Chapter 5: Bermuda Landing

I was exhausted, but the day was only just beginning. Izzy was squared away with her chaperone/guard and would surely be able to manage a few days in the 17th century and then she’d go home.

 

I helped Mary finish setting up her “tenement chic” set-dressing on my upper deck, complete with tents and a stove and washing lines strung like spider webs across my rigging. The result was an unappealing ship to try and steal, especially since it would take hours of work to detangle the washing lines before being able to raise a sail. Dom came skipping down the dock not long after Mary and I had begun wringing out her first batch of laundry.

 

“Got it!” he announced as he leapt aboard.

 

“Any trouble?” I flipped the boy a coin and took the letter from him.

 

“None.” He pocketed the coin and went in search of snacks.

 

I was relieved until I opened the letter and saw the two-word response. Shit. Trust an eleven-year-old boy not to notice trouble. I was going to have to make the trek out there and deal with this. The ship was already decked out for Mary and her family, so I’d have to go over land. I could already smell the horse stink and feel the horrible roads under the rented carriage wheels.

 

“Is all well, Captain?” Mary saw the plans forming across my expression.

 

“Just an inconvenience. I’ll have to go out to Andrews’ after all.” I called Dom back and told him to go fetch the shay and the driver back here again.

 

“Is that wise?” Mary knew my long and tangled history with that estate.

 

“Not even a little bit. But there’s nothing else for it.”

 

“Well then, you go. Perhaps clean up a little bit. Bring some presents, make a good impression. Having their help would go a long way towards selling all that cargo. Give me those clothes and I’ll wash them while you’re gone – or burn them.” She sniffed me and grimaced.

 

“Wise as always.” I laughed. “There are crates marked for the estate.” I drew the marking on a scrap of paper for her.

 

“Anything with this mark should be brought up and loaded on the shay.” Mary called her oldest girls back over and sent them below to find and carry up the boxes and crates and sacks with the mark that matched the paper. It was easier to label some items with characters and logos.

 

In my cabin I lifted up my mattress and pulled out a box that was wedged between the back of the drawers and the hull. I carefully laid it on the bed and opened the top. It was my pièce de résistance, a gown I had made during all my long journeys. It was mostly constructed from pale silks bought on trips east. I had embroidered over almost every inch of the nine yards until it resembled a brocade: tiny flowers, sweeping idyllic countryside scenes, birds, and petals. I took inspiration from the glorious kimonos of Japan that I envied.

 

I'd built the collar of the bodice up into a mock standing Elizabethan collar and continued the stiff edges down to my waist. Gilt buttons adorned the top of the skirt where I’d gathered the waist into cartridge pleats. I had gone a little rogue with the sleeves. As beautiful as I wanted to look, I couldn’t be dragging sleeves behind me in billowy waves. The sleeves were fitted to three-quarter length and laced through embroidered holes cinching them to the shape of my arms. I wore clean, stiff petticoats to fill out the gathered skirt.

 

I cheated again with the shoes. I had bought the shoes at a high end store back home. They were knee-length, gorgeous soft taupe suede with sturdy stitching and tough soles. Underneath all of it were as many daggers and pistols as I could hide on my body. I uncoiled my hair from its braids and brushed it out. I swept it into a low ponytail with jeweled hair combs and worked the long tresses into a few curls I artfully displayed across my chest.

 

Wealth and beauty were the biggest offensive weapons I could bring into play when it came to Andrews. Not that he didn’t appreciate me in my regular clothes, but this was sure to make more of an impression, and I was going to need every edge I could get. In 1647 we parted company under bad blood. Today I needed to ameliorate that.

 

Putting the whole outfit on proved a great challenge. My right boot was too tight around my swollen calf and squeezed the injured muscle uncomfortably. I was having trouble getting enough range of movement from my shoulder to fasten the busk on my corset and correctly place the bodice over top. I gave up halfway through and found some aspirin and a whisky chaser before attempting it again. Lots and lots of screaming and cursing later I was all strapped in and gussied up.

 

One problem left: my hand. Izzy had broken the wound open yet again when she had squeezed it; this thing was never going to heal. I carefully unwrapped the linen and tried to wash and dress it. It stung badly and was growing warm. Later. I’d deal with it later. I rewrapped it and stuck on a pair of cream kidskin gloves.

 

My driver was back when I finally emerged from dressing. Mary and her family took in my outfit with appreciation and awe. Generally speaking, I rarely dressed in appropriate garb for a woman of the time, and when I did, it was never this fancy. Mary elbowed Dom to stop his gawking, and I winked at him to remind the boy that I was still the Captain he remembered. The smaller children toddled over to feel the silk and the threads.

