| Rating: PG, gen Character: Gillette Warnings: the challenge was "Gillette's worst nightmare" - nightmares are frightening. Feedback: very welcome. Good or bad. Author's note: my contribution for the "Witching Hour" Hallowe'en Challenge on pirategasm. Gillette wasn't the only man who had to visit his children in two places - at home and at the churchyard. At times he envied the overwhelming majority of bachelors in the Royal Navy. Life had to be so much easier if ones heart was not weighed down with the constant worry about wife and children. He thought of Nell, who had been born after his departure and died before his return. Of course he had grieved her, what father had not done so, but it was difficult to relate with a child he'd never seen, had never held or spoken to. His wife had written about her, had tried to paint a picture of his daughter for him in words. But he had seen Nell only in the deep lines on her mother's face. How hard it would be if he should ever return home to find Mary, Annie or Thomas gone! Would they mourn him as well if he should die? He loved his children and did everything in his power to ensure their happiness, but at the end of the day he was only a passer-by in their lives, a stranger who they called father when he was on leave and at home, which was rarely enough the case. They would usually look at him, curious yet reserved, and a little doubtful whether he could be trusted or not. Johnny was different, though. A father should love all his children to the same extend, but may God forgive him, Johnny was his favourite. He was the only one of his children born while Gillette had been at home. It had been a difficult delivery; his mother sometimes wondered if the boy would have preferred not to come into this world at all. Gillette would never forget how that tiny, wrinkly red being had rested in his arms and mewled at him. He had been so charmed by the miracle of life that he didn't realise at first that something was wrong with the boy. Johnny looked like a doll that had been broken by a careless child and then put together again by a very clumsy hand. The midwife had whispered the suggestion to put it aside and wait till nature had taken care of the problem, that he should consider not to burden the lady of the house with it. Gillette had sent her on her way, with the payment for her services and the promise of a shot through her head if she should ever dare to put a foot in his house again. Gillette had also been there for Johnny's first word and his first steps - he had walked so much later the other children his age - and the neighbours knew better than to make unkind comments on Thomas Gillette's youngest, at least not as long as the lieutenant or any other member of the Gillette-family was within hearing-range. No child dared to throw stones after Johnny on the street, because his brother knew how to handle a slingshot like no other, and Annie, though already a little lady, had no qualms chasing after the urchins and giving them a good birching. Gillette was proud of his children. They were good ones, all of them, but Johnny - Johnny was special. The only times he chided the boy mildly was when he reached for Gillette's hat, pushed him in his father's face and then pulled on his pigtail. Whatever Johnny lacked in health he made up with his sharp mind and quick wit. He was a keen observer of the world around him, and would entertain Gillette in the evening with funny, sometimes very thoughtful stories about his day and the neighbours. Gillette listened with greatest interest to Johnny's tales, and often wrote the most interesting ones down in his journal. While at sea, he'd read them and feel closer to home, closer to his family, closer to his youngest son. Gillette never returned home without presents, that was a long-standing tradition. Eardrops made from pearls for his wife, lengths of silk for the girls, and Thomas' greatest treasure was a sword Gillette had brought home from his last journey. Johnny wasn't interested in such things, though. He was fascinated by colourful stones or exotic shells, the scent of a small bag with spices or a piece of driftwood, polished and shaped by wind and water and sand. This time, the gift for Johnny would have been extra special. One of the seamen had made a little model ship for the first lieutenant's son. A pretty little ship she was, a miniature of the Dauntless. Gillette had paid the man generously; how much fun Johnny would have had letting her swim on the small pond just outside the town! Gillette stared at the ship, then at his wife's letter in his hand. Of a bad fever she wrote, and that they awaited Johnny's death every hour. The