Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

The Only Rules That Matter (TheCorsair, Madame Mim)

John lept backwards, crying out in shock as the purple and green flames exploded from the Black Book. Out of the corner of his eye, in the shadows cast by his armchair, he thought he could see - just for an instant - deeper darkness cowering away. And then choking smoke and a horrid stink belched out, sending the both of them coughing to throw open the windows. And then, the book seemed to shriek for a moment, a sound full of anger and malice. "You definitely did the right thing," Jenny coughed.

Still wheezing and coughing himself, John crept towards the fireplace with the poker raised. The book was still there, flames dancing on the cover as it burned. He poked it, flipping open the cover so the individual pages could light. Purple and green danced on the edges of the flames as they curled and blackened the pages, and a thin keening sound was right on the edge of his hearing. "I think I did," he murmured, stirring the book with the poker.

"Whatever was in that book, whatever did that...your soul would have been bound to it, and maybe even Anne's." She crossed to him and hugged him tightly, laying her head against his chest. "It was the right thing, John."

"Yes," he agreed, still gripping the poker as he hugged her back. "There's some prices that shouldn't be paid." He held her for a moment, glad of the presence of something clean and pure after the revolting display of the burning book, then kissed her hair. "You're exhausted," he said, gently nudging her towards their bedroom. "Go to sleep. I'll stay up, and make sure that burns to ash." He thought about it. "Then, I'll probably take the ashes and toss them in the harbor. And then I'll come to bed."
 
Jenny nodded in agreement; there were some prices that shouldn't be paid. She closed her eyes as her husband kissed her hair and very nearly didn't open them again. As though reading her mind, John mentioned how exhausted she was and instructed her to get some sleep. She didn't put up much of a fight; Jenny's eyes ached and her face felt heavy.

"Wake me when you get to bed," she said wearily, kissing him gently and hugging him before beginning her shuffle to their room. "Just so I know you're safe."

Once again and as always time passed. Jenny went to the doctor who confirmed that she was, indeed, pregnant. Jack and Anne were both excited to learn that they would have a new baby brother or sister soon and often asked if today was the day. Anne passed her second birthday, which was met with both joy and sorrow; if the doctor was to be believed, they had only a year, if that, left with their little girl. Still, the children grew and so did Jenny; much larger than with either of their two elder children, in fact. She was almost six months pregnant when she went to the doctor for a checkup and asked him about it.

"John, you'll never guess what the doctor said!"

In her excitement, it didn't strike Jenny as odd that her husband was home in the middle of the day, especially so near to Christmas when he worked extra hours to make it a happy one for the children. She also forgot that he had said that Master Christopher wanted to talk to him about something, and that it had sounded serious. Instead, she took his hands and pulled him to the couch; he might need to sit for this.

"Oh John just guess! Oh nevermind I'll just tell you." Jenny hardly left breath for herself between words, never mind John. "I talked to the doctor about, well...about this," she motioned to her unusually large belly, "and he took that listening thingy to my belly. John, he heard two heartbeats!" Jenny grinned and bounced a little in excitement. "We're having twins! Isn't that wonderful?" She looked expectantly at her husband, waiting for him to share in her excitement and joy.
 
"John, you'll never guess what the doctor said!"

John started as Jenny burst the door open. Usually, he wouldn't have been home at this time of the day. It was starting to get into winter, and the apothecary always did a booming business in remedies for fevers and colds and coughs. But Jenny had been going to the doctor today, about the new baby, and he'd wanted to be home to hear about it. And besides, it was less awkward. Master Christopher had been growing increasingly distant recently, to the point that it was easier to man the store or compound the medicines by himself. That distance worried him, a little, but so far he'd been able to convince himself that it was as much his nervousness about Anne as anything else.

"What?" he asked, rising. "What is it?"

She grabbed his hands and pulled him back to the couch. "Oh John just guess!"

"You're..."

"Oh nevermind I'll just tell you."

"Well, I'm all..."

"I talked to the doctor about, well...about this," she motioned to her unusually large belly, "and he took that listening thingy to my belly. John, he heard two heartbeats!"

"...two?" Wait... did that mean...?

Jenny grinned and bounced a little in excitement. "We're having twins! Isn't that wonderful?"

"Twins?" He sounded stunned. "Twins...? You mean..." He felt foolish, even as he asked it. "Two?" His eyes went wide and then he whooped with joy, leaping to his feet in sheer exhilaration. "Two! We're having two babies!" He started towards the door, then whirled and looked around wildly. "Where's my coat? We have to tell mom and dad. No, wait..." He threw himself back on the couch, next to Jenny. "You're carrying twins - I can't expect you to walk to the Anchor. I'll run over and invite them for dinner. And we'll have to get both cribs out, and oh my god we will never have enough diapers, and..."

He took a deep breath, then kissed Jenny thoroughly to shut himself up. Finally coming up for air, he leaned his forehead against hers and smiled. "Twins," he grinned. "Twins."
 
Jenny grinned wildly and nodded as John confirmed that she was, indeed, carrying twins. She started a little as he whooped with joy and leaped to his feet. He started to the door then whirled around again to look for his coat, then again as he changed his mind and flopped onto the couch next to her. She laughed as he started making plans to prepare. Peter's wife, Laura, was a little farther along with their first than Jenny; she was sure between the two of them they could make enough diapers. Then suddenly John was kissing her thoroughly as though in an effort to stop his own lips. It worked. She leaned her forehead against his and grinned back.