 

Dom and Bettie had been busy bringing up the designated boxes, crates, and sacks, and the young shay driver had secured most of it onto the conveyance already. It was the same rented shay that had conveyed Izzy to the Sea Wind, but the driver didn’t recognize me at all. I grabbed my valise, which had some candy, a sample of gunpowder, a flintlock mechanism I’d dismantled from one of the guns, and some money. Then I climbed aboard.

 

I bade Mary good luck and told her I hoped to be back tonight. It was a four-hour ride out to Andrews’ estate if the roads and ferries were clear and we met with no trouble.

 

****

 

I hated traveling by land. The horse was smelly and pooped all over the road. Even though the driver was a skinny stripling of a lad, the shay was small and his leg kept touching mine. He tried and failed to hide an embarrassing erection that betrayed him at every bump in the road. He swallowed and apologized as we rolled over a pothole and I was almost dumped out. I lay back and closed my eyes and tried not to think about the horse (or donkey or whatever it was) or his furtive glances at my chest.

 

The main core of my plan had to do with spreading the word around to the various militias on the island charged with keeping the “peace” in the absence of England’s military might, currently amassed in England fighting the Roundheads (or whatever was going on over there. It was England, they were always at war). This cargo of mine would provide a cutting edge for any group who managed to cough up enough dough to obtain it. The most likely outcome was that I would have to settle for selling it piecemeal to multiple militias as these backwater colonies were cash-poor.

 

Normally I’d settle for quality bartering of goods, but I wanted gold this time. I wanted that coin and no attachments. Andrews was the only man wealthy enough to buy it all in one lot, but he had no need for such arms. His little kingdom was so remote from St. George's he was rarely troubled by militias or rustlers or anyone stupid enough to try and catch him unawares.

 

I could smell Andrews’ estate – fiefdom really – before I could see it. He kept his tanneries and tobacco houses far from the main house and neighborhoods where the labor was housed. His lands were huge; it was an entire working kingdom, complete with a port and smaller towns, here on the north shore of Bermuda. People were working everywhere.

 

When I’d first met Andrews, he was a skinny, wretched farmer straight off the boat. I’d brought him his first profits and helped him secure his first expansion. We’d worked together over the years, and with his share of the profits, he’d created the homeland he’d always wanted, a place he couldn’t be kicked out of.

 

More land meant more people were needed to work that land, more people meant families, and families brought life to this forgotten corner of the island. Andrews employed anyone and everyone who came across his path: indentured servants, renters, prison contract labor, free men, and enslaved peoples.

 

Bermuda at this time was just beginning to hint at the coming boom in human trafficking via the slave trade. As people arrived on the island in one condition or another, they needed a place to live and work and thrive. One person found a haven here on Andrews’ land, then brought a friend who knew a guy who wanted his wife, and she sailed over with a cousin…and Andrews was male and white and rich and could sign papers and make the deals. As he bought up the failed farms and properties of his neighbors, they often included people who’d been trafficked to the island against their will. It was a busy place with processing houses, small farms, blacksmiths, mills, salt fields, coopers, fishing and cargo boats, distilleries, stables – everything a small kingdom needed to run and prosper was here. Brought to the island by force, kept here by leagues of unforgiving Atlantic waters, few chose to leave this odd kingdom. Any port in a storm. And the Hundred Acres was a safe and prosperous port. So many people, all laboring in their various positions, and Andrews at the top.

 

The place was an enigma of its time. It functioned like no other estate in the world at this point in history. The goods produced here went first to the people, the excess was sold, and the return reinvested in the property. Around and around and around it went until not a man on the island could claim more wealth than Andrews. Wealth, not cash. There was little actual coin available here, which was why I hoped they’d assist me in divesting the guns and powder. It would bring them a cache of gold I knew they’d find useful.

 

I held the letter tightly in my hand as we turned off the main “road” and onto his property. Rising beyond the hills I glimpsed a huge multi-story structure he’d built as a “screw you” to all the nobility he’d left scornful and laughing at his dreams in Europe. I had meant to never return here. I had last seen Andrews two years ago and had made it fairly clear that our association was over. Yet here I was. I worried the wound on my hand under the glove, and the sharp sting brought me focus. This felt like a huge mistake.

 

The children saw me first. All the children of Andrews’ kingdom roamed free no matter who their parents were or what they did or what level of personal autonomy they had once held over their lives. The kids raced alongside the shay laughing and calling for me, knowing I always had treats for them. Which I did.

 

I started tossing them all candies, and they shrieked with glee as they chased the brightly-colored toffees through the air. The children raced off ahead of the shay to alert the household that I was on my way.

