After the Boys of Summer Have Gone

The sun reflected softly in pink and blue on the wispy clouds in the near evening sky as it sank into the distant horizon of the endless sea. Ships floated in the gently rolling bay before you, many familiar, many strangers, only visitors to this port. The waves crashed up around the rocks at the base of the cliffs around the inlet, under the British fort looming in the distance. You watch the tiny figures scurrying around on the ships, batting them down, cleaning them up, and doing those things that sailors just plain did.

You stand on your balcony overlooking the scene before you as you do every night. Watching, waiting for that which never comes. The breeze blows strongly in your face, billowing the light green flowered housecoat you wear over your chemise, and you sigh, thinking of the bright red sunset of the morning and the lack of color this night. You can hear the words of the sailors from the docks you like to walk in the day in your mind: Red sky in morning, sailors take warning. Red sky at night, a sailor’s delight.

You brush back some of the hair that has fallen loose from its comb and bats you in the eyes and tries to find its way into your mouth. It’s storm season coming up, and you know in your heart that this odd weather is the foreshadowing of one of the summer squalls that ravage the Caribbean every year. That would account for the high volume of vessels making its way into the safer confines of the island bay and its harbor. You sigh again, knowing that this would mean a lack of shipping traffic for a while until the savage season was nigh over. What had gotten you to this dire place where you searched longingly over the water every night. What had led you to go against your own hard learned knowledge and hold onto the false hope that someday a certain ship would sail into your harbor?

Yhandhand clenches tightly ar a s a small object in your hand, part of it dangling out the side, swaying in the same wind that flusters up your hair.

You had good common sense. Why couldn’t you use it now and give up on the thread of promise made by a man to you several months before? Why couldn’t you make yourself believe that the word of a man, no, not even a man, but a rapscallion, a thief, a purveyor of ill deeds and reputation, was just a great big lie? Why did you have to fall head over heels in love with all things, a pirate of the Caribbean?

Because it was him, and for some reason you stiouldould not comprehend, you listened to your heart and not your head. You told yourself repeatedly to trust the instinct that had brought you as far as it had, or all your hard learned experience would mean naught… but maybe it was time to admit that you had made a mistake…That you had grievously misread him those four months ago, and he was truly nothing but a scurvy bastard.

You had never once before believed in love at first site. It was a story thought up by fanciful young women who dreamed of princes and towers and white knights on steeds. Something for those dithering maids who had nothing to contribute to their own lives and had depend on others for their means and ways.


For years you had tolerated the abuse and degradation from the men of Europe based merely on your born sex. You, to much amazement, succeeded in spite of that and the opinions of others. You had many talents, one being a love of music and composing, and another a brash business sense, and you insisted on using them quite efficiently. Your efforts in educating yourself in languages and the arts of merchanting and marketing had made you a comfortable sum, in spite of only being a woman. You learned to play the game, play the men in their flirting, primping, doting games, to get what you needed, without falling into the trap that many other ladies did. Taking your hard fought winnings you left for the New World and that of the tropical Caribbean to try your luck there.

And then he walked into your life. You blink back tears, as your mind thinks back to that fateful time months previous…


You had come down to the Caribbean to start pursuing your own interests that you knew could not be had in Europe. Your talent with the harp and other instruments had garnered you much luck in playing for the Governor and transplanted aristocracy from the Old World. There just were not a lot of musicians that wanted to come down to the islands and abandon their lucrative jobs with the hoity toity upper crust. The risk on the high sea was too much for many of them, but not for you.

This gave you the advantage of being called upon to play for the landed gentry’s dinner parties, and paying your bills without you having to dip into your substantial nest egg of saved monies from your business deals of the past. It allowed youoccaoccasionally showcase your own compositions without having the immediate stigma of being just the woman. The stigma of being an independent woman, which meant she must be a whore, or a mistress in the making.

But as much as you took advantage of the derth that the rich had, you still felt a connection to the common folk, to whom you believed were more real and hence more interesting then the powdered wigs. You were singing that night in a local tavern, The Upended Keg. There was not much noteworthy about it except that this is where your saga started.

