The Stowaway

Bonus Epilogue

"Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom." Marcel Proust

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Bonus Epilogue

Three Years Later

November 1820

"I cannot believe you did that."

Eliza was quite used to her husband's irritation, especially when it was directed at her. Tom Buckley could be counted on to let his wife know when he was certain that she had made a mistake. Eliza could be counted on to completely ignore him. And they loved each other anyway. It was what made their marriage work.

Eliza wasn't sitting. Her rear was a little tender. She hadn't felt it so much the night before when she had been a cup and a half full of rum. But she felt it this morning. However Eliza would not give Tom the satisfaction of knowing that she was sore. "Everyone else was doing it," she retorted. "You had done it, too, only twenty minutes before me."

Tom rolled his dark eyes and glared at Eliza. He was standing across the cabin from her, leaning against his desk as he folded his arms across his chest, the chest which now bore two fresh swallows in honour of the miles that she had spent at sea. Tom still collected Eliza's sailor tattoos on his own person as he would not allow her to.

Echo had brought out the ink and the needle the night before to add to the crew's collection, and Tom had received his as he usually did. But after he had gone in to tend to their children, Eliza had indulged a little, and had convinced Echo to give her a tattoo as well. Echo had made himself scarce that morning, as to be seen by Tom when he was in such a mood was to have a death wish.

"I am furious at you," he snapped, still glaring at her with a hard expression.

"Really, is that any different to any other Monday?" Eliza retorted, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

"For God's sake, Eliza. You're incorrigible. You'll be the death of me." Tom shook his head and turned his back on her, slumping down into his chair and pulling out his captain's log.

Eliza was still grinning, knowing that he wouldn't stay angry for long. He never could. He would call her names, like he had done for years, but she knew that every time he called her incorrigible, or inept, or frustrating, or infuriating, it was just Tom's way of saying, "I love you for some Godforsaken reason."

She skipped across their small cabin and leaned her head down on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. His unruly dark hair and the stubble on his jaw tickled her cheek.

"Captain's Log: Monday November 20th, 1820," Eliza began, deepening her voice. Tom's pen froze as he listened to her. "My wife did it again. She proved to me why she is terribly wonderful in every way by getting a tattoo of my name on her backside. I absolutely love them both. My wife and her behind, that is." Eliza turned her face towards him and kissed his cheek.

"Is that supposed to sound like me?" Tom muttered, though Eliza could hear the softening humour in his tone. "I certainly can't start clogging my log up with notes about how wonderful my wife is as I do have a very serious reputation to maintain an –" Tom suddenly froze. "Hold on a moment ..." Tom pushed away from his desk and stood up abruptly, so much so that Eliza stumbled backwards. He turned on her and his black eyes narrowed. "The tattoo is where?"

Had Eliza neglected to disclose that little detail?

"Well, I figured since you have my name on your finger that it was only right that I have your name somewhere as well," Eliza protested, placing her hands on her hips and hooking her thumbs under her belt.