 

My shoulder ached after throwing all the candy and waving and calling out to the children I recognized. I inhaled sharply and tried to rub the pain away. I had the driver stop when I saw a pair of cobblers I recognized. I knew they had gotten married, and now she was beginning to show, I wanted to know if it was a first or second child. I hopped out to offer congratulations and ask how they were doing. This led to a bunch of other workers coming to greet me and ask questions about the business and the estate and offering me words of welcome. They wanted news of the outside world, the war, the gossip in St. George's, the colonies, any stories about my times at sea. There was so little physical want on this land that the hunger for stories and gossip was magnified.

 

Eventually I returned to the shay and continued on – only to stop and repeat this process at the distillery and the school, and even Father O’Shaughnessy and Rabbi Schmul were happy to see me and talk over the news of the estate and the island. If I wasn’t careful, I could spend the next year here chattering away. I clutched at the letter in my pocket and reminded myself that I was strictly here for business. I resituated myself in the shay and directed the driver to carry on to the looming mansion and my questionable reception there.

 

Waiting for me at the front door were the three reasons for Andrews’ meteoric rise to wealth and success: Angelica, mistress of the house and welfare manager of the people; Yvonne, business czar in charge of expansion and acquisition; Helene, queen and proprietress of the entire estate, seeing to the profits and products of everything produced on site. I called them the sister wives.

 

They had each had a brief but productive affair with Andrews resulting in one child each for Angelica and Yvonne, and three for Helene. All three, brought to this island and eventually onto this estate as enslaved women. All three, now in charge of this immense kingdom. All three, wearing identical expressions of disgust and frustration.

 

I took a deep, calming breath before stepping out of the shay. Before I walked away, I left a wrapped sweet on the seat of the shay for the driver, who grinned and grabbed for it like the child he still was. I instructed him to bring the crates inside after me.

 

They watched my every step up towards the house. “Angelica. Yvonne. Helene,” I greeted them. “Nice to see you again.”

 

“You think you can just send a note and waltz back in here—” Yvonne began, but Helene cut her off.

 

“Two years. What do you have to say for yourself?” the formidable woman asked. Ugh, she was worse than my mother.

 

“I’m not here to make trouble.” I put my hands up and tried to look nonthreatening.

 

“You are trouble,” Angelica accused.

 

“You have much to answer for. Come. Lunch is served inside.” Helene was the gatekeeper here, and she was inviting me in. One hurdle done at least.

 

“Where is he?” I asked before taking a step in their direction.

 

“He’ll be in soon. He was all the way out at the salt flats,” Helene answered without looking backwards. I motioned for the driver to follow me in with the crates. The other women had already disappeared inside as I gathered my courage to step through the door.

 

“Auntie Anne!!” I was rushed and tackled by five giant teenagers as soon as I crossed the threshold. They swarmed me and pelted me with questions as I hugged and kissed these children that I adored and missed so terribly. “You came back!” “I missed you!” “Where’s your ship?” “Did you bring us anything?” That last one was courtesy of Magnus, Andrews’ youngest, a thirteen-year-old boy who had grown taller than me in my years away.

 

“What on earth makes you think I brought you anything?” I teased him.

 

“Because you always do!” Yvonne’s daughter, Sofia, fifteen now, wrapped her arms around me. I kissed the top of her head and laughed.

 

“You all think that in my incredibly busy and important life, I took the time out to search the world over to bring you back the perfect gifts?” They all responded with resounding yeses and affirmatives. “You’re right! I got some really great stuff this time too.” They all cheered, and we headed towards the crates.

 

“Wait.” Angelica’s voice stopped the party in its tracks. “Gifts after lunch,” she announced to our crestfallen and sulky faces. The other two mothers were on Angelica’s side, but such was the put-upon grief of their children that she just sighed. “Fine, be quick about it.” We all dashed into the foyer.

 

I opened the first crate and pulled out sheafs of paper and a violin. “Beri, this is a new violin for you. I thought your other one might be getting a little worn.” I handed Angelica’s fifteen-year-old daughter the gleaming wooden instrument. “Now, the sheet music was written by a boy named Mozart. He wrote and composed music from the time he was four years old. I got to hear him play once. I thought to myself the whole time that Beri could do just as well.” Mozart wouldn’t play a note for over a hundred years, but I did indeed sit in that concert room thinking of my young Beri and how she was just as amazing a musician as this kid. Beri took the instrument and pages reverently and went to examine them in better light.

