Young Writers Society

Jack Rackam sat stiffly on his cot, awakened with a start. Looking around excitedly, he sighed in relief, it was just that bloody dream again. They had been at sea for nearly two weeks, and had even pillaged a small town, but the dream wouldn’t leave him. He swallowed heavily and stood up, trying to steady his voice before answering, “What is it, sailor?” Jones opened the door and came in slowly, “The crew’ll be wakin up soon,” he said. “An’ Anne’s been a worryin’, so don’t go a-snappin at me fer askin, but,” Jones looked at him, a bit concerned. “Are you all right, Jack? You’re lookin’ more’n a slight tired, and you’ve got the Joneses bad enough to jump at your own breathin.”

Jack sat back down on the side of the cot and sighed. Jones shut the door to the cabin and sat beside him, worried. “You want ta tell me, Jack?” Jones asked him in a fatherly tone. Calico subsequently rubbed his face with his hands before looking up. “I—” he glanced at Jones again, preparing for the chastisement to come. “I love ’er, Mark,” he managed to choke out. Mark Jones nodded, “I know, lad. I know,” he looked Jack square in the eye. “You’ve got ta tell ‘er, Jack.” Jack drew back at the idea, looking shocked an ill-equipped, without nerves solid enough to make it through. He shook his head adamantly, replying, “’S no chance o’ me bein’ able ta say it.” He swallowed nervously and glanced at the cabin entrance. She’d be getting up about now, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders as she stretched, rubbing the sleep from her eyes… Calico shook his head again to clear it. He had to stop doing that.

“Jack,” Mark began again. “If ye wait much longer, a confession may be unintentional,” a worried look permeated the old sailor’s deep brown eyes as he spoke his next few words. “’S killin’ ye, Jack,” he said in a hushed voice, “this love o’ yours. An’ the strain’s startin ta show. In time, you’ll either break in front of the crew or in private, but you’ll still break.”

Jack looked at his friend, defeated. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, mate,” he answered in a morbid tone. Looking out the cabin window again, his heart skipped a beat when Anne walked by, looking worried. Master Jones followed the captain’s gaze and nodded wordlessly, “Poor lass ‘as been like tha’ fer a while now,” he explained. “She’s worried about you, son. An‘s startin ta affect ‘er performance.” At Jack’s confused expression, Jones clarified. “Silly fing nearly fell out o’ the riggin yesterday, lost in thought…‘bout you.”

Jack stared at the young woman from inside his accommodations. Anne stood leaning against the mainmast of the ship with her arms crossed and her head down. She seemed to be thinking, but it was with a faint smile playing on her lips. Jack shook his head and looked inquisitively at Jones, who smiled, “She’ll be thinkin ‘bout you again,” he taunted, proud of his knowledge. Anne had confessed to him that she thought more about Jack than she would like to, but couldn’t seem to help it. After conversing over a period of time, Master Jones had helped her become conscious of the truth; she loved Jack. Anne had been reluctant to admit it, but she did, and had, for three years. Jones was sometimes frustrated at how thick they were. How hard was it to realize you loved someone?! It being Anne’s first time, he couldn’t really blame her, but Jack…

Jack knew for certain he loved her. He could even tell the day he comprehended it—down to the hour, but couldn’t manage to tell Anne just three small words. If the lad’s recurring dream was any indication, Jack was headed for an emotional breaking point extremely quickly. A profession of love was inevitable, no matter how often the good captain denied it. Jones stood suddenly and walked toward the door. Jack’s head snapped up, surprised at the sudden movement, and Jones answered that he would leave Jack ‘to his thoughts’. Jones had no way of knowing, however, that Jack’s thoughts were the last thing that he wanted to be left with. Thoughts of his love for Anne and the terrifying reality that he actually had to tell her, left his imagination in overdrive, and every possible scenario it came up with involved Anne Bonnie forever leaving ‘Calico’ Jack Rackam, usually out of disgust. Jack watched her figure in the window absentmindedly, then whispered, “I love you, lass,” before walking over to the rum cabinet for a long drink, and a perchance total-sensory-deprivation from the reality that his hidden emotions wouldn’t stay hidden much longer than midday.

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Anne stood up against the mainmast, lost in thought. She couldn’t seem to get the Captain out of her head, and—for some reason—she didn’t mind in the slightest. The sound of footsteps pulled her unwillingly back into the present, and she raised her head to see Master Mark Jones making his way toward her from the Captain’s Quarters. He was smiling, suggesting good humor, although Anne wasn’t confident as to the cause of his mood. They exchanged the usual greetings, and then Jones told her calmly, “The Cap’n would like ta see you in his quarters, lass,” In a quieter voice, he added, “An’ ‘e’s fine, Anne. No need ta get your knickers in a twist about it.” Anne started at his unsophisticated axiom of reassurance, but caught him with that infectious grin of his, and couldn’t help but smile back. She nodded in understanding and walked over to the door to Jack’s cabin, knocking on the door lightly with the back of her hand. He called from inside that she was to come in, and she reluctantly swung open the door and walked inside.