It was a common pub, run by a common barkeep, Dar Ostler, who gave you much the hairy eyeball when you entered three weeks prior with a proposition. For naught but tips you would sing and perform in his establishment, as this would all become the rage someday. Have something to draw himself new patrons beside the usual busty wenches and old brew. Why should he not get a head start on the others pubs? The wigs had their operas, and even in London they had the theatre in which anyone could attend for a pence. Entertainment on the isles was at a premium.

What you didn’t tell him was that there you could expand your repertoire of songs and tunes to those more base and amusing, that which common folk seemed to like the most. You could bring even the crustiest old salt to tears with your sad ballads of lost love and the sea, and then get them chorusing with you on some raunchy and suggestive tunes that you would dare NEVER play or sing at a grand estate. And they would cheer and chant and toss you coins. It was also the right spot to keep your ear to the ground for viable business opportunities to enlargen that dowry you planned never to use

So with nothing to lose he let you start, and as you had figured, your idea was amostmost immediate success, as your impromptu shows would draw the lonely merchant and sailors by for their grog and their meal and their wenches in their laps. By the end of the first week besides the merchants and sailor and farmers, even many of the King’s men would come by, hoping to catch you. The word of mouth was like summer lightning, fast and furious.


You began to wonder if your Idea was TOO good when after the second week more and more of the, shall we say, unsavory souls began to spend time at this establishment rather then their more usual establishments of ill repute a lot closer to the wharfs. After a couple of drunken bar fights and a stabbing, you expressed your concerns to the owner, but he shrugged it off as a usual occurrence this time of year.

This night had been more hectic then usual. The small rooms were full, and the stench of old sweat and spilled ale was almost overwhelming in the lingering heat from the day. Small rancid fat-made candles lit the tables, and smoke from the kitchen fires added to the smelly haze. You had seriously thought about taking a night off when earlier that morning the Governor of the island had requested last minute that you attend a dinner party that evening. The scent of bubbling stew and b bre bread for dinners lingered, and made your stomach growl, but you were determined to skip your usual course here for the festivity that night.

You had accepted to arriveer eer eight, and one of the soldiers who had come to like visiting the pub agreed to make sure the carriage arrived in time and to the right place. It was known amongst the lobster backs that you preferred to keep your second job more of an under the table routine. The gentry were no better then the brash and loud men of the lower class. The men in their powdered wigs and velvet trim and fancy shoes were only different from the dirty sweaty men of the earth and sea in theire ere eloquent ways of trying to wed or bed or take advantage of you. And the common folk were usually far more generous for their means. This was a hard learned lesson you had made as a younger girl that and had vowed never to allow to happen again.

It was there, in the Upended Keg, amongst the chaos and wandering hands you had to laughingly slap away, that the inconceivable occurred

You had finished your set, to the cheers and leers of a bunch of drunken patrons, although tonight seemed far worse then normal. The men had loved the sea ballads you crooned to them, as they always did. It was funny that you could put such heart into the songs of something that you had only experienced for the crossing from England to the mainland and the longer crossing to here. Thankfully you had a ship with many a sailor who loved to share their shanties with you.

After collecting your coinage, you weaved your way through the groping hands and suggestive comments. You knew your carriage would be arriving shortly to take you to the mansion for your next, more sedate, performance.

It was then your eyes lit upon a man, obviously with some relation to the sea, but not an ordinary sailor. You lingered for that extra moment that was to be your downfall. He was an average height from what you could see, with a dark mass of somewhat unkempt hair, braided and ornamented with stones and beads and trinkets, partially hidden beneath a red scarf and battered leather tri-hat. His dark beard was braided into two small straundeunder his chin. A small scar skipped down the right side of his face, more prominent in the eyebrow and along the side of his jaw through his beard.

He wore a plain linen shrift shirt, open at the chest, and his left sleeve undone, over which he had a blue button jacket vest. A homemade leather palm guard covered his right hand next to a beautiful large blue ring on his index finger. A leather belt on which hung a scabbarded sword and a strange blue and black box, was cinched over a red and white striped linen sash. It held his clothing tightly around his waist, and if one looked closely it also revealed the half hiddutt utt of a pistol. He was leaned back, large brown knee boots propped up unceremoniously on the table, as he nursed a large flagon of what you obviously figured to be some grainy alcoholic beverage. What caught your attention most was the dark kohl rimmed eyes that stared at you most intently.