 

“Sofia, that whole crate there is yours.” I directed the girl to the heavy crate, and she opened it to squeals of delight. It was filled with books. I had cheated a little with this gift. Many of the books were modern copies of classics bound in leather. My last trip home I had scoured used bookstores for books that looked appropriate on the outside and didn’t have too much damning evidence of the future on the inside. I’d even gone so far as to pick up and leaf through some of Izzy’s Regency romance novels to see if they mentioned technology or historical events that would stand out in this era. Just like my sister would have, Sofia picked up a book and was already lost in a copy of The Once and Future King.

 

“Me next!” Magnus muscled through his sisters to my side. I felt like a dwarf next to this baby giant.

 

“No presents for you until you stop growing,” I teased him. He hugged me and kissed the top of my head. “Well, alright then. Just this once.” Magnus had a special place in my heart. Of all Andrews’ children, he and I were the closest. 

 

I pulled out a beautifully-carved chess set I’d found in Italy. The board was inlaid with shell, and each piece was hand-carved, polished stone. Magnus and I shared a long tradition where he beat the crap out of me every time we played a game together. I stunk at board games, lost every time. He loved it and I loved it too…no matter how frustrating and humbling it was to lose Go Fish to a three-year-old for the billionth time.

 

“Amelia, where’d you go? There you are!” Amelia and Josephine were Helene’s girls, fifteen-year-old twins. 

I’d really broken the rules for Amelia’s gifts. I pulled out a wooden case and opened it to reveal a kitchen knife set of ultra-sharp, ultra-expensive Japanese knives. Amelia spent much of her time cooking with her Aunt Angelica in the kitchens. Izzy had informed me that knives, sharp ones, were important for chefs. These were completely modern Damascus stainless steel with rosewood handles. I had dropped a small fortune on them. The girl took one out and marveled at the heft and balance. 

 

“I was told that the most important tool for a chef was a good sharp knife. I got these in Japan. Do you know where that is?” The girl’s eyes were riveted on the fancy metal, and she shook her head no. “That’s because it’s on almost the exact opposite side of the world from here. It’s where I also got Josephine’s present.”

 

Josephine had been waiting patiently, and her eyes lit up when I called her name. “In Japan they have mighty warriors called samurai. I got this.” I pulled out an ornately-carved sword and sheath from the crate, “from one of those warriors.” Okay, I had gotten it from a shop in Tokyo, but it wasn’t cheap or anything. 

 

I pulled the blade out, and all the kids came to listen to the story. Magnus clutched his new chess set with glowing eyes. I knew the attention was almost as important to Josephine as the gift. The girl wasn’t one to make waves or ask for what she wanted. She did as she was told and did it well, but when we spent time together alone, she wanted stories of my adventures at sea, tips on how to throw a punch, and what kind of armor would fit best over boobs. Helene did not like to see the two of us together; it made her nervous for her daughter.

 

“A warrior told me an amazing story of how this sword had been passed down through generations to him. A long time ago in a land far, far away, a hero fought valiantly against a masked evil villain.” I climbed two steps to be slightly above my audience, and the children all listened as I waved the sword to catch the sunlight. “This villain had come to the hero’s village when the hero was a boy and killed his family.” I chopped the sword down fast, and they gasped and ducked, the perfect audience. “The hero grew up and vowed to kill the masked man. One day they met on a bridge over a deep, flowing river. ‘You killed my father,’ the hero accused the masked man. ‘No. I am your father,’ the masked man revealed before chopping off the hero’s hand and shoving him into the roiling waters below!” I laughed evilly and held the sword over my head in victory. Then I broke character and handed the sword to Josephine, who promptly tied it around her waist. “Now, let’s go eat before your mothers have a stroke.”

 

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the sister wives waiting impatiently at the table for this impromptu Christmas to conclude. Angelica admonished the children for their comportment as they barreled into the dining room to show their mothers the gifts.

 

“You spoil them too much.” Andrews spoke from the top of the stairs. My heart stopped when I heard his voice. It had been many years since I’d heard him speak. 

 

Slowly, so I wouldn’t miss a moment, I turned to look at him. Graham Andrews was a tall, well-built man approaching his forties, with layers of muscle still present from decades of working his own land. He had a mane of blond hair that was just beginning to gray and a close-cropped beard that lent him a leonine appearance which won over many, oh so many, female hearts on this island. Like me, he’d changed out of his work clothes for this occasion. He was in a clean linen shirt, casual trousers, and polished boots. It wasn’t terribly formal wear as far as this time period goes, but this kingdom was so far remote, the rules often didn’t apply here. His cool blue eyes watched me cautiously, wary to see me again. I clutched the letter in my pocket to remind myself why I was here.

 

“My answer hasn’t changed.” I was going to hold onto my resolve and stay focused on the reason I was here.

 

Andrews began descending the stairs towards me. “So you said.”

