Captain England (Post 4)

Inside my mind, a battle raged, and my sanity was at stake. While I wanted to laugh at Captain England’s nonsensical words, I couldn’t ignore what I was seeing with my own eyes. Unless there were islands that looked remarkably like New Providence and Paradise Island somewhere nearby, and unless those islands were inhabited by hundreds of pirate re-enactors who really believed they lived in 1718…

I couldn’t process it. This was some sort of game. As I sat there in the warm, simple frame house, looking at this man who, for all intents and purposes, had jumped off a movie set and decided he really liked playing pirate, I realized I had a choice: Either play along, or get myself killed by a bunch of crazies. I fought back the desire to scream and cry and throw things, to beg that I be allowed to go home. It won’t do any good, I told myself. Deep breath.

I thought carefully before speaking, watching England puff quietly on his pipe. Finally, I said, “I was in 2009 when I fell off the boat, and now I’m in 1718. Is that what we’re saying here?” I didn’t give him a chance to answer. “If everyone here, in 1718, would think I’m a witch, why do you give me the benefit of the doubt? From your perspective, I’m completely batshit crazy.”

England replied,  “Because I believe that ye’re from someplace very foreign, and that ye found yerself here unexpectedly.”

I pushed my disheveled hair from my face as I asked, “But why do you believe that?”

England set his pipe down carefully, knitting his brow. “Because we found this floating with ye.” From beneath the table, the captain withdrew my backpack. As I gasped, he continued, “I didn’t let anyone look inside, save myself and my quartermaster, Jameson… It made him mighty wary of ye, lass, and angry with me when I protected ye.”

I took the backpack eagerly from him, bubbling with excitement. Something from my life, something from the sane world… I unzipped it – it had definitely seen better days – and immediately began fishing for my Blackberry. I pulled it out joyfully, and on a whim tried to turn it on. Heh. Nice try, Sabrina. Then I went through the other items quickly: my iPod, also shot to hell; a blister pack of dimenhydrinate  for motion sickness (it sure would have been nice to have this a little while ago, dammit); Tanya’s makeup bag, most of the items inside in good condition, including three multi-colored, ribbed condoms (Christ, what had Captain England thought of that? At least they were still in their packaging); Sky’s romance, most of it water-logged and illegible (thank God); another of Sky’s books, Rovers of the Sea, still fairly legible since it was still wrapped in a Barnes & Noble bag; a couple bikinis and cover-ups; and finally, our wallets. I tore mine open, pulling out a picture of Sophie and clutching it tightly, the tears starting to well up.

England cleared his throat, and I looked up at him. “Did you go through everything here?” He nodded. I held the picture out to him. “Then you’ve seen this? It’s my daughter, Sophie.”

England took the picture, holding it gently between his rough, callused fingers. He studied it for a while then said softly, “It’s an amazing likeness. How…?”

Oh, yeah. They didn’t have photographs in 1718. If this guy was putting me on, he was doing a good job of looking bewildered. I hesitated. “It’s a photograph. It’s an image that was, well, painted by… light.”

He smiled, still looking at the picture. “She has yer mouth.” As if suddenly aware of what he’d just said, he thrust the photo back at me, not meeting my eyes. From his bald spot down to his chest, he went scarlet.

Taking the picture, I realized, somewhat abruptly, that I had my feminine wiles at my disposal. It had been so long since I’d used them, I’d forgotten they existed. When was the last time I’d made a man blush like that? Had I ever made a man blush like that?  “Captain England,” I said in my best “damsel in distress” voice, peering up at him from under my eyelashes. “Help me. Please. I have to get back to where I was – wherever that is – so that I can see her again.”

He looked up, baffled. “Help ye how, lass? Drop ye back in the middle of the sea where I found ye? I could try to get ye passage on a trading ship headed for the Colonies, perchance…” He put out his pipe and tucked it behind his ear, and then started wringing his hands thoughtfully. “The thing of it is… ye have bloody poor timing! Vane’ll not suffer a single ship leave the harbor.”

“Who?”

England huffed with frustration. “I haven’t the time to explain it to ye. Charles Vane is a pirate – and not one the likes of ye should ever meet.” His eyes blazed as he spoke. “The Jacobites are not sending help, and King George’s royal governor is arriving any day now to take the island from the pirates. We’ve no intention of accepting the royal pardon, and it’s gotten nasty here in Nassau.”

Oh, shit. King George, Jacobites… It all sounded vaguely familiar. Too bad I hadn’t paid any attention in my world history class. I shrugged. “Even if you could send me to the U.S. – I mean, the Colonies – where would I go? I’d still be in 1718, right?” I waited for him to reply, hoping he’d say no, actually, he was part of a group of pirate re-enactors who just take the re-enacting to another level and, lo and behold, he’d get me back to 2009 ASAP. But he merely nodded, deep in thought.

“I’ll have Kat bring ye some proper clothes so ye don’t stand out any more than ye already do,” he said finally, standing up. “Stay here. So long as ye’re in this house, ye’re under my protection. Jameson won’t tell a soul, I’d wager on it.”

Alarmed, I stood up, unsteady on my feet, my head spinning. “Where are you going? Don’t leave me.”

Captain England froze, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t place. It was gone as quickly as it had come, and he replied gently, “I’ll not leave ye, cailin. But there’s business I must attend to. I’ll be back shortly after sundown.” And with that, he was gone.