![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
The Highwaymen
mood: 
satisfied
satisfied------------------------------------
"The cost of living is going up and the chance of living is going down.”
-Flip Wilson
PROLOGUE
The morning arose cold and damp. The sun had not but risen above the horizon by the time the small carriage had reached mid-highway to its destination.
Frost lined the grasses beside the road, glittering coldly as the sun touched them. A crisp wind leaked into the carriage.
Four people lined the seats inside, keeping to themselves and shivering beneath their coats.
The youngest, a woman just out of her teens, sat facing the back of the carriage, watching the road disappear behind them, her hands tucked to warm themselves under a basket of food.
Beside her, her father let out a faint cough. He was skinny, balding slightly, and looked as though he’d had a bit too much to drink without a proper ration of food to carry him through the meal. A shabby brown coat hung over his shoulders.
Across from them sat an old couple. Neither spoke nor looked up from their laps. They were dressed as great likenesses of each other. Worn grey coats melded together between them while hair to match curled thinly off their heads.
The young woman’s father was the first to speak, shifting his coat as he did so.
“Good morning,” he smiled at the old man sitting in front of him.
The man looked up and attempted a tired nod. “Good morning.”
“What’re you going into town today for?”
The old woman smiled, “We’re going to see our daughter and hers. We got word last night that we’re grandparents.” She looked warmer just sharing the news.
“Congratulations,” the father smiled.
“We’ve been waiting to hear from them for several weeks now. They sent us a letter last night, so we waited to leave till the morning.”
“That’s the safest way to do it,” the old man nodded seriously. “If you travel at night you’ll be in danger of a robber coming up on you.”
There was silence between them.
“What’re you going in for then?” The old man asked the first.
“We’re going into town to…” the father thought. “Move some money around.”
The young woman looked up from her view at the window, “We’ve packed lunch. It looks like it’ll be a nice day. It’s my job to keep him out of the pubs.”
The old couple laughed.
“Do you know what your granddaughter’s name is yet, ma’am?” she asked the older woman.
The woman smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “No need to call me ma’am, miss. I’m Helen. I suppose we should’ve introduced ourselves when we got in. This is my husband Bernard. And our granddaughter is Fiona.”
“That’s a beautiful name,” the young woman agreed. “I’m Elizabeth.”
“Sean,” her father introduced, reaching across the carriage to shake Bernard’s hand.
As he was settling back into his seat, there was a noise from outside and the carriage began to slow down.
“We can’t be there yet,” Helen looked concerned. “Maybe we’re picking someone up.”
Her husband shook his head, “No. We can’t fit anymore in here. He knows that.”
There were two voices outside. One was the driver. The second was that of another man, his tone deep and calm.
“Could you hold my horse for me?” He asked, a smile playing through his voice. Footsteps neared the carriage door and the man stepped into view. He was dressed finely, a dark maroon coat warming him against the cold and tall leather boots, wet at the bottom from snow. A black, three-point hat rested snuggly atop his tied brown hair. A froth of lace spouting from the neck of the coat completed the image.
“Excuse me,” he grinned, climbing into the carriage. “Excuse me.”
Elizabeth pressed herself against the wall beside her as the man squeezed uncomfortably between her and her father. He smiled again at the four farmers.
“Nippy isn’t it?” He queried.
Elizabeth’s father nodded uncertainly, scrutinizing the man who now sat between them. If he had been slightly more attentive and considerably less tired, he might have noticed the man reach surreptitiously into his overcoat, all the while eyeing Elizabeth. As he was about to ask the man’s name, there was a clicking sound and a gun pressed against the girl’s head.
The sudden change of situation caught the carriage’s occupants off guard. The father started. The old man straightened himself, and the woman let out a small whimper.
Still smiling, the man took the hat from his head and held it out to them. They all looked at it for a moment, uncertain of what to do. He bounced the hat in his palm and glanced from it to each of them.
Bernard was the first to move, reaching into his coat pocket for a few small coins, which he dropped hopefully into the hat. Helen and Sean followed suit.
The thief smiled more broadly now, still bouncing the hat as they all listened to the acquired melodies it had found from the coins within it. He put the gun back into its holster and stooped out into the snow.
“Thank you,” he nodded, turning back to them. “You’ve been a gratuitous audience this morning. God bless.” And with that he disappeared.
Four footsteps away, he stopped, backtracked, and reappeared at the carriage door.
He was silent for a moment, and then turned to Elizabeth. His eyes fell to the basket of food resting on her lap. “You wouldn’t happen to have an apple in there would you?”
She blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Apple,” he repeated, taking a sword from his side and jabbing the basket lightly.
Reaching her hand tentatively into the food, Elizabeth found what he had requested and raised it towards him. She took her hand quickly back as he speared his prize on the sword’s tip.
“And a most honorable thanks to you, m’lady.”
-Flip Wilson
PROLOGUE
The morning arose cold and damp. The sun had not but risen above the horizon by the time the small carriage had reached mid-highway to its destination.
Frost lined the grasses beside the road, glittering coldly as the sun touched them. A crisp wind leaked into the carriage.
Four people lined the seats inside, keeping to themselves and shivering beneath their coats.
The youngest, a woman just out of her teens, sat facing the back of the carriage, watching the road disappear behind them, her hands tucked to warm themselves under a basket of food.
Beside her, her father let out a faint cough. He was skinny, balding slightly, and looked as though he’d had a bit too much to drink without a proper ration of food to carry him through the meal. A shabby brown coat hung over his shoulders.
Across from them sat an old couple. Neither spoke nor looked up from their laps. They were dressed as great likenesses of each other. Worn grey coats melded together between them while hair to match curled thinly off their heads.
The young woman’s father was the first to speak, shifting his coat as he did so.
“Good morning,” he smiled at the old man sitting in front of him.
The man looked up and attempted a tired nod. “Good morning.”
“What’re you going into town today for?”
The old woman smiled, “We’re going to see our daughter and hers. We got word last night that we’re grandparents.” She looked warmer just sharing the news.
“Congratulations,” the father smiled.
“We’ve been waiting to hear from them for several weeks now. They sent us a letter last night, so we waited to leave till the morning.”
