Give me Love, Give me Life

TITLE: ABH- Give me Love, Give me Life
Author: Cecilia Long
Part 5 of ?
PAIRING JS/OF
RATING NC-17 This part PG
DATE POSTED: January 24, 2004


DISCLAIMERS:
I sorely wished I owned Jack and his compatriots, but I do not. I am only borrowing them and will returned them relatively unscathed. Go see the movie! Give them MORE money. Everyone say SEQUEL (Now a reality in the making!
YAAH US!)
ARCHIVE INSTRUCTIONS: Will be archived eventually at wildbadgers.net.
Anyone else must
ask first please.

AUTHOR NOTES:

All language between >< are assume to be in French. The generic history of coffee is true... And from here on in become AU to reality, following history as best as possible for generics. Chapter seven will again have some adult content, but I like story with my smut... GRIN

These two chapters are unbetaed as my beta is overwhelming busy.... And I have been being bugged to continue for a while


I would love feedback. ITs been a while
since Ive written much so Im a bit rusty. Take flames and visit old hobs with em ye scabberous dogs!

Your night ran late into the early morning since you really weren’t in need of any sleep. Finally you forced yourself to doze for a couple hours until the twilight right before dawn, and you got up to start your day. You reached over and ran your hand over the cold, empty spot next to you where for three days a warm body had shared your bed. Waking up with the strong arms of Jack Sparrow wrapped around you was something you had grown quite enamored of.

Sighing wistfully, you sat up and surveyed the room. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, its soft light starting to illuminate the world around you, seeping in through the door you left open to allow the breeze in. If it weren’t for the open chest with his clothing in it, you might have even given thought that you had dreamed the whole thing.

As you dressed, you contemplated the list of tasks you would try and get accomplished today. You sighed again. Jack’s idea of the crossbars a d a definite item high on the list. Pulling all the boards and nails was going to be an abhorrent chore.

As the morning wore on and you started out on your list of errands in the town post storm, you were very thankful that Jack had closed and boarded your windows. Picking your way through the debris-laden streets, followed closely by Tom and Ester, you saw first hand the damage the terrible storm had wrought. Many houses had pieces of their roofs missing, and shards of everything and anything from clothing to tools and household items flung everywhere. Some of the smaller fishing boats had been tossed high up onto the shore by the huge waves, or crashed upon the rocky shore that lined the far side of the harbor. Trees that stood alone or without any windbreak were ripped up by the roots and lay where they were tossed, including the one that had rubbled part of your garden wall. A variety of people sifted through the debris, trying to locate personal items, or just taking advantage and trying to find useful or valuable pieces before the true owners did.

You had come through relatively unscathed, and were quite thankful for that. Jack had rambled on about storms that roared through that just scoured whole islands off the map, or left bare ground where entire towns used to be, leaving no sign that humans had ever existed there. Jack had told you this was only a small storm, and considering the accuracy in his descriptive tale as to what the world would look like, you would hate to see a severe one.

Once you reached the main thoroughfare between tort ort and the town, you took a small folded paper from your hand basket. “Tom,” you said, handing it to him, along with two silver coins, “I want you to run down to the harbormaster. Give him this letter and the money. I need to know when a French commissioned vessel by the name La Mde lde la Mer arrives. As soon as it arrives! Tell him I will send you down thrice daily, but if it arrives anytime in between those visits, I desire a runner to be dispatched to me immediately, and I need this letter to be hand delivered to the officer written on the front. Am I clear?”

“Yes’m,” the young boy replied, nodding, and stuck the letter in hhirthirt, the coins tightly clutched in his hand. He took off half skipping, half running over the slippery cobblestones. You watched his blond head disappear through a group of weary sailors headed the opposite way.

Even with the immediate disaster, though, your trip into the small port village proved to be quite the interesting one. It seemed that when thoughts should be directed elsewhere, the idle gossip of a small community could not be thwarted.

