The Family Tree

 An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

The Family Tree

          He was dreaming again.  This time lost in a maze of marshmallows, each rounded corner revealing another path of chalky white walls that pushed back when he touched them.  He could hear someone calling his name, but when he tried to answer, mini marshmallows, of the hot cocoa and Hawaiian salad kind, fell in a stream from his mouth.  Upon closer examination, he discovered they weren't marshmallows at all, but his teeth, round, pearly and loose in his hand.  Panic rose in his chest.

          "Kevin.  Wake up.  You're having a nightmare."

         He awoke with a start, banging his head against the wall in the process.  Maureen's face hovered over him, concern etched in her expression.  With a great deal of difficulty, he tried stretching his tall frame from its cramped position on the floor, finding it painful to shift his casted foot.  His sister stuck out a hand, and with a great deal of awkwardness, he pulled himself to a standing position.  They were alone in the hallway, his house guest no longer in the spot in front of the bedroom door.

           "Where's Ian?"

         "He's downstairs in the kitchen, watching the coffee maker.  I put a pot on when I let myself in.
I was surprised no one was up yet."  She brushed some dust off the back of his shirt, and added,  "You do know it's ten to seven, right?"

          "Shit!  Is it that late?  I have Mass in ten minutes!"  He looked down at the clothes he was wearing the day before, and then at the door of the bedroom.  The thought of having to face Roxanne this early in the day was daunting, and he considered just going over to the church in what he had on. Chances were no one would see them under his vestments.

        As if she could read his mind, a skill he was sure she always possessed, Maureen gave him a nudge toward the bathroom down the hall.  "At least go shave, brush your teeth, and comb your hair.  I'll grab some fresh clothes from the bedroom.  If you hurry, you won't be too late."

        He mumbled some thanks, turned and made his way toward the bathroom, his body stiff and achy from the uncomfortable sleeping arrangements.  Before he could escape into solitude, his sister called to him.   "And Kev...later I expect you to explain to me why the two of you were sleeping on the floor outside Roxanne's room."

__________________________________________

       Fr. Kevin wasn't sure which saint he should offer his thanks to, but he owed one of them a great debt of gratitude.  By some divine intervention, one thing after another kept him busy at the church for most of the day.  Mrs. Arturo had fainted at the end of Mass, and by the time the paramedics arrived, and the decision to take her to the hospital was made, it was after 9 AM.  A budget planning meeting with the Parish Council took nearly two hours, at which time afterward, it was decided the group should celebrate their success over lunch at the the Happy Crab Cafe a few blocks away.

      Sated with his fair share of chowder and lobster rolls, he returned to the church just in time to meet with the parish youth group who were replacing the rickety back fence as part of their summer service project.  Rolling up his sleeves, he joined them in their work, happy to fill his head with teenage chatter, and enjoying the camaraderie of physical labor.  At 3 PM, he left them to finish up and headed back over to the church to hear Confessions, as was his routine on Wednesday afternoons.  It was apparently a slow day for sin sharing, as the summer months usually were, and after a few visits from penitents at the top of the hour, he was left to doze in the quiet calm of the confessional for nearly an hour, awoken by a text from his sister inviting him to dinner back at the rectory.

        Fr. Kevin headed home, tired but peaceful in the way his vocation often left him.  The first floor of the rectory was quiet, though the kitchen showed signs of his sister's culinary magic.  He could hear laughter from the second floor, and figured they must all be visiting with Roxanne, which in his mind meant she was well enough for such festivities.  He hesitated a moment, contemplating what he'd say when he saw her.  Maureen stuck her head over the banister, and called to him.

        "Hey, Kev...I'm glad you're finally home.  We're all up here having a picnic in Roxanne's room." She giggled, and added, "I mean your room.  Come join us."

         There was no way he could ignore her invitation without looking like a complete jerk, so he lumbered up the stairs, stopping in the doorway to ponder the scene in front of him.  When his sister had mentioned picnic, she hadn't been joking.  The furniture in the room had been pushed against the wall, a checkered blanket covering the empty space, providing a resting place for a summer feast. Beckett sat in the arm chair next to the bed, a loaded plate balanced in his lap.  He acknowledged the priest's presence with a wave, and continued his quiet conversation with the current duty nurse, a bland young man who apparently had replaced the scary woman with the Glock.

        Ian sat on the floor, his back resting against the bed, a chicken leg in one hand and a glass of Guinness in the other.  He tried a congenial smile, and when it wasn't returned, shrugged instead.  Pointing to an empty glass, he offered a try at conversation.  "Grab a pint, Reverend.  We are toasting Miss Roxanne's excellent recovery.  The doctor says she shall be up and around in no time."

        Maureen was already on it, pouring him a glass, tilting it at a 45 degree angle, and allowing the surge to settle, in the manner they had all been taught by their father.  He smiled at the memory, and took the glass, more relaxed then he imagined he might be in a situation such as this one.  Ian was right.  Roxanne did look truly excellent.  She was sitting up in bed, wearing a refashioned Boston College sweatshirt over her hospital gown, her dark chopped hair combed back and held in place with a green polka-dotted head band he was sure he had seen once on his sister.  There were dark smudges below her lashes, and her coloring was a shade paler, but there was a sparkle to her eyes, and just the tiniest bit of blush to her cheeks.

         She raised a plastic cup with a straw, obviously filled with lowly tap water.  "No Guinness for me yet.  You'll have to drink my share, Kev."  Her light hearted expression grew a tad more somber, and she added, "It's really good to see you, Kevin.  For awhile there, I thought I might have to wait until the here after."

           Her honest affection caused his throat to tighten, and it felt as if he was choking on his words.  "I'm happy to see you too, Rox.  You look...well...awesome."

          She waved her hand in the direction of the IVs still running from her arms, and laughed.  "You're being far too generous, O'Kenney.  Unless you're into the Frankenstein look, I'm a complete mess."

            Ian wiped his mouth a paper napkin.  "I am unawares of this Frankenstein person, but if she bears a resemblance to you, Miss Roxanne, then surely she is a beauty you supersede ."

            Roxanne turned a darker shade of pink, and Maureen giggled.  Seeing Ian's confusion at their reaction, the patient explained.  "Actually, Ian, Frankenstein is the main character in a classic horror story about a monster made up of dead body parts.  But I do appreciate the compliment."

           The young man made a face, suddenly looking far more serious.  "It seems I have much to learn of your time and ways if I am to properly court you, Miss Roxanne."

           There was an awkward silence, at which time Beckett suggested to the nurse that he take a much deserved break, though not before Maureen fixed him a heaping plate of food to take with him.
He waited until the man was safely out of ear shot before he continued.  "This seems as good time as any to discuss some plans going forward.  If Ian stays here in 2015 like he proposes, then arrangements and precautions need to be made."

           The man at the center of the conversation stood up, and brushed the crumbs off his clothes.  "Aye, Constable.  I am committed to making a life here in your time.  I do not wish to impose on the good nature of you all, but I would be entirely grateful for whatever help you could offer."

          The  direction of the discussion was more than Fr. Kevin could bear on an empty stomach, so he helped himself to a hunk of sub sandwich, and refilled his empty glass.  He had his piece to say, but would hold those cards close to his chest until the right moment. In the meantime, he perched himself on the edge of his dresser, and listened to the debate.

