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murielleHis bed smells of warm, a bit sweaty, a bit smoky from those Player cigarettes he smokes that he’s not s’pose to, and of Aqua Velva, ‘cause he’s an Aqua Velva man. I move up to rest my head on his arm. We’re haloed by the light of his reading lamp and he’s got a magazine in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
“What you readin’?”
“Ghost stories.”
“They scary?”
“Some of them.”
“Tell me one.”
“You’re too little you’ll be up all night. Ma'll tan my hide.”
“Nah. She’ll get Pop to do it!” I giggle.
The thunder and lightning crash again and I shriek and shrivel against him trembling from top to toe.
“I hate storms more than anything ever,” I tell him. “They’re scarier than anything ever.”
He stubs his smoke out and wraps his free arm around me. “It won’t last long,” he says.
“This story is about a captain of a big ship who got possessed by the evil spirit of its first captain and how he went mad and keel-hauled everyone aboard, even his pretty young wife.”
“What’s a keyhall?”
“Keel-hauled, is what they did for punishment in historical times. They’d pull a man underwater the length of the keel, which is like the spine of the ship, that runs from bow to stern.”
“Bow to stern?”
“Front to back.”
“Oh.”
“You ready to hear the story?”
“Yes, but I’ll have to ask questions. Teacher says it’s what I do best.”
He chuckles softly.
“In the year of our Lord 1757 Captain William Somerset Baines, 36, married Elizabeth Moira Sheppard, 23, of the Aberdeen Sheppards on 26 April. After a brief, though handsomely appointed by all accounts, wedding breakfast in the great hall at the Abbey, the groom and his bride boarded the HMS Spector where Baines was to replace Captain Barnaby Willis Cornwallis, 1712, to 1752, having died at sea under mysterious circumstances.
Let it be so noted that HMS Spector was found adrift, in the autumn of 1753 by a band of scavengers who claimed there was not a soul aboard. It was then ransomed and returned to our shores, restored and refurbished and made sea worthy to set sail for four years later under Captain Baines.”
“This is boring.”
“Wait, this is just the beginning. Be patient.”
His words were punctuated by another crash and flash of lightning.
“See? The storm’s moving away from us now.”
I shuddered hard for a second, “I hate storms worse than anything ever.”
“Let it be entered into evidence, the diary of one Elizabeth M. Baines, nee Sheppard. First entry:
‘28 April, 1757
‘Papa gave me this beautiful journal in which to collect my thoughts and record the goings on aboard the Spector. I didn’t write till today, though tis our second whole day on board as I’ve been quite overcome by all that is to be done. I know that in time, I will get things just so, as William likes them.
‘William has charged me with the upkeep of our cabin and the dining mess, though I have a young lad, Samuel, to help. My husband has informed me that I am to attend all official functions on board and all the evening meals in the mess, with the weather being the only exception. If the weather is “on,” then I am permitted to remain in our cabin. I am also to assist Mr. Greenwich, our ship’s physician when necessary. He is a lovely, handsome young man of about twenty and five years who is engaged to one, Rosemary Bath, from where else, Bath. I have seen her likeness. She is a beauty. I cannot fathom why he would have parted from her company to sail away for what might be two years, except to make his fortune for her.
‘Tomorrow we set sail. I am delighted and sincerely look ahead to our time on the seas. This will be the best wedding journey ever and I am determined to be the best captain’s wife.
‘I am learning every day. As much as I adore my beloved, I am seeing new things about him all the time. To me, he has been gentleness itself, so soft spoken and genteel, always kind and generous, but today, I heard him shouting such things at his men. Words I have never heard except from the occasional scullery maid or stable boy, who didn't last long I can tell you, and certainly never imagined would pass over the lips of my beloved. And such threats! I did not know such horrors existed in the minds of men. Perhaps, that is the way of the seafaring life? Perhaps he must be so harsh to maintain discipline over all these men? I will ask him if the opportunity arises and I sense he is in the right frame of mind. He does seem so terribly irritable since we came aboard…”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
I’m in the kitchen, clearing up after the big family diner. He’s helping. We’re quiet. No need to talk much. He doesn’t ask where things go, he’s been here enough to know, and he knows how my mind works so he follows “my” logic, but if he’s still stumped he just puts whatever it is on the kitchen table. If I notice I’ll smile and say bottom cabinets, left of the stove, or where ever it goes. If I don’t notice it’s not a problem. I’ll get it later. We’ve pretty much always been like this, though we have changed.
