The Bride of Blackbeard (20 page)

“Dr. Valleter, what is your diagnosis,
melancholy or mania?”

“Most decidedly melancholy. How did the
treatments progress?”

“It was reported by the staff that while in
the baths, she spoke. It is the first time she has uttered a word
during any of her admissions.”

“Good, she is making progress then. Today,
we shall try forced emesis, and see what improvement we attain. Her
chart says she was not particularly fond of the bleeding
procedure.”

Megan rolled over and squeezed her eyes
tightly shut as she thought of home, and Ma and Pa, and her soft
doll, which she wished she had right now, more than ever. Her
breath rattled in and out of her mouth and a deep ache formed in
her chest.

Why couldn’t she talk? She knew what she
wanted to say, could even hear the words in her head, except
sometimes they came out wrong, or didn’t come out at all when she
tried to speak them.

Ma was going to fix her though, she
knew
it. Mother was able to make her feel and think like she
never had before.

They would come for her.

They loved her.

They would fight for her.

They would never forget about her.

~ * ~

Unable to help herself, Stanzy continued to
cry. The tears poured from her eyes as if they would never cease.
This
was just too much to bear. The thought of what they
might be doing to Megan, her wonderful, silent, little girl.

Lucian remained quiet and stared ahead,
knowing no words of comfort would calm her. Thankfully, she
appreciated that he didn’t offer empty platitudes. He was as
distraught as she. His knuckles blanched with the force he exerted
in holding the reins as the carriage bumped along the windy road. A
muscle jutted in his jaw as he gritted his teeth, his lips pressed
into a firm straight line.

“We should have just ridden the horses, it
would have been faster. This is taking too long!”

“What about when we get her back? You know
she won’t be able to ride in back of one of us the whole way to
StoneWater. The carriage is the only way. Keep your wits. I need
you to convince those doctors to release her to us.” His hand found
hers and squeezed gently.

Calm had settled over his face as she
considered him. It quelled her own fears, and she sucked in deep
breaths, wrestling to regain her sense of reasoning.

“What if I can’t talk them into
anything?”

Lucian said nothing, but his hand
involuntarily slipped to the pistol strapped to his side.

Constanza shifted in her seat, attempting to
alleviate the pain in her bottom. They urged the horses nonstop
through the night. Lucian's head bobbed for the third time in an
hour and she elbowed his ribs to rouse him.

“Lucian, rest in the back of the carriage
for a while. I have the map and can follow where we are going.”

“All right. You are going to have to do the
same, or your wits will be as dull as mine by the time we arrive at
‘The Blackhouse.’” He handed Stanzy the reins and climbed into the
rear.

“The Blackhouse?”

“That is what Megan calls it. I never knew
what she was talking about until a few weeks ago. When we were
outside she was having a particularly good day and said, ‘No
Blackhouse, Pa.’
This
place was what she meant.”

His head dropped to the wagon floor and he
closed his eyes.

Stanzy gazed at the gun on his hip and
wished fervently for one.

~ * ~

The high-pitched sounds flying from Megan’s
throat weren’t human. Her yowling resembled the eerie scream of
baby rabbits, anticipating their death.

“Can't you inject her with something? That
voice is splitting my ears. Maybe doctor is correct, she sounds
like an animal.”

Two men grabbed her arms and two women her
feet as they pinned her, spread-out to the bed. Fingers clamped her
nose shut. She held her breath as long as she could. Feeling the
blackness approaching, she opened her mouth and the rancid taste of
the tartar mixture overwhelmed her. She sputtered and gagged, half
of the vile drink rising up her throat, the rest bubbling out her
nose.

The nasty stuff worked almost immediately.
Violently gagging and retching, she dowsed her shift with the
remainder of her lunch. Between the gagging and vomiting, the
hateful tears came, besetting her chest with painful hiccups. The
teardrops spilled over and down her cheeks; she willed her eyes to
dry. To end it all, forever—so that this pain called living would
stop.