“That’s the safest way to do it,” the old man nodded seriously. “If you travel at night you’ll be in danger of a robber coming up on you.”
There was silence between them.
“What’re you going in for then?” The old man asked the first.
“We’re going into town to…” the father thought. “Move some money around.”
The young woman looked up from her view at the window, “We’ve packed lunch. It looks like it’ll be a nice day. It’s my job to keep him out of the pubs.”
The old couple laughed.
“Do you know what your granddaughter’s name is yet, ma’am?” she asked the older woman.
The woman smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “No need to call me ma’am, miss. I’m Helen. I suppose we should’ve introduced ourselves when we got in. This is my husband Bernard. And our granddaughter is Fiona.”
“That’s a beautiful name,” the young woman agreed. “I’m Elizabeth.”
“Sean,” her father introduced, reaching across the carriage to shake Bernard’s hand.
As he was settling back into his seat, there was a noise from outside and the carriage began to slow down.
“We can’t be there yet,” Helen looked concerned. “Maybe we’re picking someone up.”
Her husband shook his head, “No. We can’t fit anymore in here. He knows that.”
There were two voices outside. One was the driver. The second was that of another man, his tone deep and calm.
“Could you hold my horse for me?” He asked, a smile playing through his voice. Footsteps neared the carriage door and the man stepped into view. He was dressed finely, a dark maroon coat warming him against the cold and tall leather boots, wet at the bottom from snow. A black, three-point hat rested snuggly atop his tied brown hair. A froth of lace spouting from the neck of the coat completed the image.
“Excuse me,” he grinned, climbing into the carriage. “Excuse me.”
Elizabeth pressed herself against the wall beside her as the man squeezed uncomfortably between her and her father. He smiled again at the four farmers.
“Nippy isn’t it?” He queried.
Elizabeth’s father nodded uncertainly, scrutinizing the man who now sat between them. If he had been slightly more attentive and considerably less tired, he might have noticed the man reach surreptitiously into his overcoat, all the while eyeing Elizabeth. As he was about to ask the man’s name, there was a clicking sound and a gun pressed against the girl’s head.
The sudden change of situation caught the carriage’s occupants off guard. The father started. The old man straightened himself, and the woman let out a small whimper.
Still smiling, the man took the hat from his head and held it out to them. They all looked at it for a moment, uncertain of what to do. He bounced the hat in his palm and glanced from it to each of them.
Bernard was the first to move, reaching into his coat pocket for a few small coins, which he dropped hopefully into the hat. Helen and Sean followed suit.
The thief smiled more broadly now, still bouncing the hat as they all listened to the acquired melodies it had found from the coins within it. He put the gun back into its holster and stooped out into the snow.
“Thank you,” he nodded, turning back to them. “You’ve been a gratuitous audience this morning. God bless.” And with that he disappeared.
Four footsteps away, he stopped, backtracked, and reappeared at the carriage door.
He was silent for a moment, and then turned to Elizabeth. His eyes fell to the basket of food resting on her lap. “You wouldn’t happen to have an apple in there would you?”
She blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Apple,” he repeated, taking a sword from his side and jabbing the basket lightly.
Reaching her hand tentatively into the food, Elizabeth found what he had requested and raised it towards him. She took her hand quickly back as he speared his prize on the sword’s tip.
“And a most honorable thanks to you, m’lady.”
“The only sure thing about luck is that it will change.”
-Bret Harte
CHAPTER I. ELIZABETH
The market was busy that morning. Elizabeth and her father had made their way through the packed streets to a pub in a far corner of town. Pushing the doors open, a wave of sound and smell held them back momentarily. A wide range of people sat about the bar and tables, clutching their drinks defensively while gambling large piles of money away. Sean found who he was looking for and shuffled towards him.
“Jack,” he smiled, holding the back of his hand against his mouth immediately afterwards to stifle a cough.
A small, wiry looking man glanced up at the two as they approached and nodded in response to the welcome. He pulled his mug beside him and kicked a chair towards them.
“Do you have my money, Sean?”
Sean shifted uncomfortably, avoiding the invitation to sit. “Yes. I- No. Not all of it. But I’ve got—“
A knot clenched in Jack’s jaw and Elizabeth imagined to herself how quickly they would be able to get to the exit and into the safety of the street before Jack caught up with them. Sean took a quick glance at the door as well.
“Why?” Jack paused. “Why do you still not have it?”
“I have some of it.”
Jack considered. “How much?”
Pulling a small pouch out of his chest pocket, Sean sifted its contents onto the table before them.
Jack counted.
The barman had walked to their side of the bar and began serving a customer all the while looking sideways at the meeting that was taking place.
“You push your luck,” Jack said finally as he scooped his prize into a box below the table. “Meet me here in a month with the rest. I’m tired of waiting on you.”
“Of course,” Sean nodded, his composure reinforcing itself in an attempt to look as though this was no problem.
Finishing his drink, Jack said, “I’ll see you then. Good day.”
Elizabeth and Sean stood aside to let him storm out into the street. Sean slumped into the abandoned chair, his head dropping weakly into his hands.
“Father?” Elizabeth asked and took the seat beside him.
He clenched his hands through his hair, thin grey clumps of it escaping through his fingers.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m preparing to drink myself to death.”
She placed her hand on his shoulder, only to find how dangerously thin he’d become. Drinking himself to death wouldn’t take too long. “We’ll figure out something.” She racked her mind for some way out of this. “Maybe you could make some sort of exchange with him.”
“I wish it were that easy,” he shrugged.
An idea broke its way into the forefront of her thoughts. “I could get a job.”
She watched it sink in. “No,” he responded after a moment’s deliberation. “It’s out of the question. I need you at home. We have the crops and the livestock and a house to keep up. I’m not as young and able as I used to be, Elizabeth. You know I can’t work the way you can.”
“But without more income there’s no way you’ll be able to pay Jack in time. I wouldn’t need the job forever.” She raised her eyebrows in a plea. “I could work until your debt was paid and then I could come back home.”
“And what am I to do while you’re gone? The crops won’t tend themselves in your leave,” he said this as though he’d averted any possible rebuttal she could come up with.
It wasn’t one of his better arguments. “I’ll get one of the Bell kids to take over for me. They can spare a boy or two.”
