Fic: 'Stormalong' (2/8 - J/E - 'R')
Here's the next part, with thanks again to hereswith for editing.
~ Stormalong ~
Chapter One: Errand
Chapter Two: Disaster
Elizabeth felt a profound sense of peace coupled with an almost giddy excitement, standing near the bow of the Empress as she ran, close-hauled against a steady wind. It had only been two months since the Empress and the Pearl had come home to Shipwreck Cove from a journey across the Atlantic, the two ships sailing together, neck and neck, swift and sure, but it seemed far longer somehow. Elizabeth was very glad they'd be going off on the long run to Curaçao soon, when Jack returned with the Pearl. As much as she had learned to love her life at the Cove - and, having lost her old life almost entirely, it was a great blessing to have a place she could call home, where she was accepted for exactly what she was - she was still happiest when she was sailing.
Monsieur Pontchartrain stepped up beside her. "I know I should not say such things, madame, but you look a veritable goddess."
She burst out laughing, but then, noting the startled expression on his youthful face, said, quickly, "Oh, pardon! I do thank you, monsieur. And it's no laughing matter, I suppose. I've had some strange adventures, and goddesses played too much a part in them. But I feel like a girl today, in spite of our business here. I took my first sea voyage at twelve, when my father and I came to live in Jamaica, and I loved it from the moment the ship left the dock in Bristol."
"You are a marvelous sailor, madame - I've watched you since we left Shipwreck Cove. I do not believe there are many men who could handle a vessel as capably."
"I have a ship and crew that give me their all, monsieur."
"Ah, but I saw you this morning, as you took your turn at the helm, your hand so light and steady on the wheel."
Elizabeth shrugged one shoulder. These Frenchmen! Her mind touched briefly on the wiles of Capitaine Chevalle and she suppressed a smile. He’d said nearly the same thing, once, though he’d a baser goal than Henri Ponchartrain had in mind, no doubt. Ah, bah! - as Chevalle would say himself.
She told Henri, "The winds are fair, and it's easy sailing - we should reach Île Sainte-Thérèse in a few hours. Your people will eat well tonight, and we shall see what else we can do for them on the morrow, before we head back."
"You are all goodness, madame. I hesitated to ask help of the Cove's inhabitants - my father was not a friend to them, and there were some incidents… But Île Sainte-Thérèse is so isolated.”
"You did right to come. I think if more of the brethren had been there they would have answered the call, but there were very few in port, alas. My favor must suffice."
"The favor of the King. It is worth a great deal." Henri said, his eyes shining.
Elizabeth smiled wryly. "It's worth something, certainly - let’s hope it's worth enough."
*
Île Sainte-Thérèse was a small island, but it was possessed of a harbor deep enough to allow access to all but the largest ships, and the inhabitants had built a sturdy wharf that would accommodate a half dozen or more at a time. Fortunately the wharf had been little damaged by the recent storm but, as the Empress eased in to dock and tie off, Elizabeth saw that this could not be said for the rest of the town that lay along the bay. It was a shambles. It was obvious there had been considerable flooding, and wind damage to both buildings and vegetation - every palm and shrub near the waterfront looked shredded! But worse than that, it appeared as if a whole swathe of the east side of the town had been entirely washed away.
“The mud and water came down off the mountain in a wave, madame,” Henri said, his voice quiet. “When I left to seek aid, they were still digging out those who failed to escape the onslaught. Five people succumbed, to my knowledge, and there were a few yet missing.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. The young man had been able to forget his cares for a time in the journey to bring help to his people, but they were beginning to be borne in upon him again. A brief silence fell as the two of them took in the devastation, but then Elizabeth asked, “Where are the other folk of the town? I would have thought…”
“Yes, I too would have thought they’d be here to greet us.” Henri frowned worriedly. “Only four days ago, there were many working diligently to make repairs, and I departed with hope that much would be accomplished by the time I returned.”
“Look!” Tai Huang had come up beside them and pointed to a street that spilled into the waterfront from the west side of the town.