You started to notice the oddities when you stopped first at the small mercantile, which to your delight had seemed to survive relatively intact. You were in need of a few staples, which you thought prudent to acquire before the demand of the day drove the store to empty shelves until the next merchant ship could arrive.

You also needed to restock up on your guilty pleasures. It was your one snobbery; you preferred the imported fermented grape beverage to the local homemade variety of wine. It cost you considerably more for the high quality vintages, but at the time you thought it was worth it; 10 to 20 shillings per bottle versus 1 to 2 shillings for a fair variety, or even less for the local footwash they liked to call wine. You had usually kept a few bottles of a very good vintage, and that lasted you a good while being just you, Ester and Tom. Where the three of you might drain maybe two bottles of wine in a week, adding Jack into the equation whom on his own could drain two in an evening, your stock was quite near depleted. The mercantile was actually the best source for a more high quality vintage then the local taverns, some of which kept kegs that were highly watered down or not much more then vinegar. This time you would have sent over a double case of the 2 shilling wine and only a couple of bottles of the expensive French brand if they had any.

You could see by the number of women in the store, from ladies’ servants to common folk, that the decision to come early had been a wise one. While Ester went to wait in the line at the counter for the dry goods, you absently began to fondle some of the bolts of material set in the front near the window.

You were completely in your own thoughts, not noticing the hushed murmurs around you and the fleeting, stolen glances in your direction. A few of the whispers did catch Ester’s ears, including a couple of direct questions, which she skillfully avoided answering in any great detail. Daydreams had you back in the warm arms of your pirate Captain, when Ester lightly grabbed your arm just below the elbow and ushered you out.

“Mr. Crane will be having it sent to the house later today, milady,” she said flatly, until out of earshot, and then she began to elaborate on her conversations and observations. It came to your attention that the rumors from the locals flew like wildfire about the strange and eccentric man who had taken up sudden residence with the newest eligible and wealthy woman on the island. You knew Jack was going to bring you controversy, even if people didn’t know he was a pirate. You just no no clue how soon that it was going to happen. Thankfully nothing about the alley incident came back, just that night in the pub. You were relieved that the Frenchman either hadn’t recognized you, or connected y‘mar‘married’ status bact int in the community.

It became a bit more serious then just flying rumors when you had a second incident at the blacksmith’s.

You had arrived at the shop, the clanging of metal on metal loud and resounding. When you stepped inside the small shop, the smell of the large furnace assailed your nostrils and the heat from its great fire made you start to sweat immediately in the enclosed area. You didn’t know how laborers such as silversmiths and blacksmiths were able to tolerate such extreme physical demands, and you respected them for it.

Even above his clanging hammer, he heard you come in and turned to greet you, smiling when he saw you. The local blacksmith was also a newcomer to the island, one who had arrived on the same ship as yourself, so you had gotten the opportunity to get to know him a bit on the voyage over. He was a great big black man that towered over most men, being over six feet tall. His skin was as dark as night and when he smiled his teeth shone out like pearls in the moonlight. His arms were as big as small tree trunks, and probably could have lifted three of you in one hand with no problem.

His name was Giles Martin, or more aptly his freeman name. Giles was the son of African slaves, brought over to work the sugarcane fields a few years prior to his birth. Giles had been sold to a blacksmith in Montserrat as a young child, and despite his English name and first young years at Port Royal, had learned fluent French from his new master in the Parisian colony.

The blacksmith who owned him, Thomas Farnarcque, had been one the owners who cared about their slaves, and taught Giles, even against the wishes of the guild, not only the trade past the harsh chores most slaves were expected to do, but also educated him in grammar and math. He had learned the finer arts of the forge along with that more common task of nails and horseshoes. When Giles had reached manhood and the age of majority, his master did something no one expected, and handed him his writ of freedom. The long years together had meant something more to Thomas then just that between a master and a slave. There was a deep friendship and respect, and he felt you could not in any good conscious own your friend, so now he was free.