He opened his mouth hopelessly and closed it again. Then, giving in, he said, “So where will you work?”
“Here,” a thick voice rumbled from behind them. They turned to see the barman still standing where the customer from earlier had been. He motioned them to the bar.
Helping her father out of his seat, Elizabeth took the slow lead. As they stopped at the bar, she could smell the scent of alcohol grow stronger and subconsciously tightened her grip on his arm.
“I overheard you talking to Jack,” the barman said as he methodically wiped glasses down with his dirty rag. “I don’t like him. He’s always doing his business in here. Rarely buys anything and never acts decently towards anyone. I’ve had my share of brutes come through this bar and for a while I was one of them, but that Jack pushes too far. I’d hate to see him take advantage of another family like he does.” He set down his glass and looked curiously between the two, observing the state they were in and probably determining how much work he could get out of the girl. A smile flashed across his broad features. “How far out do you folks live?”
“Half a day by carriage,” she explained.
He nodded. “If you work for me, I’ll give you room and board in the inn. You’ll also be making twenty-one shillings a week and you can have Sundays off.”
“Oh- Thank you,” She stammered, beaming for her good luck. “When do you want me to start?”
“How long until you can get all of your things moved in?”
She imagined all of her worldly possessions and how easily they would fit into a single trunk or bag. “I could be ready by tomorrow midday.”
“Great,” he smiled, taking up a dirty mug from beside them. “I’ll have your room ready when you get here.” And with that he turned and strode off down the bar.
-Bret Harte
CHAPTER I. ELIZABETH
The market was busy that morning. Elizabeth and her father had made their way through the packed streets to a pub in a far corner of town. Pushing the doors open, a wave of sound and smell held them back momentarily. A wide range of people sat about the bar and tables, clutching their drinks defensively while gambling large piles of money away. Sean found who he was looking for and shuffled towards him.
“Jack,” he smiled, holding the back of his hand against his mouth immediately afterwards to stifle a cough.
A small, wiry looking man glanced up at the two as they approached and nodded in response to the welcome. He pulled his mug beside him and kicked a chair towards them.
“Do you have my money, Sean?”
Sean shifted uncomfortably, avoiding the invitation to sit. “Yes. I- No. Not all of it. But I’ve got—“
A knot clenched in Jack’s jaw and Elizabeth imagined to herself how quickly they would be able to get to the exit and into the safety of the street before Jack caught up with them. Sean took a quick glance at the door as well.
“Why?” Jack paused. “Why do you still not have it?”
“I have some of it.”
Jack considered. “How much?”
Pulling a small pouch out of his chest pocket, Sean sifted its contents onto the table before them.
Jack counted.
The barman had walked to their side of the bar and began serving a customer all the while looking sideways at the meeting that was taking place.
“You push your luck,” Jack said finally as he scooped his prize into a box below the table. “Meet me here in a month with the rest. I’m tired of waiting on you.”
“Of course,” Sean nodded, his composure reinforcing itself in an attempt to look as though this was no problem.
Finishing his drink, Jack said, “I’ll see you then. Good day.”
Elizabeth and Sean stood aside to let him storm out into the street. Sean slumped into the abandoned chair, his head dropping weakly into his hands.
“Father?” Elizabeth asked and took the seat beside him.
He clenched his hands through his hair, thin grey clumps of it escaping through his fingers.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m preparing to drink myself to death.”
She placed her hand on his shoulder, only to find how dangerously thin he’d become. Drinking himself to death wouldn’t take too long. “We’ll figure out something.” She racked her mind for some way out of this. “Maybe you could make some sort of exchange with him.”
“I wish it were that easy,” he shrugged.
An idea broke its way into the forefront of her thoughts. “I could get a job.”
She watched it sink in. “No,” he responded after a moment’s deliberation. “It’s out of the question. I need you at home. We have the crops and the livestock and a house to keep up. I’m not as young and able as I used to be, Elizabeth. You know I can’t work the way you can.”
“But without more income there’s no way you’ll be able to pay Jack in time. I wouldn’t need the job forever.” She raised her eyebrows in a plea. “I could work until your debt was paid and then I could come back home.”
“And what am I to do while you’re gone? The crops won’t tend themselves in your leave,” he said this as though he’d averted any possible rebuttal she could come up with.
It wasn’t one of his better arguments. “I’ll get one of the Bell kids to take over for me. They can spare a boy or two.”
He opened his mouth hopelessly and closed it again. Then, giving in, he said, “So where will you work?”
“Here,” a thick voice rumbled from behind them. They turned to see the barman still standing where the customer from earlier had been. He motioned them to the bar.
Helping her father out of his seat, Elizabeth took the slow lead. As they stopped at the bar, she could smell the scent of alcohol grow stronger and subconsciously tightened her grip on his arm.
“I overheard you talking to Jack,” the barman said as he methodically wiped glasses down with his dirty rag. “I don’t like him. He’s always doing his business in here. Rarely buys anything and never acts decently towards anyone. I’ve had my share of brutes come through this bar and for a while I was one of them, but that Jack pushes too far. I’d hate to see him take advantage of another family like he does.” He set down his glass and looked curiously between the two, observing the state they were in and probably determining how much work he could get out of the girl. A smile flashed across his broad features. “How far out do you folks live?”
“Half a day by carriage,” she explained.
He nodded. “If you work for me, I’ll give you room and board in the inn. You’ll also be making twenty-one shillings a week and you can have Sundays off.”
“Oh- Thank you,” She stammered, beaming for her good luck. “When do you want me to start?”
“How long until you can get all of your things moved in?”
She imagined all of her worldly possessions and how easily they would fit into a single trunk or bag. “I could be ready by tomorrow midday.”
“Great,” he smiled, taking up a dirty mug from beside them. “I’ll have your room ready when you get here.” And with that he turned and strode off down the bar.
Just to warn you: this is the longest and shittiest chapter of my life. If you don't read all of it, I will not be hurt.
CHAPTER II. THE BELL
Elizabeth and her father made their way to the town’s center. They moved slower and slower, their pace checked by a constant stream of townsfolk coming and going, buying and selling. Elizabeth caught her breath in disgust as two men carrying a slaughtered pig pushed their way passed her and her father, nearly knocking the frail man over. Lifting her head as if to draw fresh air from above the jostling crowd, she gathered her father's arm in her own, and pushed onward. Children ran shouting about their parents’ ankles as venders continued to call their offers out to the passing crowd.
