The Bride of Blackbeard (16 page)

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.

Lucian squeezed her hand gently as they
walked to the roaring fire on the beach. Thirty or so of Lucian’s
friends sat laughing and drinking. Once they spotted Lucian and
Stanzy, countless handshakes and cries of “Lucian, old man! Where
have you been?” and “How did you manage to get
her
to marry
you
!” began.

Two stories unfolded and the bravado and
wordplay kept her on the edge of her seat until the teller had
concluded. Constanza then permitted herself to exhale as the
excitement concluded.

Jon, the undeclared master of ceremonies,
turned to her. “Come now, Constanza. England is the home to many
famous writers—surely you have
one
story for us!”

“I am not a storyteller by nature. My mother
had a gift for it. Give me a moment and I will give it a go.”

Concentrate, she told herself. She stared
off into the waves for a few moments, while the quiet sounds of
people laughing and fire crackling filled her unconscious hearing.
She pictured her mother sitting by the hearth in her rocking chair,
needlepoint in hand as she attempted to keep her two daughters
entertained and complete her work at the same time.

Maura Smythe’s soothing voice filled
Constanza’s ears, and her eyes welled up with tears at the
wonderful memory of a time when she’d felt protected.

“I have thought of one,” she proclaimed
boldly to the group.

All eyes turned to her. Lucian’s hand
slipped behind her back in reassurance. He didn’t look at her, but
his touch let her know she could be herself here without
reservation.

“My dear mother was from Ireland, and she
always had a story to tell. Not sweet ones of maids and princes,
however. But tales where it seemed she wanted to scare the knickers
off of us.”

This brought an appreciative round of
chuckling from the circle and Constanza relaxed a bit.

“This is one she told on a cold, windy
night. The Moruadh are creatures from the land of Tir fo Thoinn, or
the land beneath the waves. They resemble beautiful women, but are
not destined to walk the lands surrounding the seas. One day, a man
from Cork was strolling along the shoreline near his home when he
happened upon a beautiful green cloak hidden in the thicket by his
cottage. Behind him, sounded a strange voice. It resembled a gull
shrieking and the call of a humpback whale, mingled together.

“Turning, he saw a woman. Long, blonde hair,
stringed with seaweed, obscured her face. She stood taller than he
at six feet and was naked as the day she was born.

“At the sight of him, she began to cry so he
took her into his home. Once the hair and seaweed were cleared from
her face, he beheld the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. So
beautiful was she that, despite being a principled man, he felt
compelled to lie with her. And he did so the very instant she
stepped over the threshold into his cottage. She became pregnant
and reluctantly agreed to become his bride.

“Over the years, the Corker noticed certain
traits his wife possessed that immensely troubled him. One was that
she did not often speak, for which he was sure some husbands would
be grateful—”

Several snickers erupted amongst the
listeners, then immediately quieted as Stanzy continued.

“But when she finally did speak her voice
had an odd sing-song quality that made him feel stupid and
sleepy.

“Another thing was that her feet were
webbed. And, as if that were not troubling enough, two of their
four children also had the webbing. He tried to tell himself this
was just an oddity and he should not spit good fortune in the
eye.

“Still, other problems pricked his
conscience. Each and every night she would stare out at the sea,
and when she did this her face would resemble one mooning over a
lost lover.

“On several occasions, he caught her
frolicking in the waves at night. When he approached the water he
saw fins moving around her and splashes within feet of her, which
quickly disappeared into the blackness when they sensed his
presence. He tried not to let it bother him, as he felt she was
only truly happy when in the sea. Also, it was the only time she
smiled, which was fine with the Corker as her teeth were a little
too pointed for his liking.

“One day, as her husband watched, she opened
an old trunk and was surprised as she gazed upon the cloak she’d
lost the day she’d met her husband. She picked it up and caressed
it lovingly against her cheeks. Slowly, her hair began to lose its
blonde luster. It changed before her frightened husband and
children’s eyes to the color of seaweed.”