vicar had come to tell them that they should find comfort in the knowledge that God had allowed the boy to live for eight years despite being such a burden and grief to his family. Gillette wondered what God the vicar had talked of; certainly not the one he believed in. Johnny had been a blessing, nothing less. The letter had been written ten days ago and arrived today, on a merchant heading from Portsmouth. The irony of receiving it on All Hallows' Eve! By now, his boy was already dead, buried and his few belongings passed on. What a homecoming that would be. "I understand you have received bad news, Mr. Gillette?" Gillette slowly stood up, his hand clutching the piece of paper. "It's my son, Captain Norrington, Sir. He's - dead." "My condolences." Norrington was a taciturn man who had suffered his share of losses. He understood that there was nothing more to say on that matter, not now, at least nothing that wouldn't have been trite. "Try to get some sleep, Mr. Gillette." "Yes, Sir." Norrington left, and Gillette began to undress. His coat seemed to weigh a ton and his waistcoat as well; it took a long time to unbutton it, and Gillette couldn't stop staring at the little model ship. He had been looking forward so very much to see Johnny put her to sea; the thought of the smile one the pale, pointed face had been a light during many a dark time. Now the ship would never set sail. Despite his pain, Gillette fell asleep almost immediately once his head touched the pillow. He dreamed of arriving in Portsmouth, his family awaiting him. His wife, Mary, Annie and Thomas, all dressed in black. They greeted him, stony-faced. It was raining, and they hurried to the coach where two seamen had already stored Gillette's sea chest. The coach got under way, and Gillette realised that he had forgotten the little model ship in his cabin. For a moment he thought of halting the coach and fetching her, but then decided against it. The boy wouldn't need her anymore, after all. Nobody spoke a word during the short journey back to his house. Everything was grey - the street, the faces of the people hurrying to get home and out of the rain. The only spot of colour was the blue model ship he couldn't stop thinking about. The house was grey as well. Gillette couldn't bring himself to call it a home at the moment, maybe never again. There were no lights, and when he entered, it was so cold that he could see his breath in the entry hall. There were mirrors on every wall, all of them covered with black crepe. The floor was covered with wilted roses, filling the air with a sickly sweet smell. Gillette tossed and turned in his cot while he slowly climbed the stairs in his dream. It seemed to be endless, and the higher he climbed, the colder the air became. Finally he had reached the end of the stairs, and the sweet smell was so strong and intense now that he almost gagged. The corridor was dark, and also here, there were crepe-covered mirrors on the walls. Carefully he put one foot in front of the other, and then he stood in front of Johnny's room. The door was ajar, candles throwing a dim light on the carpet in the corridor. Gillette could hear voices - many voices. Murmuring, praying. Even though it was only a dream, those voices made Gillette shiver, and cold fear took a hold of his heart. He knew what he would see if he opened the door, and he also knew he couldn't bear it, but he had to see it, nevertheless. Slowly he pushed the door open, and found the room filled with people. Some were neighbours, some members of the family, most of them strangers, all clad in black. They were gathered around Johnny's bed, almost like crows on a field in winter. Gillette tried to make his way through the crowd and get to his son, but he was held back by many arms. "You have no business being here," a woman said. "You haven't been here when he needed you. Go away." "We take care of him. Return to your ship," a man ordered. "Father," a thin voice called, and Gillette immediately recognised the voice of his son. "Johnny! I'm here!" he cried, but the crowd pushed him back. Gillette was shoved in the corridor and the door closed in front of his nose. He could hear the key turning, and began to bang his fists against the door. "Johnny!" he cried. "Let me in! I'm here!" * * * "Johnny!" Gillette woke up with a scream, dripping with sweat and his heart beating so fast that he feared it might kill him. He gasped for breath and tried to calm down, then he rubbed his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw Johnny standing next to the sea chest, holding the little model ship and admiring it. He inspected the Dauntless from all sides, then turned