The road leading out of town wasn’t quite as busy, bearing only sparse carriages and travelers on foot. Several horseback riders could be seen a ways off.
“Let’s have some of that lunch you packed before we get going,” Sean smiled, helping himself into the grass.
Elizabeth followed suit and placed the basket between them. Opening the cover, she began to produce the few items they had brought along: a loaf of bread, two small canteens of water, and a single apple. If it hadn’t been for earlier, there would have been two.
Elizabeth made a silent prayer over her half of the bread that the robber wouldn’t be waiting on the road home.
Their lunch was finished quickly and silently and soon they were back on the road, their stomachs satiated and the basket considerably lighter.
Half a mile out of town, a friendly shout reached them from behind.
“Sean!” cried the man’s voice over the trundling of wheels and scraping of the horse’s hooves.
Sean and Elizabeth turned to see their neighbors, the Bells, riding towards them in the back of a cart.
“Afternoon, Jonathan, Kimberly,” Sean replied as the family pulled even with them.
Jonathan leaned over the side. “You folks headed home?”
“We are,” Elizabeth nodded.
“Hop on,” Jonathan extended his hand. “You’re on our way.”
Pulling themselves into the cart, the two settled themselves amongst the Bells who graciously made room.
Elizabeth had been right when she said they could spare a boy. There were nine sons altogether and not a daughter amongst them. The oldest, Alistair, was twenty-five and working at the mill in town. Keegan and Shay were twins just past their twenty-third birthday. Both worked alternately for a brewery and one of the local bars. Felic and Delaney were in their late teens and also worked odd jobs around town. Arthur, Finn, Ian, and Jason all stayed at home to help with the daily upkeep.
Elizabeth looked between them all, from the tiny Jason asleep in his mother’s lap, to Keegan and Shay, as handsome as they were identical.
The conversations picked up and soon everyone was talking amongst themselves. The men argued about crops and sales and children while Shay and Elizabeth conversed on whatever various topic seemed appropriate at the moment. The younger children played. Jason slept on as his mother sang and rocked him slowly. About a mile from home, the conversations fell into a lull and Elizabeth cleared her throat.
“Pardon me,” she said, smiling politely as Jonathan looked up. “May I ask a favor of you, sir?”
Jonathan nodded, “Of course. I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”
“Thank you, sir,” Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably, trying to decide the best way to convey her proposition. “Just now,” she started nervously. “When Father and I were in town, I was offered a job at Hannigan’s Bar and-“
“Congratulations,” Kimberly smiled cheerfully. “Excuse me. Go on, dear.”
Elizabeth waited for Jonathan to turn back to her before continuing. “Well, they’ve given me a room at the inn while I work there so I wouldn’t have to travel into town every morning.” She took a reassuring breath. “Only now Father will have no one to take care of things for him. It’s just him and me anyways. I do all of the work he can’t so if I’m gone… He’ll need someone to take over for me.”
Every son was looking at her now, save for Jason who continued to remain motionless in his sleep.
Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, Elizabeth finished, “We were hoping one of your children would be able to work in my stead while I’m away. He wouldn’t be needed on Sundays and I would be glad to pay him a portion of what I make each week.”
Jonathan looked questioningly at his wife and then turned an intent gaze to his knees. He seemed to be pondering the logistics of this; possibly the benefits and problems it could present.
A timid voice spoke up from the back of the cart. All heads turned.
“I’ll do it.” Finn sat a little taller in his seat.
His parents looked at him seriously.
“It’s not your place to make that decision,” Jonathan said sternly.
Finn looked horribly ashamed of himself, his ears flushing red instantly.
Kimberly gave her husband a firm nudge to the arm.
He gave in, “But I don’t see why it couldn’t be arranged.”
Finn beamed up at his father, a look of excitement lighting up his face.
“Would you like him to come home with you tonight for a quick rundown of the chores?” asked Jonathan as Elizabeth and Sean’s house appeared down the road.
Elizabeth nodded gratefully, “That would be perfect. Thank you so much.”
As they reached the small cottage, the cart pulled to a stop and Elizabeth helped her father gently to the ground.
“Thank you,” he smiled softly.
Kimberly leaned over Jason to where Finn was sitting. She kissed him lightly on the forehead as he stood to leave.
“Be good,” she brushed a lock of auburn bangs out of his eyes.
He shrugged off another kiss, smiling. “I promise.”
The horses kicked into a slow trot once he was safely to the side of the road.
“Pay attention to whatever Miss. Hogan tells you,” Jonathan reminded as they pulled away. “They’re counting on you.”
“Goodnight!” shouted Finn, waving animatedly as his family was consumed by the darkness.
All three stood in the grass for a moment as the dust settled. Finn was surveying the property.
“Let’s show you around,” Elizabeth suggested.
Sean turned and shuffled off towards the house. Pulling the front door open a crack, he turned towards the two still standing there. “Thank you again, Finn. Goodnight, Elizabeth.” And he disappeared into the house.
Finn looked at the dilapidated building for several moments, taking in it’s bowing roof and broken windowpanes. Cracked white paint peeled from every corner giving the house the appearance of a giant, molting ghost.
They fetched an oil lamp from the side of the house. Elizabeth led the way around to the back yard where a small vegetable patch was sprawled out across the lawn.
“There’s not much to do here. If something looks ripe, get a basket from inside, I’ll show you where they are, and put whatever you find in it.”
Finn nodded, “That’s what we do.”
“Good.”
Squinting through the dark and holding the lamp above her head, Elizabeth pointed vaguely past the garden. “The barley field’s out there. You don’t really have to worry about it, though. It won’t be ready for harvest for another month.”
Something in the night called out, causing the two to look around before continuing on. “The barn’s this way.”
The barn, like the house, had seen its better years, though for all the time that had passed, probably couldn’t remember them. It was small. Cracked boards held the collapsing shelter upright and a thin wooden door swung slowly in the night calm. Elizabeth held it open for Finn.