 

“I’m here because I have important business that concerns the estate.”

 

“Clearly.” He stepped up close to me, reached for my hand, and kissed my gloved fingers.

 

“I’m not staying long.” Stay focused. Keep your resolve. Stay focused.

 

“So you said.” He moved in close, and I could smell his freshly laundered clothes. He hadn’t let my hand go yet. Andrews kissed my cheek, my forehead, my other cheek, and didn’t move away. I closed my eyes. “That was too long away, Nanette,” he murmured in my ear. 

 

I turned to him and found his lips waiting. Stay focused – god, he had beautiful lips, and I knew just what they could do – stop it. Keep your resolve.

 

Andrews had used the name he’d called me from the first time we met, when he was just an immigrant on a scrap of land and I was a lonely captain in need of cargo. The fingertips of his other hand traced the lip of my bodice. Stay focused, I begged myself, stay focused – he pressed me gently against the wall and then we were kissing.

 

God, I had missed this man.

​

I missed his lips, his hands, his heart, his body. I’d been starving without knowing it until he was standing here in front of me. He pulled away just an inch to smile and look at me.

 

“I missed you, Graham.” I caressed the side of his face, his smile broadened. I brought his lips back to mine and felt my whole body release. I wasn’t supposed to come back here. When I’d left him in 1647, I’d left for good. Andrews pressed himself against me and I held him tight; there’d been too much space between us for too long. Thank god, I was here.

 

Our room was up the stairs and to the left, our bed was large and comfortable, and the windows let in the sea air and ocean views. Just a few paces away from where we stood on these steps and we could be out of these stupid clothes –

 

Angelica cleared her throat to get our attention. “Lunch is ready. Everyone is waiting.” She tapped her foot and waited for us to disengage. Andrews kissed me one last time, then followed me into the dining room.

 

Magnus was standing over Beri, trying to cajole her out of her seat. “Please? Please?”

 

“No, you got to sit next to Auntie last time. Go sit next to Father. It’s my turn.” She pushed him away. 

 

Magnus glared at his sister and turned to Josephine, who raised her new sword threateningly in response to his unuttered plea.

 

“Come on, I’m not such bad company, am I?” Andrews pulled my chair out for me, the one which sat opposite him at the end of the long dining table, and led his son by the shoulder to his regular seat.

 

“Auntie…” the boy whined, begging me to intercede for him.

 

“Enough,” Helene commanded from across the table. “Magnus, take your seat. Josie, no weapons at the table. Let’s all thank Auntie Angelica and Amelia for this meal.” Thanks went around the table, and everyone served themselves and began eating. 

 

The three sister wives and I had long ago decided to make this family work by suppressing our animosity for each other. Each of us held a valuable position in this kingdom and were willing to put up with the others for the betterment of the family and the business. In front of the children we attempted (not always successfully) to speak with restrained kindness and respect. The children were allowed to determine their relationships with the various women on their own terms without pressure. When the children were absent, though, the gloves came off. I pulled my gloves off now and placed them to the side of my plate before picking up my fork.

 

“What happened to your hand, Auntie?” Josephine was looking at the bandage. There was a little blood still seeping through. 

 

Shit. I had forgotten in all the excitement about that particular wound. The adults around the table froze. Besides our animosity for each other, we also attempted to hide how dangerous my work was from the children, a tall order as I typically arrived at the estate in dire need of recuperation from my journeys.

 

“Just a little rope burn. One of the sheets got away from me,” I lied smoothly, fooling only the children. 

 

Andrews pressed his lips together and took a steadying breath from across the table. I’d have to answer for this once the children were gone. I placed the offending hand in my lap and switched the fork to my left.

 

“I can’t get over how big you all have gotten.” I changed the subject.

 

“Things change when you are away two years. Sometimes for the better,” Yvonne muttered.

 

“Sometimes not at all.” I still hated her. That certainly hadn’t changed.

 

“Because you left, we’ve had to contract with second-rate captains who let our goods rot in their holds.”

 

“My ship was only one of several I set up—”

 

“You took—”

 

“Did you piss off all the other captains like this too?”

 

“No business talk at the table,” the children all chided us. Yvonne and I glared at each other from across the table but backed down. No business talk at the table was a hard and fast rule here.

 

“This meal is delicious, Angelica. Is it duck?” Andrews drew the attention away from Yvonne and myself.

 

“Yes. It is duck,” Angelica answered with strained cheerfulness.

 

Fuck, this was awkward.

 

Luckily Magnus swooped in to save the day. “I get to sit with Auntie tonight at the play,” he pronounced. The other children erupted, shouting down his claim and pleading with me not to let him have his way.