         Ever practical, Roxanne stated the obvious.  "Well, he can't live here in the U.S. without some type of proper identification.  He'll need a birth certificate...a social security number, and such, if he ever hopes to have a job of any kind."

          Beckett nodded.  "I agree.  I can take care of that for him.  It's not as difficult as one might think. I think it best we keep everything as close to the truth as we can.  It will be easier for Ian to avoid slipping up when questioned." He took out his phone, adding the information to some kind of app as he asked the questions.  "What's your full name?  The one you were born with."

             " Ian Thomas Beresford."

             The group looked at him oddly, and Beckett continued, "You told us your name was Sawyer.  Ian Sawyer."

              "Aye.  I meant no deception.  It is now for all purposes indeed 'Sawyer'.  I took my mother's name when I came to the colonies.  It is my way of cutting all ties to my life in England."

              There was more to the story than what the young man was saying, but the Sheriff was familiar with cutting ties, and so he let the statement go, cutting in before any of the group could further the discussion.  "Date of birth?"

           "February 20th, 1753.  I am sure of it, as it was recorded in our family Bible, though my father was not a believer of frivolous celebration."

            There was another moment of silence as everyone scrambled to do the math.  Beckett was first.  "So...that means you are currently 22 years of age."

           "Aye.  That would be correct."  No one spoke, and the young Patriot could see the rest of the group look at one another.  He sensed his age was in some way a problem.  "Is something amiss?"

           Maureen jumped in.  "Not 'amiss', Ian.  We're just...surprised is all.  You seemed...well...older."

          "Is my youth a problem?  I can be whatever age you wish."  It was his turn to be curious.  "How old are the rest of you."

            Maureen offered, "I was 26 in May."

            Beckett continued, "Currently 36."

            Fr. Kevin took a slug of his Guinness, the "I told you so's" bouncing around in his head.  He forced them back in his mouth, simply adding, "I'll be 33 in a few weeks."

            They all looked at Roxanne, who sat picking at a stray piece of lint on her blanket.  She said nothing at all, and to save her from the moment, Beckett continued his informational quest.  "Let's move on.  The more information I can use, the better.  Your father's name, Ian?"

            He seemed to spit the words out, rather than let them roll off his tongue. "Sir Tristram Beresford, 1st Baronet of Coleraine."

            Maureen stopped chewing, words spilling out before she could reign them in.  "Holy shit, Roxanne, your new boyfriend is English nobility."


Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2015
All Rights Reserved

Dollhouse Chit Chat...

     For those of you who started following this blog for the photos of miniature scenes, I apologize for the lack of them in the past few months.  The remodeling of my RL house has put the mini world in storage for the time being.  Lest you think I've given up on my mini passion, I'm posting a few photos of things going on here.

     The dollhouses...all nine of them...have been moved out of storage, and are being displayed in the two bedrooms that were once occupied by my sons.  They have since grown up and moved out, though youngest son has returned to us for several weeks as he transitions from one job out of state to another here, and finds a new apartment.  He hasn't said if he enjoys waking up to this view every morning.

         

    In the meantime...

           I need to start unpacking the dozen RubberMaid totes that contain all my furnishings, a huge job that took me several weekends to pack up.  I suppose I should start in the room youngest son is not occupying, but we will see how it goes.  

            

           While I waited for the remodeling to be finished, I was busy adding to my mini collection.

My sons presented me with this selection of goodies for Mother's Day, the result of several afternoon shopping trips to the antique malls of Bloomington, Indiana, by my youngest and his girlfriend.

      It is a lovely assortment, and the gramophone, by Bodo Henning, actually plays music when you crank the handle.

       On my recent road trip to Lake Geneva, I found this darling table and chairs, a vintage Strombecker piece from sometime in the 1940s.  Too cute!  I also bought the little Basset Hound under the table.  Couldn't resist his soulful expression.  Ian will surely need a dog companion, don't you think?

                             

         

Lastly...

      I have been busy at work on a new needlework rug for a house I'm currently decorating.  Can't say more than that, as it will be revealed in a future storyline, and I wouldn't want to spoil anyone's read..

                               

       This is what the finished one will look like, the pattern most graciously designed and offered by caseymini.blogspot.com  Thanks Casey!  Here is my work on it so far this summer!  Only 14,000 stitches left to go!

                                 

Kevin and Ian

        An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

Sentry

    With Maureen and Beckett gone, the silence in the room was overwhelming, going way beyond the awkward moniker to physically uncomfortable.  Ian said nothing, preferring to look engrossed in a catalogue selling liturgy vestments, while he himself thumbed through a pile of old junk mail.  There was a knock at the door, and for a moment, Fr. Kevin had a tiny glimmer of hope that his sister had returned to take possession of her newest friend.  It was, however, just a new duty nurse, changing shifts for the night, this one unbelievably more surly than the one currently in attendance.

         He wondered if all Beckett's acquaintances were of the same nature, as if being chilly and brusque were prerequisites to joining his inner circle.  She asked to be pointed in the direction of the patient, and without any other interaction, made her way upstairs.  A few moments later, her counterpart joined them in the parlor, and with barely a nod, was out the front door, leaving the two men once again in each other's company.

          Looking for any type of distraction, he picked up the TV remote.  "Uhmmm...so Ian...would you like to watch television?  It's quite a unique piece of...well...machinery."

         The young Patriot glanced up from the catalogue in his hand.  "Are you speaking of the talking black box?  Madame Beckett showed it to me while you were gone.  Very loud it is.  Everything happening at once.  Gave me a headache of sorts.  I don't think I'm much for it."  Then seeing the look on the priest's face, added, "But please, Reverend, if you do enjoy it, then certainly you go ahead.  I do not wish to make things difficult for you."

           Fr. Kevin tossed the remote on the sofa, and lowered himself next to it.  Make things difficult? Well, there was an understatement.  The man's very presence was a problem.  How were they going to explain the sudden appearance of this stranger?  Where was he going to stay?  Certainly not here at the rectory.  That was never going to happen, no matter what his sister or Beckett argued.  How was he supposed to earn a living?  No Social Security number.  No references. No permanent address.  According to every record that counted, the man didn't exist!  An illegal alien in the truest sense of the word.  Or was he?  The whole discussion made his head ache, weary of yet another disaster dropped at his door.

          The young man must have sensed his discontent.  He put the catalogue on the table next to him, and stood.  "No disrespect intended, Reverend, but I am well beyond exhausted.  If it's all the same to you, I'd like to retire for the evening.  I saw a fine barn outside the scullery window.  With your grace, I think it would make excellent shelter for the night."

          "Barn?  Outside what window?"  The man was making no sense, and the pounding orchestra in his temples had added a bass section.

         "The wooden building out back.  With the red shingled roof."

          It dawned on him in one swell swoop.  "The garage?  You want to sleep in the garage?"

         "Aye.  If that be what you call it.  It looks to me a barn, but I guess it's purpose is similar."

         "Don't be ridiculous.  You can't sleep out there."

          Ian's face turned a light shade of pink, but he did his best to remain polite.  "Aye.  I understand, Reverend.  Then I shall make well with a spot under that large elm out back."  With that he abruptly turned, and began to head into the yard, forcing Fr. Kevin to get up and trail after him.

          "Ian.  You don't understand.  The garage is no place to sleep.  It's dirty, hot and full of junk.  You'd be miserable."

          Standing next to each other, they were nearly the same height, with Kevin besting him by a slight inch and a half.  Ian looked directly at him, and the priest could see the man was doing his best to remain calm in an utterly impossible situation.  Still, the strain of the day was etched in the tightness of his jaw, and the weariness in his expression.

