June Chatterbox: Sailboats

Wednesday, June 04, 2014

via pinterest
Time for another Chatterbox! (Don't know what Chatterbox is? Click here).

When I first saw this month's topic, I must admit, I was stumped. Sailboats? How on earth am I going to reel that in? But yesterday, while folding a basket of towels (it appears Elisabeth and I have similar methods!) I got thinking about how Sailboats, and what they are, and how they work, and that perhaps they do not necessarily have to be sailboats. This piece was birthed - forgive me if I've broken every rule here. XD


"Come away from there, child." The edge of the boat creaked despite Nurse's light step. "Now. 'Ave ye had yer breakfast yet lassie?"

"No!" Momentarily, a sort of shame filled her grey-green eyes, cast down on the salty boards beneath her toes. "Fishie!" A long-reaching grasp and a giggle could be heard from the stem of the boat as nursemaid chased naughty child back and forth and around to the sail-post, like a sort of timeless game all mothers had played. Suddenly, the latter stopped, staring.

A long, chill silence held the air.

"Fishie!" the girl giggled, beginning again to run, but Nurse stood still, chin raised at an uncomfortable angle and shoulders pressed back square. Master could not see her running with the child. Such would be irreverent. A shadow blocked the door to the lower deck, a shadow that the younger did not see.

"Nurse?" the girl asked, bewildered, coming to her side and burying her face in the folds of Nurse's warm-smelling apron. "Fishie?"

Nurse remained motionless, wordless.


Suddenly the man emerged. 

"What did you call her?" The little girl did not seem to recognize him, squealing, running, hiding behind Nurse. The wind caught a wisp of her hair and tug-tugged it back from behind the wasted hip of her nurse, but she clutched only tighter to the crumpled white apron, the grey linen skirt.

"Child. This woman is not your mother; no more than I am not your father."

Nurse grew uncomfortable. "She canna tell what ye say, sir. She's but a wee lass, remember?" Here she paused, hesitant. "Has been but two years since her birth. Forgive me intrudin', but I think yer-"

"I shall forgive no intrusion!" Fiery eyes beseiged the woman in her own wooden shoes, and she quickly turned down her head to face the floor. "Face me when I speak to you, woman! This child belongs to none but me: I shall govern her as I will with no contumely from you, hear?" Nurse bobbed her head, curls bouncing like springs. "And you, child!" The little girl was shaking behind the protector, her little peachey fingers hardly able to hold the coarse fabric steady. "Come here." His voice was not kinder, but there was a layer of softness to it that drew, very slowly, the girl to his sight. 

"Master?" she asked timidly, imitating Nurse's accent. She knew few words, but this was one she heard often enough. 

His skin, boiling red, seemed to cool considerably with this triumphant contribution, and his dark eyes narrowed closely. 

"This is your teaching," he accused Nurse, and she bit her red-head tongue till the tears came. "My one task for you was to raise this child in a civilized manner: even that you have failed! Truly you are a disgrace - your sight is pain to my eyes." Something occured to him, and he lifted his chin a grade higher. "Be gone. I want no more of your so-called care for my daughter."

"Master!" she blurted out. Her eyes smarted with tears, and now she did not care that he should see them. "Have you forgotten to whom this child belongs as well?" The little girl was grabbing at her nurse's hips now, wasted but wide-set from childbirth.

"No! How dare you rethink me of our past. You are a stain to my name I must no longer bear." Waves of sea-spray washed on the deck. The rain would come soon, and the three would be soaked with it and the saltwater if they did not move below the deck. Even the gulls were crying warnings to head for home, but man and woman stood still, staring each other down, their backs beat by the weather and the torrents of spray, not moving a muscle. The little girl wailed, her dark curls wiped flat against her head, until she should wail no longer and simply chewed the already-wet apron of her Nurse. 

"It is over," he finally cried over the wind and waves, turning from the one gaze that would not relent to his. "There is nothing left of that past tapestry. You are the last thread, and now, you must break." The storm, with growing intensity seemed to wrap around the trio, grabbing at their waists, pulling, always pulling...

With a start, Kailtyn lurched forward amidst the dampened velvet blankets, panting in the darkness around her. Sweat toiled down her white face. Just a dream...


  1. I want to know more. What happened...before...and after...

    1. Hm, than I think it's quite served it's purpose... ^.^

  2. I like it!!!!! It left me wanting to read more.

  3. Oh, wow, that's beautiful! Speaking of your style, I suppose. Certainly not that actual happenings; though you could call them beautifully sad. No, beautifully heart-wrenching.

    I agree with Bound and Freed and Jack, it definitely left me wanting more! Is this something you're planning on continuing, or was it only written for Chatterbox?

    1. Almost all of my Chatterbox scenes I hope to include in future works, and this one in particular is already a functioning part of Gumusservi. ^.^

    2. Awesome!

      Do you have any finished works or a list of WIP, or anything like that? (Other than "new reader / / /". I had the pleasure of reading that already.)

    3. Hm. I don't currently have a public list, I suppose, but on my pinterest page (http://www.pinterest.com/breeholloway) you can find a board for each of my WIPs. The only finished drafts so far are Finding My Balance and Psithurism, the latter of which I am overhauling at the moment. :)

    4. Hmm. I like that! Thanks!

      Which books would this post belong to?

    5. I would rather not share at the moment. ^.^


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