The nurse standing by made eye contact with
her. “This is the first time she has ever looked me in the
eye.”

Megan sat up on the bed, knotting the sheets
in her balled fists. She knew her face was twisted and she raged,
“I want to go home!”

The staff stood, struck dumb. The four
adults gaped at her first with curiosity then amazement. One by
one, joining the chorus of sound, they all applauded.

~ * ~

Abernathy followed Teache to the edge of
town, to a home the rogue had never visited since he’d had him
under observation.

This was disconcerting. Of late, he felt
Teache was concocting a plan, the intention of which Abe had been
unable to decipher. Each time he felt he had figured out his
subject’s dealings, the man would add a new person or situation to
perplex him. If he didn’t know better, he would think Teache was
doing it intentionally.

The female who opened the door was of the
second set of Teache's women friends. The first set consisted of
the unrefined and poor, in whom he would have only specific
interests. The second was seemingly well-to-do ladies, whom he had
somehow convinced he was a charming merchant seaman.

This woman was beautiful with dark, thick
hair piled high atop her head, and her clothing the latest style
and trend. Her home, too, was on the good side of town.

Abernathy decided to sit in the pub across
the street to wait this one out. He had the feeling it was going to
be a long one.

~ * ~

“Stanzy. Wake up.”

Nightfall approached as the carriage rattled
its way up the lane to the asylum.

Orderlies standing at the entrance eyed them
warily as they made their way through the entrance hall. “May we
help you?”

“I am here on behalf of StoneWater Estate to
collect one Megan Hopkins from your facility to escort her home.
Here is the corresponding paperwork.” Lucian handed the document to
the fellow whose skin was impersonating a ghost, suggesting he
hadn’t seen daylight in many a fortnight.

“Well, there is nothing we can do for you
tonight. The doctors have all retired, so you will have to return
in the morning.”

“We will not wait another night!” Stanzy
spat out, emphasizing each word. Out of the corner of her eye she
noticed Lucian’s hand stray to rake over his face, but she just
could not stop. “Megan will not spend another night here! You tell
whatever doctor necessary that he needs to see us now.”

“Mum, be reasonable...” But he was cut short
by the sound of screaming from a nearby treatment room.

“That is her. I would know her voice
anywhere.” She darted in the direction of the noise coming down the
hallway.

One orderly snatched at her sleeve, thinking
her an eloping patient. Stanzy ducked out of his reach and fell to
her knees, crawling past him like a scuttling crab. She pushed open
the door as soon as she reached it and shuddered at the sight in
front of her.

Megan was blue. In a submersion bath filled
with bobbing ice cubes. On her tiny arms were the dreaded leeches
Stanzy had already removed from her one time this month.

The child’s eyes stared vacantly.

“Megan!” she shrieked. “Look at me,
poppet!”

“Mama! Please—home—now—no more!” she wailed
piteously. Her hands feebly attempted to sign the words she spoke,
but plopped into the cold bath.

Lucian pushed into the room just as
Constanza stomped over to the bath, plunged her arms in shoulder
high and lifted the shaking child from the water.

The staff stood half stunned and gape
mouthed. Looks of fear covered their faces.

Clutching Megan's dripping form to her
chest, she challenged the stares of each person. “Yes, you better
be scared. Your kind will not touch her again. Never again! This is
not treatment, this is madness.” She strode out the door.

Lucian fell in beside her, matching her
stride. She noticed his hand on his holstered pistol, and hoped he
wouldn’t have to use it.

In the carriage, Constanza pulled Megan’s
wet clothing from her little form, dressed her in clean clothes
Bess had supplied before they left, and wrapped her in a blanket
Lucian pulled from the back. She cradled her in her arms as the
carriage rattled its way along the road.

The girl hadn’t stopped shaking since
Constanza had removed her from the submersion tank, but her
fingertips were no longer blue. Nor had Megan spoken. Stanzy felt
the tears stinging her eyes, but fiercely blinked them away. She
must be strong for Megan. She tried to wrap her whole body around
the little girl to restore the warmth that horrendous place had
sucked from her.

