Maeve O'Treasaigh

My poor sweetie. You deserve some ice cream with that pie...

"Indeed?", she said in surprise, forgetting the typical politeness required immediately after such an introduction. "The captain's steward ya are? How amazing", she said with a soft smile of bemusement. "Pleased ta meet ya Miss Maeve", the steward said. Maeve made the appropriate response, thinking what a headstrong lass she must be, and turned to look at the Captain. "You have some very forward thinkin' ideas Mr. Brand. Just how menny women do ya have aboard that ship of yers? I couldn't help but notice the weh ya addressed the lovely dark haired lass on the docks". Maeve looked at the captain, wondering in that moment if he were possibly a lecher or if he was indeed open minded. Further, she wondered in any case what made the two women who served aboard his ship want to actually stay.

"What brought me here", she repeated. "Ma Father did. He's a proper chirurgeon, left far the America's to make a better livin', an' we eventually ended up here", she said simply. Captain Brand looked as though he expected more of a story than this. He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment as a short silence fell in the conversation. Alan picked up the conversation again right away and Maeve answered little questions about the town, and offered gossip and advice in regards to certain shops and their owners. She pointed out a small storefront selling wine and informed them that the owner had a disreputable practice of selling his "fair" product at double the price to sailors and non-residents. Just then, a tiny but fiesty looking little redhead wandered out of that particular store, looking about. Her countenance immediately brightened as her attention fell on them. Maeve was surprised that this little woman, surprisingly armed, suddenly looked as though she recognized them. The petite figure snapped to attention and knuckled her brow. "Captain Brand sah!", she called out in happy surprise.

Upon making his genteel introduction, Maeve gave a small curtsy and inclination of her head toward Captain Brand. His comfortable smile and demeanor disarmed her. However, she took almost immediate note of the wall of command this man hid behind an amiable and courteous manner. Now that the captain was looking directly at her, addressing her, she found that she still had difficulty determining his age, despite the white hair at the temples of his golden red hair. Steely blue eyes regarded her, and Maeve suddenly found this man a bit unsettling. "Captain. 'Twas nuthin' really, what I did fer Mr. Lasseter. It's just what I do. He shud heal up nicely I think. If you and yer men are ready, I should be happy ta lead ya to where he's stayin' ".

With the air growing increasingly warm, Maeve was overcome with thirst. Having made her order with the grocer, she now made her way to the community well nearby and satisfied her thirst. Just then, the church bells chimed, telling her it was now ten of the morning. "Oh", she exclaimed softly. "I'm a tad late". She hurried off back down to the docks, walking briskly. The exertion in the morning heat and humidity made her skin flush and dewy. It wasn't long before a few soft curls of strawberry blond strands clung to her forehead and the sides of her face. The effort in the heat made her, in fact, feel a bit woozy. She slowed up a bit, hoping a smile and a sincere apology would suffice when she arrived. When she reached the docks, they seemed to have reached a fine peak of thrumming activity. She continually dodged men and boxes and the like until she finally spied the dock area where she had met Mr. Woodington. She stopped, lifting up on her tiptoes and shielded her eyes to look for him. Suddenly, there he was, turning just then to look in her direction. "Mr. Woodington!", she called, waving her hand in the air. She was about to apologize for being late, but it appeared that Mr. Woodington and his crew mates had but just arrived.

^ Ever since I got my first kidney stones...and a c-section to boot....GIMME DRUGS NOW! < Thanks...I'll see if I can talk him into that olive oil garlic cure...seems like I've heard of it before, now that you mention it. V Would you volunteer to go on a mission to Mars, even if you knew it would only be a one-way trip?

^ I'd like to be an astronaut on an actual mission in space for a day...but only a day. I'm rather claustrophobic. Think I could handle it for a day though cuz I'd be too much in wonder to remember to freak out. < Takin' care of William...he's got a bad earache at the moment. My mom says that putting hydrogen peroxide in your ears "bubbles out the baddies". Guess we'll see. V What animal would you be most afraid to encounter in the wild?