 

“You always monopolize her. I want a turn!”

 

“You can’t just shout things out and make people go along with that.”

 

“Auntie is a girl and she gets to have girl time too.”

 

“Father, tell him he can’t do that!” 

 

My heart was torn in five different ways as I listened to them fight over me. I couldn’t stay for a show. I couldn’t stay at all. I kicked myself for having come back. I needed to leave…I wanted nothing more than to stay.

 

“Now hold on. Don’t I get a say?” Andrews chided his children.

 

“You’ll get her all to yourself at the Wallingtons’,” Sofia grumbled.

 

“Oh? Is there a party coming up?” I asked. 

 

The Wallingtons were a major fixture of the stuffy nobility on the island. Every month or so, they dug up an occasion to celebrate some minor reminder of their home in England. It was a great networking opportunity. Whenever my time here coincided with a party (and we couldn’t find any excuses to get out of it), Andrews and I attended. Yvonne would provide us with a list of talking points and business opportunities we were to push during drinks and cigars – and we did that…when we weren’t dancing and enjoying a night out alone.

 

“Yes. The party is in five days. We need Lavigne to commit—” Yvonne started, but all the children and Angelica cut her off.

 

“No business talk at the table.” They spoke as one. Yvonne sighed and pushed her food around her plate, sulking.

 

“Tell me about this show. What have the players got planned tonight?” I asked.

 

“Oh! It’s sure to be amazing,” Beri answered. “One of the indentured men got to see a Shakespeare play before he left England. He was able to remember most of it, and the players are recreating it for us tonight.”

 

“It’s about this servant, Fallcane, who shipwrecks in a far country and has to dress like a woman to avoid suspicion by Henry the Fifth,” Amelia expounded knowledgeably. “You see, Fallcane had made a deal with the devil to become rich, and Henry the Fifth was out to murder him for killing his uncle.”

 

“But then,” Magnus took up the story, “Fallcane is found out by Romeo and Juliet, who break the devil’s spell on him by killing each other in a cave with poison on Saint Crispin’s Day.” Magnus pretended to choke and wheeze and act out a death scene until Helene stopped him and made him sit back in his seat like a gentleman.

 

“Then,” Sofia brought it home, “Fallcane marries Ophelia and there is peace throughout the land.”

 

The guns could freaking wait. I was going to see this show. “This sounds like the best play I’ve ever heard of.”

 

“So you’ll stay?” Magnus crowed.

 

“I don’t think I can miss it.”

 

“In which case she’ll be sitting next to me.” Andrews claimed my side. I warmed to the notion that I might spend the evening with him at one of these awful shows, like old times. He raised his glass to me, and I returned the gesture.

 

“There’s much to be done before the show tonight. Auntie Anne and Auntie Von need to go through inventory—” Helene brought a list out of her pocket, ready to begin giving orders.

 

“My ship is in St. George’s for now—”

 

“Why in god’s name did you not sail it here?” Helene gestured to my dock outside. I gripped my fork and kept my temper in check. “We’ve been waiting—”

 

Yvonne interrupted her, “Your ship does us no good in St. George’s. After the Wallingtons we’ll need you to—”

 

“I had business in St. George’s—”

 

“Two years, Anne.” Helene slammed her hand on the table. “You had business here. I have a list longer than your dock out there of supplies and orders from the tenants. We have a backlog of—”

 

“No business talk at the table,” they all reprimanded us. Helene, Yvonne, and I sat back, outnumbered. We ate in silence for a little while.

 

“Auntie, your hand is bleeding again,” Josephine whispered to me. Shit. I’d forgotten to keep it in my lap.

 

“Nanette, what happened?” Andrews demanded from across the table. I had come to him too many times, broken and bleeding. My constant injuries were an old source of tension between us.

 

“It was close-range. The gun wasn’t even loaded properly.” I spoke only to him, attempting to downplay the wound and keep him calm. At least he hadn’t seen my shoulder.

 

“Someone shot you, Auntie?” Magnus and the other children looked at me with wide eyes. I realized I had the attention of the entire table and flushed with embarrassment. “Why would they do that?”

 

“I can think of a few reasons.” Yvonne chewed her duck with delight.

 

“I got into an argument with them—”

 

“Them? More than one?” Andrews rubbed the bridge of his nose.

 

“That rat bastard thief had his whole crew—”

 

“All children are excused!” Angelica stood up and commanded the children out. 

 

They all protested this dismissal. They knew they were about to miss out on a good story. Once they were all out of the room the silence was deafening. Angelica dipped into the kitchen and back out again with clean bandages and salves. She sat down in Amelia’s vacated spot and held her hand out with her stupid eyebrow raised and her stupid foot tapping away. 