          "I understand perfectly, Reverend.  My being here disrupts your life.  I understand that.  But, you too must understand that I will not be deterred.  As the wee creature explained, it is my choice.  One I make of my own free will.  If there is a chance that Miss Roxanne will return my feelings, then I must stay and seek my destiny in your time and place.  The Good Lord has provided me with this opportunity.  I shall not waste the gift."

         It wasn't the conversation Fr. Kevin wanted to be having.  Not this late in the day.  Not standing in his dark kitchen, both of them bone tired and distraught.  There would be time later to discuss things logically and calmly.  He needed to talk to Roxanne.  Make her see how weird and unnatural this all was, how she needed to convince Ian to return to his own  place in history.  Until then, he needed to swallow his feelings of jealousy and ill will, and act the within the confines of the Spirit.

        "I do understand, Ian.  And I sympathize with your plight.  I only meant that the garage...the barn as you called it...is not a very hospitable place.  Please let me offer you a spot in my home.  I apologize if I seemed...well...abrupt.  It's been a trying day."  He took the man by the arm and led him back into the living room.  "I have an extra bed in the attic room.  It's not luxurious by any means, but it is a whole lot more comfortable than the garage... or the yard."  For an instant, he had a mental picture of Ian, asleep under the elm tree, as the ladies of the parish made their way to morning Mass, and shuddered.  "Please...accept my hospitality.  At least for the night.  We can make other arrangements later...as necessary."

          "That is most kind, Reverend.  But I will not be a bother, nor will I take your bed for the night. I know that Miss Roxanne rests in your room, and that there is no other spot in the house.  I can make do outside."

            "No, I insist, Mr. Sawyer.  I am sure Miss Roxanne would expect no better from me.  I will take the sofa here in the living room.  You take the attic bed."  Pointing to his casted foot, he added, "You'd be doing me a favor.  Getting up and down three fights of stairs with this foot is rather difficult."

             He could see the indecision in the man's eyes, see him wrestling with what to say next, and before he could begin another argument, Kevin jumped in.  "Good.  Then it's all settled.  Pardon me for not showing you the way, but I'm truly not up to the climb.  It's two flights up.  The door at the top of the stairs.  There are fresh linens on the bed.  I suppose you already know where the...the facilities are?"

              Ian smiled, the first time he had seen him do so, making him appear much younger than Fr. Kevin had first imagined.  "Aye, Madame showed me.  Quite remarkable to have such things right in one's home.  Hot and cold running water by just turning a knob.  Very handy."

             Kevin smiled back.  "That it is.  Please make yourself at home.  Towels in the closet to the right.  Plenty of soap and such on the sink.  If you need anything else, just come down and ask."

            "That I will do, Reverend."  He stuck out a hand, waiting for Kevin to grasp it.  When he did, the man pumped it heartily.  "Thank you again, Fr. O'Kenney.  For your hospitality.  And your understanding.  I think you will find that when we get to know each other better, we can be good friends.  Good night, Sir."

             Fr. Kevin watched him make his way upstairs.  Ian Sawyer seemed like a very honest, responsible young man.  Pleasant and polite.  But as far as them becoming friends, well, he didn't expect the Patriot to be around long enough for them to find out.
__________________________________________________________

         He wasn't sure what woke him.  It might have been the crazy dream he was having.  The one in which the big elm in the yard was transformed into a large sailing ship, Ian and Roxanne sitting in the crow's nest, waving at him and throwing slices of pepperoni pizza.  It might have been his uncomfortable position on the couch, his six foot plus frame jammed into five and half feet of sofa.  Or it might have been the bumping and banging going on above his head.  None the less, he found himself suddenly awake.  A glance at his cell phone told him it was a little after 3 AM, hours too early to rise.  Try as he might, he could not get back to sleep, and so he found himself wandering the house, checking the fridge, watching out the front window, and finally making his way up to the bathroom on the second floor.

           It was a moonless night, and the hall was darker than normal.  He thought about turning on the light, but knew it shined directly into the room at the top of the stairs.  Not wanting to wake his guest, he stumbled around in the dark, feeling his way against the wall, dragging his casted foot behind him.
The washroom was across the hall and down a ways from his bedroom, where Roxanne lay recuperating from her surgery.  He regretted not talking to her earlier, and in his head, worked over his part of the conversation they'd surely have in the morning.  Lost in his planning, he didn't notice the obstacle in his path until he found himself tumbling over it, banging his funny bone against the door jam, and hitting his head against... another head.

         "Holy hell, Reverend!  Are you alright?"

          It took a moment or so for him to catch his breath, pain shooting through both his foot and his elbow.  "Damn it, Ian!  What are you doing sleeping on the floor of the hallway?"  Looking up, he saw that they were smack dab in front of his bedroom door.  As if on cue, the door opened a crack, and the scary looking duty nurse poked her head out at them.  Why she had a Glock in her hand, he wasn't sure, though all of Beckett's friends seemed preoccupied with weapons.

          She scowled at them.  "Gentlemen, I have an injured young woman in this room trying to recuperate from a serious surgery.  I suggest you take your nonsense somewhere else."  As added reinforcement, she waved the gun in the direction of the stairs, then firmly closed the door.

          They waited until they heard her footsteps retreat, then in a harsh whisper, Kevin complained.  "I said to use the bedroom in the attic.  Why in God's name are you sleeping here on the floor in the hall?"

          His face was lost in the dark, but from his sheepish tone, Kevin could tell the young man was embarrassed to have been caught being sleeping outside Roxanne's room.  "I apologize most heartily, Reverend.  I could not sleep worrying about Miss Roxanne lying helpless in her bed.  I thought if I came out here, maybe the nurse would let me see her again."  He pointed toward the door, "As you can see, I was not very successful.  That woman is most disagreeable."

           Fr. Kevin, annoyance and pain making him sound sharper than he intended, shot back.  "Well, now that you know, can we try to get back to sleep?  I have Mass to say in four hours.  I need to get some rest."

          "Again, I apologize, Fr. O'Kenney.  But if it's all the same to you, I'd rest better right here, knowing if Miss Roxanne asks for me, I can respond quickly."

         There was nothing more to say.  It was clear that Mr. Ian Sawyer was one stubborn bastard, not easily dismissed from his own agenda.  And if he thought an O'Kenney was an easy mark, then he had a shock coming his way.  Dragging himself across the floor, Kevin propped his back against the wall, resting his head on the leg of the antique side table.  Between the dark airless hallway, and the rhythmic swishing of the hospital machines, both men found themselves unable to stay awake.  There they remained, until well after dawn, when Maureen discovered them both sound asleep, mouths open, snoring away, outside of Roxanne's door.

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2015
All Rights Reserved



       

         

           




       

House Guest

   An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

A Toast to Fate

        The four of them stared at each other in uncomfortable silence, no one wishing to make a statement they might later be held to.  The grandfather clock in the corner ticked away the minutes, the sound bouncing around the quiet room. Finally, with a sigh of fortitude, Ian pushed himself off the arm of the sofa.  "I have no answers for any of the problems my presence here causes you, dear friends. I am sure that with hard work...and the grace of the Almighty...I can make a fruitful life for myself here in your century.  But in this moment, I am more concerned with the condition of my Miss Roxanne.  I'd like to see her, if you please."

