The Old Pirate

Ok, what follows is the beginning of the story I'm working on. I'm still not sure how to get where I want to go with it, but here's the start. Of course names and details are subject to change but here you go. Oh yea, and there's a word in red (said) that I really want to change but I'm at a loss of what to change it to, so if you have any ideas please share. I'm always looking for feedback so if you've got anything, let me know!

He sat at the table with tears streaming down his face. The gold gleamed in the sunlight; the jewels reflected the light in a multitude of colors. In one hand he held a bottle of rum and in the other he held the picture of her. He didn’t know whether to consider her an angel or a demon. She had walked into his life and left as if nothing had ever occurred. He had never been the same after they had met all those years ago. He thought back to that fateful day.

It was a beautiful bright Monday morning. The day was young and so was he. He walked down the lane toward the city with a slight bounce in his step. His pace was quick and he fast approached the city. He typically dreaded going to the city, but for some reason today he was looking forward to it.

As the dirt turned to cobblestones he took stock of his surroundings. He was amazed at the growth of the city in just the last few months. His pace slowed considerably as he looked at all of the new buildings. He wondered to himself how people could stand to be so close to each other.

Suddenly he saw her, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Her long auburn hair cascaded down her back. He must meet this buxom beauty; he determined that he must find someone who could introduce him. His feet couldn’t move but his eyes followed her as she continued down the street. He watched as she walked into the tavern. What was she doing walking into a tavern; that was no place for a lady to be.

A few moments later he walked into the tavern and quickly scanned the room. There she was in the far corner, talking to a slightly older man. He walked up to the bar and asked for a stein. As he took his drink he heard a loud slap over the din in the tavern. He turned and saw her holding her cheek with a lone tear beginning the path towards her jaw line. As she walked towards the door he paid the bartender and followed her out. She stood a few feet away from the tavern composing herself. He approached her in a manner he hoped would not startle her.

“Pardon me, ma’am,” he said, “I don’t mean to intrude however I could not help noticing what happened in the tavern and was wondering if there was anything I could do to help.”

She turned to look at him with a cold confused stare.

“I’m sorry sir, have we met?” she asked icily.

“My goodness, I seem to have forgotten my manners. I am William Smith.”

“Well Mr. Smith, I fail to see how my personal matters are any of your business,” she sniffed.

“I apologize ma’am. It’s just that it makes my blood boil to see a beautiful young lady such as yourself mistreated so.”

He saw her stiff veneer soften slightly and hoped that he would be able to get her name. “This may be too bold, but may I walk you home?”

“I do not think that my husband would be fond of that idea.” His heart sank in his chest, she was a married woman. “However, since my husband seems to be incapacitated at the moment, I will say yes. And as I am sure you are wondering my name is Sarah Johnson.”

He felt as if he were floating. “Mrs. Johnson, it is a pleasure to meet you. I just wish it had been under more agreeable circumstances.”

They walked side by side for a few moments before the silence was broken. “I certainly hope you will not assume this to be a regular occurrence Mr. Smith,” she stated.

“I am in the city very infrequently Mrs. Johnson. I live in the country at Willow Creek Manor and only come into town for supplies every few months. So you need not worry about me being around often,” he replied.

Soon afterwards they came upon Mrs. Johnson’s home. “Thank you Mr. Smith for walking me home.”

“My pleasure Mrs. Johnson. A good day to you.”

“A good day to you Mr. Smith.” And with that he tipped his hat, turned around and left.

A couple of years passed and still he thought of her. He wondered what might have been had she not been married. Would he even have had the chance to meet her? On a chilly winter afternoon a letter arrived addressed to him in a small feminine script. Curiosity filled his mind as he reached for his letter opener. As he read his heart dropped, then jumped into his throat. It was from her. She mentioned his kindness despite her cold demeanor and asked for his help. Would he please come to see her at his earliest convenience?

The next day he stood on her door step and rang the bell. Thoughts raced through his mind of why Mrs. Johnson might want to see him. As the butler opened the door he presented his card and was shown into the library. A few moments later she joined him.

As he left the house several hours later his mind reeled. What had he done? What had he agreed to? He slowly made his way home contemplating the consequences of the actions he had agreed to take.