"Twins," she confirmed, as though that was all either of them could say.

That evening they had Mary and Michael over for dinner and broke the happy news. They explained to Jack that instead of having one new baby brother or sister, he would get two. It was a night of merriment and joy at the Nest, in which Jack was even allowed to stay up a little late and have a little extra dessert. It was now three days before Christmas when John walked into the apothecary the next morning to a solemn-looking Master Christopher.

"'Lo John," he greeted his employee somewhat gruffly. "Jenny's doctor appointment go alright? Everything okay with her and the baby?" He didn't mean John's eye as he prepared to open for the morning.
 
John was still feeling euphoric the next morning, practically skipping to work and wishing everyone he passed a "Merry Christmas". Everything was wonderful. Well, except for Anne. But, today, he was on top of the world. Today, he could believe that everything would work out for the best, even his stricken little girl.

The door of the apothecary jangled open. He stomped snow from his boots, then brushed it from his coat and hat before hanging it on the hook. "Good morning, Master Christopher," he called. "And Merry Christmas!"

"'Lo John," came the gruff reply. "Jenny's doctor appointment go alright? Everything okay with her and the baby?"

John, undeterred by Master Christopher's sour mood, held his face serious. "Baby?" he asked, casually, before his grin spread across his face. "Babies! Jenny's carrying twins! Jack and Anne are so excited, they're already pestering her to know when they can play with the new babies, and Michael and Mary..."

He laughed, unable to contain his joy, then forced himself to relax. Master Christopher was in a foul mood, after all. No reason to irritate the poor man. "So, anyway, the Providence and the Royal Charlotte are due into port any day now. Unless you wanted me to manage the store itself, I thought I'd get back to compounding the standing order for two 771 ton ships."
 
Oh dear God. Now he felt even worse. "Congratulations, John, that's terrific news."

John seemed to sober a little as he recognized his employer's foul mood. "So, anyway, the Providence and the Royal Charlotte are due into port any day now. Unless you wanted me to manage the store itself, I thought I'd get back to compounding the standing order for two 771 ton ships."

Master Christopher sighed heavily. "No John, that uh...that won't be necessary." If he didn't do it now, he wouldn't be able to find a good time to do it. He rubbed his face and turned to look at John, young and in love and full of joy and Christmas cheer. His heart sank. "Look John, I don't know any other way to say it. It's...it's getting too risky these days, associating with Catholics. Employing them. You know how the people feel about your type, and it's losing us business. I'm sorry, John, but I have to let you go; I can't afford to keep you, not with your turnin' from the true faith." Master Christopher looked properly somber. "Go home to yer family, John. And uh...Merry Christmas."

He turned quickly from John, unable to watch the look on his face. Unable to see how stricken he was, losing his job three days before Christmas, with a sick toddler and two babies on the way. His conscience weighed heavily on him, but it was what was right; right by his business, by the king and the church, and right by God.
 
Master Christopher sighed heavily. "No John, that uh...that won't be necessary."

"Hmmm?" John looked confused. "But.. we still need to finish that consignment."

He rubbed his face and turned to look at John. "Look John, I don't know any other way to say it."

Something about the man's tone of voice made John flinch. Dread washed over him. "Say.. what?"

"It's...it's getting too risky these days, associating with Catholics. Employing them. You know how the people feel about your type, and it's losing us business. I'm sorry, John, but I have to let you go."

"Let... me... go?" He couldn't believe his ears. Surely he'd misheard? The way his heart was suddenly pounding, he certainly could have misheard. "But... I'm..."

"I can't afford to keep you, not with your turnin' from the true faith." Master Christopher looked properly somber. "Go home to yer family, John. And uh...Merry Christmas."

Jack stared, unable to believe what he'd just heard. "Merry..? Christmas?" he spat, bitterly. "Merry Christmas? Three days before that sacred day, you turn me out and you have the gall...?"

His fists clenched, and for a moment everything in his vision was red. Then he forced himself to relax. "Then I'll be taking my final pay, Master Christopher. For the last two weeks, less yesterday. You know. When I was finding out my wife is pregnant with twins?"

To his satisfaction, Christopher flinched. But he still opened a drawer, and counted out John's pay. John made a show of counting it as well. Twice. "It’s the honest ones you want to watch out for," he muttered, bitterly, "because you can never predict when they’re going to do something incredibly… stupid." But it was all there.

Wordlessly he pulled on his coat, staring Christopher in the eyes the whole time. "Remember that I was losing you business as you compound the medicines for the Providence and the Royal Charlotte," he snapped. "And when your contract for poppies comes up for renewal, remember that you can't afford to keep me."

He jammed his hat on his head, then jerked the door open. "And Merry Christmas, Christopher - an' that's all I'll name ye, as you're clearly no master of mine." A pause, and a final meeting of Christopher's pale eyes with his own dark ones. "May the good Lord give you all you deserve, for this fine remembrance of his birth."

The door slammed shut.