        Ian posed the request toward Beckett, and his action rankled Fr. Kevin.  This was, after all, his home, and the patient herself was recuperating in his bed.  It was obvious the young man pegged the Sheriff as the person in charge, and Kevin could feel the bitter stirring of jealousy swishing around in his head.  He opened his mouth to express his disapproval, but his brother-in-law cut him off.

         "Let me check with the duty nurse on call, Ian.  If she gives approval, we'll all have a quick visit."   He turned and made his way up the stairs, leaving Kevin alone with his sister and their unwelcome guest.  Maureen must have sensed her brother's dark mood, for she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him.

          "Oh, Kev!  You have no idea how happy I am to be home!  I can't began to tell you what a
nightmare it is to look in a mirror and see someone else's face."  The irony of the statement hit her, and she made a face.  "Oh gosh, I forgot.  The same thing happened to you too, didn't it, so you know exactly how it feels.  It's just the worst."  She then launched into her second hand rendition, regaling Ian with the time her brother and Roxanne had traveled to the 1800s.

           Kevin only half listened, his thoughts a jumbled mess.  The Fairy Queen was wrong. This Ian person couldn't stay.  Not here in this time, not here in this place.  He had his own destiny somewhere else.  With someone else.  He had no business claiming feelings for Roxanne.  Theirs was a chance meeting, and it should have stayed in the past where it belonged.  He could see this as plain as the hand in front of his face.  Why couldn't the others?  Surely Beckett could see the problems his being here caused.  Why wasn't he speaking up?

           Beckett chose that moment to reappear with the news that if they promised to be quick and quiet, they could see the recovering patient.  Kevin and Ian both raced toward the stairs, but because his foot was still in a cast, the priest found himself several steps behind the young Patriot.  At the Sheriff's request, the nurse stepped out, giving the group privacy, but admonishing them about the need to respect the condition of the patient.

           The four of them crowd into the small space, now looking more like a hospital room than the private quarters of the parish pastor.  Roxanne lay nestled in sterile white sheets, pale and still, tubes and lines connecting her to a panel of machines pushed to the side of the bed.  Seeing her that way put a somber cast to the visit, the four of them standing silently at the foot of the bed.  She appeared to be sleeping, her lashes dark smudges against ghostly skin, her chest rising and falling in labored breathing, and Maureen, her voice cracking, touched her hand, and whispered her name.

           "Roxanne.   Can you hear me?"

            Her eyes lids fluttered a bit, and then she opened them in a tiny squint.  Seeing them standing there, she smiled and closed them again, as if the effort to stay awake took monumental effort.  But in an instant, they flew open, and blinking several times, she stared wide eyed at the scene in front of her, her brain finally catching up to the vision.

            "Ian?  Is that you?  Oh my God, what have we done?"

            In that same moment, the machines next to the bed let out a symphony of beeps, alarms and angry buzzing.  The duty nurse barged into the room, shoving them all out the door until she could stabilize her patient.  After a quick scolding, she allowed them the opportunity to return, although now, one visitor at a time.  As was expected, Beckett went in first, spending nearly twenty minutes with Roxanne in an effort to explain what had transpired since the moment in the warehouse.  He left the room grim faced, sending Maureen in next with the warning not to promise things she couldn't deliver.

        The three men on the other side of the door strained to make out the conversation between the two women, but failed to hear much other than an occasional giggle, the sound a beacon in an otherwise stressful day.  She came out eyes red, but grinning, with the order that Roxie wanted to see Ian next, and Kevin last.  Ian's face was a clear picture of everything he was feeling inside.  Giddy yet apprehensive, he was the caricature of a young man totally smitten, and for Kevin, it was hard to watch. Beckett and Maureen moved away from the door, and when he didn't follow, his sister came over to take him by the arm.

          "They need some privacy, Kev.  This has been a shock to both of them, and Ian is just an innocent bystander in all of our issues.  We're the reason Roxie is in his life.  We need to let the two of them work it out."

            He shook her hand off his arm, ignoring the look he got from her husband.  "Innocent is not a word I'd use to describe your 'tag along', Mo.  He'd have himself right next to Rox in that bed if he could."

          "Aww, come on, Kevin.  You're being terribly unfair and judgmental. He'd do no such thing.  He's a very honorable young man, and the only reason we made it back here.  If it weren't for his help, we'd probably still be stuck in 1775.  We owe him a huge debt of gratitude, and if he thinks he has feelings for Roxanne, it's between the two of them.  We have nothing to say on the matter."

           "That's where you're wrong, Maureen.  We can't let Roxanne get silly over some guy she knows nothing about, especially one that needs to go back to his own time in history.  We have to look out for her best interests."

            Beckett leaned against the wall, and folded his arms across his chest, though there was nothing mocking in his tone or expression.  "Her best interests, or yours, Kevin?"

            There they were.  The words out loud.  He wanted to argue with the man, stammer out a wealth of accusations, and declare his comments off base.  But the truth was, he wasn't so sure the man was wrong.  He could see the painful look of sympathy in both Maureen and Ted's eyes, and knew they could see right through his protests, and so he said nothing, instead thumping down the stairs, and out the front door, running like he always did when it came to Roxanne.

______________________________________

           It was dark already when he returned to the rectory.  He could smell signs of Maureen's cooking through the open windows, and hear the three of them chatting in the parlor.  He had spent the better part of three hours walking, praying, pleading for answers, and was no closer to peace of mind then when he'd left.  Tired both physically and mentally, he prepared himself for the lecture he was sure to get from those he held nearest and dearest, so he was surprised at the normalcy of his homecoming.  No one said a word about the fact that he had stormed out like a petulant child, nor did they mention the reason he fled in the first place.

           "Hey, Kev...I hope you don't mind.  I scavenged your fridge and put together some dinner.  We were all starving.  I left you a plate in the fridge.  Just some burgers and fried potatoes.  You can warm it up in the microwave when you want."

             He could only mumble a few words of thanks, standing awkwardly in the doorway.  Seeing him there, Beckett stood up and poured three hefty shots of Jameson's from the glass decanter on the side table, the special reserve that he himself had procured for Kevin directly from a source in Ireland. He handed one to Kevin, one to Ian, and kept one for himself.  Raising the glass, he toasted, "Here's to Lady Fate.  She's one mighty bitch."

             The three men looked at each other, subconsciously nodding in unison, then threw back the whiskey in a single gulp.  It burned hot and smooth in Kevin's empty belly, and he could feel the warmth spread from his fingertips to his toes.

             "Fine whiskey, indeed, Reverend.  You are a most gracious host."

              He couldn't bring himself to speak, so he just nodded again, not sure what he'd say to the stranger sitting in his favorite chair.  Beckett put his glass back on the tray, then put a hand out to his wife.  "Well, my friends, it's been an exceedingly long day.  I think I will take my wife, and depart for home.  Her Royal Highness needs her beauty sleep."

             "That's not funny, Ted.  Don't start teasing me about that fairy shit.  It's freaking me out already."

              "If the wings fit, my dear, you should wear them proudly,"

               She made a face at him, but dropped the conversation, as not to encourage him.  The two of them headed for the door, hand in hand, Ian still firmly ensconced in the parlor easy chair.  The light bulb blinked on in Kevin's mind, and he stopped them, pointing at the man, "Hey wait, isn't he going with you?"

