Chapter 8. The Fort Continued
The changing of the guard woke me. I must have slept a little as I didn’t recognize either guard as the one who was supposed to be working a gristmill on Kent Island right now. It was early. The sunlight had only grayed the light coming in the window. I closed my eyes, but sleep was over. I hadn’t gotten this much consecutive rest in what felt like years.
My body was ready to move…if only there was anywhere I could go. I eyed the guard as he shoved yet another tray of food under the bars. The rats had found friends, and they’d feasted during the night. I kicked at a few and got up to stretch.
My legs were killing me. The scars were tight and uncomfortable after days of stillness and no change of clothes. I needed to stretch. I got up and shrugged off my heavy coat, hat, and various wraps until I was in my leggings and loose tunic. Yoga was the best exercise to do in solitary confinement. I started a long and sequenced sun salutation. My guard was fascinated but sat silent on his stool. I lasted until parvatasana before thoughts of my sister intruded on my calm.
I should not think about Izzy. I would get back to her soon.
I moved on to the next steps in the sequence.
It was useless to expend energy worrying about her. She was safe in her room. She was provided for. Mary was sure to have given her my note. Gerta was sure to be protecting her. Izzy wasn’t spending her days worrying about me; I needed to spend my days worrying about myself.
I would not think about Izzy. Period. End of sentence.
I moved through ashtanga namaskara into bhujangasana. The rats had really done a number on the old trays of food. I was going to need to start shoving some of that shit back out of my cell for removal before the rodents started snacking on me. I glared at the guard. I needed only a moment, one single moment, and I could escape.
I would not think about Izzy.
I would not think about Izzy.
I would not think about Izzy.
I spent the day thinking about Izzy and fretting that she was okay. Maybe I’d find a way to send her some supplies. Mary might come back at any moment, and I could send her with instructions to get Izzy food and money.
It wasn’t just the constant guards that kept me in here. There was always the option of knocking one of them unconscious and bolting, but the young lieutenant who’d put me in here knew that I traveled with Izzy. He knew where she was and how to get to her. If I escaped and couldn’t reach her before the lieutenant could, he could have her bound up and captive and at the mercy of whatever cruel will he possessed. My sister was turning out to be an enormous liability and anchor.
My square of sunlight traveled across the cell floor as the day waned. I caved and ate some of the next food delivery. Just enough to take the edge off. One bite of forbidden apple (or in this case cornbread) couldn’t make this situation much worse. Voices in the corridor caught both my and my guard’s attention. We both straightened as the door opened. At first glance I thought it was Izzy and jumped up to greet her.
It wasn’t Izzy.
“Yvonne,” I growled. Why was she, of all people, here?
“Anne.” The woman surveyed my accommodations with a slight grin distorting her perpetual resting bitch face. She eventually came and rested her arms along my bars.
I stood as tall as I could and crossed my arms, waiting for her to speak first. She sucked her teeth as she committed the sight of me behind bars to memory.
“Andrews has sent me to discover if you are in need of any assistance.” I imagined Yvonne yearned to immortalize this moment in paint and hang it in a gilded frame if she could.
The woman was a shark. She hated the whole world, and I was an easy target. She and Andrews had had a one-night stand all those years ago, it was over, there was no jealousy between us about the liaison. We just had no love for each other. She was a shark, and I was a boat stirring up her waters.
Assistance. I yanked my thoughts back to her words. Andrews wanted to know if I needed his assistance. I chucked the cursed cornbread back onto the tray where a rat scuttled out to snatch it up and slink away again. Now Yvonne was even happier.
“If I say yes?” I asked.
“Then he will come with a priest, and you will marry him before you are released from these bars,” Yvonne stated.
I crumpled inside. It was a genius plan. Andrews had learned his lesson well. I stayed frozen; not a trickle of emotion would cross my face, not in front of her. She smelled the blood regardless.
“You should know none of us want that,” she said as if that wasn’t clear as day. “You should know,” she leaned into the bars right up close to my face, “we think you, Captain Anne, are a hurricane. Destruction. Chaos. No remorse.” She would have reached into my chest to squeeze the heart out of me if she could. “Stay away, Hurricane Anne,” she commanded.
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.” She spat, the spittle landing just shy of my foot.
“Watch it,” I kicked dirt over the gummy wetness, “or maybe I just will become his wife, and where will that leave you?” I shot back. It was an empty threat, they all knew it was an empty threat, but it was a threat they all dreaded nonetheless. If Yvonne wanted to pick this fight with me, she could just bring it on. I was backed into a corner and desperate and dangerous. I knew I was going to lose him. I knew I was going to lose my life with that strange drain trap of a property and people and family. I was about to lose everything and everyone. I knew that and had accepted it. Why did I continually have to repeat the information to myself over and over again?
“I’ll still be a mother. What have you got to love you? A cold ship and a man who jumps into another woman’s bed the moment your boat rows away.”
“Go to hell,” I said, low and cold.
“Just where exactly do you think you are?” She ran a finger along the outside edge of the bars.
“I was with him long before any of you.” At the start it was just me and him, and he wasn’t jumping into bed with anyone else.
“And we are left here long after you leave, cleaning up your mess.” She sniffed at me and wrinkled her nose.
“Yeah, why don’t you go on and clean something?” I retorted.
“Rot in jail, sea bitch,” she snapped. Yvonne took her sweet time walking out of sight, opening and closing the outer door several times just because she could.
She wasn’t gone thirty seconds before that fucking guard was back to deliver me yet more food. As soon as he set it down, I threw it at the back of his head and screamed. What the hell was going on here? How had this lovely fort prison gone from a relaxing vacation to social hour at the fat farm?
I sank down the wall and covered my eyes. Stupid Yvonne, it was a sailboat, not a rowboat. And it wasn’t always cold. I took good care of that boat, I loved that boat.
A phantom weight grew in my arms, and my insides twisted. Yvonne was a mother. Yvonne had a child who loved her. A child who loved her with the man I loved. The phantom weight grew heavier as I denied it. To any child of mine, I would be the ghost, haunting their life throughout time. I would not do that to such a beloved soul as my child. No, Yvonne can have her child. I had my ship and that had to be enough.
Funny how the tears keep coming even after you tell yourself to stop.