Probably some Laab (sometimes called Larb). Mmm...I love Thai food.

Hmm. I'll let you pick the appropriate wine Jenny. I'll have to see if our local Chili's does that Twofer Tuesday. Sounds great!

It's gettin' close to dinner time. Might I please have some bruschetta for an appetizer, and then a nice filet mignon with some kind of potatoes on the side?

^ a Bobcat pouncing on his meal (an unsuspecting rabbit). I can still see it in slow motion in my head. I witnessed this on a walk in Almaden Quicksilver Park in California. < Just workin' on boring work stuff and laying low on the boss' radar. V Are you natural or are you a dye job?

Maeve smiled in understanding. "Of course Mr. Woodington. A'll be back here en an ars time." Maeve inclined her head and departed, making her way through the docks and back into town to see a grocer about purchasing a supply of food to be delivered to her shop later that evening.

“Aye…Mr. Woodington”, she said, a bit taken aback by his unabashed enthusiasm. She smiled a little then. “Jest a few ars ago, in the early marnin’, I was asked to dress some wounds that a Captain Lasseter sustenned from an attack by two roisters. I’ve stitched ‘im up an’ med sure he’s restin’ at an inn….the Tourville Grande. Et appears he dispatched his two armed attackers, but sustained a head wound.” By this time, two more men had come to stand beside Mr. Woodington. Maeve trailed off for a moment. Alan, noticing the two decided to introduce them. “Pascal, Cobus…this is Miss…?”. “Oh! Right. I never said ma nem. It’s Ms. O’Treasaigh. Pleased to make all of yer acquaintances”, she replied, and then paused, uncertain as to whether she should continue. Almost immediately, Alan motioned for her to continue. “So…right…ennyways, he’s doin’ fine, restin’ at the Tourville Grande. He wanted to let Captain Brand know about these events, and also ta let him know that he’s accomplished the task of orderin' all needed supplies from the Chandler”.

The bright morning light that spilled through Maeve’s bedroom window was so bright it made her wake with a sneeze. Rubbing her nose and groaning at being woken in such an awful way for the second time today, the chirurgeon pushed herself up unhappily to a sitting position. Hunger pangs immediately gnawed at her. She squinted, looking out through the window, noting the approximate time of day and decided she’d better be on her way as a favor to Mr. Lasseter. She could rest more later. Maeve stood up out of bed, momentarily surprised to find shoes still on her feet and a cloak lying on the bed. She snorted and proceeded to dress quickly in more appropriate attire. Once dressed, she snatched up the letter and headed downstairs, through her shop, and into a tiny kitchen where she cut herself a nice portion of crusty bread and a thick slice of hard cheese to eat while she set out. Nearly forgetting about her mess of lazy curls, Maeve hastily braided it, threw on a bonnet and stepped out into the already warm morning air. She wended her way downhill through the paved streets of St. Louis to the sunlit dock of the Cul du Sac Royal. She counted no less than a dozen ships in harbor, all magnificent in their own right. The docks bustled with the noise of early morning activity. Maeve was able to make out three unusual ships flying the colors of England, Spain, and France. She could also see that at least one of them had sustained some fairly serious damage as it presented a foreshortened foremast. Maeve began asking dockworkers where she might find someone to take a message to a ship called the Watch Dog. There were many blank stares and shaking heads. She thought for a moment and decided to translate the ship's name into French. La Chein de garde. When she used this version of the name, the dock workers began pointing in the direction of a group of men who seemed to be loading several small boats with all manner of supplies. With a word of thanks, she moved on until she came to that particular bustle of activity. “Excuse me”, she called out. “I’m lookin’ fer someone who can deliver a message to a Captain Brand of the Watch Dog”. She watched, hoping for a response of some kind.

