The Bride of Blackbeard (26 page)

Lucian scrambled around the kitchen and
could find nothing useful. He opened the door to the outside and it
flew off into the gale immediately. On the ground lay an axe
embedded in the dirt, which he grabbed, ran back to the stairwell
and proceeded to shove it through the hole.

Stanzy snatched the long handle and when she
reached the wardrobe screamed, “Megan. Move as far into the corner
as you can and stay perfectly still.” She was all too aware if
Megan didn’t heed her, she might kill or maim her forever, but what
choice did she have? They may all three be dead in a minute if the
eye of the tornado touched down close enough to the manor.

She smashed the door with the axe and it
barely cracked. It was thick and old. She whacked it again and
again. Pure unadulterated rage overtook her. Through her mind raced
pictures of injustice—her drunken father; the face of Megan, who
hadn’t asked to be ill, mute and left for dead; the faces of the
innocent patients she’d seen die horrid deaths.

And it cracked.

Just before her mind did.

She threw the axe aside and peered into the
wardrobe.

There she sat. Beautiful little Megan curled
up in a ball in the corner. “Oh, Megan!”

“Mama! Ma! Please! Please!” Megan scampered
across the floor of the wardrobe into Stanzy’s outstretched
arms.

Fervently hugging her close for a precious
few seconds, Stanzy gathered her up, making her way back to the
stairs. Carefully, she dropped Megan through the hole into Lucian’s
outstretched arms.

~ Chapter Fifteen ~

Once dealing its monstrous devastation, the
maelstrom passed—rain ceased and winds calmed. Hopkins sat at
Lucian’s kitchen table. Damage to the cottage was minimal compared
to the manor, which was almost a total loss. It would take at least
a year to rebuild. Crops had been partially destroyed, but some
would be salvageable.

After staring at the tabletop as Lucian and
Stanzy waited, he finally looked up. “I have discussed it with
Sarah, and we feel it is in Megan’s best interests for her to stay
with you, and let you adopt her as your child.” His voice caught
and choked. “Sarah wants to leave here...go to town. So, we are
moving to Bath and do not feel it would be an appropriate place
for...for a child like her.”

Predictably, Lucian squeezed Stanzy’s hand
under the table to stay her mouth, in his anticipation she would
blurt out something to the tune of how Meg was just a burden to
them. But though she believed that true, she was actually sighing
with relief at this revelation.

For once, Lucian was wrong about her
reaction. Now that she was certain Meg was to stay with them, she
would take no risk that might jeopardize the adoption.

“I also have the papers, entitling you to
the land you were promised, and you are free from my employ.”

“Good luck, Ian,” Lucian said, extending his
hand.

“You are a good man, Lucian,” he said in
return and headed out the door without a backward glance.

The second the door shut, Stanzy flung
herself into his arms. “She is ours.”

“There is only one more thing I require to
make this family complete,” he said, looking into the room where
Will and Ben sat on the floor with Megan.

Tears of joy clouded her vision as she
looked into his face. “And what would that be, dear husband?”

“One more girl, preferably with your eyes,
and
my
temperament.”

She slapped him hard on the arm.

With all the rebuilding under way, the week
after the storm passed quickly.

One-time slaves were now employed by Lucian
as free workers, and the restoration of StoneWater was going
smoothly.

Lucian kept his promise with regard to
trying for a little girl to add to their brood. It seemed he
couldn’t keep his breeches on for any length of time. He was
happier than Stanzy had ever seen him when he left for the port to
restock their destroyed stores. He turned in the wagon to smile and
wave his hat at her as he wound his way out of the estate.

Later, with the arrival of dusk, she stood
on the porch squinting to make out the approaching horseman.

The rider carrying the mail pouch dismounted
and strode toward the cottage. “Mrs. Blackwell?”

“Yes?”

“This letter is for you. I am afraid it was
delayed by the storm.”

He wasn’t even off the porch before she had
it torn open.

Katrina’s handwriting, which she barely
recognized, was forced and almost illegible.