              Maureen looked at her husband, and then at her brother.  "With us?  Kev, we live in a one room apartment.  We don't even have a sofa.  Where would he sleep?"

               "Not to mention the privacy issue, O'Kenney.  You heard what Her Majesty said.  Gotta get to work on that royal blood line.  No time but the present as they say."  He gave his wife a leering wink, to which she blushed.

               He wasn't going to let them side track him with Beckett's off colored bullshit.  "Well, he certainly can't stay here.  Roxanne is already upstairs.  There's only the bed in the attic left.  There's really no place for him here."

               "You'll figure it out, O'Kenney."  Maureen added a quick hug, and the two of them were out the door, leaving Fr. Kevin with the weight of the world, an injured woman, and a time traveling Patriot in the center of his universe.

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2015
All Rights Reserved

             

             

             
           




         

         

         

The Truth Revealed

         An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

She Who Was All explains the facts

        Beckett looked up at the Fairy Queen, his face void of any emotion.  "Things did not go exactly as planned, your Majesty."  He let it go at that, offering no explanations, making no excuses, and looking her straight in the eye, added, "And if I may, my Queen, I'd very much like to continue this conversation in an upright position."

         She Who Was All stared back at him, pursing her lips in a tight line, and then with a wave released the three of them from their frozen posture.  "The charm of your confident insolence will only take you so far, Ridre Dubh.  The girl lies upstairs, fighting for every breath, and this boy..", she pointed a long painted nail at Ian asleep on the sofa, "...is trapped in a time and place not his own."   She fluttered down, and perched herself on the knight's soldier.  "In addition, two lives no longer exist in the past, the consequences that will result impossible to imagine. Did I not warn you against disrupting the natural order of things?  It is unknown at this point how much damage your carelessness will cause."

         Maureen slipped off the sofa, coming to her husband's aid.  "Excuse me, Madame Fairy...but this is not Ted's fault.  He was only trying to rescue me.  Those red coats meant us harm.  One of them was attempting to...to 'force' himself on Roxie and..."  She suddenly went silent, her mouth moving but no words escaping.

        "It is only natural for you to defend your mate, Nymph.  But I will not be questioned.  Ridre Dubh must take responsibility for his action.  It is his call to honor.  He must do all that is possible to make amends to those who have been harmed under his watch."

         "I take full responsibility, Your Majesty.  I have seen to the girl's medical needs, and have been assured she will fully recover.  If you will kindly explain to me what I can do to return the young man back to his time, then I will see it done."

         Next to him, Maureen violently shook her head her no, her eyes wide, but without the ability to speak.

         The Queen laughed, a sound similar to the tinkling of tiny wind chimes.  "It seems the Nymph takes issue with you foraging in the past."  She flew over to the top of Maureen's head, and gave it a condescending pat, as one might a favored pet.  "She is strong willed, this one.  The royal line flows deep in her, but she is need of constant guidance.  The Nymph has given us much to fret over in her short years, but the blood line must be preserved at all costs."

         It was Fr. Kevin's turn to blurt.  "Blood line?  I'm not sure I understand, Your Majesty.  What does my sister have to do with any royal blood line?"

          From her perch on Maureen's head, the tiny fairy examined the faces of the three humans, peering intently at each of them.  "Hmmm...so you really don't know, do you?  I would have thought the clurichaun might have explained all this to you, Servant of the Creator.  It seems I am wrong.  He has told you nothing in hopes of keeping your life serene and simple, but that is now impossible."

           She left Maureen and floated back to her spot on the mantle. "It is time you knew the truth.  You are no longer children, and nothing can be served by allowing you to wander through life misinformed."  She turned and spoke directly to Fr. Kevin.  "Are you not curious as to why you see things unseen by others?  Surely you have noticed your sensitivity to all things living?  Your openness to the clurichaun's presence in your life?"

            The Queen turned her attention to Maureen.  "And you, Nymph...have you not felt the pull of the Fae since you were but a wee child?  The times you sat in the grass searching for us among the flowers of your Grandmother's garden?  The others would tease your youthful imagination, but deep down, you knew we were truly there.  Surely you have felt the rumblings of your blood line?  The times you knew things before they happened?  The energy that flows through your hands when you create?  The empathy you also share with all things living?"

            Maureen came over and sat next to Kevin, and grabbed his hand for support. "Are you saying, Your Majesty, that Kevin and I...that the two of us...have a Fae blood line?  That hardly seems likely.  There are eight of us in the family.  We're no different from anyone else."

            "Do not be simple, girl!  Not just an ordinary Fae blood line.  That would have died out centuries ago, as things with humans often do.  Of course you are different!  Special, in fact. You carry royal blood,  the two of you, one that is over a thousand years old,  passed on from generation to generation.  Your red hair marks you amongst the rest of your clan. You are two of a very small group that exists today, and we wait hopefully for the offspring you will produce."

         She pointed a finger at Kevin, and he cringed in response, waiting for some type of retribution, but all he felt was an overwhelming sense of disappointment.  "It seems the Creator has claimed you for His own, and though we are saddened by the loss of the bloodline, we bow to His decision as all-knowing and wise.  Who are we to question the Power that keeps the planets moving in the sky?  It is our deepest wish now to see the line passed on through the Nymph."  She Who Was All leaned back, her wings fluttering oddly against the plaster Last Supper, and sighed. "Their was much grief among us at the loss of your last child.  The blood line was strong in the boy child who returned to the Creator.  We await another."

         Throughout her explanation, Beckett had remained thin lipped and silent, but if Fr. Kevin was as observant as he thought, his brother-in-law had gone a few shades paler at the information.  The Fairy Queen took notice, and aimed the next directive at him.  "And you, Ridre Dubh...surely you must know that your union with the Nymph was not left to chance.  There are those who would see the Human-Fae bloodline extinct, noting it unnatural and unwelcome.  We still trust your ability to keep the Nymph safe, despite the incident that almost cost her life, as well as the life of your child.  We shoulder some of the blame for not revealing this information sooner.  Still, we believe your skewed sense of honor, as well as your natural desire for the Nymph, will suit our purposes nicely."

            Again, there was no response from the Sheriff, though there was a definite stiffening to his jaw, and just the slightest flush of pink at his ears.  She Who Was All laughed again, the tinkling floating across the room, but strangely not waking the sleeping Ian.  She lifted herself from the mantle, and flew down to land on his shoulder again.  "This, of course, does not release you from your commitment to me, Ridre Dubh.  You will remain in my service, as agreed upon, until the birth of your first living male child, with or without the royal bloodline."  The Queen gave his ear a pinch, and added, "My hope is the Creator will bless the two of you with a long line of beautiful girl bairns."  She giggled, and slid down his arm, landing on the ottoman next to Fr. Kevin's desk.

              "This, my dear human subjects, brings us to the problem of the young man slumbering away on the divan.  He, of course, can not stay here in the wrong place and time.  The Creator has firm rules about us tampering with the time continuum, and I shall not risk His disapproval over your mistakes, Ridre Dubh."

               Beckett cleared his throat.  "I suspect that my Queen has the ability to send him back.  I would be most grateful for your assistance in the matter."

               "I'm sure you would, my Knight, though you have learned that Fae magic comes with a price.  I shall add this to your growing list of debts.  Now, let us see what the young man has to say."

           She snapped her fingers, and with a shudder and a yawn, Ian sat up on the sofa.  He looked around the room, momentarily confused over his current state, and when he saw the tiny fairy standing on the ottoman, he rose up and took a step backward, banging into the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, swearing under his breath, and making both the sign of the cross, and the hex against the evil eye.