 

Reluctantly I gave her my right hand and let her unwrap the dirty gauze. She was long practiced in nursing me back to health. I wouldn’t classify her bedside manner as gentle, however. I hissed and cursed as she rubbed the stinging ointment into the broken wound.

 

“Let’s have the story, Nanette.”

 

“It was an ambush. It was not my fault. I was just there for a straight-up cargo-for-coin transaction, and that lying rat bastard thief ambushed me and – and there were complications.” I almost mentioned Izzy’s name, but my plan was to have her off this island before anyone could even smell the smoke emanating from her room. “Long story short—” They all started yelling at me, knowing I was withholding details. “Long story short,” I held my own against them, “he’s dead, they’re all dead, and I took all his cargo, which is why I’m here.”

 

“What cargo?” Yvonne was finally invested in the conversation.

 

“Black powder, about 500 pounds. Twenty crates of muskets. Lead ingots and molds.” Yvonne’s eyes lit up with greed. I knew she’d appreciate this. “I have it all stashed safely away.”

 

Andrews got up and stalked to my end of the table. “No. No. This is too dangerous.”

 

“Ideal? No. But dangerous—” 

 

Andrews grabbed my injured hand and pulled me to my feet. I winced at the pressure on the freshly-dressed wound. He quickly frisked down my arm to my shoulder. Stars burst in my eyes, and I sat down hard. He pulled the bodice sleeve and underdress away, exposing the deep wound there. The other women gasped, and Angelica stood to get to work on my shoulder. Andrews kept going and found a dozen other places that needed attention, and then he went to my leg. He knew better than to expose my scars to the other women and just sat back with his head in his hands.

 

“Tell me again how this isn’t dangerous,” he accused. “Let the cargo rot in those caves. For the love of god.”

 

“I am with Andrews,” Helene chose his side as she always did. “I don’t want this type of danger following you onto these lands.”

 

“Yes. It’s too dangerous.” Angelica threw her lot in with the other two.

 

“You’re being short-sighted,” I told them. “The profits from the sale could mean more housing, another school. You still haven’t got a decent set of fishing—”

 

“I will not have you killed over a pair of fishing boats!” Andrews yelled. “Helene, Yvonne, I know the children are outside listening. Can you go assure them their aunt will not be in danger? Angelica, leave me the ointment and wraps. Nanette, a word in private. Now.” 

 

The ladies dispersed, but not before Yvonne came over to me and whispered that she was in and we’d talk later. 

 

“Yvonne! Nanette!” he called out to separate us, but I knew I could count on her. We’d meet later.

 

Andrews and I went to our room where he helped me out of the fancy gown so he could get at my leg more easily. I sat on our old familiar bed and let him pull off my boots and stockings. He was gentle with the scar tissue and far more pleasant with the stinging antiseptic than Angelica had been.

 

“Two years, Nanette.” His voice was soft as he tenderly cleaned the leg wound. It still stung, and I inhaled sharply with each pass of the ointment. He was being gentle, probably more than I deserved.

 

“I know. I should not have come back.” He had every right to hate me.

 

“You shouldn’t have left in the first place.” Andrews wrapped my leg securely and looked up at me. “I regret the words I said.”

 

“Me too.” It had been an awful fight. We’d dug into old hurts and viciously hurled them into the other’s face: how I continuously refused his proposals, how he’d had affairs with the women on his estate, how he knew nothing about my past or my homeland, how he needed to stop waiting for me and that I was leaving for good. Then, of course, I’d knocked him overboard and shouted horrible things to him as I sailed away.

 

I pulled him onto the bed next to me. He was only too willing to hold me closer. I traced the lines of his hand and worked on memorizing the veins beneath his skin. He brought me down to the pillows and wrapped his arms around me. The breeze wafted from the open windows across my skin. It was always peaceful here in our room. I relaxed into him and closed my eyes.

 

“When’s the last time you slept?” he asked. 

 

I made a noncommittal mmmmm noise and put my uninjured hand over his mouth to stop him from talking. He bit it playfully and kissed down the length of my arm.

 

“That wasn’t an answer, Nan.” 

 

I tried to shush him again, but he captured my hands and held them fast in one of his while the other began exploring under my shift. Said hand traveled up my legs, my stomach, and settled over one breast. Andrews sighed in relief and kissed me. 

 

“I should tie you to this bed. Never let you leave again,” he said hungrily over my lips.

 

“Okay.” I shifted myself closer and wrapped one of my legs around him. “But you have to stay here with me.”