John wandered aimlessly through the chill December streets of Dover. He knew he should go home, but... how could he face Jenny? How could he tell her that the man he'd looked at as a father had... had... "I'll not cry," he growled, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'll not give the whoremonger the satisfaction."



There, up ahead, was the Black Anchor. Unsure of what else to do, he pushed open the door and found his way to the bar. Michael stared at him curiously. "Morning, son," he said. "Awful early for you to be here."

"I... I just... I don't know where else to go, not right this minute." He slumped forward, head between his hands. "Christopher... let me go. For... being Catholic." He closed his eyes, fighting back his terror. "I don't... know... what to... to do..." he whispered, voice tight in his throat.
 
Michael blinked once. Twice. Had he just heard his son-in-law correctly? "He put the boots to ya for being Catholic?" he repeated, squinting as though trying to see a way that made sense. "After all these years of loyal service, and three days before Christmas with a sick little girl....An' ya told him Jenny's havin' twins, right?"

Michael listened to John as he poured out his woes. He gave his son a watered-down beer, the sort usually reserved for children, to give him something to wet his mouth but not put him anywhere close to inebriation this early in the day. He looked on John with sympathy and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. The stupid boy who had snuck his daughter out of the house had grown into a fine young man, and he wouldn't see his family suffer.

"Listen, lad," he said after a few moment's thinking. "T'day's Jenny's last day. She usually insists on workin' farther in but well, with twins an' all she's gotta stay off her feet. I won't let 'er do nothin' more. You can take her place while she's out, at least until you get something else figured out." Michael studied John's reaction. "If she wants to come back, mind, the job's hers to begin with and I can't afford to keep the both of ya. But it'd give you at least six months to figure sommat out, if you want it." He glanced at the clock. "Speakin' o' Jenny, she should be here any minute."

As though on cue, the bells on the door jingled merrily as Jenny walked in. She kicked the snow off her boots and shook it off her coat before stepping in properly, cheeks and nose rosy from the joy and the cold. She greeted the few early customers that were usually there in the morning, wishing them a Merry Christmas as she waddled between the tables and chairs. Her cheerful smile fell only slightly as she saw her husband sitting at the bar.

"John...what are you doing here?" she asked, bewildered. "Oughtn't you be at work? Or has Master Christopher given you the day off?"
 
John sipped the small beer, listening to Michael's incredulous reaction. "Yes, he knows. Told him myself, thinking he'd want to hear the good news. Claims I'm costing him business. Says he can't afford to keep me on." Another swallow, and John was grateful for the warmth of the mild alcohol. "Had the gall to wish me a Merry Christmas, after all that."

He really hadn't had any reasons for heading for the Black Anchor.he hadn't been planning at all. So, when Michael offered him Jenny's job - temporarily - it caught him more off guard than perhaps it should have. But he rapidly nodded agreement. "I... well, I don't know the first thing about serving, but... I'll take it." Smiling a little smile - his first in what seemed like days, he accepted the terms. "Of course it's temporary," he said. "I'll have something figured out well before then."

Then Jenny entered, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked and more beautiful now than the first day he'd met her. Her expression turned worried as she saw John, who moved to meet her half way. "No, he didn't give me the day off." Jack said, catching her hands and sitting them both down."

"He's decided I'm... hurting his business. On account of having become Catholic." A deep bresth "He... fired me."
 
Jenny's expression darkened immediately. It was the same dark, intense look Michael got whenever he had needed to give John a stern talking-to about intentions with his daughter or, more recently, whenever he had to throw someone out for causing a ruckus. Now it furrowed Jenny's brow and turned her lips into a frown.

"Fired you for being Catholic?" she asked, hardly daring to believe it. When John confirmed she shook her head. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! We're Christian, he's Christian...why, he's been like a father to you! And now Jacob's gone off to Manchester who's to take over the shop for him?" Jenny shook her head again before heaving herself to her feet. As she started back toward the door Michael made to move out from behind the bar.

"Jennifer..." he said in a warning tone.

"Don't 'Jennifer' me, Da!" Jenny retorted angrily, grabbing her coat and scarf. "He's already fired John for the most ridiculous reasons, hasn't he? Christopher Haliwell's gonna get a piece of my mind!"

"Jennifer Agnes--!" But Michael didn't have time to get out a surname. The door slammed shut, causing a raucous jingling.

Jenny stormed through the snow. If her husband came after her, she paid him no mind and continued her angry stomping. The door of the apothecary opened with a jingle and shut as Jenny stormed up the main aisle to the counter. Whether it was the hormones or the Irish temper driving her didn't matter anymore; a sharp slap! broke the relative silence of the room as her hand connected with Christopher's cheek.

"For shame, Christopher," Jenny hissed through her teeth, quite pink in the face as she glared down her husband's former employer. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the counter. "He was a boon to you. He saw you as a father...so did I. You were our family! Fine Christian thing to do, three days before Christmas. You know our family, our situation." She released the counter as she leaned back on her heels. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Christopher Haliwell. I'm certain the Lord is."

Jenny spun on her heel as well as a heavily pregnant woman could before storming back down the aisle. As she passed, she tipped jars and bottles with her finger, causing some to spill their contents and others to smash on the floor, glass crunching under foot as she walked over the pieces. If Christopher decided to press charges, who wouldn't believe that a belly as big as this had a hard time fitting in such narrow aisles?
 