            "Holy Hell, I find myself in the clutches of Beelzebub for sure!"

             She Who Was All raised an eyebrow, and with the curl of a finger brought the frightened man to a kneeling position in front of the ottoman.  "I am hardly the likes of the Evil One, human, and you take great risks in saying his name aloud.  Your friends have enlightened you on the place and time you find yourself?"

             "Aye, Ma'am."

             "You shall address me in the manner, I deserve, human.  I answer to 'Your Majesty'.

             "Aye...Your Majesty.  It seems I have somehow magically travelled into the future, to the Year of Our Lord, 2015."

              "You understand that you do not belong in this time and this place, and therefore must return to wheres you came."

              Ian looked down at the floor, and then to the others in the room, before answering.  "If it is all the same to you, Your Majesty, I'd rather stay.  It seems...well...it appears I have lost my heart to Miss Roxanne.  If this is her time and place, then I'd much rather stay here, and see if she will have me."

               The silence in the room was deafening, and for several seconds, no one said a word.  The Fairy Queen stared hard at the kneeling man, as if she were looking through him.  Then she spoke.  "It is decided then.  He speaks the truth.  He is in love with the girl, and will not leave if there is the slightest chance that she returns his feelings."

               Ian's proclamation of love toward Roxanne hit Fr. Kevin square in the gut, making him suddenly queasy.  In his best priestly voice of calm logic, he interceded.  "But surely, Your Majesty, we can not keep Ian from his assigned destiny.  Though I sympathize with his plight, it is simply impossible for him to stay...well...here in Dollyville.  In the 21st Century.  It's...well...just not right. It's crazy, in fact."

              She narrowed her eyes at Kevin.  "The Creator has given all of us...all sanctioned beings...the gift of Free Will.  It is His Holy Way.  This young man's soul is true.  He does not wish to return to the past, and I can not force him to do so against his Will.  You of all people should understand this.  Is not Free Will a truth among your kind?"

              Fr. Kevin stuttered over the words, acknowledging the truth, but panicking none the less.  "Yes, it's something we believe in.  An important tenet of our faith. But this seems...an unusual circumstance.  Surely there is something you can do?  What in the world are we going to do with someone from 1775?"

             "That, my dear human, is your problem."  And with that, she disappeared, leaving an overpowering scent of roses, and the four people in the room stunned.

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2015
All Rights Reserved





       

Greetings from the North Woods of Minnesota!  Home to beautiful, shimmering lakes, towering pines, and...sketchy, frustrating Internet!😒  Need to take a week off and enjoy the awesome beauty of God's creation.  Hope you'll join me on June 27th to see what's going on with Fr. Kevin, Beckett, Ian and the rest.  As always, I'm grateful for the continuing support.

       

No Place Like Home

                 An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

Kevin and Ted pick up where they left off

         He'd been home less than an hour, Patrick safely on his way back to Boston, when she came bursting through the door, out of breath and red faced, the ankle bandage unwrapped and trailing behind her like a tail on a kite.

       "Kevin!  It's me!  I'm back!"  She threw herself into his arms, half weeping, half laughing, wrapping arms around him with total abandon.  "I'm me again...really me...Oh thank you, Jesus!"

       It took a nano-second or two for the realization to sink in.  This was his sister.  This was Maureen. Truly back in the body she was born with, and no longer sharing head space with Rachel Revere. He hugged her back, the two of them dancing around the rectory parlor with total abandon, celebrating the oddest of family reunions, until both remembered the ordeal was far from over.

         "The others?  Ted and Roxanne?  Have they traveled back?"

          She shook her head, anxiety replacing the joy of the moment.  "No.  Ted sent me first.  Said he wasn't going anywhere until he knew I was safe and sound in my own body.  They were going to set their spell as soon as he was sure I'd made it back."  She grabbed at the end of his jacket, wringing the linen in her hands as she spoke.  "What if they don't make it, Kev?  What if the spell doesn't work, and there stuck back in time?"

           The same thought was running through his head as well.  He was no expert on fey magic, but was pretty sure it didn't come with guarantees.  It was the last thing she wanted to hear, and so he did his best to remain optimistic.  "We have to have faith, Mo.  Beckett seems to make things happen.  They'll be here shortly, all in one piece. I'm sure of it."

           "You don't understand, Kev.  Roxanne was hurt when I left.  Shot by a red coat soldier.  She looked pretty awful. What if..."

           The news hit him in the gut, knocking the wind out of any attempt to pacify his sister.  "Shot?  Damn it, Maureen!  Beckett promised me there'd be no blood shed!  No change in the time line!  How   the hell did he let this happen?"

           She pulled away from him, moving from fear to anger.  "Don't you dare blame my husband for this, Kevin O'Kenney!  He and Roxie risked their lives to save me!  It just happened.  It was no one's fault.  Those were dangerous times in American history.  You have no idea what it's like...trapped in some weird body, some time not your own.  It's like living a nightmare!"

        Fr. Kevin wanted to counter the argument.  Explain to her that he knew exactly how it felt.  But a change in the room suddenly put an end to the discussion.  The air around them seemed to thicken like fog that wasn't there, and the hair on their arms and head rose in static electricity.  There was the acrid smell of something burning, the odor reminding him of the times he and his father would burn fallen leaves in autumn, and the temperature in the room rose several degrees despite the air conditioning running at full blast.

          From nowhere in particular, Beckett just appeared, landing on the parlor rug in front of the fireplace with a thump.  He was unconscious, but a quick check of his pulse revealed he was alive and well.  Before they could further attend to him, there was a flash of light, and Roxanne materialized, unconscious as well, her complexion a chalky gray color, her lips an unnatural shade of purple. For a second, Fr. Kevin couldn't move, stunned by her awful appearance, thinking, but not wanting to believe, she had slipped the bonds of earthly life. It was Maureen who sprang into action, checking her pulse, and tucking a few sofa pillows under her legs to raise her feet.

           "Kevin...run upstairs and grab a blanket off the bed.  She's colder than ice.  We need to warm her up.  I think she's in shock."

             He did as asked, racing up the stairs, mouthing a hundred prayers for the girl he'd loved but couldn't have, making countless deals with God on her behalf.  He pulled the blanket off his bed and charged down the stairs, almost tripping and falling as the ends tangled about his feet.  He knelt next to Roxanne as Mo tucked the blanket around her, grabbing a limp hand in his, willing her to live.
She was breathing, but each puff of air was labored and raspy.

            "We need to call an ambulance, Maureen!  She's in bad shape."

            Still flat on his back, it was Ted who answered.  "No ambulance.  Too many questions."

           Even half conscious, Beckett was still calling the shots, and his self-appointed leadership rankled Kevin.  "Don't be ridiculous, Ted.  She's seriously injured.  We need to do something, and we need to do it now!"

            Beckett pulled himself up to a sitting position, leaning his back against the fireplace.  "I'll handle it, Kevin.  Trust me on this.  There's no way we can explain an eighteenth century musket ball in her chest to the authorities.  You'll rain all kinds of trouble down on us.  Get me my cell phone."

            Fr. Kevin tore himself away from Roxanne, trying to remember a time he hated the man more, and failing.  He rummaged through the desk drawer for the cell phone Ted had given him for safe keeping before he left, and tossed it towards his brother-in-law.   "If she dies, Beckett, I'm holding you responsible."

