My Wild Man

A Wreck

"I am longing to be with you, and by the sea... where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air."

My favourite line, from one of my favourite books. Who knows how many times I've read Dracula, just during the voyage of this last year alone? And now, here I am, sailing the sea for the first time. After that first month, the sea sickness had disappeared completely, leaving me to fully enjoy the breeze against my skin, the sapphire glistening of the waves in the setting sun, the gentle rocking of my bed like a silent lullaby. I glanced away from my book and out into the blue horizon, heaving a small sigh of fresh salty air. "Yes, it is indeed, beautiful," I responded to my own thoughts, adjusting in my rather uncomfortable seat of rolled rope and unused tackle at the back of the ship. "But even thirteen months of this is enough to drive anyone mad."

"I should never have let you bring those in the first place."

At the gruff and commanding voice, I jumped out of my seat and stood at attention. My book dropped to the deck with a dense thump. The blinding sun outlined a tall, wide, imposing figure before me. The tan and well-structured face with a strong jaw and harsh frown lines framed hardened blue eyes that regarded me with a disapproving look under bushy black brows. "Father-"

His scowl darkened, and my words caught in my throat. He turned his back to me and paced alongside the banister. The atmosphere was no longer calm. Instead my body tensed with the threat of oncoming criticism and disappointment. "I brought you along in hopes that you would learn to develop an interest in reality. That you would ground yourself in the world around you, and not in a fantasy." His gaze landed down on the hardcover illustration of a shadowy man with pointed teeth. "Yet here you are, hiding away at the stern, nose buried deep in another one of those silly books."

My face burned, but I wasn't sure if it was the bright sun or his words. I wonder when I will be good enough for this man. Probably when I am married off, and he is rid of me for good. Then he can begin his life over again. With a new wife who can give him a son he can be proud of.

"Mr. McGregor."

The owner of that name stepped out from the shadow of the mast. Another tall and intimidating figure, almost rivaling my father's height. Curly and unkempt brown hair atop a chiseled jaw and broad, wide, muscled shoulders. Clear green eyes sat deep-set above a freckled nose, and a toothy grin spread across his face as he glanced from my father to me. "Yessir, Captain Fletcher."

My father held his hands behind his back, chocolate brown eyes turning his disapproving gaze towards the horizon. "Escort Mr. Fletcher below deck to his quarters."

Well, that's the end of that, I suppose. I sheepishly picked up my book and followed Mr. McGregor as he motioned me forward in front of him. Held it tight against my chest as we maneuvered past the sailors singing their shanties as they cleaned the deck or tightened various rigging, climbing the ropes as adeptly as monkeys. I kept my head down, hoping my hair could cover the burning of my ears. Oh, how I wish I were at home, surrounded by my books in the library! Sitting in the window seat as I read Wuthering Heights, or The Island of Doctor Moreau, or The Last of the Mohicans! Instead of stuck out on a floating tree log, doomed to disappoint my father to no end as he journeys down the western coast of Africa.