John had expected Jenny to be... upset. Angry, even. But, this is not what he'd anticipated. "Don't 'Jennifer' me, Da!" Jenny retorted angrily, grabbing her coat and scarf. "He's already fired John for the most ridiculous reasons, hasn't he? Christopher Haliwell's gonna get a piece of my mind!"

"Jennifer Agnes--!" But Michael didn't have time to get out a surname. The door slammed shut, causing a raucous jingling.

John lept to his feet, grabbing his coat. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll keep an eye on her." He was still shrugging on his coat as he chased her out into the cold morning, and scurried to catch up with her. For six months pregnant, she was maintaining a good pace. "Jenny?" he called, doing up the last of his buttons. "Jenny, love. Talk to me. What are you planning on doing?"

She was seething, it seemed. She offered no explanation, didn't even acknowledge the question. Just stormed through the town like a pregnant Irish juggernaut, not breaking stride as she threw open the door to the apothecary. John hesitated, then followed her in, opening the door in just enough time to see Jenny slap Christopher right across the face. Halliwell staggered as the loud crack of the blow filled the room, and he stared wild-eyed at the child-bearing berserker in front of him.

John folded his arms and leaned against the wall, curious. Jenny lit into his former employer - former friend and father-figure - unloading vitriol and bile in as polished a manner as he'd ever seen. Really, he felt he should be taking notes. Then, when she spun and stormed back out, he winced as she managed to tip shelves filled with remedies and and herbs and roots. The dissonant sound of shattering glass and ceramic, even though he no longer worked there, was horrendous.

Clearly, based on his expression, Christopher felt the same.

Jenny slammed through the door, and John turned to leave. Christopher glared at him. "And who's going to pay for all this damage?" he asked, tersely.

John paused, looking back. "Well," he smiled thinly, "I warned you more than once that these aisles were too narrow. Really, it's a wonder it hasn't happened before."

Not bothering to listen to anything else the man might say, John followed Jenny back out into the snow. He lengthened his stride, pulling even with his wife, and took her hand.
 
Jenny stormed back through the snow, mood ruined though she felt somewhat better for having given Christopher what-for. As her anger slowly faded she began to feel a little bad and worry about the damage she had caused. But her heart hardened against the apothecary when she reminded herself what he had done. He knew that Anne was sick and they needed all the income they could get, and even if John hadn't told him they were having twins a new baby was always expensive; and he turned John out two days before Christmas Eve like he'd never done anything in the world for him.

John caught up to her and took her hand, holding it as she trudged back through the snow. She stepped more carefully this time, looking for snow that had been packed hard and frozen over into ice. She took a few deep breaths as they neared the tavern and tried to even out her expression.

"John, if you expect me to go back and apologize you're gonna be sorely disappointed," Jenny warned her husband quietly. "What that man did is unforgivable, though I'm sure eventually I'll start tryin'. It was cruel, what he did. It wasn't right. I mean, even if it was right for him to fire you, he coulda at least waited until the New Year, or until the babies come." She sighed wearily as she opened the door to the Black Anchor, kicking the snow off of her boots before stepping inside.

"Haliwell still alive?" Michael looked over at his daughter and her husband, trying to gauge the severity of what had happened.

"Aye Da," Jenny confirmed, rolling her eyes. "His overhead'll be up for a while yet, though."

"Jennifer!"

"It's not like I can help how big the babies are, gettin' in and out of those narrow aisles!" A hint of a smile played at Jenny's lips, but it would be a little bit before a full smile could show itself. She was beginning to wonder what exactly they were going to do for money.
 
John gently tugged at Jenny's hand as she reached for the door to the tavern. "No, Jenny," he said, pulling her as close as their coats and her belly would allow. "I'm not asking you to go back and apologize. Mostly I followed you because, well, I afraid you might do him an injury."

He held his face neutral for a moment, then cracked a grin. "And I've no desire to have to bail my pregnant wife out, three days before Christmas." A pause. "Although, it would be a tale to tell the twins..." Grinning, he gave her a quick kiss. "Now, let's get in out of the cold."

Jenny sighed as she kicked the snow from her boots, and John helped her with her coat before taking off his own. "Haliwell still alive?" Michael looked over at his daughter and her husband, trying to gauge the severity of what had happened.

"Aye Da," Jenny confirmed, rolling her eyes. "His overhead'll be up for a while yet, though."

"Jennifer!"

"It was," John said, "an act of God. I assure you of that, father."

"It's not like I can help how big the babies are, gettin' in and out of those narrow aisles!" A hint of a smile played at Jenny's lips.

"An act of God?" Michael answered, skeptically.

"Children are gifts of God," John answered, seriously. "And, when I worked there, I told him and told him that he'd made those shelves too narrow. But, well, he never once paid me any heed on that..."

Michael folded his arms, staring levelly at his daughter and son-in-law. "So, you vandalized his store."

John drew himself upright, raising a finger. "No. No, we did not. But, I assure you, I'll have a stern word with the twins once they are born."

"John..." Michael said, slowly.