Purposefully, Stanzy paused, letting the
tension build. She gazed around at the expectant faces, putting a
slight look of apprehension on her face. Then she continued.

“She slipped on the cloak, and walked out
the door of the cottage to the water’s edge. She only looked back
one time as she waded into the surf, and when she opened her mouth
to utter a parting farewell, the shrieks of a seagull rent through
the morning salt air.

“Creatures of all types filled the waves to
congratulate her on her return to the surf, and she then returned
to Tir fo Thoinn.

“So it is the wisest course, that if one
lives by the sea, to make sure and check the feet of the bride,
before she slips on her wedding shoes.”

The circle of Bankers was quiet after she
stopped speaking. Amused, Stanzy saw several of the younger men in
the group sneak glances at their girlfriend’s feet, which were
buried in the sand by the glowing fire.

Applause for the tale began all at once,
with a few shouting “More!”

Lucian turned to smile at her.

Over the next few days Stanzy felt more at
ease and accepted than she ever had in her life. Dining at
neighbor’s homes each evening, she found the people were unassuming
and kind.

Later in the evening, Aunt Rose would be
hosting a gathering as their visit was winding to a close.

Guests sat around the fireplace, while
outside, the night wind whipped around ferociously. Those of
Lucian’s close friends who were married brought their wives, so the
party in the small cottage numbered fourteen.

Andrew walked to the window and peered out
at the surf. “It is shaping into a right storm tonight!”

The six men present nodded in agreement and
Lucian strode to Andrew’s side. “And it is a cold one out
there.”

“How cold will it get?” Constanza asked.

Andrew looked serious for a moment before
replying, “There’s been times when a wreck off the coast could not
be reached, and the men froze solid to the rigging.”

“Andrew! Constanza has no use for tales such
as that I am sure!” chastised Virginia, his wife.

Amused, Lucian said, “She is a rare breed of
woman. I expect she would man the boats if she were a stronger
swimmer.”

A bell sounded outside and Stanzy watched
the women’s faces drain of color.

“What is that?” she asked quickly.

Directing his attention to her, Lucian said,
“The lifesaving station bell. There must be trouble in the
water.”

In unison, the men began to gather their
belongings in a practiced, orderly manner.

Virginia cast a concerned look at her
husband. “I will go and pick up little Andy and meet you at home
when...it’s over.”

As people exited the cottage, Lucian gently
pulled Constanza into the kitchen and hugged her tightly to him. “I
will be especially careful, but I must go with them.”

“I understand.” She would expect no less of
him, or herself.

After Lucian left, Constanza sat staring at
the fire as Aunt Rose steadily rocked in her chair on the hearth
rug. She checked the time again—only one hour since he had
departed, but it felt like a year.

Sympathetically, Rose said, “I know child,
waiting is always more difficult than anything else. Be glad you do
not live so close to the shore year round, as you would have to
endure this often. Lucian’s mother had to. The boy is
steadfast.”

“That is an understatement,” Stanzy said
offhandedly, and a little too curtly.

Time passed, and neither spoke as Stanzy
paced back and forth across the room. Suddenly, the silence wore on
her and she realized she may have offended her new in-law.

She walked and stood in front of Rose. “I
apologize. I admit I do not know what to do with myself. I have
never been the waiting at home sort.”

The old woman smiled. “No. You, too, are
steadfast.”

Stanzy laughed out loud, “Yes, I am. I am
just as stubborn as he is.”

“Us Bankers do not have time for the petty
emotions mainlanders express. For a goodly long time, just to keep
alive from the elements, we had to band together. So we wish each
other well, and are there for one another. It is necessary for our
survival.”

“Yes. I know. Many persons I have been
acquainted with over my lifetime are a jealous sort. When something
good happens to others they feign happiness, but it always shows in
their eyes that they truly do not mean it. I think one has to know
oneself and be comfortable with who we are, in order to not let the
ugly side of the emotions come through.”

