The Bastard Girl (The Bastard Girl Series, Book #1)

Chapter 4~ Isolation

Chapter 4~ Isolation

The morning arrived with an unusual glow. It carried like waves throughout the room, painting the walls with golden light. I woke up lying on the stiff boards. Many pleasant noises drifted towards me during that time. The waters splashed against the hull, echoing everywhere. Seagulls announced the arrival of the morning sun. And the crew was squalling well-known chants into the wind. I looked at my wrists. The blood had been soaked up into the cloth, so I untied and stuffed them into my trousers. For the first time in days, I stood. It wasn't a pretty sight at all. My muscles were weak and sore from the beatings and my ankles nearly killed me. But, I was standing. Walking was much more difficult. Any bit of pressure put on the wounds felt like fire to the skin—shocking and quite painful.

Something buried inside of me longed for the ease of a wet rag on the cuts. For a while, I walked around the dim room while listening to the same songs my mother had sung to me as a child. The only thing in my gaze, although, was the door. I stumbled over to it and tried for the handle. Locked from the outside.

The whole fact of isolation frightened me so. I had no idea whether my father knew where I was. If he did, would he even come? My immediate thought to that question was a scary one.

I was nine-years-old when my father joined the Royal Navy. It'd been three years since my mother's death and he couldn't bear the loss of his love. He was desperate for some distraction. He never said it but it was because of me. I looked nearly exactly like my mother—I even had her name. While Father was gone, I stayed with my godmother Jane Groth. I merely tolerated her presence. But, every waking moment of the day was spent with me missing either my mother or my father; I had neither anymore. My godmother spent months criticizing my father and his actions though we both knew it was Jane who'd longed to marry him before my mother came along.

After a year in the Royal Navy, my father came home with a different outlook on life. He had grown tired of precious things being taken from him. He wanted to take something back; he wanted to take my mother back away from death. I stayed with him for four months, desperately trying to convince him not to leave again.

In the spring of 1691, he spent all of our life savings to transform an old ship and disappear out of my life, leaving only a petty letter explaining that he'd left for Africa to earn a living so he could one day build a new life for both me and him.

It was not a new life I needed—it was him. Godmother never told me what it was that Father was doing in Africa, just something shameful and pitiful.

No matter what, I remained loyal to him. I was all he had left as he was to me. Seas, rivers, valleys, and continents could separate us, but I never forgot his voice. The humble smile and the warm, inviting eyes. My father was like no other man in England. I spent the next three years of my life with Jane again. Slowly, my father's memory began to fade, and I was becoming more of age to marry, to start a life.

Suddenly, I was tired of waiting around, praying that he'd return to me. As much as I dreamed it, it would never happen that way. So, in the spring of 1694, I escaped from underneath the roof of my godmother and set off for him, sending letter after letter his way.

Little did I know of Father's new reputation as captain of a pirate ship. I barely escaped his enemies. I followed endless leads, bringing me all the way from Wales to Dover, England. And there I was, looking plainly at my bare feet and at the mess I caused.

While attempting to take another step, I felt a thin strange material brushing against my left leg. I continued to walk and felt the sensation again. I reached into the inside of my trousers and felt a secret pocket near the bottom holding something. Once I retrieved it, I muffled a gasp. In my hands was a folded-up drawing of my mother. I knew it so well. Charcoal worked as the coloring for her hair curling around her face. A numbed smile sat on her face and her dress flew about like papers in the wind. She was a lovely angel, my mother. For a second, I held the drawing to my chest and let the art's radiating sorrow sink in. Whispered words of her favorite shanty filled my little space. They came from my own shaky lips. Each note brought back the memory of her long-lived funeral and the grieving that came afterward. We all used to be told no one really dies but lives on in memory. If such was true, her corpse resting in the lifeless earth said otherwise.

**********

Being trapped in a box for hours gives you too much time to ponder your own life. It can cause you to exaggerate past events or change memories by accidental free will. As for me, I'd had enough time contemplating my choices and my goal in life. I was yet to reach a conclusion. But, I preferred to survive in the meantime.

There were no real windows, but I had something better—loose floorboards. One in a corner I yanked out and banged out the nail in the board. I had somewhat of a weapon. I placed the board back in its original place and waited, pressed up against the door.

I listened intently and soon heard the shanties dying. So, I closed my eyes for a second, took a very deep breath, and heard the jingling click of the lock being undone. As the door opened, I swung my nail into the person coming through the doorway. A howl of sheer pain thundered in my ears. Looking around the side, I saw I'd stabbed a crew member in the eye socket. Nearly black blood poured down his face as he collapsed to the ground and writhed in agony.

Damn, I thought, I missed the target.

Through the doorway stepped in Thomas Tew who peered at his dying crew member in boredom, even clicking his tongue in disappointment.

"Oh, well." Tew stepped over the body and watched me.

"I hope your day was a satisfying one. It seems you've torn up my floorboards and have nearly killed one of my men. By the end of this, he will be dead though."

I attempted to hold my ground, keeping my hands to my sides and facing Tew with as much bravery as I could muster. The gutless worm grinned with age-stained teeth.

"I do believe we're making progress, bastard girl."

I forced myself to speak. "Tew, my father is a man of honor, courage, and dignity. I will never in a million years tell y–"

A meaty claw rammed against my face, leaving burning scratches. I stumbled to the floor and desperately got to my feet. Almost instantly, I could feel warm blood dribbling down my cheek to my jaw to my neck.

"It is Captain to you. Check your ankles; they'll remind you."

I had no respect for the man in front of me. Addressing him properly was the most foul-sounding thing I could think of.

"Never," I coughed and spat cleanly into his face. Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.

Tew calmly pulled out a filthy rag, wiped away my oral insult, and stuffed the rag away again. He then retrieved a pistol from his coat and aimed it directly at my head.

"Test me, girl. Don't think for a second that I won't pull this trigger. You know exactly how this journey ends. Try to change it and the Cabin Boy will be scrubbing you off of the deck."

A pit in my stomach burned bright flames of anger. I wanted to kill Tew, but I also wanted to shrink into a hole at the same time. My feet rooted into the floorboards, holding my ground.

"If you kill me," I quaked, "you've lost the game. No one else knows where my father is. Keeping me alive is your only resource. So, this is what I say to you: Do your worst."

Tew grinned again and lowered the gun into its holster.

"Foolish girl, you speak of your father as if he is a worldly hero. He is no better than I. Your father kills, steals, and cares nothing for you. You are nothing anymore."

"I don't believe you. My father will come for me, and the only slaughter will be of you and your men."

Suddenly, Tew grabbed a fistful of my hair and hauled me to the floor. I landed with a smack and a sore scalp. Tew was towering over me like a repulsive, powerful giant. I hopelessly endeavored to stand up, but Tew pressed my head down with his boot. As the pressure grew along with the pain, my breaths quickened and shortened.

Don't let them see you afraid. Let them see nothing, Every.

"I don't know anything about the cargo. I swear! I haven't seen my father in three years!" I cried. Tew's boot remained pressed against my skull for another minute before he finally released me.

"You're as useful as a sack of horse shit." Just as I was sure he was leaving, Tew rammed his foot into my stomach. I curled up and groaned softly. Another crew member dragged out the body of the dead man nearby. Tew followed, slamming and locking the door behind him.