"Can't have them getting rowdy, and breaking things. Isn't right. Isn't right at all." Grinning, he threw himself onto a barstool. "Now, why don't you tell me about serving. Most of my experience has been coming here to drink beer as a cover for ogling the serving maid without my wife catching me at it." A pause. "Can't let that happen, after all."

Michael hit him in the back of the head with a towel.
 
Jenny finally smiled as John promised to scold the twins once they were born. She covered her giggle with her hand as Michael looked ready to scold them both, then snapped him in the head with a towel once John confessed his excuse to come here was to ogle the serving maid. Jenny cuffed him upside the head as well before shoving him playfully off of his stool.

"Well get off yer rear and I'll show you," she offered, grabbing two aprons from behind the bar and tossing one to him.

The day was spent with Jenny teaching John the ropes, things she'd learned when she'd started helping out at thirteen. The morning was good training and practice for John, and thankfully it was the middle of the week so the evening crowd wasn't too bad. By the end of the evening, however, Jenny was dead on her swollen feet and flushed from the exertion of carrying the weight of herself plus two more tiny humans.

"Well, maybe it was a blessing in disguise," Jenny puffed, lowering herself carefully into a chair once the last drunk had been chased out. "Not sure I coulda done this much longer."

"I wouldn't have let you anyway," Michael said gruffly, drying out a mug.

"I coulda tried!" She poked out her tongue at him before heaving herself back to her feet and grabbing a broom.
 
"Now, why don't you tell me about serving. Most of my experience has been coming here to drink beer as a cover for ogling the serving maid without my wife catching me at it." A pause. "Can't let that happen, after all."

Michael hit him in the back of the head with a towel. John rubbed the back of his head, where the tail of the towel had stung. "I... don't think I deserved that."

Jenny cuffed him upside the head as well, then pushed him off his stool. He sprawled dramatically on the floor, staring up at his wife. "That?" he said, finger raised. "I probably deserved that."

Serving was... interesting. Not exactly what he'd call fun, although he proved a natural at the 'witty banter with the patrons' part of the job, but certainly eventful. At one point, after a table of sailors had bitched that they'd wanted the "cute lass" to serve them, he'd even started mincing around and speaking in a falsetto every time he'd approached the table. by the end of the evening, they were laughing so hard they could barely walk. Or was that the rum? It might have been the rum.

"Well, maybe it was a blessing in disguise," Jenny puffed, lowering herself carefully into a chair once the last drunk had been chased out. "Not sure I coulda done this much longer."

"I'm not sure how you did it as long as you have," John muttered. His old job had involved a lot more sitting, and while he was in good shape his feet still felt like he'd been walking on razors all day.

"I wouldn't have let you anyway," Michael said gruffly, drying out a mug.

"I coulda tried!" She poked out her tongue at him before heaving herself back to her feet and grabbing a broom.

"Dad," John asked, pushing himself back to his feet and grabbing a towel, "has forbidding her to do something ever worked?"

"No," Michael answered flatly, giving John a meaningful glare. "But there's a first time for everything..."



Time passed. It has a way of doing that. Christmas to New Year's Day to Candlemas, and on to Ash Wednesday. Money was tight for the small family, but they'd known it would be. John supplemented when he could with odd jobs and compounding small medicines and remedies, and even a little gambling. He'd found a talent for it, if not a taste, and the pocket money of more than one group of sailors on shore leave became money for clothes and shoes and bread.

The twins were born a week before Easter, with great fuss and excitement, and proud (and exhausted) parents and grandparents beamed and cuddled and showed them to their excited older brother and sister. They were baptized on Easter morning, and Father Shovel used the baptism to talk about the miracle of the empty tomb and of the redemption of the Lamb.

Two days later, John sat at a table in the Black Anchor. Michael joined him, sitting across and contemplating his son in law. "Thinking, son?"

"Yes," John answered, absently. Then he sighed. "Jenny's nearly ready to get back to work. Physically, at least." He glanced up and smiled quickly. "You know how it is, right? She'd rather stay home and take care of the kids."

His smile died at the words, and Michael nodded his understanding. "Have you figured out what you're going to do?"

"I've... no." He sighed again. "There's mining. I can swing a pickaxe. Or... risk a loan, try to open an apothecary. In London, maybe."

"Could you get a loan?"

John laughed without humor. "No. But... there's mining, like I said. I could raise a stake there. Or, enlist. They're needing troops, in the colonies." A grimace. "Hell, I could maybe enlist as a surgeon."
 
"You could," Michael agreed. It had bothered him at first that his son-in-law was more educated than he'd ever been, but time had healed that particular wound to his pride. In fact, he was proud of his daughter for marrying someone with intellect and substance. "Jenny wouldn't take too fondly to either of those, I can tell you that now. Mines are dangerous and as a soldier you'd be away from her and the kids."

The door opened then closed again. A man with a very large hat and a weathered face came in, boots heavy on the wooden treads. He sat at a small table by the window, the same table John had sat at when he'd first come in seven years ago. He caught Michael's eye and lifted a finger for service.

"Wanna get that?" Michael suggested, nodding toward the new customer. "We can talk about it more in a bit."

When John came over to the table the stranger ordered rum and shepherd's pie. After staring at him for a moment, long and hard, he shifted in his chair. "I'm looking for someone, maybe you can help me," he suggested quietly. "I'm told his name is John. John Sparrow."
 