Lifting the lamp into the dark, she shed a fain light about the walls. Here, the floor was strewn with dirty hay. There were bare dirt patches and small piles of manure scattered about as well to busy the scene. Two cows, woken from their sleep, shifted uneasily as the light fell on them.
“Missy and Kate,” Elizabeth introduced. “They’ll need to be milked every morning. The pail is over there,” she swung the lamp to a shelf on the far wall. “And the stool’s under it.”
Finn looked from the cows to the milking pail uneasily.
“During the day, you can let them out to graze, but make sure they get back in here before it’s dark. If you’re going to be gone for the day and get back after dark, just give them a pile of hay and oats before you go and keep them in here. It’s also really important to keep their water trough full. If it freezes over, break the ice and throw it outside.”
“Is that all?” Finn looked hopeful.
Smiling, Elizabeth took him out of the barn and back towards the house. As the wind picked up, so did their pace. It was growing steadily colder outside and the desire to remain there was quickly waning.
It was cold inside too, but the bite of the wind was, at least, gone. Finn sat quietly at the table as Elizabeth started a pot of tea.
“Thank you again for doing this, Finn,” Elizabeth smiled as she waited for the tea to boil. “I don’t know what we would’ve done if you hadn’t agreed to help.”
Finn looked sheepish. “It’s not a problem.”
After several minutes of reviewing to make sure they hadn’t missed something, the tea began to boil.
(I NEED TO INSERT A SCENE HERE… SHITTY)
Stretching and yawning, Finn pushed open the front door. A crisp night wind leaked into the room. Elizabeth shivered.
She remembered again the thief from that morning. “Keep to the side of the road,” she warned, watching Finn pull his coat tight around his neck.
“Goodnight,” he said and hopped off across the yard.
Once she could no longer see him, Elizabeth shut the door and turned to her bedroom. She could make out a small shaft of moonlight pooling on the floor beneath her window but not much more. Tiptoeing cautiously through the dark hall, she groped for a candle on the wall just inside her room. Pulling it from its holder, she carried it with her to the foot of her bed where a pan full of coals was lying. A faint glow emanated from the center of the pile and she nudged the candle’s wick into it. Within seconds, the candle was lit.
Warm light now flickered about the walls, casting long shadows across the floor. She lit another candle beside her bed before returning the first to its place at the door. The house was silent save for her father’s lumbering snores in the room next door.
The room itself was small and sparsely furnished. A cracked old wardrobe sat in the corner, one of its doors ajar. The walls were barren. Only one held anything: a small silver plate, which served as a looking glass.
Elizabeth observed her expression in this. She looked worn and tired. Her thick black hair was falling out of its braid in spots and gave the impression that she was slightly mad. A curl fell into her eyes and she brushed it aside, watching her ghostly hand mimic her in the plate.
Her father’s snores grew softer. Taking her hair down, she sat on the side of her bed and picked up a brush off the table beside it. The brush was delicate. It had a silver handle with fine engravings up the back of it. Leaves curled up the stem, erupting in white bristles at the top.
It had been her mothers. In fact, it was one of the sole remaining possessions of her mother’s still in the house. Elizabeth thought about this, about her mother. She could remember a time when she was still young and her mother would hold her under the arms and spin her high in the air, skirts flying every which way as they went about their daily chores. Other than this memory though, Elizabeth had nothing. Her mother had died of consumption when Elizabeth was five, and the image of her had faded and contorted with time until she was nothing more than a decimated shell of a memory.
She pulled the brush gently through her hair, the knots catching and slowing her movements. She was much too tired tonight to make herself look even the least bit decent. That could be fixed in the morning. Sleep sounded so much more inviting. Walking over to her bed, she undressed and threw on a thin nightgown.
Shivering slightly, Elizabeth sunk into her bed. It was hard and compact beneath and uneven in several spots, but the sheets provided the comfort she required and so they were hastily pulled about her. Curling up in an exhausted pile, Elizabeth slowly drifted into an uneasy lull.
Here in her bed she was warm. Here beneath her covers, she was safe from untimely bandits. Here in her shabby room in her decaying house, she was alone and warm and hopelessly tired. So, no longer attempting to remain awake, Elizabeth fell into deep, though occupied, sleep.
CHAPTER II. THE BELL
Elizabeth and her father made their way to the town’s center. They moved slower and slower, their pace checked by a constant stream of townsfolk coming and going, buying and selling. Elizabeth caught her breath in disgust as two men carrying a slaughtered pig pushed their way passed her and her father, nearly knocking the frail man over. Lifting her head as if to draw fresh air from above the jostling crowd, she gathered her father's arm in her own, and pushed onward. Children ran shouting about their parents’ ankles as venders continued to call their offers out to the passing crowd.
The road leading out of town wasn’t quite as busy, bearing only sparse carriages and travelers on foot. Several horseback riders could be seen a ways off.
“Let’s have some of that lunch you packed before we get going,” Sean smiled, helping himself into the grass.
Elizabeth followed suit and placed the basket between them. Opening the cover, she began to produce the few items they had brought along: a loaf of bread, two small canteens of water, and a single apple. If it hadn’t been for earlier, there would have been two.
Elizabeth made a silent prayer over her half of the bread that the robber wouldn’t be waiting on the road home.
Their lunch was finished quickly and silently and soon they were back on the road, their stomachs satiated and the basket considerably lighter.
Half a mile out of town, a friendly shout reached them from behind.
“Sean!” cried the man’s voice over the trundling of wheels and scraping of the horse’s hooves.
Sean and Elizabeth turned to see their neighbors, the Bells, riding towards them in the back of a cart.
“Afternoon, Jonathan, Kimberly,” Sean replied as the family pulled even with them.
Jonathan leaned over the side. “You folks headed home?”
“We are,” Elizabeth nodded.
“Hop on,” Jonathan extended his hand. “You’re on our way.”
Pulling themselves into the cart, the two settled themselves amongst the Bells who graciously made room.
Elizabeth had been right when she said they could spare a boy. There were nine sons altogether and not a daughter amongst them. The oldest, Alistair, was twenty-five and working at the mill in town. Keegan and Shay were twins just past their twenty-third birthday. Both worked alternately for a brewery and one of the local bars. Felic and Delaney were in their late teens and also worked odd jobs around town. Arthur, Finn, Ian, and Jason all stayed at home to help with the daily upkeep.