“Dear Stanzy,

“By the time you read this, you may call me
Mrs. Teache. I have resolved to marry Edward and invite you to come
to our home at Hammock House as soon as you are able. You were such
a fool to have turned him down, but no matter, for now he is
mine!

“I hope to see you soon. I often think of
our days together on the voyage from England and the lucky girls
who linked themselves to sailors on that voyage! Now I am one of
them!”

“Your dearest,

“Katrina”

“Heavens be merciful,” was all Stanzy
uttered, and within a quarter hour she was en route to Hammock
House.

~ * ~

Lucian sat at the bar in Nags Head and
ordered ale for the cheery, albeit drunk, Abernathy Hornigold.

“So you think you have him?” said Lucian,
almost as bleary eyed.

“Yes, it should all end very soon, and I
will be free to return home to my family! Everything has come to a
head with his latest marriage to a young beauty named Katrina. By
my ciphering, his twelfth or thirteenth wife.”

Lucian spewed the beer in his mouth onto the
bar.

~ * ~

Stanzy had ridden through the night,
refusing to stop. Taylor Creek was now in sight, so she knew the
pirate's cottage was close. Hammock House was located somewhere
along the river. Astride her mount, she scanned the countryside
with squinted eyes.

Her breath hitched in her throat at the
sight. Situated high on a knoll, it wasn’t the white house itself
which caught her eye. A young girl was swinging from a noose on a
tree in front of the dwelling; her body flowed in time with the
gently blowing breeze.

Drawing her rifle, she kicked the horse on,
offering a silent prayer that she wasn’t pregnant, and about to get
two people killed instead of one. Dismounting, she skulked toward
the house, skirting from one tree to the next. Crumpling, she
grabbed hold of the tree for support; her legs shook so violently,
she wasn’t sure she could walk, let alone rescue Katrina. She snuck
again to the tree nearest the house. Her hands shook as she prepped
the rifle. Carefully, she ticked off the steps with Uncle Delvin's
voice as her guide, so that the lead didn’t become stuck in the
barrel and blow up in her hands.

Her Uncle Delvin’s instructions came to her
then—her mind’s eye picturing his massive gentle hands lifting the
rifle to its proper height. She raised the end of the musket and
looked through the sights as she whispered in her mind:
The
higher the angle of the rifle, the longer the trajectory
.

She snuck up behind the tree where the young
girl was hanging and closed her eyes for a minute before looking
up. A mixture of revulsion and relief washed over her when she
realized it wasn’t Katrina.

The poor girl had been lovely, and of a
foreign descent Stanzy was unable to pinpoint. And very much
pregnant. For a moment it didn’t register and then it shook her to
the core… It was the woman who had accused Lucian of infidelity.
Teache had been behind the charade all along, and this poor
creature had been his pawn. She quickly said a prayer for her and
continued on toward Hammock House.

Stealthily, she moved around the back of the
house and peered in a window. Not a soul was in sight. As quietly
as possible, she turned the handle and slowly pushed the door open.
Still seeing no one, she slid in and tiptoed through the kitchen,
stopping and cocking her head to the side, straining to hear any
voices or sounds.

She searched the entire downstairs, then
looked up the stairwell. If she went up, and if there were more
than one man, she would be trapped. But what choice did she have?
Katrina, the fool, was undoubtedly here.

With her gun held at the ready, she ascended
the staircase. When she reached the landing at the top, her heart
sank. In the room to her left was Katrina, bound and gagged.

Their eyes met briefly and Stanzy stepped
toward her. Katrina shook her head back and forth, her eyes
widening in horror. No!

Click.

Stanzy turned to face Teache, towering over
her with his pistol cocked, pointed at her temple.

“Allo, beautiful. Did you like our letter?
Come to bring us a weddin’ gift? Let us head down the stairs to the
porch. You will love the view.”

With the pistol to the back of her head, he
wrenched the rifle from her fingertips and guided her roughly by
the elbow down the stairs and out onto the porch.

“Search ‘er. I am sure the clever lass has
come prepared.”