Once there, Jack looked up, as though surprised to see her. “Are you all right?” he asked in a quiet tone. Anne nodded, “Of course,” she took it upon herself to sit in the chair in front of Jack’s desk, not really sure where this was going. Jack explained the reason for his concern, “Master Jones tells me you nigh on took a spill out o’ the riggin yesterday eve.” So that was it. He obviously thought there must be something wrong with her, as this had never happened before. Anne had a sudden thought that maybe Jones hadn’t been the only one to see her lose her balance. She had worked hard to prove to the crew that she was capable of the job, and didn’t want to lose it over a moment’s inattention. Though Anne had long ago traded out the dress for a more practical canvas shirt and leggings, there were still one or two older members of the crew that oft suggested she ‘take up her frock and tray and go back to the tavern’. Though Jones had told her time and again that she couldn’t win everyone over, it still made her apprehensive of the contemptuous way they looked at her, sneering at her every move. She had, as of yet, said nothing to Jack, but didn’t want to bother him. Anne could handle herself, and the last thing she wanted to do was make Jack think she wanted him to take care of her—no matter how true the suggestion rang out.

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Anne refused to look at Jack, and that bothered him. Maybe there was some grain of truth to what Jones had been spouting off. Did she—? No, he had best stay away from that train of thought. It wasn’t healthy, nor was it wise in her presence. That mind-reading ability of hers had always made it extremely difficult for him to lie to her, even without taking his feelings for her into account. Even as he watched her now, had had to be ever conscious of his heart rate and train of thought; if she detected something amiss, she wouldn’t stop prying lest he gave in and told her, or let her discover it herself. Still, the news of her near spill over troubled thoughts disturbed him. She wasn’t the type to worry about just anything, and if it was important enough to consume her to that extent, it must be truly serious. When he voiced this opinion to her, and left it open for her to reply, he noted a slight flush come to her cheeks, and he was forced to bite his tongue to control his thoughts. When she didn’t make any motion to speak, Jack started quietly, “Anne…,” he waited until she looked at him, or at least in his direction—she seemed to be avoiding his eyes. “Are you sure there’s nothing troubling you, love? You don’t seem all that well.”

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Anne started, taken off guard by his sudden concern. ‘Wha’s he gettin’ at?’ she wondered momentarily. She finally managed to reply, “I’m all right, love. There’s no need for you ta worry so,” she forced a smile, trying to appear more confident than she felt. She could see Jack calm down somewhat, but he still seemed apprehensive. There was also a guarded feeling when it came to his thoughts, as though he was hiding something. Anne tried to play it off, but couldn’t help but ask Jack how he fared himself, hoping he would divulge to her what was wrong. He gave her a curiously strained smile, and reassured—somewhat halfheartedly—that he was indeed feeling okay. Unconvinced, Anne gave him a knowing look, silently proving that she knew better. It was satisfying to see him unsettled so, fidgeting in his chair to keep from meeting her gaze. She caught glimpses of his true emotions, sensing worry, discomfort, and—above all—fear. But what was he frightened of? Anne couldn’t elucidate the source. She decided to ask him, and he looked up, startled. Just as their eyes met, he glanced away again, “Nuffin’…” he answered, his voice scarcely perceptible from where she sat, not two metres from him. Anne shook her head, “Liar,” she matched his tone, but with a more confident air. “What’s got you so deep in Jones’s grip?” He barely glanced her way before mumbling something incoherently confusing that she could not comprehend. “I’m sorry?” she questioned his jumbled answer. Jack stood suddenly and walked over to the cabinet by the wall, now full of rum, and offered her one of the bottles as he acquired one for himself as well. She took it and sipped the amber drink inside, really more interested in what he had to say than the liquor, but he downed a considerable amount of the bottle before answering, “You.” Anne nearly choked on her rum, unable to answer. Jack sat down his half-empty bottle and reluctantly faced her. “I—” he stopped, unable to continue, and sighed heavily. Anne placed her full bottle on his desk and cocked her head sideways, trying to see his face. She stood and walked over to where he leaned against the edge of the cabinet, his hands on the edge of the molding nervously. “Jack?” she began, but was unable to finish when he allowed her to see his expression.

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Shock registered in her eyes, and he knew that she finally understood his reluctance to be around her. Somehow, that knowledge made it easier for him to speak, and he managed to choke out “I—I love you,” though his voice was thick and husky from hidden emotions and the wave of affection that seemed to suddenly engulf him. He heard her breathe out slightly, as though she had been hit hard in the stomach. “Wh-what?” she barely whispered, taken aback. He gripped the molding of the cabinet, fighting a losing battle to keep his hands to himself and not let his love get the better of him, even though he knew it was useless. Even as he formed the thought, he reached out and brushed the hair out of her face, then allowed himself to stroke her cheek, feeling his fingers burn from the contact. Anne touched his wrist, and he started to pull his hand away, when she held it there, the softest expression readable in her eyes. Again, before his common sense could get in the way, Jack slid his hand behind her head and pulled her to him gently as he leaned forward, closing the gap between them and caressing her lips gently and lovingly with his own, caught up in the depths of his own feelings as they kissed. A voice in the back of his mind warned him that this was a bad idea, but he ignored it and deepened the kiss, letting go of the cabinet and sliding his hand around her waist to the small of her back. He finally, and reluctantly, ended the kiss long enough to repeat, “I love you, Anne,” before leaning forward to kiss her again. Anne placed a finger to his lips long enough to whisper, “I—I love you, too.” Amazement filled him as he looked into her sapphire eyes, which reiterated the truth. Caught up again, he kissed her, harder and stronger this time, and he felt her succumb to the kiss, returning it—unsure at first, but stronger and hungrier as he held her.

The door to the cabin fell closed, and Jack awoke with a start.