Elizabeth looked between them all, from the tiny Jason asleep in his mother’s lap, to Keegan and Shay, as handsome as they were identical.
The conversations picked up and soon everyone was talking amongst themselves. The men argued about crops and sales and children while Shay and Elizabeth conversed on whatever various topic seemed appropriate at the moment. The younger children played. Jason slept on as his mother sang and rocked him slowly. About a mile from home, the conversations fell into a lull and Elizabeth cleared her throat.
“Pardon me,” she said, smiling politely as Jonathan looked up. “May I ask a favor of you, sir?”
Jonathan nodded, “Of course. I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”
“Thank you, sir,” Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably, trying to decide the best way to convey her proposition. “Just now,” she started nervously. “When Father and I were in town, I was offered a job at Hannigan’s Bar and-“
“Congratulations,” Kimberly smiled cheerfully. “Excuse me. Go on, dear.”
Elizabeth waited for Jonathan to turn back to her before continuing. “Well, they’ve given me a room at the inn while I work there so I wouldn’t have to travel into town every morning.” She took a reassuring breath. “Only now Father will have no one to take care of things for him. It’s just him and me anyways. I do all of the work he can’t so if I’m gone… He’ll need someone to take over for me.”
Every son was looking at her now, save for Jason who continued to remain motionless in his sleep.
Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, Elizabeth finished, “We were hoping one of your children would be able to work in my stead while I’m away. He wouldn’t be needed on Sundays and I would be glad to pay him a portion of what I make each week.”
Jonathan looked questioningly at his wife and then turned an intent gaze to his knees. He seemed to be pondering the logistics of this; possibly the benefits and problems it could present.
A timid voice spoke up from the back of the cart. All heads turned.
“I’ll do it.” Finn sat a little taller in his seat.
His parents looked at him seriously.
“It’s not your place to make that decision,” Jonathan said sternly.
Finn looked horribly ashamed of himself, his ears flushing red instantly.
Kimberly gave her husband a firm nudge to the arm.
He gave in, “But I don’t see why it couldn’t be arranged.”
Finn beamed up at his father, a look of excitement lighting up his face.
“Would you like him to come home with you tonight for a quick rundown of the chores?” asked Jonathan as Elizabeth and Sean’s house appeared down the road.
Elizabeth nodded gratefully, “That would be perfect. Thank you so much.”
As they reached the small cottage, the cart pulled to a stop and Elizabeth helped her father gently to the ground.
“Thank you,” he smiled softly.
Kimberly leaned over Jason to where Finn was sitting. She kissed him lightly on the forehead as he stood to leave.
“Be good,” she brushed a lock of auburn bangs out of his eyes.
He shrugged off another kiss, smiling. “I promise.”
The horses kicked into a slow trot once he was safely to the side of the road.
“Pay attention to whatever Miss. Hogan tells you,” Jonathan reminded as they pulled away. “They’re counting on you.”
“Goodnight!” shouted Finn, waving animatedly as his family was consumed by the darkness.
All three stood in the grass for a moment as the dust settled. Finn was surveying the property.
“Let’s show you around,” Elizabeth suggested.
Sean turned and shuffled off towards the house. Pulling the front door open a crack, he turned towards the two still standing there. “Thank you again, Finn. Goodnight, Elizabeth.” And he disappeared into the house.
Finn looked at the dilapidated building for several moments, taking in it’s bowing roof and broken windowpanes. Cracked white paint peeled from every corner giving the house the appearance of a giant, molting ghost.
They fetched an oil lamp from the side of the house. Elizabeth led the way around to the back yard where a small vegetable patch was sprawled out across the lawn.
“There’s not much to do here. If something looks ripe, get a basket from inside, I’ll show you where they are, and put whatever you find in it.”
Finn nodded, “That’s what we do.”
“Good.”
Squinting through the dark and holding the lamp above her head, Elizabeth pointed vaguely past the garden. “The barley field’s out there. You don’t really have to worry about it, though. It won’t be ready for harvest for another month.”
Something in the night called out, causing the two to look around before continuing on. “The barn’s this way.”
The barn, like the house, had seen its better years, though for all the time that had passed, probably couldn’t remember them. It was small. Cracked boards held the collapsing shelter upright and a thin wooden door swung slowly in the night calm. Elizabeth held it open for Finn.
Lifting the lamp into the dark, she shed a fain light about the walls. Here, the floor was strewn with dirty hay. There were bare dirt patches and small piles of manure scattered about as well to busy the scene. Two cows, woken from their sleep, shifted uneasily as the light fell on them.
“Missy and Kate,” Elizabeth introduced. “They’ll need to be milked every morning. The pail is over there,” she swung the lamp to a shelf on the far wall. “And the stool’s under it.”
Finn looked from the cows to the milking pail uneasily.
“During the day, you can let them out to graze, but make sure they get back in here before it’s dark. If you’re going to be gone for the day and get back after dark, just give them a pile of hay and oats before you go and keep them in here. It’s also really important to keep their water trough full. If it freezes over, break the ice and throw it outside.”
“Is that all?” Finn looked hopeful.
Smiling, Elizabeth took him out of the barn and back towards the house. As the wind picked up, so did their pace. It was growing steadily colder outside and the desire to remain there was quickly waning.
It was cold inside too, but the bite of the wind was, at least, gone. Finn sat quietly at the table as Elizabeth started a pot of tea.
“Thank you again for doing this, Finn,” Elizabeth smiled as she waited for the tea to boil. “I don’t know what we would’ve done if you hadn’t agreed to help.”
Finn looked sheepish. “It’s not a problem.”
After several minutes of reviewing to make sure they hadn’t missed something, the tea began to boil.
(I NEED TO INSERT A SCENE HERE… SHITTY)
Stretching and yawning, Finn pushed open the front door. A crisp night wind leaked into the room. Elizabeth shivered.
She remembered again the thief from that morning. “Keep to the side of the road,” she warned, watching Finn pull his coat tight around his neck.
“Goodnight,” he said and hopped off across the yard.