Giles had set off to find his fortune, and somehow had heard that the small shop here on the island was up for sale after the death of its previous owner. He arrived, money in hand, and set up business.

Setting down his great hammer, he came over to you. >“Good day there, Madam Hyutheson,”< Giles said using the surname you chose to travel under, in fluent articulate French. >“I would offer you my hand, milady, but I am far too dirty for one as lovely as you today,”< he added, flashing those bright teeth again, with that strange mix of a French and proper English accent of his that you found so appealing. He had loved the idea that there was someone on board whom he could converse with in the tongue he had used for so much of his life, rather then struggle to remember the proper English.

>“Good day, Mr. Martin,”< you cheerfully said, trying to ignore the sweat beading up all over your body. How could he work in such heat all the time? >“I have need of some work from you. I would like to order some crossbars for my windows, since I have discovered that the originals seem to have gone missing. Would you be able to squeeze some into your schedule?”

With a nod, he replied, “It will takea wea week or so, but I will get them done for you.” He stared at you long and hard with his dark eyes, and then turned to pick up his hammer again. >“If it’s not to forward, can I ask you a question, Madam?”<

>“Of course,”< you said, not thinking that what would be coming up would have came up.

>“I have heard stories,”< he hesitantly started, >“about your new
gentleman friend.”<

“Oh.” You shifted uncomfortably. You felt Ester’s hand on your back.

>“Don’t get me wrong. It is not my place to judge you. I am not God,”<
he added, obviously noting your discomfort. He hung the hammer up on
its wooden hooks, and leaned against the large metal anvil. >”He
just…the descriptions.... A wild eyed man with even wilder black hair,
all bedecked in trinkets and baubles. A ladies’ man. He prances on
land as if he is still roaming the decks of his ship. Sharp tongue and
an even sharper wit when it serves him. Does this sound familiar? The
only reason I ask is that this man sounds very much like some one I
knew ever so briefly ; a Captain I served under for a short time
several months before I came here.”<

>”Oh, I’m sure you don’t know him. He’s new… to this area. Just come from the… Americas. Boston I think.”< Did you answer too quickly? Too slowly? You knew you were so not prepared for someone who might have actually known Jack. Then you had to figure that someone like Jack would naturally have drawn attention to himself most of his life when he wanted. You could honestly say he was not the most nondescript of people, and if he was actually not trying to hide, you could only imagine what a spectacle he would be.

>”What is his name?”<

Licking your lips, you carefully said switching to English,”Captain John William Smithy. He’s with a merchant vessel called…the…Opalescent Oyster.” As soon as that ship name came out of your mouth you wanted to kick yourself in the head, but that was the first thing that popped into your mind.

“What a strange name for a ship, but then those American colonists are a strange lot, so Ibeenbeen told,” the blacksmith thoughtfully said after mulling it around in his mind for a moment, replying in your native language. Shaking his shaved head, he continued still quite pensive,” I did not think there could be too many in the world like him, but perhaps it’s that British ancestry…”

“Who was the man you were thinking of?”

Those white teeth flashed again against the bright pink of his lips and the deep brown skin of his face. “A very eccentric man by the name of Jack Sparrow. He comes off as a lunatic; a drunken womanizer with nary a brain in his head. A man of the most unbelievable lot of luck anyone has ever seen. The man is crazy yes, but crazy like the fox. And just as shrewd and calculating as I have been told that animal to be.”

Your heart skipped a beat. This man DID know Jack. What you didn’t know was if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Suddenly it struck you. This was someone who KNEW Jack Sparrow. Someone who had dealt with him out in the world and obviously had stories about him. “Sounds like an interesting character. Tell me about him.”

“I only have a few moments to linger on this right now, but suffice to say, Interesting does not properly describe Jack Sparrow.” Giles moved the horseshoe he had been working on, now with only a faint glow about it, back into the tempered coals of his forge to reheat. He pulled a tall stool out from against the wall and offered it to you for sitting. “You see, there is something I did not tell you on our travels aboard the Leopold.” He paused, almost edgy, and he shifted against the large workstation.