his head to his father and smiled, a bit lopsided and shy, as it was his way. "Is that for me?" he asked. Gillette couldn't have answered even if his life had depended on it. His hair stood on end, he was petrified with horror. "Is that for me?" the ghostly visitor repeated the question. "Is it my ship, father?" Maybe he was a ghost, and he really shouldn't be here, but Johnny was still his son. This thought broke the spell, and Gillette could speak again. "Yes, it's yours. Of course it's your," he stammered. Johnny smiled again and wrapped a lock of his thin red hair around a finger. "A jolly fine ship," he said. "Will you come home? Will we let her set sail? Just you and I?" "Of course Johnny, we'll do that. You have my word. I will always come home to you." "Good!" The little ghost put the ship back on the sea chest, waved his father goodbye and then disappeared. * * * Gillette lay in fever for a week, then his mind began to clear again. The ship's surgeon talked of "vapours" responsible for the serious illness that had almost killed the first lieutenant. Norrington thought that the bad news of little John Gillette's death had contributed to the breakdown, but Gillette himself didn't say a word about the matter. When he wasn't on duty, he'd sit in his cabin, staring at the little ship. Norrington feared that the fever might have affected Gillette's mind, yet he didn't dare to make further inquiries. Some things took a lot of time to heal. It was a cold, unfriendly day when the Dauntless arrived in Portsmouth, drizzling with rain and snow, and Gillette shivered. This was so much like his nightmare, and brought back the terror of that night. And then his ghostly visitor - it had been Johnny, no doubt, but how could he live with it? There was nobody whom he could have told about the things that he had seen and heard; even his wife would have declared him insane, and there was no place aboard a ship for an officer who was not of sound mind. To the end of his days he'd see Johnny, holding the little ship and looking at it wistfully. "Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Gillette?" Captain Norrington had come to stand next to him, stepping aside when two seamen passed by, carrying Gillette's sea chest. "Thank you, Sir, but - I feel better." "Very well then. I think your family is already waiting for you, Mr. Gillette," Norrington said, and pointed at a small group further down the jetty. Gillette immediately recognised his wife. And Mary - how she had grown! And there was Annie, as usual stepping impatiently from one foot to the other. And was that young man really Thomas? He had been away for far too long. One was missing, of course. Johnny wasn't there. Johnny would never be there again. Gillette clenched his jaw and straightened up. He would survive this just like he had survived everything else. There was no other option. "Father!" Gillette could see a small, skinny figure next to his wife. "Father! I thought you wouldn't come!" Gillette clasped his hand over his mouth to muffle a cry. It was Johnny, as alive as a boy could be, and while he didn't run as fast as Thomas would have, he did run, and jumped into Gillette's arms with such enthusiasm that he almost knocked his father over. For a moment, Gillette was petrified, then he lifted the boy up and hugged him so tight that the child complained. "I can't breathe if you squeeze me so hard, father! Why, I'm not an orange!" Johnny protested. "Johnny, good God, you're alive?" Gillette stuttered. "I've been very sick, but now I'm fine again," Johnny replied, put his arms around his father's neck and gave him a scrutinising look. "I was very sick, and my head was all hot. Mummy was crying, and I was afraid you wouldn't come home to me." "Oh Johnny, my Johnny, I will always come back to you," Gillette said, ruffling the boy's hair. "Don't you know that?" Johnny nodded. "Now I know, yes. I had a very funny dream of you and then I felt better." He winked at his father and gave him a mischievous smile, then rested his head on Gillette's shoulder. "There was also a jolly fine ship in my dream - is it for me?" For a moment, Gillette's heart stopped beating. The ship? "Of course the ship is for you, son," he replied slowly. "It's in my sea chest." The boy cheered. "Thank you! Will we let her sail? Just you and I?" "Yes, Johnny, we will - just you and I." The two made their way slowly through the crowd, and Gillette was greeted happily by his wife and his children. Johnny pushed Gillette's hat in his face and pulled on his pigtail, but today, his father didn't mind. * * * THE END |
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| JOHNNY by Molly Joyful |