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But she didn’t share any of this with her stepmother, who wouldn’t give a wit. So instead, she dutifully returned to the kitchen and, retying her apron, continued to roll out delicate pastry shells. Layered with butter to create a flaky crust, her stepmother worked alongside of her, silence settling between them.
And there was little point in crying to her father either. She’d tried over the years, but her once loving parent had grown distant and cold. His new wife was his only love now, and he’d do nearly anything to please her.
Sophie, hurt beyond measure, had spent a great deal of time attempting to win his affection back, but she’d given up. It was no use. He’d only ever told her why once, after several cups of wine, he’d muttered. “You’re too much like her, you know that, don’t you?”
Sophie could only assume that he meant her mother. She’d not answered then, just as she didn’t speak now.
Silence had been her only weapon of late.
But if she wasn’t mistaken, she’d just discovered another.
For the moment, however, she did as she was asked, baking and cooking a mountain of food as though she’d actually attend the dinner they’d planned. As though she’d marry Pierre. “Il est un homme abominable,” she muttered under her breath. He was truly detestable.
“Qui se?” her stepmother asked, lifting her head.
“It’s nothing,” she answered as she kept working. It was late in the afternoon before they finished. Finally free, Sophie stepped outside, giving her stepmother time to collect up food and meet her father on the edge of the field. The moment she heard the other woman leave, she doubled back into the kitchen. Working quickly, she placed cheese, bread, and pastries into the pocket of her apron. Fruits and vegetables went into a large basket, and she stuffed it until full, lassoing the lid down.
Then, going to the well, she filled a bladder with water that she slung over her shoulder. And last, she pulled a metal box from behind the sack of flour. Lifting the heavy box, she opened the lid and pulled the sailors bag of coins from the top. She added the money to the pocket of her apron and replaced the container.
It was wrong, she knew it, but desperate times called for such measures…
Heading to the front door, she started down the road. She knew the schedule of the house well. Her stepmother and father would spend the evening together, hopefully not even noticing that Sophie had slipped away until the morning.
When it would be too late.
She walked to the village with the setting sun, careful not to be seen by anyone.
By the time she reached the village, darkness had fallen. Still, she stayed out of sight, making her way down small streets and side alleys until she reached the piers.
She had a little less than an hour until the water would be high enough for the boats to leave the harbor. With that in mind, she slipped into the bustle of sailors, pulling her bonnet low over her eyes. It was too easy for someone to recognize her here.
Despite the dark, torches burned everywhere as people went to and for delivering all manner of goods to the boats along the shore. The village made most of its money off the port and the ships that they resupplied and so the residents worked with the tides always.
For all the world, she looked like another resident making a delivery which is how she slipped onto the deck of the Second Chance.
She knew precisely where it was, thanks to the captain.
All around her, sailors called to each other, ropes snapping and men bustling about. No one paid attention to the woman crossing to the hatch. Likely, she was one of many to bring in goods this evening.
Working her way down the tight ladder, she made her way to the galley, knowing precisely where it ought to be. But once she arrived, she kept going, finding the storage hold easily. The stomping above made her pause for just a moment. Had she brought enough food? Water?
Where were they going?
It didn’t matter. Anywhere was better than here.
With that in mind, she opened the door and slipped inside. She’d find a nice spot to hide herself away. And the first stop they made, she’d slip off the boat again. No one the wiser.
At least, that was the plan.
