the threat of death looming over their heads.

  I turned to leave before I found myself inside and headed down an alley I knew opened up to the streets which would eventually lead to the docks. It was far, the other side of town, but I had all the time in the world on my hands and an empty ship calling my name. But I soon realized… someone else was headed in the same direction.

  I was being followed.

  The sound of footsteps crunched the frosty ground behind me and quickly multiplied, telling me there was more than one person and my heart beat heavily in my chest. My breath, hot and rapid, filled the air around me and clouded my vision as I glanced over my shoulder at my pursuers. Only thin slivers of moonlight streaming between the buildings caught a glimpse of their moving feet.

  “Aye, where ye goin’ so late in the night?” one of them drunkenly cooed.

  Footsteps sped up.

  Another added, “A fine wee thing like ye shouldn’t be travellin’ down dark alleys.” He laughed a gross, gurgled smoker’s cackle. “Could be dangerous.”

  I saw the mouth of the alley up ahead and quickened my pace, but it wasn’t enough. The two men pounced forward and grabbed me from behind, yanking me back into the shadows of the alley. I tried to scream but one of their salty hands covered my mouth. I struggled against their hold as my back pressed hard against a stone wall. Knocking the wind from my lungs. One of the fingers slipped into my mouth and I bit down with all my might, sending a fierce growl into the night sky.