           Ted narrowed his eyes.  "Is that a threat, O'Kenney?  Because I'm not really fond of threats."

           He had a million answers for the man, a litany of things he needed to say to the self-important bastard.  But for that moment, he never got the chance.  There was a rumble in the room, a small flash of light, and the appearance of yet another male body, this one also unconscious, and like the others, dressed in the attire of colonial Boston.  There was dead silence in the room.  Maureen looked to her husband, and put a hand to her forehead, and even Beckett seemed caught off guard with nothing to say.

            Fr. Kevin looked at them both, shock and anger reigning.  "Okay...which one of you wants to explain to me why there's an extra person lying on the floor of my parlor?"

__________________________

         The next three hours was a circus, confusion and disbelief being the main attractions under the Big Top that Holy Family rectory had become.  As he claimed, Beckett was able to take care of Roxanne's medical needs.  Who he called, where they came from, Kevin didn't know.  But a whole team of medical personnel quickly descended upon his home, whisking Roxanne to the bedroom, and setting up an impromptu surgical unit.  They spoke to no one except Ted, and when they finished their work, left silently in the same manner they arrived, leaving behind a single nurse to monitor her recovery.

           Crazy as it seemed, Roxanne's injuries were the easiest problem to fix.  As it was explained to him, the young man on the floor was one Ian Sawyer, a colonial Patriot and neighbor to the Revere's, who had accidentally been caught up in the spell Beckett and Roxanne had used to return home.  Once again, the how and whys of things had been conveniently left out, and Fr. Kevin could get no solid explanations on how Mr. Sawyer had gotten involved in the first place.

            Truth be told, the gentleman had awoken on the floor of the rectory in a state of complete terror and confusion, and it was nearly impossible to feel anything but pity for him.  He seemed to have recognition of only Ted, though he repeatedly asked about the condition of 'his' Miss Roxanne.  The man's use of the possessive pronoun regarding Roxie raised questions in Fr. Kevin's mind, but it seemed he'd have to wait to get clarification on a number of issues, as Ian was in no shape to be interrogated.  He had not managed the side effects of fey magic as well as Ted or Maureen, and was still shaky on his feet, dizzy and nauseous, hours after his arrival.

        The three of them had taken turns trying to explain to the poor man all that had transpired, and he was, understandably, disbelieving and panicked of the whole idea.  It took a copy of the day's newspaper, the date boldly printed at the top of the page, for him to even begin to wrap his head around the fact that he had traveled nearly 250 years into the future.  Afterwards, he spent the next twenty minutes throwing up into a bucket, until exhausted, he fell asleep on the rectory sofa.

         With both Roxanne and Mr. Sawyer attended to and resting comfortably,  Fr. Kevin stated the obvious.  "You know he can't stay here.  Here in the future.  He has to go back."

          "Uhhh...yeah...no shit Sherlock.  It's not like we planned for this to happen, O'Kenney.  He came out of nowhere.  We were in the middle of the incantation, and he just...well...dived at us.  Apparently the contact was enough to send him along with Roxanne and I.  It suppose it's lucky he ended up here, and not lost in time some where, all by his lonesome."

          "Lucky?  Not lucky at all.  Now he's our problem."

           Maureen, who had been unusually silent since her return, gave him a punch to the upper arm.  "What a rotten thing to say, Kevin.  Ian is a vey nice man.  He just wanted to help us.  If it weren't for him, well...we'd probably not have gotten home as quickly as we did.  It was his idea to hide us in the barrels.  He took enormous risks transporting us to the travel site.  And in return, you wished he'd be lost someplace in time, all alone?  I'm surprised at you, Kev.  Where's your sense of gratitude and compassion."

            She was right, of course.  He owed the strange man from 1775 a debt of gratitude he probably couldn't pay back.  But she was surely missing the point.  Ian Sawyer had a destiny in his own time.  By taking him out of that life, they had altered the time line of events to come, a ripple effect they couldn't even begin to imagine.  "I'm sorry, Mo.  I don't mean to sound harsh, but you have to realize the damage that's been done.  We have to figure out how to get him back...the sooner the better."  He looked at Ted, who sat in an armchair, head back, eyes closed, seemingly unbothered by the whole
catastrophe.  "You...Black Knight...Mr. "I'm in Charge of the Whole Damn Universe"...got any ideas?"

              He opened one eye, and then closed it again.  "No, Fr. Obvious, I do not know how to send him back.  You people seem to attract all this supernatural bullshit.  It was your damn watch that started this whole mess.  You figure it out."

             The snappy comeback never left his lips.  The lights in the room dimmed, and there was the over powering smell of roses, cloying sweet and somehow dangerous.  She appeared without much fan fare, simply making herself known in her favorite spot on the fireplace mantle, her anger a living thing of its own.  One minute Beckett was sitting in the chair, the next minute he was on his knees in front of the fireplace, unable to move a single muscle.  He and Maureen found themselves in similar positions, stuck to their seats in fairy rigor mortis, and for once, he was content to let Beckett do all the talking.

              "I see you have returned, Ridre Dubh, your beautiful bride along with you.  Now explain to She Who Is All, the damage you've done."

He's got some explaining to do

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2015
All Rights Reserved


             

       

           



         


       

Bon Voyage and Happy Landings

  An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

Homeward Bound

               The rocking of the wagon and the over powering scent of ale worked together to lull her into a semi-conscious stupor, which wasn't a half bad feeling.  It took the edge off the burning pain in her chest, and almost made her forget her arm from shoulder and beyond had lost any feeling.  She fought through the fog, willing herself to stay alert.  They were depending on her to find the right spot.  It had been easier the last time.  The bank had been there in the same spot when she and Kevin had traveled from 2014 to 1849, and then back again.  Here in 1775, it didn't yet exist, so it was up to her to locate it's future position adjacent to Long Wharf.

               Of course, that only mattered if it was the ground that gave power to the watch, as she believed, and not the building itself.  After her own experience, she had spent weeks researching possible causes, and had come across a series of articles and journals on the power of ley lines that stretched across the earth.  It was believed that these supposed intersection of points were humming with spiritual and mystical power in the same vein as Chinese feng shui.  Most of the research had centered on points in Europe, mainly those in Great Britain, but she had been able to track down a few obscure studies on ley lines in North America and hadn't been shocked in the least to find that several of them were located on the US East Coast, with Boston and the Cape Cod area claiming two of the most powerful.

               As crazy as it might seem to the uninitiated, it made perfect sense to her.  Gave reason to the strange man they had encountered at the bank, the power the watch had at certain points including the bank and Kevin's rectory, and the presence of the fey in the little town of Dollywood.  She had concluded right then and there that the invisible ley lines were a force needed to be reckoned with and understood, and when they returned home, she must relay this information to those she held closest and could trust not to send her packing to the psychiatric hospital.

              Until then, she needed to stay conscious.  Purpose in mind, she shifted herself inside the barrel, putting pressure on her chest.  The pain was immediate, a hot poker of heat that went through her entire torso, and any thought of sleep was completely erased.  The pace of the wagon slowed, and through the outside noise of the bustling city, she could faintly make out a low humming sound of the watch somewhere inside Maureen's barrel.  It signaled to her that they were moving in the right direction, and if all went well, this nightmare experience would soon be over.