“I promise I will not hold anything you tell me against you, Mr. Martin,” you tried to soothingly say,” For I am not God either.”

“When I left Montserrat seeking my fortunes, I had taken passage aboard a ship that ended up in Saint Dominique. I did not have the funds to set up a shop on my own, or purchase one already in existence. From there I was told I could find passage just about anywhere and information for just about anything. It was only later when I discovered why this was the case. By that time I was about out of money and out of options and ended up by heeding nefarious advice in a local drinking establishment that at the time in my naiveté I did not know catered to the more unscrupulous of men.

This is where I met Captain Jack Sparrow. He was trying to sign on some more crew for his ship, the Black Pearl. It is not large as a ship of the line, but he still needs a goodly number of able men to run it efficiently. Even a vessel of that size needs a good hundred men at least for merely manning his guns.

I heard the whispers and I watched him. There I was, very desperate, and needing passage and funds, so I approached him. Sparrow knew right off, I wasn’t a seaman, but that didn’t deter him from questioning me and my intentions. I felt no reason to lie to him, as I daresay I do not think I could have done so to him without him knowing. The man seemed to be able to see right through people, and from the stories I had heard about his past, it is a skilled hard earned.

When he discovered I was a blacksmith, he signed me right on for repair and smithy work. As I was to put my name to the books, he stopped me, and looked me right in the eye. . ‘I knew another smithy once,’ he said to me,’ and he was a landlubber as well. A finer man I haven’t yet met.’ I remember him cocking his head at he studied me. ‘I just need to be sure that you be aware of our business and have no issue with it as such before you sign on.’ Issues are easily set aside at times of need, and I said as much. I would get him what he needed and he would get me what I needed. All the crazy man did was smile. I still remember the disarming shine from his teeth.

In ever clear hindsight, if I had to resort to such means to get by, I am fortunate I ended up with that lunatic. Always getting into trouble he was; either with other pirates, or they Royals, or more frequently women, but always having the fortitude to get by somehow. In the two months I stayed aboard the ship, in all the raids, I never saw a drop of blood split except in the direst of circumstances. He took such great pains to avoid bloodshed in the most ingenious ways I cannot begin to get into. Honorable man…for a pirate.

I did realize that life on the high seas was not for me. After I had completed my work on his ship and restocked him with necessaries, and I had acquired a small purse and knowledge of this shop, I signed off at a Port and took passage on the Leopold. And here I am. Would have been nice to see Sparrow again, but he is probably in Tortuga somewhere. That is where his kind of excitement tends to lie.”

As you saw how late in the day it was getting, you had to plead your departure. “I will have to come back and hear your secret stories of adventure, Mr. Martin. They sound so exciting!” you eagerlyd bed before taking your leave of the smithy. “This Jack Sparrow character sounds fascinating, but I know you have quite a bit of work lined up, so I will leave you to your duties.”

You went to bed that night, your hand resting on the cold empty spot nto yto you where you so desired that flouncy, tousled pirate to be. Perhaps the morrow would bring some news to distract your mind, one way or the other. If you only knew…

It was late that next afternoon when Tom came running breathless into the house, waving a paper in his hand. “It’s here!” he burst out between pants. “It’s here! La Mère… de la Mer …came into… the harbor… this late morning.”

“Excellent,” you said, clasping your hands together. It had been a long time since you had seen the young Gabriel de Clieu. He would most surely be a fine strapping man now, and doing his family proud as an officer aboard the ship.

“This note is from the officer you sought,” Tom wheezed, holding up the folded parchment. “The harbormaster gave your note to him and had me wait, and I received this in return. That is why I took so long.”

You unfolded the paper, and read the quickly scribbled communication. “I will be gone for a while,” you stated, turning in a whirl of skirts.