Maeve headed home, dead tired but almost deliriously excited at her good fortune for what she’d thought had started out as a bad omen, not so unlike an event several months past. Worry gnawed at her again just then, but the weight of the coins she now carried found its way to the forefront of her attention. She reached her home, barely recounting the steps that brought her there. Once inside, she bolted the door and spilled the coins with an anxious heart on the counter. There were 3 Queen Ann guineas, 2 William the 3rd sovereigns, 2 crowns, a half crown, 2 schillings, and 6 pence. Maeve was astounded. It was the equivalent of twice her asking price. This money could easily see her through the next 4 months if she was a bit frugal. She whispered a small prayer of thanks to St. Luke for her good fortune and resolved to wake as soon as her tired frame would allow her so that she might deliver the message for the good captain. With no small sense of relief, she rose up the stairs, blew out her lantern, and all but fell into bed, more tired and drained than she realized she’d been. The lass hadn’t even bothered to remove her cloak or shoes as blissful sleep claimed her.

Maeve considered for a moment while packing up her supplies. “Well, I typically charge 54 livre’s fer something fairly simple such as thes”, she said simply. She refused to allow herself to look longingly at the gold coins that had been passed off to the Chandler and his son. Even if the man had money, she refused to gouge him the same way dear Dr. Tramois would be doing had he come in her place. After only a moment she added, “Oh, and though yer not much of an escort at the moment, might I be yers ‘til we reach the Inn? I havta walk past it on ma way home ennyways. I’d like ta make shore ya don’t go fallin’ down”.

Pierre-Louis led Maeve hurriedly through the town, both of them casting furtive glances at every dark corner and alleyway they passed. Other than the still lively tavern scene, nothing and no one disturbed their progress to the Chandlers. Finally, they reached their destination. Pierre-Louis turned to give her an anxious look she couldn't quite interpret just a moment before he opened the door to his father's business. Light from several lamps spilled through the doorway. The youth quickly stepped inside and Maeve followed, shutting the door beside her. Maeve stood quietly in the doorway as Pierre-Louis moved over to the man she assumed must be his father, who began questioning him in hushed tones. A seated man turned at the sound of their entrance, holding a bloodied rag to the left side of his face. His right eye blinked as he regarded her. The Chandler listened to his son as he confirmed her suspicion that the lad had indeed attempted to obtain the services of Laurent Tramois and how he was summarily dismissed and sent to this woman. He gestured to Maeve. Upon being addressed, after a fashion, Maeve inclined her head. The Chandler stared at her uncertainly, but he seemed too tired to brook any arguments about her gender or qualifications. Without further hesitation, Maeve stepped forward with her bag to stand in front of her patient. The Chandler and his son bustled out of her way. Placing her bag down in front of the wounded man, Maeve regarded his hazel eyes for a moment before extending her right hand. "Hello. My nem is Maeve O'Treasaigh. I'm here ta fix you up. Are ya feelin' well enough ta tell me yer nem sir?" The man nodded, albeit gingerly, and extended his hand to take hers. The was a slow smile on his face. "The nem is Dorian Lasseter, Cap'n of the Heron, just arrived in port". Maeve smiled, unexpectedly delighted. "Ah! A fellow Irishman. How wonderful. And a capten too. Sems as though Martinique has given ya a rude greeten sar. Lemme have a look at ya now...". Maeve reached forward and assisted Mr. Lasseter in pulling away the rag from his face to assess the damage. He appeared to have a nasty split just above his left cheekbone at his temple. "Hmm....", was all she said as she bent down to his level and took his face between her small hands. Maeve gazed assessingly into his eyes, looking to see if his pupils seems the correct size. "How did ya come by such a lovely prize", she asked as she gently turned his head to the left, and then the right. The captain explained the attack, and then his subsequent blacking out. Maeve listened, looking grave, but not overly worried as she unapologetically ran her fingers into his hair and along his scalp to ascertain any further damage. There was likely to be a bump where he could have hit his head when he blacked out. She was right. Mr. Lasseter winced a bit as her fingers found the welt, hidden in the mass of his long brown hair. Maeve removed her hands from his scalp and reached behind her to grab her lantern from the boy. She brought it up close to get a good look at the cut on his face. It was mean, it's appearance made worse by the apparent bruising, but it wasn't too deep. Holding the lantern in her left hand, Maeve reached for the bloodied cloth and then thought better of it and turned to the Chandler and his son. "It's not so bad", she said. "Would ya please fetch me a new bowl of boil't water and a few new rags please". The Chandler elbowed Pierre-Louis and the boy ran off to fetch the things she needed while he stared on. "Ya seem to be on yer way to collectin' scars there Mr. Lasseter", Maeve said as she began rummaging through her small bag. The captain chuckled, although she suspected the pressure of laughter cost him a nice internal head throbbing. "I'm sorry ta say you'll be needin' some stitches, but the Chandler would be kind enough, I'm sure, ta lend ya a nice tall shot of something ta help ease the stingin'". Maeve turned to the Chandler and addressed him. "Monsieur, du rhum si vous ples", she asked quietly. The chrirugeon returned her attention to her patient, fully expecting her request to be complied with. "Looks like ya'v already bled enough, so I won't be bleedin' ya any further tonight", she said. The captain nodded slowly. "Thank ya Ms....er...". The captain looked a bit chagrined at forgetting her name. "Ms. O'Treasaigh", she said, a bit bemused. The boy came back with the water and rags. Maeve made quick work of the stitches, and then applied a small poultice blister. She finished this off by wrapping a strip of cloth a few time around his head and tying it off. Satisfied with her work, Maeve stood up and regarded the handsome, weather-worn face. "You'll be needin' some sleep now Mr. Lasseter. Ya'v made a fine patient. Do ya have somewhere ta stay?"

