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Chapter 12~ The Fate of Gretchen Anna Hemingway
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The plan was simple enough. Build a case, plead that case, recruit as many as we could. In less than a month, we’d reach Madagascar. If we weren’t ready by then, we were doomed to fail. And we just couldn’t fail. This was all we had left. This was it.
Over the following few days, Constantine’s sickness seemed to clear itself up. She regained her color, her appetite, and, most importantly, her strength. But, I still couldn’t get it off my mind—what caused this lapse of wellness? And why did Reyes react the way he did? Constantine didn’t bother herself so much with her previous ailment. She chalked it up to seasickness from being away from ships for so long and did away with the matter. Even Reyes, whom I tried to consult several times, refused to give any hint that he knew what was wrong. As much as this infuriated and frightened me even further, I kept my mind focused on the two most important things I could do—attending to William Kidd and planing his ultimate downfall.
“You know,” he began one morning, “I was quite the bachelor when I was your age.” He wrote casually at his desk and paused briefly to watch me. I had been in a nearby chair, reading one of Kidd’s books.
“Really?” I said without lifting my head.
“I courted loads of women! But, it was only a few years ago I married my Sarah.”
This time, I did look up. For, I could not at all imagine William Kidd marrying—even more so, someone willing to marry him.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
I tried to open my mouth to stop him.
“No, I see it on your face,” he continued. “I don’t appear as the kind of man to take a wife at all. And perhaps that’s still true. I only married her for her money, after all.” He let his quill sit in the ink just a bit longer as he stared. “She is a pretty, little thing, though. Good pussy.”
I stayed quiet, knowing it wouldn’t be wise to place myself in whatever mess his personal life was. We were merely fake, lawless business partners, that’s all. He continued to write and I imagined the conversation to be finished.
‘Tell me more about that girl.”
The book slammed shut in my hand. I looked down and saw my hand gripping it tightly. Kidd looked up at the book then to me.
“Ah, have I touched a rough area, lad? Forgive me, but you cannot blame a man for wanting to know more about the stowaway girl about his vessel.”
“She’s the daughter of Henry Every.”
Kidd roared in laughter and hauled himself out of his desk chair.
“Goddamn, son! You’re like a parrot sometimes. What is she like?”
I knew exactly what that meant: Is she a virgin?
“She’s um…well, she’s my fiancée.” Well, there’s no taking that back, now.
Kidd’s eyes lit up and he slammed his hands on his desk. The ink and quill shook, nearly tipping over.
I stood suddenly and restrained myself from reaching for my gun.
“You’re married!”
“Actually…”
“Edmund, my boy! How have you not told me until this moment?!” He danced over to me and slung a strong, rough arm around my shoulders.
“Why, you’re so young and spry, what in the world would make you want to ground yourself so quickly?”
“Ah, the same intentions as you, I suppose. I thought she was rich and when I learned her father had disowned her, I was left with her.”
He looked at me closely and chuckled again.
He shook his head, “No, that’s shit! You are a lot of things, my boy, but money-loving is not on such a list. I saw how you looked at that little bird. You love her!”
“No, I—”
“There’s no use denying it,” he sang loud and proud, “You are one of the lucky ones, Edmund. Most men nowadays never find that kind of affection. They spend their whole lives searching till they return back to the dust that created them—but they never find it as you seem to have. She is a hell of a spitfire, though. It is a wonder you can manage her at all.” Kidd dropped his arm and sauntered over to a chest. He ruffled through the treasures inside and finally pulled out a small object.
“Edmund, I must say, I’m quite glad I decided to keep you on as my right hand. You’ve been good company this past month. And it would only be appropriate for me to thank you in some way. Hell, you could’ve run off at Cochin! However, I truly believe now you’ve come around to see my way of thinking.”
Kidd closed the object around in my hand and held it there. His eyes were filled with shadows and comfort at the same time, like the impending flood of restoration God had sent upon the earth. I was scared yet self-assured. Repulsed yet solaced. When Kidd removed his hand, I saw a the small brass key that usually always stayed rooted on the top right-hand corner of his desk. The cool metal nearly stung my hands. I peered up at him in question, but he just nodded back at the small, navy blue chest on his desk—the same one that was also never ever touched.
I didn’t quite understand. I walked a bit towards it but felt the need to stop and turn around. From behind, Kidd explained, “You’ve earned more information on Gretchen, Edmund. And this is all I can give you. Go on and open it.”
