Blow High, Blow Low

APRIL 2025

Lainey stares at Nettie with wide eyes; this tale is getting intense already. “So, she left a bad situation, only to willingly walk into something worse?”

Nettie makes a face. “She hadn’t known she was walking into danger. She only knew she was leaving behind a money hungry, neglectful father.”

“That’s so sad…” Lainey utters, frowning.

“It is,” Nettie agrees, uncharacteristically growing quiet. “And she dealt with her new abuse for far too long…”

1782, CHARLES TOWN, SOUTH CAROLINA

Annabeth Fowey, formerly known as Anne McCormac and Anne Bonny, stares at the novelist, Thomas Landrake, who sits across from her. She waits patiently as he writes word-for-word what she’s stated thus far.

Perhaps her history will be accurately depicted for once; he seems to be taking her words seriously.

After another seven minutes, he stops writing and looks up. When he realizes she’s been staring, he becomes a bit sheepish. “You may proceed, ma’am.” She smiles kindly and begins anew.

1714. Sixteen, married; I was leaving my old life behind, starting fresh, anew. We left this place behind; it would be a long while before I would step foot in South Carolina again. Our new home was Nassau of the Bahama Islands; a sanctuary for pirates.

I thought everything would be different, better. I thought I would be free to be me. I would dream of journeying far away, away from Father’s shame and Mother’s grave, and at last, it was happening, coming to fruition. Surely, I would be free to sail the seas with my husband. I was wrong, so very wrong.

I was naive to believe if I married Jim, I would be free to live however I liked. Every night, he would drink. Some nights, he would rage and use his fists. Other nights, he would scream and use my body instead. I was a vessel for all his needs, an anchored ship looking out to sea. I dealt with it. Everyday. For four years.

I was only grateful for the small mercies, such as never bearing his child. I wanted one, yes, only not to that man. It matters not; the babe would have never survived to be born in the first place.

Four years. I do not know why I allowed it to continue for so long. Fear of having to return to Father. Shame for wedding him so quickly and easily. I was a ghost, a shadow of my former self. Moored to the shore, soulless, waiting on him and his drunken war; firing on me till I'd wreck on the ocean floor.

I only had peace when he was away, doing his sailor duties. I would leave our home, head for the docks. I would stare at the horizon, watch the ships come and go. I had a dream of a ship my own, standing boldly at the steering wheel, barking orders to my men.

Instead, I’d been a ship with no sails to go. Everyday, I would promise myself that one day, I'd haul up the anchor and head for the great unknown.

And when I’d return to my home, I steadied myself inside, held together by bits of twine, I stashed my dreams out of sight. And returned to my womanly duties as a housewife. And waited for the cycle of pain to continue.

I thought about taking lovers, sharing another’s bed while my husband was away. We all knew each other; word would have reached him and the abuse would have been a lot worse. Much worse. Whenever I thought about going through with it, I’d remember how he threatened to share me. One using me was enough. I would not have survived more.

Then, 1718 happened.

It was the beginning of the best years of my life.

APRIL 2025

Nettie watches with great sympathy as Lainey wipes away her tears with an unused napkin. “My apologies; I should’ve warned you that some heavy topics were inbound."

“It’s okay…” Lainey sniffles. “God, that was so much worse than I was expecting. I thought that, maybe, he was more controlling than her father or something. Not…that. Oh, poor Anne. She deserved so much better.”

“She did,” Nettie softly agrees. “And she got it, eventually. Not many have that sort of miracle happen but she did, though it took some years.”

“Four years too many if you ask me,” Lainey huffs, tossing her damp napkin onto the table. “I hope this tale involves James Bonny getting castrated.”

Nettie snickers. “Unfortunately, no Lorena Bobbitt methods will be mentioned in this tale.”

“Damn,” Lainey grumbles.

The mood is dampered again by the leering men from an hour ago; the ones with the poorly made pirate flirtations, the ones that walked away looking ashamed of themselves after Nettie told them a brief summary of Anne Bonny.

They didn’t approach again, no. However, it appears they made an effort to sit closer to her (not them, just her).

They don’t attempt to make conversation with Nettie, or Lainey. Instead, they laugh obnoxiously, specifically side-eyeing Nettie. When she doesn’t react how they wanted, they make very unappealing, disgusting remarks about the piece of the tale they heard.

Long story short, they were praising James Bonny for “putting his woman in her rightful place”.

Lainey opens her mouth to say something, anything really, but nothing comes out. Because Nettie says something first. Not to the men, but to her.

“Karma comes to those who wait.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The way the story is written doesn’t matter. Professional, simple, perfect, sloppy. What matters most is that the story is being retold again for those who may have never heard of her.

Plus, Karliene is a lovely singer who deserves some more subscribers. She didn’t/doesn’t just write/sing songs for/about Anne Bonny. She also has songs about witches, middle-earth, Anne Boleyn, and others.

If you haven’t caught on, lines are made bold because it’s a line from the song that’s linked; I’ve been doing this for every chapter and will continue doing it.

Bits and pieces of information about Anne Bonny come from the wikipedia page. It may be true; it may be exaggerated. That’s why I am calling this historical fiction.

And sorry that the lingo is a bit too modern; it’s very difficult to write how people once spoke when you don’t actually know much of how they spoke, even with some research.

Lorena Bobbitt severed the penis of her then-husband, John Wayne Bobbitt, with a knife while he was sleeping in 1993. I first learnt of this from a song. My homie mentioned it in a story of hers back in March.

And do check out the previous parts to this ongoing series about Anne Bonny.