A sailor smiled, revealing blackened teeth.
His breath stank of old ale as he groped in search of any concealed
weapons. He found and removed a knife she'd strapped to the inside
of her thigh. The sneer he gave as he extracted it sickened
her.

Constanza said nothing, but counted the
number of seamen she could see—fifteen in all.

“Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I knew
I must have you. And when you showed such dislike for me, it made
me all the more determined to have my way. Let me explain it to you
plain like...” Teache leered within an inch of her face. She could
see the black in his teeth, and the smell of him was soured ale. He
continued, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You see,
all I have ever wanted was you, Constanza, not the spoiled, whining
princess tied to the chair upstairs. The likes of her is a dime a
dozen; but you...you are the real treasure. I can either take her
chastity, then kill both of you, or
you
can give yourself
willingly to me, and your sister will go free.”

A disembodied feeling overtook her as if she
merely observed from afar. Her mind splintered like shattered glass
as it tried in vain to find an alternate reality than the one laid
at her feet.

Lucian’s beautiful face came to mind, and
she felt shame at the act she must consent to—to save them.

“Let her go. I want to watch her get on a
horse and ride away before you—” But she vomited before she could
finish.

~ * ~

Everything around her was cloudy. Putting
her hands to her head, she tried to focus, but her mind refused.
Her faculties felt bludgeoned; Teache had stolen something from her
soul that could not be retrieved. No amount of time would heal this
damage to her spirit.

He is pure evil...and I’ve lain with
him.

Wild images kept firing in her mind, and the
realization she must be hallucinating dawned on her. In every
direction, wailing women in ripped white dresses pulled their hair
out. To her right, a blonde in a tattered dress, to her left women
who looked like gypsies. She was unsure whether they were real or
not. Then she saw fairies soaring through the canopy of the cypress
trees... beautiful women with wings, all crying as they stared at
her. Their tears burned as they hit her flesh. And millions of
fireflies seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. They lit up the
path on which she plodded along.

Hallucinations. I have passed into the world
of my grandmother.

Collapsing to her knees on the roadside, her
gut contracted and she retched. Relenting, she quit the fight and
vomited, again and again.

Memories her mind only permitted in the form
of dreams began to break their way through into her conscious
mind.

~ * ~

“
Come here, poppet. You know that all I
teach you is a rare privilege for a woman, but I think we both know
you are no ordinary woman. You would never be satisfied with
needlework and mending and cooking. I know the thoughts in that
head of yours.”

Constanza obediently came closer to the
recently dead body. This is the perfect time to review the
musculature of the arm.

The man had been in a carriage
accident—crushed by the weight of the carriage. Her father had done
what he could, but the poor man was almost dead when he arrived in
their office.

His arm was torn open at the forearm. It lay
palm up on the table. Her father used the other end of the scalpel
to lift each individual muscle from its resting location.

“
Here is flexor digitorum superficialis,”
he said, concurrently pulling at the muscles to flex all of the
fingers.

“
This other below it, is the profundus,
which I cannot reach without removing these. Also, very important
is almaris longus. This is an extra muscle, not everyone has it,
but fortunately for you, this man does, or did. What a great
opportunity for you. I know you are not the least bit artistic, but
quickly draw yourself a sketch for future reference, and add it to
your notes.

“
Someday you will thank me for
this.”

~ * ~

“Ha. Yes, thank you, Father. Every
sixteen-year-old wants to see a cadaver’s muscles.”

The sound of her giggling sent gooseflesh
erupting up her arms.

Like little rips in a curtain where daylight
peeks through, little bits of memories slipped out from their
protected spots. She was at their mercy now.

The face of the first woman that passed
during childbirth appeared before her. Faces of all the dead who’d
been lost on her father’s operating table—the old man with the
blackened, infected leg, each level of amputation failed, and they
sawed, and sawed. A young woman driven to madness, who no longer
spoke, but only sang haunting songs. The upturned faces of the
babes she'd carried through the snow to the orphanage, their eyes
regarding her with all of the faith in the world...so much
suffering.