The Huntress ✓

03. Idle Hands

Bronte lay on her pallet in the loft she'd shared with Sam for the last few months. She absently pulled at a lock of hair with the hand once helplessly bound to her side, fully appreciating having the use of both arms again. A knothole at eye level provided a view of the shoreline and the dark waves glistening with starlight. Sam lay in the other corner, his familiar breathing not yet settled into the soft snores of sleep she'd become accustomed to.

"Can't sleep?" asked Bronte.

"Naw. You?"

Bronte shifted on her thin straw mattress.

"You ever slept on a feather bed, Sam?"

"No. I don't even think Blackwater has one. I might be able to find a hammock if ya want."

"I've spent enough time in hammocks."

The time she'd spent ashore had given her some perspective. She'd nearly left the shipyard to join the first pirate crew she found. What stopped her was the realization that though she'd been plundering for years, she'd little to show for it. A good take could be comfortably spent within a few days ashore. Sometimes you'd get nothing more than a refill of supplies. Huge hauls—legendary mountains of gold—were mostly that: legends. But, they weren't impossible. And she knew just what she could do with that gold.

In order to accumulate this fortune Bronte decided she needed to control where and what they plundered. And captains got the biggest share. In fact, she decided she'd like the title, Captain Farrow. A bigger share, and a bigger bed too. This idea kept her around and making plans for months now.

Her plans would undoubtedly cause Blackwater a fair share of trouble, but this didn't make her feel guilty in the least. The man's only concern was lining his pockets.

That night, as she lay listening to the ocean lullaby, she was thinking about how to convince Sam to join in the course she was pursuing. She'd gotten the idea of bring him along on the second day of her life on this island. She smiled as she thought back to the morning she'd been marooned and the following day that tied her fate with Sam's.

Bronte watched her former captain walk away from the shipyard without backward glance and resigned herself to her unknown fate.

The stout man at the cabin called to Sam, "Bring your new young friend here, boy."

Sam sprung easily to his feet and offered his hand. Bronte ignored it. Sam smiled and shrugged, seeming not to take any offense, and began the short walk up the beach.

Bronte hurried to catch up to him.

Together they reached the doorstep where the man waited. He looked her over small squinty eyes that contrasted with full round cheeks. "You'll be a big one. Younger than our Sam and got him beat by a foot at least!"

Bronte felt heat rise to her face. True, she was taller than Sam, but probably older. Her baby smooth face caused the confusion.

But then, surely Capt. Bertrand explained the truth of the matter?

"Come in. I'll show ya around as you'll be staying awhile. Name's Blackwater. Captain assured me yer as hard a worker as they come and I'll be lookin' forward to seeing it for myself.

Still, he paid a good price for your apprenticeship." He patted a bulging pocket that clinked softly.

This was a turn Bronte never thought her life would take. Apprenticeship: A time honored custom in which a craftsman took a young man any time after the age of about nine or so into his care, until the youth reached the age of twenty-one. The master would teach them his trade, school him and when released, could call themselves masters in whatever craft they'd studied.