For a moment, she thought the pounding was just the sound of her heart in her ears, waking with a start. Maeve sat up in bed and listened for the cause of her sudden waking. There it was again….a somewhat timid but insistent knocking on the door of her shop downstairs. Unease took her then. It couldn’t be a good omen to have someone at such an hour. Taking a quick moment to cross herself, Maeve pushed back the blankets and stood up woozily out of bed, the cobwebs of sleep still thick. She stubbed her toe on the bedpost as she made her way to the small fireplace and let out a harshly whispered Irish curse. Fetching up her solitary candlestick, she lit it with a thin sliver of wood that served as a match that she had set to some glowing embers. With the candle lit, Maeve made her way more confidently towards the top of the stairs, stopping to fetch her shawl and drape it around her slight shoulders before she padded down the stairs. Again came the knocking, still timid, but somehow more insistent. She tried to get a peek at just who might be outside of her shop at this hour through the small window beside the door as she reached the bottom of the stairs. It was utterly dark outside. “Qui est là ?”, Maeve called loudly as she crossed her small shop floor, reaching for a capital knife she had left out on the counter. She was surprised to hear the voice of a young lad respond. His pale face suddenly appeared at her window as he said “Pardonnez-moi madame. Veuillez excuser le retard de l'heure, mais…”. The boy paused. Maeve, somewhat put-off and disarmed that there seemed to be a mere youth at her door, moved quickly to the window to see if the boy was alone. Her sudden appearance in the window seemed to alarm the boy and he stepped back several feet to a much more respectable distance. Keeping her knife in her left hand, she set down her candle on the counter to unlatch the door with her right and swung it open. Rather than resume his speaking, the boy gawped for a moment and stammered. “I…..I….”. He seemed put off by her sudden appearance in a chemise and shawl and her loosed locks of fair hair. “Good heavens lad! Whar’s yer lantern? Who would send ye out in such darkness without proper light?”, she asked quickly in her native Irish lilt, light though it was. The boy suddenly seemed even more awkward. Finally he found his tongue. “Si vous ples….er….Please madame”, he managed in heavily accented English. “Me….My name is Pierre-Louise and I …er…was by my father sent Monsieur Sébastian Badeau, the Chandler”. The boy paused a moment, grimacing at his poor grammar and anxiously shifting his weight from one foot to another. “We……I……er……need un docteur. There is a capitaine in needing of your help”. The youth paused, looking askance at Maeve. Maeve narrowed her eyes at the boy and decided it might put him as ease to try and converse in French. “Un capitaine que vous dites? Que s'est produit?”. The boy suddenly began spilling a waterfall of French that ran together so quickly poor Maeve could only pull out what seemed to be the important key words such as “attacked”, “bleeding”, and “head”. His voice rose in pitch as he spoke, cracking slightly with the change of impending manhood. Even in the small light of her candle, she could see this add to his embarrassment. “Si vous ples madame….mon père dit que je dois apporter un docteur.” Maeve was already nodding as she wondered for a moment to herself why the youth had not instead visited the doctor on the main street. No matter she thought, as she could use the business more than that misogynistic old codger anyway. She nodded at the youth. “Oui, Oui. Naturellement je viendrai. Veuillez attendre l'intérieur tandis que je recueille mes choses”. Maeve motioned for the boy to step inside. He seemed to visibly blanch, but obediently stepped inside as she moved out of the doorway to allow him in. His countenance became more ghostly still when he chanced to see the wicked amputation knife she had hidden in her left hand as she’d stood half hidden behind the door. Maeve immediately began moving around her tiny shop, hastily adding items into a small leather bag. Pierre-Louise watched her in silence as her slight figure darted here and there, looking for things he had no idea of. He gulped and stopped looking as he saw one too many sharp items go into her bag. “How badly is he wounded? Can he speak? Is he conscious?”, she began asking the boy as she considered what more to bring. Pierre-Louis was quiet a moment and blinked several times, digesting her English words and attempting a response. “Er….oui madame…..the capitaine is awake and…..speaking. There is…..er….lots of blood?” He seemed unsure if this was the right response and waited for her reply, but Maeve merely said “M-hmm” as she made minor adjustments and additions to her bag of supplies. Momentarily, she was done and asked the lad to wait a moment while she ran upstairs. Once in her room, Maeve hastily threw on a cloak over her chemise and shawl, more for modesty’s sake than for chill. Reaching under her bedside, she grabbed her hose and shoes, quickly slipped them on, and headed once more downstairs. Lighting a tiny lantern with her candle she handed the boy the lantern as she grabbed up her bag and capital knife once more. “Je suis prêt. Portez-moi au capitaine”, she said. Pierre-Louis and the un-papered but skilled chrirugeon headed off into the darkness, but this time, not without proper light.