 

“Don’t tempt me.” He laid his weight against me and kissed me deeply. I laid back and enjoyed the feel of him. Andrews had just begun to undo his trousers when there was a knock at the door.

 

“Father? Auntie?” It was Josephine. Andrews rolled over and groaned.

 

“Be right there,” I called out to her. I kissed Andrews lightly and went to grab a robe from my wardrobe. I tied the sash and opened the door to see Josephine’s troubled expression. “What is it? What happened?” I invited the girl in and sat her on the couches by the windows. Andrews sat down next to me.

 

“Something happen, Josie?” he asked.

 

“No – well – no. I just wanted to give Auntie back this sword.” Her eyes were puffy as she held the ornate samurai sword up for me.

 

“Sweetheart, that was a gift. I want you to have it.” She had been so pleased to get the shiny weapon. Why did she want to give it back?

 

“It’s just,” her eyes flashed to my newly-wrapped hand, “if you are in danger and people are— people are shooting at you…” Tears started falling down her cheeks. 

 

I shifted over to her and hugged her. 

 

She took a breath and continued. “Then I want you to be safe and have all the protection you can. Maybe if you had used this sword, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt…” Her voice choked off, and I hugged her tighter.

 

“I’m so sorry, Josie. I don’t want you to worry about me. The only thing that matters to me is that you are safe and protected. This sword belongs with you. I promise I’ll be more careful.” I wrapped her hands back around the sheath and put it in her lap. 

 

She wiped at her eyes and nodded and gave me a huge hug. My shoulder screamed at me, and I gritted my teeth together so I wouldn’t reveal yet another wound to worry her further. Andrews came to my rescue and eased the girl off me.

 

“Why were you gone so long?” she accused as she wiped at her eyes.

 

“I thought I was making a good choice.”

 

“Well, you weren’t.” She lightly touched the bandage on my hand.

 

I nodded. “You’re right. But I’m here now.” 

 

I had a little under a year. I could smooth things out in that time. I could leave this estate in good hands with as little separation pain as possible. I dried the tears off her face and kissed her forehead just as I had done when she was a toddler and came to me with a scraped knee. 

 

“Eyes up. Let’s have a good day today, okay?” I smiled at her.

 

“Okay.” She took a shuddering breath and I marveled, as I did every time, hearing my vernacular coming out of their mouths centuries too soon. 

 

Andrews ushered his daughter out of the room, and I doubled over on the couch in pain as soon as he shut the door. My shoulder was throbbing, and I gasped and clutched at it until I could breathe again.

 

“They need you to say yes just as much as I do, Nanette.” Andrews was standing over me. “Marry me.”

 

“I cannot change my answer,” I said to him, to myself, to the torrent of emotion and memories begging me to assent and live happily ever after in this kingdom I loved and built, with this man who I adored as my best friend and the love of my life.

 

No.

 

Izzy was here. I’d be burned at the stake within the year. I could not agree to a marriage proposal.

 

“So you’ve said.” Andrews sighed and sat next to me. He pulled my legs onto his lap and ran his hands softly up and down them. 

 

He was the first person I ever showed my scars to, the first and only. We stayed for a moment like that. I watched the sun playing on his hair and felt his familiar hands. 

 

“Come to bed with me.” His fingers inched up my legs further until they found their goal.

 

“Of course.” I caressed the side of his face then gasped as he sunk his fingers into me. I brought him to me and kissed him, wanting him closer.

 

“I missed you, Nan.” He kept exploring between my legs, warming me with his familiar and wanted touch.

 

“I missed you too.” He watched me close my eyes and felt me respond to him. 

 

Eventually Graham removed his fingers and carried me to our bed. It had been years since I’d had his skin next to mine, since I’d had him between my legs. He moved in a steady rhythm inside me, picking up in strength as we drove each other toward climax. I thought of the letter in my discarded dress and how I was supposed to be keeping my head and my focus. I held onto him tighter, kissed him deeper, ran my hands along his back as he thrust into me over and over again. 

 

The letter had come back to me, my note to Yvonne crossed out and “Come Home” written in Graham’s decisive script. Yes, I was home. I was home at last. 

 

We collapsed on each other, and Graham smoothed the hair away from my face and kissed me. We’d been sharing our lives together long enough that we didn’t need to speak our gratitude and contentment in words.

 

The sea breeze cooled our bodies as we lay next to each other in bed. I was relaxed here. The sounds were familiar, the smells were familiar. It was all too easy to lie in this bed next to Andrews. All too easy to slip into the ebb and flow of life here. All too easy to forget that, across the island, my real-life sister was waiting to chew my real-life head off in a room above a tavern.

 

I fell asleep listening to the sound of Graham’s breath mixing with the breeze.