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Pamela awoke the next morning well past dawn, which was unusual for her. But given her late escapades the previous night, she wasn’t too surprised. She dressed in a simply-cut blue dress that was one of her favorites. She was thankful that Kelly the galley wench wasn’t around to lace her corset. Kelly’s motto was “the tighter, the better”, which didn’t exactly suit Pamela.

“Come on, Pamela. Pull them up and out a bit. Don’t be such a prude. Corsets are designed to help people like you appear to have…assets,” Kelly prodded. 

“Um, thank you, Kelly. Good advice,” Pamela replied impassively. 

She made her way up to the main deck, stopping to pick up a basket of mending along the way. Shielding her eyes from the bright sun, she glanced around the ship. The crew was buzzing about, carrying out a myriad of different tasks. She lifted her hand in a wave to James, who was bent over listening to the ship’s safety officer Angelina. By his slightly pained expression she imagined that Angelina was once again criticizing something he’d done, perchance his knot-tying techniques this time. His eyes caught hers, and she felt a familiar warmth spread in her stomach. She quickly averted her eyes, sighing over her own foolishness. Settling on a low bench on the bow, she began the mending.           

“What I don’t get is why we have been shored up here for so long,” she heard Oscar say as he wound up loose rope.

“I like being at port. Port’s where the wenches are. Wenches with breasts,” Kevin the Seaman stated matter-of-factly. He had given himself that name years ago, knowing full well that any sailor could be referred to as “seaman”. He just liked to emphasize the word.

“Yes, but we haven’t been out on a mission for two weeks. This gold won’t last us forever. We need to plan another run,” Oscar finished. As the ship’s purser, he looked after the gold and loot that was brought in and also divvied it up amongst the crew.

And contrary to what Captain Scott believed, his title of purser had nothing to do with the fact that Oscar preferred men to women. Nor did he carry an actual purse due to this preference.

“What say you, James? Don’t you agree it’s time for some action?” Oscar inquired.

Pamela’s head shot up. She hadn’t realized James had joined them on the bow. Recovering herself, she continued her mending.

“Hee hee. Oscar wants to know if you want some action, James,” Kevin the Seaman giggled, waggling his eyebrows at the first mate.

“That’s really nice, Kevin,” Oscar replied.

Kevin continued to chuckle to himself as James smothered a smile. “Actually, Oscar, I was just coming up here with you to discuss the new run. Apparently the Captain is quite eager to head out to sea, so we leave at first light tomorrow,” James answered.

“Why’s he so eager to get to sea?” Oscar asked.

“Is it because of Cap’n Janette? I heard she made port last night. I wager it’s because of her,” concluded Kevin the Seaman.

Captain Janette LeVinsón was an infamous French privateer. She was one of the few female captains sailing the high seas, and was rumored to be a ruthless leader. She had once been the wife of a French merchant, but he had been mysteriously killed by pirates only two years into their marriage. Janette had taken over as captain of his ship, vowing to destroy any and all pirates she could track down.

“I don’t know, Kevin,” James shrugged. “The Captain didn’t share his reasons with me. Regardless, I think it’s good that we make way. I’ve been hearing the Spanish treasure fleet is making its way up the coast before setting sail for Spain. Could be a prime mark.”

Pamela frowned over his suggestion. She had long ago accepted life on the pirate ship, yet she still found herself nervous about potential raids.  The crew of the Dunder Mifflinia had been extremely fortunate to have never lost a member in battle, but that could change all too quickly. Blocking the negative thoughts, she focused back on her work. A sudden curt voice had her glancing up once again.

“What is this talk of heading to sea I hear of? I can’t believe I wasn’t consulted before any decision was made!” Obidiah Schrute barked. “As second mate aboard this ship…”

“Err, I think you mean third mate. I’d be the second mate,” interjected Andrew “Moonface” Bernard, who had followed Obidiah up the stairs.

“No, you’re third mate.”

“But in truth I’m second mate.”

“Quiet, you!” Obidiah spat at Moonface, his face reddening with anger.