Above the din you heard his voice, “Barkeep, a drink is needed for this fine angel after such a riveting performance. She must be parched. Put it on my tab.” He gave you a small smile, and a glint of gold reflected in the candlelight from several of his teeth. Your heart fluttered for the first time that you could ever recall, and you had to take an extra breath to calm a growing set of butterflies in your stomach. What was going on?

“Aye, you dog you,” one of the regular patrons belted out in an inebriated haze, in his own version of your defense. “Go back to your whores. You aint fit to talk to no lady of ‘er stature, let alone buy ‘er a drink, so bugger off.”

Your employer, Mr. Ostler, almost directly behind you, sniggered at the remark, knowing that you never accepted the widely offered drinks from riffraff.

To this day, you do not know why you chose to not ignore it like you had the others all the times before. You don’t know why you glanced back at him that moment. You don’t know whether it was the touch of ale in the man’s system, your learned insight, a strange combination of both, or just the fates playing their hand, but for a mere moment, you could have sworn you saw into his soul. At the patron’s harsh wordhe fhe faintest flash of agitated despair flickered in his dark brown eyes. It was a look you had felt so often, the look of heart wrenching dismay at people only seeing and believing only what they wanted. His deep dark eyes held the knowledge and experience of a man who had been through hell and back again. It was one of those that only a person who had lived it could recognize and understand.

He was good though, for in that flash of a second the mask was back up in the form of a sardonic smile and a cock of the head. “Aye, you be right. Waste of a fine drink that would be then, eh, mate? I’ll have it me’self then. Barkeep, another one!” He held up his tankard, laughing as though this was the most common everyday occurrence, and something told you it was.

It must have been that fleeting look that caused your good sense to take its leave, for the next thing you knew you heard yourself saying, ”I would be honored to have that drink, good sir, if it still be offered to me?”

The man’s eyes widened in pleased surprise, and he grinned broadly now. His feet scraped off along the top of the rough hewn plank from table so he could lean forward anrighright. He clasped his hands briefly together and motioned towards you as in gratitude. “Unquestionably, milady. There man! Get the lady whatever draught she wishes,” he practically crooned out in a sing song lilting voice. Reaching into a small pouch that had been stuffed in his sash, he removed a rather sizable coin and tossed it to the startled barkeep. “That should cover it all.”

Mr. Ostler himself did a double take and looked at me with that same queer eye that he gave me when I first propositioned him.

“I’ll have some wine or mead if you please, Dar,” you quickly say. You dared not go heavy on your empty stomach.

“And not that cheap watered drek either, mate,” your new admirer called out after the retreating barkeep, gesturing flamboyantly with his hands. “Something decent. And don’t forget mine whilst you be getting ‘ers.”

“Thank you for your kindness good sir,” you state with a small contrived and polite curtsey. “It is nice to know that ones efforts are appreciated. I admit I usually find coin more a good indicator and more preferable, but in this case… a drink is quite welcome.”

“Aye missy,” he replied, an odd tone is voice as he smiled in a knowing manner. “I agree with ye’ quite strongly that coin be a wonderful thing, with drink not far behind. The last time I had a woman sing to me, it was quite enlightening, but far more base then what you treated me too. You know rum and bad eggs and all. Drink up me hearties yo ho!” With that he lifted his tankard in a salute and drained the last of the contents, smashing it on the table with a loud thump.

You smile, amused at the antics and demeanor of this dashing stranger. “I dare say I am unfamiliar with that one, but perhaps sometime you could teach it to me. It sounds most fun.”

“I daresay milady,” his eyebrow arching as he gazed at her, his voice seemingly thick and drawn with his drink,” that it might not be the best ditty for the normal company of which you keep.”

It was your turn to raise your eyebrows at him. “Oh, and what company do you assume I tend to keep, sir?” You were interrupted momentarily as a tankard of fruity wine was set into your hands, and another overflowing, frothy mug was plopped on the table.