Once she could no longer see him, Elizabeth shut the door and turned to her bedroom. She could make out a small shaft of moonlight pooling on the floor beneath her window but not much more. Tiptoeing cautiously through the dark hall, she groped for a candle on the wall just inside her room. Pulling it from its holder, she carried it with her to the foot of her bed where a pan full of coals was lying. A faint glow emanated from the center of the pile and she nudged the candle’s wick into it. Within seconds, the candle was lit.
Warm light now flickered about the walls, casting long shadows across the floor. She lit another candle beside her bed before returning the first to its place at the door. The house was silent save for her father’s lumbering snores in the room next door.
The room itself was small and sparsely furnished. A cracked old wardrobe sat in the corner, one of its doors ajar. The walls were barren. Only one held anything: a small silver plate, which served as a looking glass.
Elizabeth observed her expression in this. She looked worn and tired. Her thick black hair was falling out of its braid in spots and gave the impression that she was slightly mad. A curl fell into her eyes and she brushed it aside, watching her ghostly hand mimic her in the plate.
Her father’s snores grew softer. Taking her hair down, she sat on the side of her bed and picked up a brush off the table beside it. The brush was delicate. It had a silver handle with fine engravings up the back of it. Leaves curled up the stem, erupting in white bristles at the top.
It had been her mothers. In fact, it was one of the sole remaining possessions of her mother’s still in the house. Elizabeth thought about this, about her mother. She could remember a time when she was still young and her mother would hold her under the arms and spin her high in the air, skirts flying every which way as they went about their daily chores. Other than this memory though, Elizabeth had nothing. Her mother had died of consumption when Elizabeth was five, and the image of her had faded and contorted with time until she was nothing more than a decimated shell of a memory.
She pulled the brush gently through her hair, the knots catching and slowing her movements. She was much too tired tonight to make herself look even the least bit decent. That could be fixed in the morning. Sleep sounded so much more inviting. Walking over to her bed, she undressed and threw on a thin nightgown.
Shivering slightly, Elizabeth sunk into her bed. It was hard and compact beneath and uneven in several spots, but the sheets provided the comfort she required and so they were hastily pulled about her. Curling up in an exhausted pile, Elizabeth slowly drifted into an uneasy lull.
Here in her bed she was warm. Here beneath her covers, she was safe from untimely bandits. Here in her shabby room in her decaying house, she was alone and warm and hopelessly tired. So, no longer attempting to remain awake, Elizabeth fell into deep, though occupied, sleep.
This just so happens to be my favorite chapter and the most recently written. If you haven't read anything else: read this.
CHAPTER III
The next morning arose cold and dark, as Elizabeth coiled beneath her blankets in an attempt to remain in sleep. She could not.
Grudgingly, she pushed the sheets to her waist and sat up. The night had cooled the room considerably, giving Elizabeth all the more reason to stay where she was.
Pulling herself from bed, she quickly threw on a slip and the closest dress to her. It was blue and probably needed to be washed, but it was warm and Elizabeth required nothing more of it.
She guessed it to be very early still as the house was mostly silent, but as she listened more intently, she could hear a light murmur of voices coming from the front of the house.
Tending hastily to her hair, Elizabeth made herself presentable for the unknown guest. She couldn’t imagine who would be here so early, but she was still expected to look decent no matter what the hour.
The voices grew louder as she crept down the hall. She was curious as to what they were talking about and so took great care to walk delicately through the creaking old house.
“I don’t see why not,” she could hear her father saying. “It sounds like a very reasonable offer.”
The second voice was younger, smoother, and she nearly had it placed when she miss-stepped and the voices ceased altogether. Removing her foot from the traitor floorboard, she entered the room, head down.
“Excuse me, father,” she quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
Raising her eyes, she recognized the second speaker immediately. Her voice caught as she looked upon the kindly smiling face of Shay Bell, the eldest of the sons.
She returned his smile. “Good morning, Shay.”
There was an awkward silence as the three looked between each other, waiting to see who would speak next. Elizabeth took the duty upon herself.
“Have you had breakfast yet? Or tea?” She asked the question of both men, but inwardly leaned it more towards Shay.
“I had some porridge earlier, dear. Thank you.” Her father gave her a crinkly smile.
She turned to Shay.
“I actually have some food out in the cart, but tea would be wonderful. Warm me up a bit.” He smiled and Elizabeth had to concentrate hard on leaving the room to start the water boiling.
From the kitchen, she could still hear her father and Shay speaking, but they had lowered their voices now and she couldn’t make out even a sentence of the conversation.
As she heated the pot of water over the small remnants of fire in the grate, she watched the sky above the tree line begin to light and glow with the coming sun. She couldn’t imagine watching this scene from anywhere other than her home. Life in town was sure to be different and she didn’t quite know what to expect. Would it be better than living out here? Or worse? And the people she would meet; working at a bar would certainly bring in a unique crowd. So much would change. She shivered as she thought about all this and gently removed the now boiling pot to the counter.
Elizabeth reentered the room with a plate containing the tea pot and several small, chipped cups and carried it to where Shay sat. Setting the plate on a table beside him, she poured the tea slowly into the first cup.
Shay smiled again and took the cup from her. “Thank you,” he said, taking an experimental sip. “It’s wonderful.”
Blushing, Elizabeth poured the second cup for herself and retreated to the last remaining chair in the room.
“Did we wake you earlier?” Shay asked.
Elizabeth set down her tea. “I was getting up anyway.”
“Shay was on his way into town and dropped in to offer you a ride,” her father said, coughing slightly and turning away.
“Oh.” Elizabeth gave Shay a smile which she hoped was appropriate to the situation and stood up. “I’d better start packing then. I don’t want to keep you waiting.”
“It’s not a problem. Your father and I have been having a nice discussion.”
Her father grinned slightly at this and looked between the two.
“I’ll leave you to that then.” And she left the room.
Back in her bedroom, the walls were already glowing with the quickly lighting dawn. The whole sky would be ablaze in just a few minutes.
Elizabeth looked around the sparse furnishings. She hadn’t, until now, given much thought as to what she would take into town with her. There wasn’t much to bring, but it was important to choose wisely.