"You could," Michael agreed. "Jenny wouldn't take too fondly to either of those, I can tell you that now. Mines are dangerous and as a soldier you'd be away from her and the kids."

"I know," John grimaced. "I know. And, I wouldn't particularly want to be away from her and the kids. It's just... I have to do something. Much as I wish it were otherwise, they can't survive on Jenny's earnings from here - no offense - and my good intentions. A father takes care of his family."

The door opened then closed again. A man with a very large hat and a weathered face came in, boots heavy on the wooden treads. He sat at a small table by the window, the same table John had sat at when he'd first come in seven years ago. He caught Michael's eye and lifted a finger for service.

"Wanna get that?" Michael suggested, nodding toward the new customer. "We can talk about it more in a bit."

"Yeah," John answered, staring at the stranger. There was something... familiar, about the man. Like he'd met him, or met someone who looked kind of like him. "Yeah... I'll take care of it." He rose, still studying the stranger's face while trying not to be obtrusive about it. "So," he said, "welcome to the Black Anchor. What can I get you? Special's shepherd's pie, and I can personally guarantee it is the finest you'll find in England."

The stranger stared back at him, with the same half-curious half-recognizing expression on his face. "Rum," he answered. "Rum, and you say you guarantee the pie? Then I'll have it, 'cause I'm willing to take confidence like that at face value."

"Right. I'll get your order in right away." John turned to leave.

"I'm looking for someone, maybe you can help me."

John paused and turned. "Maybe I can," he allowed, guardedly. "Who are you looking for?"

"I'm told his name is John. John Sparrow."

Somehow, for some reason, John wasn't too terribly surprised. "I... might know him. Why are you looking for him?"
 
"Need to talk to him," the sailor said gruffly. "My business is my own, but it's important business all the same. You know him." It wasn't a question. "Think I've already found him."

The stranger looked John up and down, dark eyes unfathomable. Moving his leg under the table he pushed the chair out with his foot. He gestured to the chair before folding his arms across his chest.

"Sit down, John," he instructed not harshly, though authoritatively. "We've got some talking to do. My name is Edward Teague...and I believe I'm your father."
 
"Need to talk to him," the sailor said gruffly. "My business is my own, but it's important business all the same. You know him."

"Yeah, I know him," John answered, folding his arms. "Why are you..."

"Think I've already found him."

The stranger looked John up and down, dark eyes unfathomable. Moving his leg under the table he pushed the chair out with his foot. He gestured to the chair before folding his arms across his chest.

John didn't move, dark eyes meeting dark eyes. "Maybe you have. So if you have - and I'm not saying you have, I'm just speculating right now - what do you want to talk to him for? Me for? On account of you thinking I'm him."

"Sit down, John," he instructed not harshly, though authoritatively. "We've got some talking to do. My name is Edward Teague...and I believe I'm your father."

"I think, Edward Teague," John answered without moving to sit, "that John Sparrow doesn't have a father. I think, Edward Teague, that John Sparrow just had a mother, and that she was left to raise a bastard as best she could, and than John Sparrow's been an orphan for the best part of fourteen years."
 
Captain Teague frowned, the creases in his face giving him a bloodhound sort of look. "Anne's dead?" His eyes were sad as the words fell from his lips. "But I just...John, I'm so sorry son. I didn't even know you existed." He turned his head and coughed into a kerchief. It was a loud, hacking cough full of phlegm. When he was done he tucked away the kerchief and looked back to John. "There was a letter...she wrote it to tell me she was with child, but it never got to me. Only way I found it is one of my men found it in a chest."

"John?" Jenny had woven between the tables to find her husband. She had a baby in each arm and Jack pushed his little sister around in her makeshift cart. It was temporary, until she was a bit older and more coordinated and could use crutches. The Sparrows didn't want their daughter dependent on anyone when she didn't have to be. "Brigid and Lucy are getting cranky and Jack and Anne want you home for supper tonight. I know you've been working long hours, but Da says it's alright if you go early tonight." There was a hopeful look in her eyes as she waited for an answer from John. She glanced at Captain Teague briefly, but was focused on trying to get her husband home for dinner.

"Is this your family, John?" Edward Teague looked over the pretty lass, the newborn babies and the older children. He looked over the crippled girl before meeting Jenny's eyes. "Did...did you say yer lassy's name is Anne?"

"I did..." Jenny shifted nervously, growing cautious.

Teague smiled warmly before looking at the seven-year-old lad. "And your name's Jack, is it? Name for your father no doubt?" Jenny shifted herself to place her two elder children slightly behind her, protectively, as Teague looked back up at her. Jack had no problem with this, feeling shy around such a crinkled and funny-smelling old stranger. "What's his middle name?"

"Michael, for my father," Jenny answered, voice slightly venomous but unwilling to say anything yet. After all, John hadn't given him the bum rush yet. "My father who owns this tavern, by the way. What business is it of yours the names of my children?" She looked to her husband, confused and a little bit scared. "John, are you coming home with us?"
 
Captain Teague frowned, the creases in his face giving him a bloodhound sort of look. "Anne's dead?"

John's face didn't waver. "Fourteen. Years. Ago. And, after all that time, you'll understand if I seem skeptical about any grief you claim."