“Most assuredly not my kind of company lass,” he murmured, “but I could be wrong. I don’t think I am though.”

“And just what is your kind of company?” You drank deeply of the wine, watching him over the rim of your glass, not wanting to take your eyes from his face lest he reveal something more.

He just smiled at you as if he held some great secret, and you felt your knees go weak as his eyes sparkled amusedly at your fluster. You hadn’t time to repeat the question as you heard your name called from behind you.

You turned slightly to see Mr. Sulley, one of the soldiers from the fort, a good man with a known crush on you that you used to your advantage, stepping inside the door. He waved and smiled. “Your transport is here. I’m to take you up as escort, as the Governor was a bit concerned about the influx of unsavory characters in the town as of late.”

“I’ll be right there, Mr. Sulley and thank ” ” You turned back towards the table. “I’m afraid I must leave, and I never got your name, Mr.…” You had to stop, for where the striking gentleman had been sitting was naught but an empty chair, and not anything but the flagon of ale bubbling ever so gently tdicadicate that he was ever even there. Your heart dropped, and you sighed. Well, your philosophy was never to become too involved with your clientele anyway, you told yourself as you gathered yourself to leave, but part of you couldn’t help feeling a sense of loss that you didn’t understand.

If only your story had ended there, you would have been able to go on with your life as you always had, but it didn’t. You never suspected how the spirits played with your fates and your lives.

The next day you had awoken late, almost midmorning, after a long night at the elegant home of the Governor. The evening had gone well enough, with many compliments and many fine officers and landowners attempting to woo you, but your mind had kept drifting back to the suavely haggard man in the bar. You had almost blocked him from your mind by the time you awoke and took to your hot bath, one of the luxuries that you loved so, especially after as long a night as you had had.

You sank back after washing and piling atop your head your long hair, relishing the perfumed water, and the beautiful day. The ornate porcelain footed tub had been placed so that you could glance out off the veranda if you chose, while still providing the privacy you desired. The breeze blew warm and fragrant with the odor of the exotic blossoms and fauna of the nearby forests, as you watched several of the palm trees outside roll softly back and forth. Wild, brightly colored native songbirds flitted back and forth past the doorway filling the late morning with their calls and cajoles.

Your peaceful solitude was suddenly disturbed by cries and shouts in the streets and the sound of gunfire. It came closer, but you dared not rise to look lest one of the stray bullets found its home in your direction. You had seen that happen on more then one occasion. Bloody fools never thought that what went up must come down. The din grew louder until it was practically under your window. Dear lord what were they after in such a fervor? Must be a cad of the most unscrupulous character to account for such a ruckus.

The next thing you knew a figure had scaled to the top of your palm tree and threw himself over the railing onto the floor. He rolled into the room looking back out the breezeway, breathing quite heavily from what you gathered to be an exhaustive run. Your heart jumped in your throat and you did not know whether to scream and get the guards attention or risk more wrath by doing so. You instinctively slouched down a bit more in the soapy water to try and cover yourself.

The dark haired man turned suddenly on his boot heel, and stopped dead when he saw you, his hand moving towards a pistol in his belt. Both of your jaws drop when you see each other. If your heart could leap further it would have exited your head. He was the buccaneer from the night before, a bit more disheveled and dripping with sweat.

His hand backed away from the firearm and he gave you the genuflection he had given you the previous night. “A thousand... pardons, milady,” he said between deep breaths.

Your initial fear had fled, and a rash boldness took its place. “I suppose you have a story for me?”

“A story?” He asked, looking a bit perplexed, straining to hear wwas was happening in the street below.

With as disarming a smile as you could muster, you stared him square in the eye. “Well, I don’t usually have men falling into my upper story room whilst I hear the guard on some sort of rampage in the town…so I figured you had some grandiose story for me. Come to think of it, I don’t even know your name. So could we start at that? Mr…?”

You would have thought he dealt with this every day of his life as removed his battered hat and gave a graceful bow, watching her carefully. “Jack. Jack Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow to be more precise.”