After four children I’m filled out a bit more than I’d like to be and his beautiful hair is gone. My Jake used to tease him about it, but I could tell it bothered him so I told Jake, “how would you like it if someone always commented on what’s wrong with you?”
“Ain’t nothing wrong with me.”
“Go get me that big fat note pad from dining table and a pen. Better make that two big fat note pads, and I’ll make a list of what’s wrong with you.” He gives my ass a good swat as he passes me, but he’s grinning from ear to ear and he never calls him baldy or skinhead again. Every couple has their own language I guess.
Matter of fact we could all stand to lose thirty or forty pounds, but not till after holidays. I’ve been cookin’ and bakin’ for weeks. We can all look to our waistlines in the new year.
He hangs the wet dish towel on the bar handle on the stove and fetches a clean dry one from the drawer. There’s a tremendous crack of lightning and he’s next to me, “been building up awhile I’d say.”
I mutter agreement, but I’m shaking.
He moves closer and pats my shoulder, “won’t last long.”
But he stays by me.
“Tell me?” I say.
He puts the towel down, wraps his arms around me and starts to tell me a story.
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The name Spector came up because I misspelled Specter and then discovered that it was an actual name and thought...well, isn't that better?. So, in my world, it's a made-up name.
I would love to bring the journal to life again. It's the kind of thing I love to write. I'm all about the recurring stories, but I do like to mix it up, so it might not be for a while unless I get the ax, then maybe not till next season. ;-)
Again, thank you so much for reading and commenting so nicely!
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This entry has a very comforting feel to it and I love how close the siblings are. It seems at the beginning that the age gap is fairly considerable and I love that eve as grown adults, he still is taking care of his little sister. :)
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I would love to get back on HMS Spector! Or even back to the trial/inquest. I want to know Elizabeth story. I have a penchant for reoccurring tales so you just never know. ;-)
Thanks again!
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I'm so glad you liked. :-)
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I do like to revisit my characters, and I am very curious about Elizabeth and William, so you never know. Depends on the prompts.
Thanks again, dear!
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So, is that supposed to be her brother in the beginning? And then is "my Jake" meaning her brother, who teases her husband about being bald? Did I get that right?
Definitely intrigued by the old diary too. And I like that it was April 28, because that happens to be my birthday, hehe!
I like that even as a grown woman who's had kids, she still enjoys stories during thunderstorms. That was very sweet. Lovely entry, Murielle!
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Jake is her husband. "He" is her brother. :-) I'll make a note to edit that so it is more clear after all this is over.
Thanks again! :-)
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I'm realizing I should have asked for a Beta. I needed to make it clearer that Jake is her husband, and "he" is her brother and storm saviour. :-)
I love that I am learning, though. Thank you!
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I couldn't tell whose room she was visiting in the first part-- I thought her father at first, but maybe an older brother? An uncle? So by the ending, I'm assuming it's the young girl grown up, and that it's her husband who's lost his hair, but then I'm not sure who "My Jake" would be. He swats the narrator on the bottom, and she notes "every couple has their own language," and Jake seems more like her husband. It's like there's one man too many in the third part! If only there were some more names...
I loved the child's voice in the first part (SO good), and the spooky story. And the diary in the middle part had really good old-fashioned language, and hints so well at the disaster that is yet to come!
Have you written about the HMS Spector before, and I've just forgotten? Is it a real historical ship? Or something you've created, and write about from time to time?
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I need to make it clear that her brother is the "he" and Jake is her husband. I thought the fact that he didn't know where all the dishes went would be a clue that while he "was there enough..." he wasn't there all the time. But maybe not. Will be working on that if I resurrect them. ;-)
Thank you so much for your kind comment!
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