Blood Is Thicker than Water - Draft

Chapter 6 - Claretta

Clara

            It was the spring of 1799, and I had not yet reached my eleventh year. The strong whipping sound of the sails slapped against the wind as I stood at the rail of a giant ship and watched the bow of the massive vessel break through the deep, grey-blue waters. The ocean's spray nearly reached the hem of my wool skirts, but I stepped back just in time. Its bubbles popped and receded into the oak floorboards, down to the passengers below deck.

I was used to the sea, originating from a coastal town in northern France, a land of fish, salt, and wind. However, with this long and arduous journey, I had seen the sea and nothing else but the sea for weeks on end. The ocean's currents tossed about the ship leaving sprays of salty mist in the air, and the wind caught my dark curls, thrashing them across my face. I looked out onto the blanket of endless saltwater. The weather was not stormy, nor was it smooth. Waves sloshed the sides and made the vessel bob like a cork in a basin of ale.

Several of the passengers frequently saw their most recent meal upturned. Fortunately, I was not cursed with this ailment. I always loved the water. It kept me at peace while also amplifying my curiosity. The unknown world that lay beneath its glossy, chopped surface mystified me. I knew little of its wonders besides the living it gave the townspeople back home and the shells it occasionally washed ashore. The ocean reaped with fish of all kinds, feeding our town, and helping my family prosper. The peculiar daily catch only incited me further. I wanted to know more of what lay in those vast blue depths.

"Ma petite! At it again, are you Claretta?"

I jumped as a large, heavy hand encompassed my shoulder, waking me from my memories of home.

I turned up to look into a kind face. A burly man with a scruffy, thick beard and tanned skin, which gave him the appearance of a hardened captain who spent his years at sea. Yet, for all that, his eyes were as gentle as a lamb's as they gazed into mine. They were the same rich blue-green as the ocean around us—the same as mine. 

 "Oh, Papa!" Hugging his great, sturdy chest, "You frightened me. And how many times must I ask you to call me Clara?" I added in my light, sing-song tune.

"I don't think Clara suits you..." He trailed off, quick to change the subject so I could not contest. "You and the sea, Claretta. This whole voyage, you have hardly moved from this very spot, always gazing. You have never been more at home."

"Do you not ever wonder what leviathan creature passes beneath? Or why when the water is calm, it begins to glow? Sometimes, I want to dive right in!" I paused as I saw a scowl cross his face. "But of course, I would not dare, Papa."

The scowl relaxed, and we stood, staring at the ocean in front of us, his warm hand still on my shoulder.

"You were always the one who wanted to sail out in the boats with the fishermen at the break of dawn. Since you were born, the sea has called to you." I could hear the smile in his voice as we regarded the horizon.

"Papa, what do you think Louisiana will be like?"

"Well, what would you like it to be?"

"Full of adventure!" I smiled, turning back to gaze out.

"Then it will be." He chuckled. 

My father often spoiled my expectations, consistently providing me with the answer I wanted to hear.

"With what your uncle has written to us, it looks to be the perfect place for the change we needed. Back home was getting too... dangerous." He seemed saddened by these words, for he did not look me in the eye. Eventually, Papa smiled again, not wanting me to worry. I believed this silly because I knew why we had left.