Calico Jack

1782, CHARLES TOWN, SOUTH CAROLINA

Annabeth stares ahead at nothing, a vacant look in her eyes. Slowly, a small smile appears on her frail, wrinkled face. “Jack…?” she whispers, as if she’s seeing someone who isn’t really there. “Oh, my Jack… My heart has missed you…”

Thomas, the novelist, becomes concerned, glancing towards the empty space where she’s staring. “Ma’am? Madam? Are you well? Should I summon a physician?”

There is a very long moment of silence.

Slowly, she blinks. Life returns to her eyes. She looks away from the empty space, her attention on him again. “…” She smiles kindly, responding to his questions as if the conversation never skipped a beat. “I am. There is no need to call a physician on me. I merely got lost in a memory.”

He doesn’t quite believe her, of course; from what he witnessed, it was as if she’d been seeing a spirit. He, however, chooses not to address it. “…Do you wish to continue? It’s well into the night.”

“I do,” she insists, keeping her smile. “Our story must be told.”

It was early into the year of 1718. For approximately four months, by that point in time, I’d been frequenting the local tavern, drinking away my sorrows and pain, wallowing in disappointment of my dreams never coming to pass.

As I’ve said before, we all knew each other; my husband got word of my choices, yet never did anything about it. It was very…odd.

I suppose he hadn’t cared about my new hobby. It certainly didn’t change how he behaved around me. Bloody, broken; I felt that way, each time he was through with me. I was lucky to not have died; there was never a break in-between. Every night, it was the same routine of abuse. Abuse we women were expected to accept.

If I were born as anyone else, I might’ve been one of the submissive types, the ones that eventually died a slave to their cruel husbands.

It was a boring evening, down at the tavern. I was very tired, exhausted; not the sleepy kind, the drained sort. Jim was off somewhere, maybe working, maybe flirting, maybe drinking himself into another rage. He could’ve been doing it all; I never truly knew what exactly he’d be up to in his absences.

It’s funny; someone was always willing to tell him what I was doing, yet all I ever heard was silence.

Hm. I was just so exhausted. I was sick of drinking, and thinking, and questioning my measure. I was contemplating murder. I’d done it before, by accident, therefore I could do it again, on purpose. I had a plan. It involved slitting his throat as he slept. And I would then run away onto a ship, sailing for greater pastures. Sailing to freedom.

I never went through with it. I never had to. I do wonder sometimes what became of him when I finally left. I can only hope the next woman did what I could not.

In the middle of my contemplation, a breeze came through the door.

I knew who he was the moment I looked at him; everyone knew. His ship would come to port every now and then. And news of his whereabouts always came back to our town.

Smiling, blinding, good looking and charming; the pirate, John Rackham. Calico Jack. My Jack.

He tipped his hat and that was that; I was in love with him. As were the other women. He just had that certain charm, one that Jim never had. A charm I never witnessed before. A charm I wanted to be near. A charm I wanted as my own.

The other women crowded around him. He didn’t see them; they were not of his interest. I was; he stared at me as I stared at him. And he approached. And my heart sang.

It still sings for my Jack.

I am not ashamed to say that I flirted with him from the beginning, the very moment he sat beside me. “I’ve never met a man here looking like that.” “You’ve met your match.” “You’ve stolen my heart; won’t you give me it back?” I said it all. I got a little vulgar at some points.

He was amused, pleased. I was intriguing him further. He returned my flirtations. “You’re a fine looking woman.” “How'd you like to come away with me?”

Mm. I sobered, remembering my husband. He would likely hear word of my interactions with Jack. And Jack… He noticed the shift in my mood. His playful demeanor switched within seconds; he was concerned, serious. He looked at me like I mattered, and he only just met me.

I introduced myself, officially, as Anne Bonny, wife of James Bonny. Jim.

As it turned out, he knew who I was. Or rather, he knew of me. Gossip and rumor ran the town. He knew of my abuse to a certain extent; the beatings, not the breedings. He told me to leave Jim, that I didn’t deserve what was happening to me.

“My darling, stop waiting. You’re a ship made for sailing. Take the wheel and sail her out of port.” I will never forget that advice. It changed my life.

I didn’t have to think about it. I just went for it. I agreed to sail the seas with him. We celebrated by dancing.

I didn’t have to worry about repercussions; I didn’t return home.

And no one was brave enough to tell Jim that a pirate had stolen my heart.

APRIL 2025

Lainey is hugging herself, giggling like a schoolgirl. “Oh, he sounds like the best person for her. Which is weird to say because he’s a pirate. Was a pirate. Jesus, that’s insane; a pirate treated her better than a regular ass sailor. God, I’m so happy they found each other.” Then, underneath her breath, she mutters. “Wish it happened sooner, though.”

Nettie snorts. “Patience is a virtue.”

“God, can you imagine what would’ve happened if she and Jack never met?” Lainey wonders aloud.

Nettie grimaces. “Yeah, I can. I imagine she’d either murder her husband and be imprisoned or be murdered during one of his drunken rampages.”

Lainey thinks about it for a second and grimaces, too. “Yeah… Yeah, probably.”

“Shall I continue?” Nettie asks.

Lainey looks around; there’s less people inside the bar. The annoying, problematic men from earlier have left; they must’ve lost interest when they didn’t get the reactions they wanted. “I want to say yes, but I think it’s close to closing time.”

“We can continue elsewhere, if you want. I saw a patio earlier, littered with lights. We could sit there and I can finish the tale for you before we go our separate ways.” Nettie’s tone becomes dramatic, teasing. “Before all you have left of me is the silly little memory of a very long tale about a pirate queen.”

Lainey smiles. “It wouldn’t be silly. It would be cherished.”

“So, is that a yes?” Nettie asks.

“It’s a definitely.”

~~~~~~~~~~

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.

Don't forget to check out the previous parts! And if you're new here, this series was orginally posted under the "Chapters" category.

THIS IS THE FINAL TIME I'M LINKING THE PREVIOUS PARTS! BECAUSE THERE'S GOING TO BE TWELVE PARTS IN TOTAL!