*sigh*...just drinkin' some boring unsweetened cranwater so I can cheat BIGTIME w/ my chocolate cake tonight. :-)

Ah! Yet another pirate I'm lucky enough to share my natal day with. Wishing you MUCH happiness!

Aye! Happy Birthday to ye! How nice to share a birthday with you today. I'll invite you over for some of my chocolate REAL whipped cream (none of that fake crap) cake that I plan to have tonight. We won't bother with candles...who needs 'em.

Ah my dearest William. Who could need any other gift but you? You've bested any gift yet to date by giving me our beautiful son. Thank you love....thank you for everything. I love my unworthy pedestal. It allows me to gaze down into those lovely, adoring blues of yours. Happy birthday to me indeed. :-)

Although Jayne cracks me up, I'm a Mal girl all the way. Sign me up! Jayne doesn't have the "depth" I prefer in a guy. Mal on the other hand, he's got that and buckets more of other "shiny" attributes.

Wow Jim. You and your wife are TRULY wonderful. I believe the appropriate term for the two of you are SAINTS! I'll remember your story the next time I think I'm having a crappy day. You guys just saved the futures of two young children who didn't deserve the bad hand they'd been dealt...you're heroes in my book. -Maeve O'Treasaigh

I'd have a bed that's something like this in my room, but I'd would used big thick nautical or becketed ropes of some kind to suspend the bed with. -Maeve