James looked at Pamela, who was obviously trying to hide her amusement. Her shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Swords in scabbards, gentlemen,” James interrupted, coughing to cover his laugh as he watched the two sailors slowly circle each other. Obidiah’s beady eyes were glaring at Moonface through his dingy spectacles, and he had one hand on the odd sickle-shaped sword he insisted on carrying. “Obidiah, you ready the guns and powder kegs. Make sure we’re stocked up. Moonface, go ashore with Kelly to stock the galley supplies. Let’s get ready to sail.”

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Later that night, Pamela stood at the counter down in the galley, chopping carrots. She declined to eat with the rest of the crew earlier that evening– she just hadn’t been in the mood for company. The galley usually provided a quiet retreat for her at night, but not tonight. A storm was brewing and the winds were starting to whistle outside of the galley’s small porthole. Peeking out, she gasped as lightning lit up the night sky, illuminating like a giant spider’s web against the black. Truth be told, she secretly loved storms. All that wild energy crackling in the air– the booming thunder and slashing rain. There was something primitive and alluring about it all. Sighing, she walked back to the workstation to finish chopping her carrots.

A loud clap of thunder had her jumping. Her knife clattered to the floor, and she crouched down to retrieve it. As she stood back up, she heard the galley door creak open behind her. Figuring it was one of the crew looking for a late night snack, she continued her chopping.

“Hello, Pamela.”

Her body froze in place.

She slowly turned around, clutching the knife to her chest. There, standing before her, dripping wet with rain was her husband.

“Royce?”  

They stood there staring at each other for a long minute. Pamela wasn’t sure if she should scream or attempt to run. Her breath clogged in her lungs, and her feet seemed to be tarred to the floor.

Breathe in, breathe out, she silently commanded herself.

This can’t be happening, her mind raced.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Royce stepped into the small galley, his girth swallowing the space around him. He had been attractive, once, before he had become too absorbed in drinking to care. He was tall and thick, with curly dark brown hair and clear blue eyes. She had never thought him fat before, but she cringed now at the way his gut cascaded over the ridiculous sash he was using to hold up his breeches. His hair had become overly long, and a smear of whiskers covered his upper lip. He was staring at her intently, with a cocky smile on his lips.

“Did you miss me, Pammy?” he asked.

“You mean, did I miss you after you abandoned me for that bar wench?” Pamela quietly replied. Though her voice shook slightly, she could feel the anger building inside her, quashing out the fear bit by bit. “After you left me alone with nothing and made me the disgrace of the town?”

Royce’s cocky grin vanished. A hard look came into his eyes then. One that Pamela had seen too many times before, one usually fueled by too much grog. She backed up a step, still grasping the knife. A bolt of lighting exploded outside of the porthole.

“You forget your place, wife,” he growled.

“How did you find me?” she questioned.

“I saw you last night on the docks and followed you,” Royce answered.

I knew someone was following me, Pamela thought bitterly. At least I’m not crazy. 

“What do you want, Royce?”

“I want you, Pammy. I want you to come home,” Royce said.

Pamela pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. How could he stand here and say this to her? For years she had hoped he would come back to her– to come and pick up the pieces of their life that he had shattered by leaving. As time passed and she accepted that he wasn’t coming back for her, she began to put her life back together herself. Piece by piece. And now here he was, saying the words she had once desperately longed to hear.

She slowly shook her head.

“Royce, my life is here now. I work here now. I’m sorry,” she whispered. She couldn’t believe that she had actually just denied him.

“You should leave now, before you’re spotted and the alarm is raised.” she pleaded.

She prayed he would take heed to her words. She had no idea how she would explain to the rest of the crew who Royce was– or that she was, in fact, married.

Royce’s face hardened at her words. Pamela felt a trickle of fear creep down her spine. Royce had never hurt her when they had been together, but his anger was certainly a force to be reckoned with. He grabbed her arm roughly and pulled him against her, causing the knife to slip from her fingers. She could smell the rum on his hot breath and she gulped to keep the bile from rising in her throat. Thunder boomed, shaking the ship with its force. Pamela struggled against Royce’s tight grip, praying that she could escape from his grasp and run.

