The Girl at the Gallows

Chapter 1: O, Brother (Unedited)

1727, Bermuda

  

Has your mind ever reached a place so far past the point of humiliation that everything becomes paradisiacal? 

Tranquility. Serenity. 

The sun’s rays stung my eyes after having been locked away for so long, but still, I stretched them wide and looked up. I felt the corners of my mouth curl as I watched the gulls dive towards the sparkling harbor and swoop back up to the sky. Oh, how I envied them....  

Without so much as a glance at my face, Benjamin pulled my hand down to my bare foot. I absorbed the aggression in his movement, but my lack of resistance only further angered him. I wasn’t trying to upset him, but my mood was too peaceful for a fight. 

“Maybe you should tie a double-hitch,” I suggested. 

Anger leapt from his eyes to my heart, and he tightened the rope securing my right thumb to my left big toe, forcing me to flinch. 

“Much better,” I said. “I wouldn’t want you to be accused of conspiracy charges. Aiding in my great escape. Can you imagine how cross Mother would be with me?” I laughed with innocence. He remained unamused.

“Or maybe I would really just be further incriminating myself? If the ropes became loose, surely that would be further evidence of my diabolical behavior?” My voice trailed to a whisper as my conversation turned inward. “Then again, maybe I can control the ropes….”

His expression changed to the one of which I had grown accustomed: the stare people have when they are looking upon a lunatic.

As he tied my left thumb across my right foot, I studied his perpetually sun-kissed face. His skin was so tanned, you could hardly see the dust of freckles that I knew to be across his nose. His hair almost achieved a deep shade of honey, always the lightest at this time of year thanks to the sun’s strokes. He stood, hunting for anything to focus on so his golden-brown eyes wouldn’t have to meet mine. 

From my view on the floor, his lean, swimmer’s figure felt towering. He wore a white shirt I had never seen before. Clean. New. Pain flicked beneath my chest, knowing Benjamin now had a shirt I’d never seen. That I hadn’t stitched for him. The threads may have been foreign to my fingers, but the sleeves were rolled to his elbows just like they had been since we were children. I thought about the hundreds of times I had rolled his cuffs to keep them safe from the water and sand. How many times I had scrubbed tobacco plant stains from the creases.

His clenched fists caused the muscles in his forearms to protrude. His arms were taunt. His shoulders. His back.

His shirt wasn’t the only thing unfamiliar. Something else looked different. We had only been apart for six months, but he now looked like a man at nineteen. Stern. Strong. Radiating spite.

My elbows awkwardly crossed between my knees, and my muscles shook as my legs strained not to flop open beneath the layers of skirts. Stuck in the unnatural position, my corset jutted into my ribs. I cursed myself for not removing it this morning. Had there really been a point in wearing the contraption today? I had already been robbed of my modesty... of every shred of dignity I had come into this world with. My thoughts drifted to a place of fields and flowers and flowing, loose-fitting garments.

I squirmed, trying to find comfort, but the movement caused me to teeter left; I lost my balance completely and tipped to the side with a thud. Lying like a babe with my cheek pressed against the splintery, wet dock, the sight of the sea reclaimed my view and my head cleared, once again. The cold, damp wood felt so good on my cheek, only then did I realize how feverish I was. My brother attempted to pull me back upright, but my shoulder stiffened, longing for one more moment.