Page 74 of Paid to the Pirate

I owned but one dress, and while it hung to dry I made do with the hand-me-down shirt and breeches of a boy I never knew, two sizes too big. I tightened the belt at my waist. Had I some curves or muscle or any meat on my body at all, the tattered clothing would at least fit better. But to build meat on my bones, I needed to eat more often than I did.

Leaning down in the town square to retrieve my basket of eggs, I flinched as something flew by my head, narrowly missing.

“Charlotte’s a boy, Charlotte’s a boy!” came the chant from my right. I turned to see the three girls I least wanted to see. Despite our ages -- ranging from fifteen to sixteen -- they acted like children, often forcing me to respond in kind. I hated them all as much as they hated me.More.Because I had reason and they’d despised me all my life when I’d given them none.

“Have you been sleeping with the cows again?” Rebecca mocked, knowing full well we couldn’t afford our own cows… though I had been known to nap in George’s barn some afternoons.

Behavior I planned to cease. As soon as I was a lady, of course.

Father and I lived on the outskirts of town, on a small plot of land we helped farm. It was my job to bring the produce to market each day, but days like this were bad, bringing these three girls taunting, laughing, and twirling in their finery. Rebecca was the worst.

“You’re just a cow yourself, aren’t you?” she smirked, ostentatiously playing with the blue silk ribbons on her dress. “Isn’t she, girls? She looks like a cow and smells like a cow. Must be a cow.”

My hands itched to box her ears. Or better yet, to use my fists. It wasn’t a ladylike thought, but I couldn’t be bothered with that now.

“She’s too skinny to be a heifer and where are her teats?” one of the girls behind Rebecca taunted. “Cows have teats for milking. She looks more like a bull.”

The barb smarted and they knew it. Malnourished and underdeveloped, I didn’t look like the other girls, and wearing boys’ breeches didn’t help the matter.

“I’m not a cow and certainly not a bull,” I cried, finding my voice.

Rebecca’s grin was pure malice. “Go on then,” she urged, advancing. “Take off your shirt and show us your teats.”

Heart pounding, I realized the imminent threat these three girls posed. As they eyed me maliciously, I got the sense that if I didn’t strip my clothing, they would pin my arms and do it for me. Glancing down in panic, I saw Rebecca had tossed a rotten onion at my head. I almost reached down to throw it back, but I had a better idea and retrieved an egg from my basket.

Quickly, I drew the largest and took aim.

Splat.

It landed right in the middle of her chest, splitting open and sending yellow yolk running down her blue bodice in gooey trails.

Rebecca bared her perfect teeth. “You’ll pay for this!” she swore “I’ll tell my father what you’ve done and I’ll see you whipped!”

“Go ahead,” I challenged. My father, a gentle man, would never raise a hand to me… though I did worry abouthers,and what trouble he might cause. Rebecca screamed and started toward me, but I grabbed another egg.

“Stay back, unless you be wanting more,” I yelled.

The threat wasn’t effective.

All three girls charged, reaching me before I could escape. In the tussle, Rebecca knocked my eggs from my grip, smashing them all as the basket clattered to the ground and out of my reach, and sending my heart breaking along with them. We needed that money.

I had only enough time to retrieve the basket of ruined eggs or run, so I ran, hot tears streaming down my cheeks as I heard the girls laugh behind me.

By the time I made it to the safety of George’s barn, I was sobbing. It wasn’t like what happened was anything new, but once I started crying, I couldn’t stop.I am just so tired of it all. So hungry all the time.The girls were right -- my underfed body didn’t resemble that of a woman’s. Some days I was so frail I thought I barely looked human. In the summer, when we ate better, I still had no breasts to speak of, my hips were as narrow as a boy’s and my curses hadn’t come about yet. But in the winter, when food was less plentiful, my cheeks hallowed, my shoulder blades stuck out, and my legs looked like sticks.

Father said I was blessed to have my mother’s wild waves of hair and her soft, full lips. But I didn’t even have a picture to know if that was true.

That afternoon, I cried myself into a deep sleep.

#

Blinking my eyes open in George’s barn revealed I’d been asleep for maybe two or three hours. The barn stank, but the space was better than the cramped hovel I shared with Father. As I moved, the underside of my arm brushed against something sticky in my hair and I furrowed my brow, bringing my hands to my head.

The shrill scream I released would have rattled the devil.

Stickiness. All over my head.

My stomach sank as horror washed over me.

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