Owned by Pirates

~ Chapter 1 ~ Flora ~

* The Village of Glenbert *

I knew tha

t if I didn’t get my errands done quickly enough, I might get the lash again. My father had been even angrier than usual lately. I tried to seem invisible and stay out of his way.

Yet as I passed the plain gray shops full of plain gray faces along the main street of our village, I heard a rustle in the usual chatter. I walked more quickly, concentrating as I tried to listen.

The butcher was telling his wife about something down at the docks. The cobbler was out on his step asking old Mr. Laird if something was true. Finally I passed the blacksmith, his voice loud and hoarse from hovering over the heat of his forge for years. I heard a word that shot through me like a static shock on a dry winter day.

Pirates.

I’d heard the tales. The whispers during the day, and the loud, drunken stories from villagers at night. Ragged men who traveled with the winds. Men who took what they wanted, sailed where they liked, and lived completely free upon the seas.

The idea of going anywhere beyond my village thrilled me. Terrified me. Excited me to bits. The blood ran faster in my veins just from the mere thought of it.

I was desperate to leave this tired place, but I was under the thumb of my cruel, overbearing father. After I refused to be married off to Mr. Glazenby, a prissy, sickly, but very rich shopkeeper, my father threatened to disown me. He said that I was a burden, even though I worked even more hours every day than my poor mother, who taught me to be a seamstress as well.

The thought of spending a lifetime with someone who only saw me as a possession filled my throat with acid. I’d sooner jump into the sea myself than see my life handed over to another. I’d been starting to squirrel away a few meager pennies here and there, tucked under a floorboard beneath my bed. Someday I might find passage to another town where I could live freely. It was so risky that I didn’t dare to even truly dream that it could happen.

Father’s punishments were getting worse every time, and I wasn’t quite sure how many more I could withstand.

Yet I risked a shred of his wrath to take the longer path home, that swung near the docks. If there were real pirates in our tiny village, I just had to steal a glimpse for myself.

Under the guise of pretending to look for my mother, who occasionally came to the shore before supper to buy a few fresh fish, I strolled as near as I dared.

There it was. A strange ship I’d never seen. There had been large cargo ships at our modest docks before. Although this particular ship wasn’t the largest, it was different, somehow. Sleeker. It looked more predatory.

The enormous sails were down, but the proud masts and glistening wooden hull showed that it was easily the most interesting ship that had ever come to port. Several men in rough work clothes scrubbed the deck and coiled thick ropes. I couldn’t quite believe that even though they were in poor repair, some of their shirts were bright colors like green and red.

Nobody in Glenbert would be so showy as to wear color except on Sundays, or perhaps to a fancy party, which only happened once a year. Here it was Wednesday, and a man with shining gold teeth wore a violet shirt to lug supplies onto the ship.

There were only four men, or quite possibly pirates, in sight. I wondered how many it took to run such a vessel. I didn’t know very much about ships and boats, or their workings. Then another man came up onto the deck, shielding his eyes from the sun for a moment with his hand.

His shirtless torso was glistening with a light sheen of sweat, and his black hair hung with the faintest curl at the ends. One of his thick, muscular arms was decorated with black ink, as well as an emblem on his chest. I wished that I was much closer so I could study the artwork. How does a person choose drawings that they would have with them forever?

I’d always dreamed of worldly men. Those who had seen distant places, learned the ways of other lands. So many exotic foods and towns and people. The excitement must be exhilarating.

From the way the great man was calling out commands to the other men, he must have been the Captain. Tearing my eyes from his massive shoulders, I pretended to scan the docks for my mother, just in case anyone noticed me.

Turning to go back up the path, I heard a slight shuffling and a thump. Glancing behind me, the Captain was down on the dock, picking up a huge barrel as easily as if it were empty, but it was likely fresh supplies.

For one blissfully exciting, horrifying, desperate second, he turned and his eyes met mine. They were so dark they seemed black. Yet they weren’t savage or cruel. He laughed cheerily, giving me a nod as he raised his hand in a wave, then spun to carry the cargo onto his ship.

My hands fluttered, nearly dropped the bags of turnips, cabbage, and sewing thread. Rushing home, I stored the food and went straight back to work in my room, up by the window. I told my parents that it was the best light for my detailed work. In truth, I simply needed the fresh air and to look down at the docks, thinking of those who could sail away from this tiresome place.

When my fingers finally stopped shaking from excitement, I set to work, mending the butcher’s wife’s best dress with tiny, perfectly even stitches. With all of the hours I’d spent cutting, pinning, and sewing dresses, I knew that my work was the best in the village. Even faster and more accurate than my mother’s, though I’d never breathe that to a soul.

After a spell, I found myself gazing out the window down to the men on the docks as they scurried about. It was likely all routine to them – winding ropes and tying sails. But to a young girl who had never been anywhere else, it was terribly exciting. Almost romantic.

“Why aren’t you working?” Father’s voice rang through the room, scaring me to pieces. “Staring out the window instead of tending to your chores? I should take the lash to you again.”

Father’s voice always set my teeth on edge, but today he seemed even more unstable.

He went to the window to see where I’d been looking. “Staring at the dock men like a harlot? You little...” He stopped mid-thought as he looked further to where the relatively large ship was docked at the end of our tiny harbor. “Pirates,” he hissed. “In our nice village.” He likely focused on the men working on deck, then back to my terrified eyes.

“If you’d been a son, you’d be doing real work like those men,” he spat. “Now you bring shame to this house by ogling scoundrels and thieves.”