He was leering down at her, his mouth going slightly slack as her stared at her chest. With a heavy hand, he reached up and swiped at the front of her gown, ripping the faded blue material and exposing her chemise. He grinned over what his handiwork had revealed. Sensing his distraction, Pamela yanked her arm free and ran to grab the knife from the floor. Royce proved to be quicker, and kicked the weapon away with his boot an instant before she reached it.

“What were you going to do, Pammy? Stick me?” Royce challenged and began to step towards her. Pamela inched back, and felt the edge of the galley workstation press against her lower back. She was trapped.

A clomping down the stairs outside had Pamela almost weeping with gratitude.  Someone was coming. Royce’s head whipped around as he heard the noise. Her eyes darted to the door and then back to Royce. The footsteps passed the galley door and faded down the hallway.

“Please. Go,” Pamela implored.

“Aye, I’ll go. But this is far from over, Pammy,” he sneered. His eyes made one last slow, sweeping journey down her body before he finally turned and left.

She waited a moment, then silently followed him up and out into the rain and across the deck. She had to make sure he got off the ship. She watched him disappear over the side and climb down one of the ropes mooring the ship to the dock. She watched as he lumbered up the dock until he was cloaked by shadows, and finally released the breath she’d been holding.  She didn’t know how long she stood there on the deck, letting the rain pour down over her. She didn’t care that she was soaked to the bone– she just needed to feel Royce’s touch wash away.

When she finally made her way back down below decks towards the galley, she was physically and emotionally numb. She was so thankful that they’d be heading out to sea tomorrow, putting all those miles between her and Port Royal. Between her and Royce. All she wanted now was to crawl into her tiny bed and forget the world. Mad Meredith’s drunken snoring would actually be a comforting sound tonight. She smiled a little at that thought and stepped into the dimly lit kitchen.

“My God, Pamela! What happened to you?” James said quickly standing up from the stool where he’d been snacking on a green apple.

She stood before him, soaking wet, her dress ripped to the waist, with her thin chemise completely exposed. James tried not to notice the fact that the rain had made it practically transparent. He also tried to ignore how his stomach muscles had instinctively tightened at the sight of her. These thoughts quickly retreated when he took a good look at her face. Even in the golden candlelight of the galley, he could see how pale her skin was. Her hazel eyes looked hollow and dark against it.

Pamela’s cheeks flamed up with embarrassment. She looked down and remembered that her dress was torn, exposing much of her chest. She quickly pulled the sopping material together in an attempt to save herself from complete disgrace.

“I just had an unexpected visitor, is all,” she replied quickly. James had an expression of such concern on his face that she nearly crumbled right there. She could feel the hot tears stinging her eyes and knew she had to leave before they began to fall. Turning, she was moving towards the door when she felt his hands on her shoulders.

“Pamela. Tell me what happened,” he said gently.

Facing him, she looked up into his kind, green eyes. She knew she could tell him, that he would patiently listen and not judge her. Yet, looking at him, all the words that needed to be said seemed to die in her throat. Suddenly, her hands gripped the front of his shirt and pulled his mouth towards hers. She saw his eyebrows shoot up in surprise an instant before her lips touched his, but she didn’t care. She just needed to feel. To be touched.

James’ head was spinning so fast it felt as if he was drunk on grog. Her hands slid up from his chest and tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, sending shivers racing through his body. His arms encircled her waist, pulling her closer until her wet clothes were dampening his own dry ones. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

She was lost in him. His lips were soft and warm, and she could taste the tartness of the apple that he’d eaten lingering on his tongue. His strong hands were splayed on her back, holding her against him. He wasn’t muscular as Royce was, but she found herself far more drawn to his lean form. She never wanted it to end.

But gradually her brain began to function again, and she realized what exactly she had done. Pamela slowly pulled back, and they stood there staring at one another, the sound of their labored breathing filling the room. 

“I’m not a hussy,” she blurted out.

“What?” he smiled, looking confused.

“It’s just, I mean, oh God. I can’t believe I just…” Pamela stammered, looking at the ground. “You must think me a…”

“I don’t. You’re not,” James finished firmly. His hands still held her waist. “But I’ll admit to being a little confused. What exactly happened to you tonight?”

Pamela sighed. Here it was. She took a step back from him.

Please don’t hate me.   

“I saw my husband.”

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