“Jack.” You let the name roll out, feeling it out as you said it. “Jack Sparrow. Well, I was going to say it’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Sparrow.”

“Aye, lass,” Jack half-grinned, half leered, cocking his head as his eyes slowly traveled up and down the length of your tub. “It be quite a pleasure to see more of you again, milady. Most definitely a pleasure and most definitely more.” A clatter downstairs drew his attention, and a grimaced look replaced the admiring one. “But, unfortunately dear lady, I haven’t quite the time at the moment to expound on that tale for you.” He pointed to the door that closed room this off from your bedroom. “Would that perchance lead to an exit out?”

Pursing your lips, you tsked at him, and looked away. “Yes, but there is only one stair down and from the sound of it, they are already on their way up.” Jack was crestfallen and his brow narrowed in deep thought as the sought a means past his dilemma. You knew the street below was filled with soldiers, and the living area of your apartment filling with men. Your handmaid Ester was probably having fits about now down there. You knew there wasn’t much time, and if you did not act, Jack might be forced into a situation that neither of you wanted. To this day you would mentally kick yourself, and swore it had to be a d pos possessing you, as the most insane idea slammed itself into your skull.

“Mr. Sparrow?” You snapped.

“Aye?”

“Tell me the truth. Had you come with any intent of harming, molesting or in any way causing distress to my person when you came flying through my breezeway?” You strained your ears to hear the sounds from below. You knew the soldiers were searching the house.

“What?” Jack took a step back.

“You heard me. Had you come with any intent…”

“Aye, I heard you”, he broke in, a quizzical air washing over him, and staring intently with narrowed eyes. “No, milady, I would not be my immediate intention to be causing you harm. Its not very nice.”

“Good. Just remember then I could have screamed. Can you trust me, Mr. Sparrow? Jack?”

The fugitive Jack paused, glancing back and forth between the door, and you, and the window. He was obviously weighing his options and what you had said, and simply nodded.

“Then do exactly as I say and right now,” you said briskly, sitting up and reaching for your soap. “Grab my housecoat there and take off your boots… and the hat….”

It wasn’t but a minute later when you heard the clumping of boots outside your door, and you braced yourself, silently praying that your idea would work. The wooden door crashed open and several Kings men started in, and stopped dead when they saw you reclined in the tub of water swimming with suds. The lead one you recognized as Mr. Sulley. Hands flew up to cover eyes, and a couple turned around.

“What do I owe this intrusion at such an intimate time in such an intimate matter,” you asked, hoping your voice was staying even and , ev, even if your heart was pounding. At that thought then you started hoping they couldn’t hear your heart.

“I..I..I’m sorry, madam.” Mr. Sulley stammered, trying to look without looking through his fingers. “It..its just that… Well…there is a vicious, wanted crimi a p a pirate, on the run after we apprehended him with some illegal goods he was attempting to sell. And he was seen coming in through that window.” The soldier tried to point, while balancing his rifle and keeping his eyes discreetly covered, and not very successfully.

You glance nonchalantly over at your breezeway and ask,” That window?”

“Um… Yes ma’am.”

“Mr. Sulley, “ you sigh, laying on a layer of exasperation, “Do you not think that if a pirate, or any man for that matter, came barreling through my window, or my door for that matter,” you accusingly implied, ”I would be continuing my bath, and not fainted away in a corner somewhere. Or at the very least have a dagger to my throat as a hostage.”


The soldier stammered and shifted uncomfortably. “But they saw..”

“Saw what? Do you see anyone else in this room?” you groan, rolling your eyes. “I think in your exuberance they saw something, and the quarry you seek is merrily and gleefully on his way to somewhere else. I’d suggest you continue your search for this miscreant before he truly does get away. And I would like to finish my bath.”

“Yes.. Yes. I humbly apologize, miss.” Sulley faltered, hesitating.

You start to rise from the water, “Shall I show you to the door, gentlemen?”

“NO!” He cried, pushing the other soldiers out. “I mean, no thank you. We can find our own way out miss. Sorry to have..sorry…sorry.” He shut the door quickly behind him as loudly as he had when flinging it open.