"But I just...John, I'm so sorry son. I didn't even know you existed." He turned his head and coughed into a kerchief. It was a loud, hacking cough full of phlegm. When he was done he tucked away the kerchief and looked back to John. "There was a letter...she wrote it to tell me she was with child, but it never got to me. Only way I found it is one of my men found it in a chest."

"And, in twenty-five years," John snapped, abandoning any pretense that he wasn't who they both knew he was, "you never once thought to visit her? To come find her?" He slapped his hand on the table like a gunshot, looming above the man who was his father. "She sold herself, trying to keep body and soul together, and it's only when one of your men found a letter that you even thought of her?" His voice was ice. "She told me stories, about my father. Told me about the dashing pirate captain, who'd swept her off her feet and who'd come back for us. Every day, she looked to the harbor."

He paused, glaring at his father.

"Every. Day. For thirteen years."

"John?" Jenny had woven between the tables to find her husband. She had a baby in each arm and Jack pushed his little sister around in her makeshift cart. "Brigid and Lucy are getting cranky and Jack and Anne want you home for supper tonight. I know you've been working long hours, but Da says it's alright if you go early tonight."

Drawing a deep breath, he forced a smile to his lips and turned to Jenny. Before he could speak, Teague jumped in. "Is this your family, John?"

"Yes," John answered, not turning back.

Edward Teague looked over the crippled girl before meeting Jenny's eyes. "Did...did you say yer lassy's name is Anne?"

"I did..." Jenny shifted nervously, growing cautious.

John moved, standing protectively between his family and this stranger that was his father. Teague smiled warmly before looking at the seven-year-old lad. "And your name's Jack, is it? Name for your father no doubt?" Jenny shifted herself to place her two elder children slightly behind her, protectively, as Teague looked back up at her. "What's his middle name?"

"Michael, for my father," Jenny answered, voice slightly venomous but unwilling to say anything yet. After all, John hadn't given him the bum rush yet. "My father who owns this tavern, by the way. What business is it of yours the names of my children?" She looked to her husband, confused and a little bit scared. "John, are you coming home with us?"[/i]

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I am. I've no reason to stay, once I serve Mr. Teague his order."

"No real business... ma'am?" Teague smiled. "Except that they're my grandchildren..."

John spun back. "You've no right to say that!" he exploded, pointing an accusing finger. "No right at all!"

"...and it's my hope that I can be a better grandfather to them, then ever I was a father to my son."

"Then pack back up," John gritted out, "and leave us alone."

Teague smiled back, but something both sad and dangerous flickered in his dark eyes. "Now, John... is that any way to speak to your father?"

"Yes."

"Particularly when I've sailed all the way from Madagascar to offer you a partnership, and riches?"
 
"No real business...ma'am?" Teague smiled. "Except that they're my grandchildren..."

Jenny's mouth fell slightly open. Before she could say anything John had spun around, insisting he had no right to say that. But this stranger hoped to be a grandfather to them, better than he ever was a father to John. Her husband was having none of it; he wanted Teague to go away and leave them alone. Jenny knew about John's father, of course. Well as much as he knew, anyway, and his very strong feelings about his father's life choices. But there was honesty in his eyes and something told Jenny to give him a chance.

"Erm...Jack, why don't you take Anne and go help Granddad, hm?" Jenny put a hand on Jack's back to give him a gentle push towards the bar where Michael still stood, watching the going's on with the stranger intently and ready to step in if need be. It was then that Teague offered John a partnership and riches. A partnership as a pirate she frowned upon, but the riches...it could be enough to buy Anne anything to make her better.

"Things I've seen, the places I'm heading to next, they could help your little Annie there John," Teague continued, nodding his head over to the children making their way to the bar. "Things you wouldn't believe the sight of."

"John, can I talk to you?" Jenny situated the twins so she could tug gently on her husband's arm, making it clear that he had no choice. Once she had pulled him into a corner she looked seriously up at her husband. "At least give him a chance, John. Hear me out," she added quickly, knowing John would protest. "I know how you feel about him and I understand it, I do. He wasn't there for you, but he's here now and he wants to be here for the children. He's family, John. Besides, wouldn't be very Christian of us to turn him out without giving him a chance, would it? He's made mistakes in his life, obviously, and it's those sorts of people who need forgiveness most. Just...invite him for dinner just for tonight, yeah? Let him tell you more about these things that can help Anne if nothing else, then if you still don't want him in our lives we can give him the heave-ho in the morning. Deal?" Her eyes pleaded with her husband, truly believing in the power of forgiveness and intensely curious about these miracles that could help her little girl.
 
"Things I've seen, the places I'm heading to next, they could help your little Annie there John," Teague continued, nodding his head over to the children making their way to the bar. "Things you wouldn't believe the sight of."

"There's only one thing here I can't believe the sight of..." Jack started, then hesitated as Jenny tugged at his arm.

"John, can I talk to you?"

Nodding, refusing to look at Teague and his amused little smile, John followed Jenny over to a corner of the tavern. Teague's words burnt in his brain as he did - riches. The thought of riches was tempting, naturally enough. Riches would buy Anne the help she needed, give Jenny and the children the life he wanted for them. But this Edward Teague... how could he be trusted? To just turn up, after ignoring his family for nearly thirty years, because he wanted help? That wasn't the act of a father. It was the act of a mercenary.

