Pirate Chronicles
At first, she tried to give them the reassurance she hardly felt herself. Go and pray, she told them. Some nodded and fled while others stared at her dumbfounded. Pirates had broken into the main hall. She didn’t get much further before they ran out the door or upstairs to hide safely under a bed.
Madeleine, however, wasn’t that much of a fool. She thought about finding her mother and father but changed her mind when loud noises and crashing sounds came from behind her. Besides, her mother was useless in a pinch. When mice over ran the kitchen she screamed and refused to come home until every one of the vermin were dead, their bodies piled in a heap.
Running through the empty house, Madeleine kept looking behind her, fearing those men still followed her. If she led them to her room, she knew her fate and the thought made her want to wretch. No, she tried to think of somewhere else, anywhere else, to hide…but where? Pirates would only break into the governor’s mansion and accost his daughter for one reason and that was ransom. The only daughter of a wealthy man would be worth a sizeable ransom, although Nicholas was worth far more as a male heir. Well, if they wanted her, they had better be willing to put up a fight.
Where could she go to hide? Looking around, Madeleine stopped and noticed just how quiet everything had become. No one was screaming anymore, which was worse than before. She didn’t hear anything, not the birds outside or the dogs in the kennels. It made her shiver despite the heat of spring.
Knowing the kitchen was close, although outside, Madeleine took a wild chance and decided to hide there until her mother or father found her. Somehow, that thought was comforting. This mess would all be over by then.
The backdoor to the mansion was wide open. A rich glow came from the front where a mass of torques lit the entry, permeating through the eerie silence of the night. Madeleine forced herself to stare at each shadow until she picked out what was moving. The rustle by the grove of palms produced a small family of armadillos. Under the bushes lining the walkway from the house to the kitchens, scurried mice and—she froze as she heard branches moving above her in the trees.
Come on, Madeleine, she scolded herself. Stop being a child. Taking a deep breath, maybe two or three deep breaths and counting to ten, she took a step forward. Every time she looked back, Madeleine swore someone was following her, almost ready to reach out. She had barely taken three steps before the tip of her shoe snagged the inside hem of her dress sending her straight to the ground. Even though the words meant nothing, she cursed using every word she ever heard her brother utter. They made her feel a lot better somehow.
Spitting out bits of dirt, Madeleine groaned and extricated her face from the wet mud. With the taste of blood and soil in her mouth, not to mention a ruined dress, she doubted the night could get much worse. Her hands bled, and if the pain on her face meant anything so did her upper lip. She wanted to just sit down and cry however, tears were reserved for later when she was safe and warm in bed with something strong to drink; she deserved at least that for her night. What she needed to be was calm, not a weepy little girl.
The door was ajar when Madeleine came upon the kitchen, a faint interior light illuminating the cool air. Someone had left the stove fires lit, although that wouldn’t last long.
She stuck her head in and Madeleine’s nose picked up the scent of boar, caramelized pears, stuffed duck covered in a honey glaze with a spiced apple garnish- every delicious thing they had for dinner. Her favorite was the plate after plate of fruits and vegetables.
Her father had gone all out for his guests, serving quite a few exotic dishes. Beef now seemed a novelty to her since, as an import, it didn’t always come regularly on ships. Madeleine felt relieved when she crept in to find the room unoccupied.
Large iron pots and serving ware were left stacked on the table top by the sink, forgotten and pushed to the side from earlier in the evening. It was odd, Madeleine thought, for the slaves should’ve washed them already. Everything looked to be left behind precariously, each piece waiting to be picked up again and used.
Fluted crystal wine glasses half filled with the sweet cabernet her father used to toast their family stood side by side, some still half full. Quite a few had thick prints of lip color around the rim, each raised to his success and that of their thriving little province. The toast still rung in Madeleine’s ears. She watched as his usual judgmental gaze turned into a mask of buoyant delight. Those were the moments of his great metamorphosis, the only times she ever saw him smile and laugh gaily.
Madeleine closed the door, pressing her ear against the rough grain of the wood, and waited. She listened for the sound of something moving outside. For a brief moment, all sorts of things flew through her mind.