You sat as still as stone while the footsteps faded away, along with loud condemnations of busting into a bathing room with a naked lady in it. Just as you let your inhalation out in relief, from the other end of the tub, Jack burst up from the water, taking a huge gasping breath.

It was an amusing sight, the pirate wiping soap and water from his eyes and mouth. “You took long enough. I would have been quite out out if my epitaph told of me drowning in a ladies bathtub.”

“What would you have had me do? I hurried them as much as I could, practically to the point of showing them to the door!”

“Nay, lass. You did fine. Really. Quite an idea.”

You feel weak for a moment as the adrenalin rushes from your system. “I must be mad.”

Jack grinned his halfway smile, pushing some of fallen hair back. “I told a good friend of mine once say that the traits of madness and brilliance are closely related, or was that me? Either way, I vote for brilliance.”

You smile softly back, trying to shift a bit further back from the very close contact you have had with the pirate for the last few minutes. You reach for your housecoat that had been so nicely covering Jack’s effects, and practically giggle. “You didn’t peek while you were down there did you, sir?”

Jack burst out in a guffaw. “Nay lady, although the temptation is a strong afterthought. If I had, my eyes would be burning a lot more then they are now, savvy?” To his surprise, you stand up and step out, slipping your housecoat on. “Now there, I must admit, I did peek,” he smirked.

“Well, being a pirate, since that is what I am told you are,” you paused while Jack nodded once in affirmation, “I would assume that what I have is nothing that you haven’t seen before.”

“On the other hand, missy,” Jack purred, “What I saw was quite nice, and even better then some of the things I’ve seen before.”

You felt a hot blush rise to your cheeks, and biting your lip you glanced away. “If you would be so kind as to remover your clothes, Mr. Sparrow…”

Jack perked right up.” Oy! Is that an invitation there lass?”

Hands on your hips, you stared back in amusement into those sparkling dark eyes that laughed at you. “So that I,” you continued trying to stifle another giggle,” can get them washed and repaired. They could use it. Believe me. And since you will be hiding here for some time today, at least, while the guard searches the streets for you, you may finish the bath for I am done with it. And you could use that as well, believe me.”

Jack carefully pulled the red cloth from off his head and dropped it to the floor with an unceremonious squish. “This is awful flowery, you know. Not my image.” The red and white sash floated to the top, and onto the floor went the blue grey long vest, water puddling out from around it. He pulled the torn white shirt off next. “I’ve always been more a bucket and sponge man myself.”

Several puckered lines crossed his back and sides, from some sort of blade battle you assumed. You stared at the blue-green tattoo of a bird sailing above the waters right above a harsh white brand of a capital P on his right forearm. On his left chest was a rose tattoo. “Well, while you are being hidden in my house, flowers it is. Matches your body art. And I have a sponge here, so you should feel closer to home.”

Jack made a face a cross between a scowl and a snicker but continued his disrobing in the water; his large leather belt and hand cover being tossed next to his boots. You saw him shimmy a bit, and the blue pants he had on came up to be displayed in his hand. “That’s all,” he murmured in a soft slurred tone with a sly suggestive twist on his lips.

You open the door and call out to your housemaid. A very surprised older woman appeared, hand flying to her mouth when she saw the soaked, very naked man in your bath. You hand her the dripping mass of old clothing. “Please discreetly take care of these as quickly as possible. Let me know when they are done. And send up repast for two please.” The women grimaced at the pile of rather rank garb and hurried off.

When you turned back, Jack was eyeing you seriously. “How do you know she aint going to run to the guard there aning ing them back? Now you ‘ave me at an extreme disadvantage.”

“Miss Ester has been with me nigh on fifteen years and had to deal with far more disturbing things during her time with me then the idea of a man in my personal quarters. Even if that man in my quarters be a wanted pirate. I would trust her more then I trust you at the moment. You have nothing to fear but clean clothing, Mr. Sparrow. Savvy?” You throw the slang back at the Captain.

Jack scratched at his beard, then leaned back, relaxing, his arms resting on the sides of the porcelain. “Aye, I savvy. Now about this bath thing you want me to do…”