His mood must have been stamped on his face, because Jenny gave him a serious look. "At least give him a chance, John. Hear me out," she added quickly, knowing John would protest. "I know how you feel about him and I understand it, I do. He wasn't there for you, but he's here now and he wants to be here for the children."

"Until he leaves again," John snapped, voice harsher than he intended.

:He's family, John."

"Doesn't mean we can trust him." He glanced back at Teague. "Hell, Jenny... Christopher was more of a father and a grandfather. At least he had the decency to abandon us to my face."

"Besides, wouldn't be very Christian of us to turn him out without giving him a chance, would it?"

He had no answer for that.

"He's made mistakes in his life, obviously, and it's those sorts of people who need forgiveness most. Just...invite him for dinner just for tonight, yeah? Let him tell you more about these things that can help Anne if nothing else, then if you still don't want him in our lives we can give him the heave-ho in the morning. Deal?"

He looked at her, the conflict in his heart writ large in his expression. Finally, shoulders slumping, he relented. "All right. Deal. One night, though." Turning, he stalked back across the tavern to Teague's table.

"Well, lad? Got yer orders now, have ye?" Teague laughed. "An' don't be glarin' like that, lad. I know how it is, between men and women. We're only in charge, so long as they let us be."

John ached to put his fist into that smug face. "You can come to dinner," he said through gritted teeth. "And you can tell me about this offer. But if I think for one minute you're playing the fool with me, I'll throw you out."

"Well and nobly spoken," Teague grinned. "You're a credit to your old dad."

John glared at him. "Then it's sorry I am that I said it."
 
"Mr. Teague--"

"Ed, please." Teague smiled at Jenny and it was surprising his face didn't make a cracking sound for as weather-worn as it was.

"Mr. Teague," Jenny began again, pursing her lips, "do keep in mind that you're only even invited out of a sense of Christian duty and on my good will alone. You'll lose that if you continue to taunt my husband so."

Teague touched his fingers to his forehead in a salute to Jenny, but as soon as her back was turned and she'd gone to retrieve the older children he laughed his wheezing laugh. "Firecracker that one, Johnny," he laughed, nudging John a little. "Redheads always are you know."

"Daddy want up!" Anne held up her arms, opening and closing her hands in her pleas to be lifted onto John's shoulders.

"No I wanted to ride Dad's shoulders!" Jack argued, stamping his foot and glaring at his sister. "It's my turn anyway."

"You can hold his hand, how 'bout that?" Jenny suggested, hitching up both babies who were beginning to get fussy. She wanted to be safely home by the time one of them started crying; once one started the other started and they just fed off of each other in an endless loop of crankiness until they exhausted themselves.

"But Mama--"

"Jack!" She looked sternly down at him, a warning tone in her voice. The boy pouted and looked down.

"It's only coz she's a cripple," he mumbled, kicking at an invisible speck of dust.

"Johnathan Michael!" Jenny had been adamant in raising her son not to use that word, especially not in spite.

"Well she is!" Jack glared vindictively up at Anne, resting high on their father's shoulders.

"That's it. You can walk by yourself then," Jenny decided, leading the way out of the tavern while waving goodbye to Michael. "I don't know what's gotten into you today Jack, but this sort of behavior isn't acceptable."
 
"Come here, Jack." Edward Teague's voice wasn't raised, but it cut through the commotion. "I've something I want to ask ye." Jack hesitated. Then, a sullen expression on his face, he slouched over to stand in front of the man. Teague peered at him, curious and thoughtful. "That's a hateful word you used, boy. Calling your sister a cripple."

Jack jammed his hands in his pockets, and refused to answer.

"Let me show you something," Teague continued, drawing a knife. Jack backed away, eyes wide, and John started forward. Then, swiftly, Teague drove the blade into his own calf. There was a hollow thunk of a sound, and the blade stopped cold. Laughing at their expressions, he put the knife away and rolled up his leg. From just below his knee, down into his shoe, his leg was made of wood.

Teague rolled his pants leg down and rose, looking Jack in the eyes the whole time. "Your sister can't walk, boy," he said, rising. "She's only a cripple, if ye tells her she is."

Jack looked away.

"Now, boy, I'm not yer father. And we've yet to decide if I'll be yer grandfather. But I'd say ye owe yer sister an apology, fer tryin' to make a cripple outta her." Then, gripping a blackthorn cane, he followed Jenny out the door.

Jack peered up at his father. "Is he...?"

"He's right," John answered. "Whatever else he is, he's right. And if I ever hear you call your sister a cripple again, I'll tan your hide so you won't be able to sit for a week."

Jack's face screwed up. "But she always gets to..."

Kneeling down, using one hand to steady Anne on his shoulders, John pulled his son into an embrace. "I know, son. It's not been easy on any of us. But your mother and I don't love you any less, just because we have to do more for Anne."

The boy wiped his nose on his sleeve, then looked up at his sister. "I'm sorry, Anne."

Anne just giggled. "It's okay!" Then she grabbed John by the ears, tugging. "Giddeup! Giddeup, daddy!"

Taking his son's hand, and making clicking noises with his mouth, John headed out the door.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom