The Unbelievable Life of Patrick Uilliam Carter

Chapter one

         
    As Patrick sat hunched over on an old shipping crate, his tattered dirty shirt clung to his broad ruddy shoulders. His strong arms and calloused hands resembled his father's. His unruly golden bronze hair glistened in the rays of light that stole through the spaces between the buildings. Old worn-out trousers were tied at his waist with a piece of coarse rope. His feet could feel the cold, damp cobblestone through the holes in his shoes.

   He clenched his fists tightly around the dice. This was his last chance. He needed this break. Everything was riding on him winning today. A pleasant breeze filled the air with sea spray and brought with it a sense of renewed hope. He took in a deep breath and held it. Then said a quiet prayer and let the dice fall.
 
   Patrick was only eight when he arrived at the small port town of Narcadia with his ailing father. He had been the only family Patrick had ever known. Raised on a ship with sailors, all he knew was the coarse language and harsh lifestyle that comes with living at sea.

   Stout and strong, his father was rather intimidating to look at but had an altruism to him that the other sailors he'd known hadn't. Wavy copper hair framed his freckled face and he had a beard to match. His olive green eyes were kind and full of longing. His rough hands had gently raised, protected, and taught Patrick what he needed to know to be a good sailor and an even better man.

   When his father had come down with a lingering fever, he decided that they would go and stay with his elderly sister, who had a residence in a nearby port town. He didn't tell Patrick anything about it until they were preparing to dock. As they were packing their few belongings, he reluctantly told Patrick about the woman whom they were to live with.

   "My parents died when I was young and I was raised by my sister." He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his neck. He looked away from Patrick as he continued. "She can be a bit strict but I feel that this is for the best." He looked into Patrick's trusting eyes and grabbed his small hands. "I'm sorry for everything Patrick. I want you to know that you mean everything to me. I love you, son."

   As they climbed onto the deck, a fine mist filled the air around them. Patrick couldn't believe his eyes. It was his first time seeing a port. The hustle and bustle of the crowds gathered around and snaked between horse-drawn carriages and dock workers. Some had fancy clothes. Frilly dresses and fans waved in the warm summer breeze. Others were dressed similarly to those on the ship. He pulled on his father's sleeve as he looked up at him. Excitement lit young Patrick's face. Eagerly anticipating his new life in a port town. "Are we really going to live here?!"

   His father grimaced as he leaned on a wooded walking stick for support. "Yes." Was all he would reply before he made his unsteady trek down the ramp leading to the crowded port with Patrick following close beside him. He scowled as he looked around. Some things had changed but most remained frozen in time. He hadn't been in Narcadia since he was fifteen and it took a toll on his pride to come back here and ask his sister for help with Patrick. He knew she would not be happy about his sudden reappearance but hoped she would accept them into her home. Her home. He sighed. He prayed he was making the right decision for Patrick's sake. They boarded a carriage and headed towards his sister's estate leaving the ship and docks behind them.

   As they approached his aunt's house, Patrick began to feel overwhelmed. The buildings towered high above them, casting shadows below. The horse hooves clomped on the cobblestone streets that led up to the grand estate. Suddenly, the carriage stopped in front of a large house with a black iron gate in front of it. The sharp spires that topped the posts seemed to serve as a warning not to come close. He shivered as he stared at them as if they were telling him to stay away. He hoped the residents would be more inviting. Patrick followed his father as he walked through the gate that led to the house. On the brick wall beside the front door was a brass nameplate that had Carter written in bold black letters. His father breathed a heavy sigh and grasped the brass ring of the door knocker.

   As his Aunt Malvina stood in the doorway, he clutched his father's shirt and slunk behind him. She had an intimidating demeanor about her. She was poised and dignified in an imposing sort of way. Her silver hair was neatly arranged. Every strand exactly in place. Her clothes and jewelry were impeccable. She looked at Patrick's father with disdain and then, down at him. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips into a straight line. Turning away from them, she walked gracefully back through the foyer and led them to his father's childhood room and shut the door behind her without saying so much as a word to either of them.

   In the following days, his father's health had greatly deteriorated. As his father lay dying, he called Patrick to his side.

"Listen well, boy. My time is short and you should know the truth about your mum. Sail up the coast, a week and a day. Then Northeast a month or so. When the sun is high and the breeze is cold and a chill sets in your bones, turn hard-a-port and sail due south till an island comes to be. There is found a love so deep between the land and the sea."

   He pressed his large, craggy, weatherworn fist into Patrick's small hand and released a golden strand with a single teardrop pearl. The necklace was unlike any jewelry he had seen before. It was not made of a chained metal but of a single strand that shimmered even in the darkness of the candlelit room.

   "Always keep it with you." He struggled to breathe. Gasping for air he grabbed Patrick's shoulder and looked him in the eyes, then whispered, "Promise me, Patrick. Never take it off. No matter what."

  "Eight!" A man shouted as the others who had been huddled together, groaned and threw their losses into the pile on the ground. Grumbling, they got up and stalked away. Feet plodding loudly on the cobblestone. Patrick breathed a sigh of relief as he ruffled his thick coiled hair with his hands. This was it. The moment he had been waiting for since coming to this despondent port eleven years ago.

   Life had not been easy, to say the least since coming to live with his aunt. It was hard trying to adjust without his father and being tied to one place. His home had always been out on the water. He missed the sea and found life on dry land to be stifling. His Aunt Malvina was indeed as strict as his father had warned all those years ago. She was not exactly the affectionate, motherly type. Quite the opposite. Her stern face and aloof demeanor often left Patrick feeling more alone than he had ever been.

   Clinging to those last moments with his father and clutching the golden necklace tightly in his hand, he would recite his father's final words over and over until they became a mantra to help him get through each day. A promise to himself that he would one day escape from this dirty port town and find his mother.

   He scooped up his winnings and tried to pocket his growing hope only to have a smile slowly creep across his face. Unable to contain his excitement, he tossed his head back and let out a small laugh as he headed back towards the stately manner that belonged to his aunt and away from the cacophony behind him. Far away from the stench of the harbor and fishery; the manor sat on a busy main street uptown. Horse-drawn carriages lined the streets in front of the great houses that towered above him. Reminding him of his lowly place among them.

   He stealthily crept into his aunt's house so as not to alarm her of his presence. The interior was filled with glistening chandeliers and crisp fine linens. Colorful imported rugs lined the halls and elegant furniture graced every room with their presence. Gilded paintings adorned the large walls. Fresh-cut flowers stood tall in crystal vases on polished pedestal tables that wore lace tablecloths like bridal veils. It was, to say the least, a very beautiful prison.

   His aunt lacked for nothing except the things that really mattered: love, compassion, kindness, and generosity. No. She knew nothing of those. Nor did she care to. She was a woman of means and he, well he was his father's son: wild and unruly, just like his hair. He would never be able to live up to her standards. His father, after all, was notoriously known for his unscrupulous reputation.

   "A sailor? Ha! More like a pirate!" The way she spoke of his father with utter contempt felt like daggers.
   And his mother? Since nothing was known about her, it only left his aunt to speculate the worst, and he swore that he would never repeat such atrocities.
 
   In a small nook tucked out of sight, with only a curtain hung to separate him from the rest of the house, Patrick swiftly collected his few belongings and placed them in a small piece of cloth. Tying it securely, he took one last look around and breathed his last goodbye to his father.
  
   Turning, he stalked out of the house promising himself that he would never return to this port or this house because if he did, he would burn them both down to the ground.