The Dreamer by May Nicole Abbey Page A

rare times he spoke personally. “She was never famous and her time was cut very short. I only knew her a few years. But I can say she was the greatest influence of my life. The best parts of me I can trace back to her grace and kindness and faith.”
    “That’s wonderful. I’m sure she was a beautiful person. But Captain, I am not like that. I’m just not. Marriage and family would be shackles to my purpose. I am meant to do great things. I’ve always known it. I’m meant to change the world.”
    “The world,” he repeated dryly. “Goodness. I didn’t realize.”
    I challenged, “You’ve had your fun, poking into my life. Now it’s my turn.”
    “Very well.”
    I paused in surprise. The challenge had been impulsive, and I had not expected him to agree. “You’ll answer any question I ask you?”
    “I will.”
    “And promise to tell me the absolute truth?”
    “If you wish.”
    “If I wish? I’ve wished it for weeks. You are the single most impossible man to interview. Where are my notes?”
    “Behave,” he warned.
    “You promised.”
    “Within reason,” he qualified.
    I tapped my chin thoughtfully with a finger. “Better make it a good one.”
    But as a question occurred to me, my look changed from thoughtful satisfaction to one of uncertainty. “There is something I’ve wondered.”
    “Yes?”
    I spoke slowly. “When you were ill, you thought I was your mother. You were so afraid, and you grabbed me and plead with me to not let him kill you.” I looked at him. “It sounded like you thought your father was coming.”
    The captain’s gaze did not waver, though he didn’t answer immediately.
    “Should I not have pried, Captain?” I asked contritely, leaning forward.
    He bent down, wiping a smudge off his gleaming boot, his voice cross. “I’m not a delicate rose petal. You don’t have to keep asking me that. If you’re asking me if my father killed my mother, then the short answer is yes.”
    I leaned back in my seat, literally bowled backwards. “But Finley said he was a good man.”
    “He was the best of men.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    He sighed. “Alright. The pirates were coming, and father knew they would be … unkind to her.”
    I stared at him in horror. “Is this common with pirates?”
    He pursed his lips, looking distant and indifferent, like he was discussing weather with a stranger. “No. My parents were a special case.”
    “How?”
    “The pirates were looking for something in particular.”
    “What was it?”
    “It was treasure.”
    “Treasure!” My pulse quickened and I could feel myself go crimson. “Why? How? Was your father a rich man?”
    “No. Quite the contrary.”
    “Then why him?”
    “The story is involved and complicated.”
    “We have time,” I told him. “I mean, as long as you want to tell me.”
    He took a drink of his wine. He stared at the glass and not at me. “It all has to do with the unfortunate fact that my father did not begin his career as an honest wage earner.”
    I gasped. “He … he was a pirate?”
    “A rather successful one. He had his own ship, his own crew before he was thirty.”
    “Oh, how wonderful. What was his name?”
    “His name? It was William. Why?”
    “I don’t recognize it.”
    “There’s no reason you would. His career ended before his reputation could become known.”
    “Why?”
    “Mutiny.” The single word was spoken succinctly, and he didn’t look at me when he said it.
    “Oh,” I answered meekly.
    “They’d taken a vessel destined for the Americas and looted it. And then his first mate locked the passengers into the cargo hold and set the ship ablaze.”
    “Oh, dear. Is this customary?”
    “Perhaps on some pirate ships but not on his. The first mate knew it would lead to mutiny.”
    “How?”
    “He knew my father would disapprove and demand they stop. He’d already had a good portion of the crew on his side by that point. So when my father tried to stop them, he turned the