I couldn’t reach the box fast enough now. I lifted the small chest in the palm of my hand and jammed in the key. God, my heart was racing! She could be alive and there could be anything in there! Maybe a slip of paper with her location or locks of her beautiful blonde hair. The lock clicked open, and I slowly lifted it as if something might jump out and escape. But, instead, there sat a folded piece of parchment paper and a cracked, old compass on a long leather string. My fingers brushed across the scratched surface of the compass as the little black needle spun rapidly and shook like grass in a mighty breeze. My other hand thumbed the paper. Slowly but surely, I could feel my heart dropping and tightening. The scary but very real fact that I hadn’t spoken to or seen my sister in upwards of fifteen years was suddenly gripping me till all of the breath in my lungs had shriveled up and died away. Did she know about me? Did she even care?
I unfolded the paper and felt the aged, dusty surface. It was a letter to Kidd, scribbled in graceful black ink. It read:
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My dear friend,
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I can’t give justice to the beauty of this place. The skies are as languid and blue as the crystal-clear springs which run down each stone like some sort of dance. The fruit from the palms are sweet, refreshing, and have given me strength to write this letter. I must thank you for all the charity you’ve provided me with thus far. You have gifted away the most quaint cottage and simple lifestyle for me to settle into. If not for your kindness, I’d still be on streets of New York, suffering the spite and disdain of the wealthier residents. I spend most of my time reflecting on my choices in the past several months—leaving home, following you to Africa to find this peaceful place, dedicating my service to your ambitions. It would be easy to claim I had no choice in the matter, but I would be false. As I’ve explained before, running from my family home has been the hardest obstacle I’ve ever had to endure. I have long desired a life of freedom without the hushed whispers of neighbors and school kids. The life of a privateer must certainly be an exciting one, and I do dream of, one day, sailing out into the freedom of the ocean and never turning back. Ah, but perhaps these are only dreams! In any case, I am well as I hope you are, too. Please write back with news of an adventure for the both of us. I cannot keep my feet on the ground much longer.
Ever yours,
Gretchen Marie Hemingway
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P.S. I’ve sent along this compass as a gift for you. It was my father’s when he was younger. It was supposedly meant as a gift for my younger brother Edmund, but, I thought, what in the world would he ever use it for?
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I couldn’t understand the disaster of feelings collecting in the pit of my stomach. My thumb brushed over the edges of the compass, and I could feel my heart slowing rapidly as the tension was finally over with. This was it—all that remained of my father and my sister. I hung the compass on the string around my neck. It hit the very center of my lungs. I looked up and noticed Kidd watching intently as if there was some sort of hidden code I was meant to decipher. I folded up the note and slipped it into my coat.
“So that was it then?” I confirmed with a curt nod.
“Well, I expected a different kind of question, lad.”
I rounded the side of the desk and shrugged.
“I would be asking more questions, indeed, if it had made any sense.”
Kidd raised his brow incredulously and retorted, “Sense? Why it makes all sorts of sense. After she left your home, she traveled with me across the ocean. I left her in South Africa where she lives—”
“Lives?” I pushed back. Suddenly, the emotions were making sense. I suddenly reached, pulled out my pistol, and aimed it straight at Kidd’s nasty face. He raised his hands and tightened his face.
“What the hell are you doing!?” he hollered. I pushed the pistol closer to him, feeling the lick of flames in the back of my skull.
“I knew it!” I hissed back. “I told myself that no one could be that horrible of a monster—not even you—but I was wrong. I know now.”
“What are you on about?”
I waved the gun back to the desk then back to Kidd. “The note! You didn’t just leave my sister in South Africa—you have her held there. Perhaps you thought you could get a ransom out of us by holdin’ her prisoner. And you nearly had me convinced.”
Kidd held his steady stare for a moment before moving his hand towards his coat. I pushed the gun into his head and glared back down to him. He knew it—we both did. Our curious little partnership before was dead. He knew the real me, and I knew the truth. The blackness in his eyes clouded over every bit of surprise and he scowled. His fists tightened in the air and his veins pulsed horribly in anger. The next words he spoke were so definitive—yet so disparate—from any tone he had taken with me before. It was full of poison and hellfire—deep, focused, dangerous.
“How did you know?” he said. I didn’t let it shake me. He could not shake me. I was pure magma and iron.
“My sister’s middle name is Anna.”
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