“It also has to do with what life has shown
you. If you see enough suffering, you learn to appreciate what is
important,” said Rose quietly. “Must have been too many whales
killed this year.”

“Pardon?”

“You mean Lucian never told you that in
years when too many whales and dolphins are killed, it means we
will have many storms?”

Constanza shook her head in disbelief. “I
cannot wait any longer...where should I go?”

~ * ~

Stanzy took the covered wagon and headed
south to the surf area Aunt Rose had described. She’d a lit lantern
beside her and futilely tried to see into the gale. Although not a
hurricane, it was a nasty storm nonetheless.

Farther down the coast, she spied
something—a huge black mass in the water.

She arrived in time to see the last longboat
team hit the massive swells. As they cut across diagonally, the
boat crested high on a wave then crashed down the same distance.
Stanzy became nauseated just watching it.

Running down onto the beach, she stopped in
the shallow water.

What do you think you are doing? You are not
a strong swimmer. Be sensible, stay put. Before long the boats will
bring passengers alive to shore. Then you can assist.

A massive explosion rocked the night sky. In
the fiery glow, longboats could be seen in the water around the
wreckage. An involuntary gasp escaped her throat, and her hands
flew to cover her mouth. The light from the blaze showed men, women
and children, leaping from the partially capsized vessel into the
churning sea.

The first rescue longboat was making its way
to shore when a massive swell caught and held it suspended for what
seemed an eternity before it overturned. Lightning lit the sky
grotesquely, allowing Constanza to watch the shapes slip into the
inky water. Thunder boomed and she jumped at the sound.

She began to run, pulling her dress over her
head and tossing it aside as she headed into the water. Its weight
would pull her under. Visions from dreams of women sinking to the
bottom, while they struggled to release themselves from the heavy
materials surrounding them, filled her head.

Clad only in her shift, Constanza plunged
into the surf, heading toward the capsized vessel. She dove again
and again, frantically feeling all around her for anything that
felt human. Finally, her hand grabbed what she thought was seaweed,
but nonetheless she pulled it up with all her might. Clutched in
her fist was a handful of hair—a little girl floated limp and
lifeless.

She fought the waves pounding the shoreline
and carried the child up to the wagon, placing her in the back on
her side. Quickly, she wrapped a blanket around her and pounded
furiously on her back. In no time, the girl vomited seawater and
ragged breathing commenced. Pulling the cover tighter around her,
Stanzy cautioned her to stay put.

Racing to the shore again, Stanzy stopped
short.

A woman was dazedly searching through the
surf. Repeatedly she went down and scrambled up again. Stanzy
watched her spew out seawater and scream from her fallen position.
“Ella! Ella! Where are you?”

Constanza helped her stand, grabbed her by
the shoulders and shook her. The woman was in shock. “Is Ella
blonde?” Stanzy yelled over the wind and pounding surf.

The woman looked at her, trying to
comprehend the question. Then she screamed, “Yes!”

“She is safe, in the wagon, up there.”
Stanzy pointed.

The woman lumbered forward, falling in the
sand, then regained her posture. Stanzy saw her reach the
wagon.

Longboats were arriving on shore in droves
now. At least twelve by her count, all with screaming people and a
few animals.

A huge explosion resounded through the night
air. Constanza looked out to the wreck just in time to see it
disappear below the waterline.

Another ship for the Atlantic graveyard.

Stanzy ran to the wagon, removed blankets
and began to meet the injured on the beach, helping them to the
wagon. All the while her stomach clenched tighter and tighter.

Where is he?

Where is he?

Please, I am not sure I can continue to
breathe if he does not come back. Why did I ever fall in love?

She’d put the first stitch into a gash in a
young man’s arm when she felt thick arms encircle her waist. A
voice in her ear whispered, “What a grand holiday I have brought
you on, my darling!”