“Soeur Marguerite!” exclaimed Henri, relieved, waving to the nun, highly visible in her white and gray habit. “And that is Jori with her, a good lad, he studies for the priesthood with Frère Anselm. They will be able to tell us what has happened.”
A gangplank was soon let down and Elizabeth and Henri debarked and walked up the wharf and onto the muddy waterfront to meet the welcoming party.
As they drew near, Soeur Marguerite was seen to be a striking woman, about Elizabeth’s own age. She had a fine olive complexion, a strong nose, and a well-sculpted chin and lips. But it was her eyes that struck one most, large, dark, serious eyes that yet held a kind of peace in their depths, and were apt to humor too, as evidenced by faint but discernable lines at their corners. Just now, however, the young nun was looking rather shocked as she studied Elizabeth.
To one dedicated not only to propriety but to holiness, Elizabeth knew she must present a very odd appearance, dressed as she was in her Chinaman's garb of rich embroidered silk, a long dagger sheathed at her side, and pale wisps of hair, loosened by the wind, drifting over the edges of a face that her mirror told her was sharp and sun-bronzed. The King of Pirates flushed faintly and lifted her chin a little.
Henri made introductions. “Soeur Marguerite, Jori, this is Elizabeth Swann-“
“You are a pirate?” asked Jori, fascinated. He appeared to be a vigorous, raw-boned youth, some years younger than Henri, Elizabeth guessed, and there was no guile in the friendly, curious face.
“The King of Pirates!” Henri said, with enthusiasm. “She has brought everything we might need, and we owe her our deepest thanks.”
“The King,” Marguerite repeated, but then inclined her head. “If this is so, madame, you have our profound gratitude.”
“But where is everyone?” Henri asked, and when Soeur Marguerite looked up Elizabeth felt a chill within.
“Monsieur, I regret…” The nun hesitated.
“But what?” Henri demanded.
“The fever… there are many who have been stricken. It is bad, very bad. There are more than sixty now. We use the church to house them. Those who have not been afflicted, who have undamaged homes or live in the camp for those without homes, stay inside their dwellings, afraid to come out! That is why no work is being accomplished. They wait, and they pray for deliverance, which is well, of course, but when there is so much to be done-“ Her voice, which had been increasingly unsteady, now became wholly suspended.
“Soeur Marguerite!” Henri placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she lifted a trembling hand to her mouth. Henri said, “It seems we come barely in time. These are dreadful tidings. But all will be well. All must be well.”
The nun looked up at him again. “Henri,” she said, gently, “I must tell you… your mother--”
“She is not ill?” Henri exclaimed.
Marguerite gathered herself. “She was helping us nurse the sick, as you know. The very evening after you left for Shipwreck Island she was taken by the fever. She has passed, Henri. Last night.”
Henri stared, very white about the mouth. “And my brother? What of him?”
“He is among those who lie in the church, Henri. But I am afraid-“
But Henri put out a grim hand and then walked away, striding quickly in the direction of the church.
*
“Ah, that was hard,” Soeur Marguerite said, as if to herself. But then she straightened and turned to Elizabeth, and tried to smile.
Elizabeth said, gently, “Such news is never easy to impart - or bear. Come with me, now, to the Empress.”
“Of course. The supplies. How can we th-“
“Wine, first, in my cabin. Then you can look over what we’ve brought and give directions for its disposal.” Elizabeth smiled at Marguerite’s surprise. “You do take wine, do you not?”
“I shouldn’t. There is so much to do."
"We will help you, Soeur Margeurite. After the wine."
"You are kind," the nun said, and there was wonder in her voice. "Very well, madame."
“Good!” said Jori, who had kept a watchful silence until now. "Father Anselm says that wine balances the humours and lifts the spirits, and is one of God’s great gifts when used wisely.” He bowed to Elizabeth. “I know I leave our little sister in good hands, Madame Swann. I will go back to the church. There is much to do. And Henri Ponchartrain will need a friend there just now, I think.”
On to Chapter Three