Clothes, of course, were the top priority. She had several slips and three or four skirts. As she thumbed through the clothes, she realized how desperately they all needed mending. She didn’t have time now, but she figured she could get around to it once she was all set up at the inn. In addition to the skirts, she also had several ratty looking blouses and a shawl she had made herself the winter before. The only decent piece of clothing she owned was a silky red dress inherited from her mother. Fortunate enough to have also inherited her mother’s form, she fit the dress perfectly. It was her sole bit of wealth. She held it up before her. It was beyond beautiful. The fabric, deep red, was layered and bunched and embroidered to make it look like a ball gown. The neckline dipped into an elegant V, adorned with beads. Elizabeth rarely wore it. It seemed to extraordinary to be worn on anything but a special occasion, and such a time seldom presented itself.
As she turned the dress to admire it from every angle, she noticed, horrified, that the back of the left sleeve had torn away at the shoulder. It wasn’t bad, but it was the dress’s singular flaw and stood out sorely.
Pulling a battered trunk from beneath her bed, Elizabeth folded the dress carefully into it. Her skirts went next and then the slips. The blouses were folded and tucked into the corners, and her stockings filled the empty spaces.
She then packed the silver plate from her wall and her mother’s brush. Everything else was left where it was, possibly to be retrieved at a later date.
The affair had taken less than ten minutes, and as she shut the door to her bedroom for the last time, the sun peeked its glowing rim from behind the trees.
CHAPTER III
The next morning arose cold and dark, as Elizabeth coiled beneath her blankets in an attempt to remain in sleep. She could not.
Grudgingly, she pushed the sheets to her waist and sat up. The night had cooled the room considerably, giving Elizabeth all the more reason to stay where she was.
Pulling herself from bed, she quickly threw on a slip and the closest dress to her. It was blue and probably needed to be washed, but it was warm and Elizabeth required nothing more of it.
She guessed it to be very early still as the house was mostly silent, but as she listened more intently, she could hear a light murmur of voices coming from the front of the house.
Tending hastily to her hair, Elizabeth made herself presentable for the unknown guest. She couldn’t imagine who would be here so early, but she was still expected to look decent no matter what the hour.
The voices grew louder as she crept down the hall. She was curious as to what they were talking about and so took great care to walk delicately through the creaking old house.
“I don’t see why not,” she could hear her father saying. “It sounds like a very reasonable offer.”
The second voice was younger, smoother, and she nearly had it placed when she miss-stepped and the voices ceased altogether. Removing her foot from the traitor floorboard, she entered the room, head down.
“Excuse me, father,” she quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
Raising her eyes, she recognized the second speaker immediately. Her voice caught as she looked upon the kindly smiling face of Shay Bell, the eldest of the sons.
She returned his smile. “Good morning, Shay.”
There was an awkward silence as the three looked between each other, waiting to see who would speak next. Elizabeth took the duty upon herself.
“Have you had breakfast yet? Or tea?” She asked the question of both men, but inwardly leaned it more towards Shay.
“I had some porridge earlier, dear. Thank you.” Her father gave her a crinkly smile.
She turned to Shay.
“I actually have some food out in the cart, but tea would be wonderful. Warm me up a bit.” He smiled and Elizabeth had to concentrate hard on leaving the room to start the water boiling.
From the kitchen, she could still hear her father and Shay speaking, but they had lowered their voices now and she couldn’t make out even a sentence of the conversation.
As she heated the pot of water over the small remnants of fire in the grate, she watched the sky above the tree line begin to light and glow with the coming sun. She couldn’t imagine watching this scene from anywhere other than her home. Life in town was sure to be different and she didn’t quite know what to expect. Would it be better than living out here? Or worse? And the people she would meet; working at a bar would certainly bring in a unique crowd. So much would change. She shivered as she thought about all this and gently removed the now boiling pot to the counter.
Elizabeth reentered the room with a plate containing the tea pot and several small, chipped cups and carried it to where Shay sat. Setting the plate on a table beside him, she poured the tea slowly into the first cup.
Shay smiled again and took the cup from her. “Thank you,” he said, taking an experimental sip. “It’s wonderful.”
Blushing, Elizabeth poured the second cup for herself and retreated to the last remaining chair in the room.
“Did we wake you earlier?” Shay asked.
Elizabeth set down her tea. “I was getting up anyway.”
“Shay was on his way into town and dropped in to offer you a ride,” her father said, coughing slightly and turning away.
“Oh.” Elizabeth gave Shay a smile which she hoped was appropriate to the situation and stood up. “I’d better start packing then. I don’t want to keep you waiting.”
“It’s not a problem. Your father and I have been having a nice discussion.”
Her father grinned slightly at this and looked between the two.
“I’ll leave you to that then.” And she left the room.
Back in her bedroom, the walls were already glowing with the quickly lighting dawn. The whole sky would be ablaze in just a few minutes.
Elizabeth looked around the sparse furnishings. She hadn’t, until now, given much thought as to what she would take into town with her. There wasn’t much to bring, but it was important to choose wisely.
Clothes, of course, were the top priority. She had several slips and three or four skirts. As she thumbed through the clothes, she realized how desperately they all needed mending. She didn’t have time now, but she figured she could get around to it once she was all set up at the inn. In addition to the skirts, she also had several ratty looking blouses and a shawl she had made herself the winter before. The only decent piece of clothing she owned was a silky red dress inherited from her mother. Fortunate enough to have also inherited her mother’s form, she fit the dress perfectly. It was her sole bit of wealth. She held it up before her. It was beyond beautiful. The fabric, deep red, was layered and bunched and embroidered to make it look like a ball gown. The neckline dipped into an elegant V, adorned with beads. Elizabeth rarely wore it. It seemed to extraordinary to be worn on anything but a special occasion, and such a time seldom presented itself.
As she turned the dress to admire it from every angle, she noticed, horrified, that the back of the left sleeve had torn away at the shoulder. It wasn’t bad, but it was the dress’s singular flaw and stood out sorely.
Pulling a battered trunk from beneath her bed, Elizabeth folded the dress carefully into it. Her skirts went next and then the slips. The blouses were folded and tucked into the corners, and her stockings filled the empty spaces.
She then packed the silver plate from her wall and her mother’s brush. Everything else was left where it was, possibly to be retrieved at a later date.
The affair had taken less than ten minutes, and as she shut the door to her bedroom for the last time, the sun peeked its glowing rim from behind the trees.
Comments