If she and Lucian didn’t fight for this
little soul, who would?
Deep in her heart, she now knew she
would never leave StoneWater—not without Megan.

Lucian hadn’t spoken since the heated
discussion with the doctors about Megan’s untimely discharge. She
recognized the controlled rage in his posturing, and the set look
on his face as he steered the team through the night.

She chanced a glance at him. His posture
didn’t change, but he placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a
quick squeeze.

Reliability.

An unknown concept to Stanzy. From her
earliest memories, she’d learned she could rely on no one but
herself. Her mother’s care had been loving, but it also had tended
to revolve around her father’s moods and fits of alcoholic
rage.

She tried to block out the recollections,
but when she was weak or exhausted, they resurfaced, like unwanted
recurring nightmares. Always they scratched behind the door in her
head. Subdued, but never forgotten.

Her soul ached for unwavering devotion, and
Lucian had given it to her. Someone she could depend on to help
shoulder the weight of the world, and he
actually cared
about her thoughts and feelings.

I
never thought a man existed who
cared for a woman’s ideas. Or pain
.

Over the years, she’d endeavored to foster
in Katrina and Will the sense that they were safe as long as she
protected them. She never wanted them to experience the panic she’d
felt when she awoke in the mornings—fearful of how their father
would act or if she would have to bear the burden of responsibility
and intervene in a botched medical procedure.

She looked at Lucian and said a silent
prayer of thanks to God for providing her someone after all of her
years of suffering.

“We need to stop at this inn, Constanza.
Megan is going to be ill without doubt. It is too cold out here for
her, and you are both trembling.”

~ * ~

Abernathy sat at the bar, watching Teache
out of the corner of his eye.

The evening crowd was rowdy and the noise in
the pub had reached new heights. This itinerant life was starting
to wear on him. He longed to see his family and sleep in his own
bed. The daily assignment of having to watch Teache smuggle,
fornicate, and engage in drunken brawls had finally taken its toll.
He’d spent so much time in pubs, he wasn’t sure if once home, he
could ever enter one again.

If he’d been permitted to intervene and not
just observe, then perhaps this assignment would have been
tolerable.

He longed to have a go at the demon. The man
hadn’t manifested one redeeming quality to date—not one act of
uncharacteristic kindness, no chivalry when no one was
looking—nothing to hint there might be a
human
on the inside
of this fellow.

Teache seemed exceedingly pleased with
himself about something this evening to be sure. That portended
nothing good. Abernathy’s job was to figure out what that something
might be, especially if it pertained to the whereabouts of smuggled
items that Governor Spottswood would consider significant.

What the devil was he doing?
Abe
Hornigold shifted slightly on the barstool to make himself
partially obscured by the patron in front of him. Smoke and whiskey
permeated the air of the pub, and with the dim light provided by a
few lit candles, Abe thought Teache would be hard-pressed to see
him even if he had a mind to.

Teache sat staring intently at a dingy
seaman seated across from him. His tattooed fist shook vigorously
in front of the man's face. The man shrugged, held out his hand and
produced...

Perched on the edge of his seat, Abe was
ready for a knife, a pistol, gold...but
a book?

I must get closer
. He picked up his
mug and strategically slid behind other patrons until he reached an
open table and took a seat, entirely too close to the pirate for
comfort. But he needed this assignment to be finished and to do
that he needed to see what piece of literature was so compelling
that it captured the attention of the infamous pirate.

Teache opened the book with the spine toward
Abe, who squinted and peered, cocking his head every which way.
Still, he was unable to discern a title.

Again picking up his mug, he walked directly
toward Teache. Indeed he had learned typically it was easier to be
invisible when you were out in the open for all to see, rather than
skulking about.

He passed behind Teache unnoticed and
completed his turn at the bar.

His fellow patron on the neighboring stool
enquired, “You ill?”

“What? No...why do you ask?”