________________________________

          While events unfolded, Fr. Kevin was pretty sure he was in the presence of a Master Manipulator.  He couldn't quite say how Mrs. Revere had outwitted his brother, Patrick, into agreeing to a new set of plans, only that she had done so without him being any wiser to the strangeness of the situation.  She had concocted some story about needing to remain at home to help with the church rummage sale, and insisted would gladly make plans to return to Boston, watercolors in hand, the following week.  She chatted pleasantly about plans to visit the family, who she would see, what they would do, and by the time he was ready to leave, had managed to convince Pat this change of dates had been all his idea in the first place.

           As he walked Patrick downstairs to his waiting taxi, Kevin secretly shook his head over his brother's clueless foray into the logic that marriage to Beckett had surely been the best thing that had ever happened to their sister.

          "I'm telling you, Kevin.  I know you had your doubts about this marriage working out, but you have to admit, since she's patched things up with Ted, it's almost like she's a different person. So calm and reasonable.   Yup...I do believe our Red has become a sensible, mature woman.  Seems I can finally breathe a sigh of relief over her well being."

            Having nothing to say in return, and not wishing to lie, Fr. Kevin nodded, his fingers crossed behind his back, a prayer in his heart for the safety of all three of the travelers.

________________________________

            The wagon came to a complete stop, and she could her the others escaping the confines of their barrels.  After a few attempts, she could not get her body to move in the direction it needed, and so she waited until someone came to her aid.  It was Ian's face she saw first, and despite her overwhelming exhaustion, her heart did a little flip at the sight.

           "We've arrived, Miss Roxanne.  Do you need help getting out?"

           The words didn't want come, breath being in short supply, and so she just nodded her agreement.  He stuck two hands into the barrel around her waist and gave a tug, but her shoulder caught on the rim, and she gasped in pain.

             "Lordy!  I'm sorry, Ma'am. I didn't mean to cause you pain.  We may have to try another way."

              He walked off, and she panted in deep, raspy breaths.  The tiny movement had caused so much pain, it wasn't something she wanted to try again, yet knew she must.  She began counting backwards from one hundred, anything to take her mind off the blazing fire in her upper torso.  She had just rounded off the 80s when Beckett's face appeared at the top of the barrel.

             "How are you holding up, Deputy?"

             "I'm afraid not well, Sir.  My shoulder...well...it seems to be hung up on the rim, and I can't seem to be able to move it at all."  The words came out choppy, a long breath in between each syllable.

               Beckett reached a hand down to her neck to take a pulse, and though he tried to remain poker faced, she could see the turned down expression, and the look of concern in his eyes.  "Hang on a bit longer.  We're gonna have to try something else to get you out."

              She could hear only bits and pieces of conversation, the two men and Maureen debating the situation.  Shortly, she felt the entire barrel lifted off the wagon and laid on the ground, and she gritted her teeth through each rock and roll of movement.  Then, there was the groaning sound of wood against metal, as the ribs were separated from the rim.  As more were pulled away, she could make out her surroundings, a wooden warehouse of sorts, daylight streaming through the wooden slats of the walls, and she fought to stay conscious.

               By this point, the humming had grown louder, and the men worked frantically to remove enough wooden ribs to free her, though Ian seemed oblivious to the sound.  Once they had done so, Beckett lifted to her a standing position, and though she swayed on her feet, she was able to remain upright.

               Beckett leaned in close to her ear, and whispered, "We are as close to the spot you suggested, while still remaining hidden, Deputy.  Do you think we can try from here?  I need for Mr. Sawyer to not be involved.  It would be much better if he did not witness...things of a... supernatural nature.  Once we leave, he needs to forget about us and move on with his life.  We've done enough damage to the time line already."

            She nodded, the realization that in the next few minutes, if all went according to plan, she would never see Mr. Ian Sawyer again.  It added a whole additional level of pain she didn't want to think about.  Things would be as they would be.  Maureen needed to return to her own body, she and Beckett to their own time and space.  She would sort out her life when this was all over, and Ian Sawyer would remain just a bittersweet special memory.

      "Can you hear the humming, Sir?  I think this spot will work.  Maureen needs to hold the watch and concentrate on her life back home.  There's little else we can do, except stand back back and watch. I'm guessing we'll know soon enough if it's worked."

            "Agreed.  Let me get Mr. Sawyer out of harms way, and then we'll proceed.  Can you stand on your own?"

             "I think so, Sir."

             He handed her a rib from the broken barrel, shoving one end into the soft dirt.  "Lean on this if you feel dizzy.  I'll try and speed this up as much as possible."

             She watched him go over and speak to Ian.  She could see the uncertainty in the man's face, and then the look of resignation.  The two men shook hands, and with a sad wave to her, he grabbed the reigns of the horse and led them and the wagon outside, closing the large wooden door behind him.  Turning her face away so the others wouldn't see, she wiped at the few tears that had escaped from the corners of her eyes, and concentrated on staying conscious.

_______________________________

             Ian Sawyer was a Patriot, and those who knew him best, knew he'd do whatever was necessary for the cause.  If Paul and Rachel Revere were good and trusted friends, then by connection, so were others who were in their freedom circle.  If Ted Walker asked for his help, then it should be supplied without the slightest hesitation.  There was no doubting the frame of logic.  Still, the sight of Miss Roxanne Walker, wounded and ill, barely able to stand on her own, haunted him.  She had captured his interest the moment he had laid eyes on her, even when he thought her to be a young, simpleton boy, a fact that had caused him much angst.  He had never in his life thought himself to be a poof, a fancier of buggery, and the thought they he might have such tendencies horrified him.  The realization that she was really a woman came with such overwhelming relief he had almost gotten down on his knees then and there to thank God Almighty that he was the man he always thought he was.

        Now, the idea that she was in need of help and he was unable to assist her was unacceptable.  He had followed Mr. Walker's plan to a certain point, and had taken leave of the warehouse when asked.  But if there was any chance that the plan to exchange information vital to the cause might go wrong, he had no intention of leaving the three of them to fend for themselves.  He pulled the wagon behind a tobacco shop on the Wharf, tied off the horses to a post, then hurried back to the warehouse, positioning himself in a spot to watch inside between the slats of the wall.

          For several minutes nothing seemed to happen.  Mrs. Revere stood off to the side, something gold swinging from her hand. Then, things in front of his eyes seemed to grow fuzzy, and he rubbed a fist in them, thinking the problem was on his end.  When he looked again, nothing seemed to have changed, though Rachel was now minus the item in her hand.  He watched as she ran hands over herself, then ran to the other two to hug them, the mood suddenly changing to that of celebration.  At that point, he almost gave in to his inclination to make his presence known, but then changed his mind as strange things quickly began to unfold.

           Rachel stepped away from the two, and took a position across the warehouse.  Ted pulled something from his pocket, and placed it between his palm and that of Miss Roxanne.  He could see from the sweat on her brow, her gray complexion and gritted teeth that she was dangerously ill, and his heart leapt to his throat.  He watched a few more seconds as Walker laced their hands together with a leather cord, and began mumbling words he couldn't hear.  It was at that moment his Roxanne could hold herself up no longer, and she began to slide to the ground despite her hand being tied to Walker's.

            Hiding and just watching was no longer an option.  He ran from behind the building, crashing through the closed door, and diving for her.  "Roxanne...are you.."  The last words never left his mouth, the world inside his head exploding into a million pieces, and then disappearing into an inky void.


Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2015
All Rights Reserved