Never Forget Chapter 1: Tears on the Wind, a tuck everlasting fanfic

Summary: "Winnie Foster, I will love you until the day that I die!"

Disclaimer: I do not own Winnie or Jesse, nor any of the Tuck or Foster families. I don't own the book or the movie, and I don't own Treegap. If I owned anything like that, would I really be writing fan fiction?

A/N We had out intranet connection cut off at my mom's house, so I'll only be updating at certain times of the week from now on, and I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.

I dunno where this came from, but I really like the way it started turning out when I wrote it. Tell me what you think, really realistically, because if it sucks, I'll take it down. Just please, give me the truth. If you just don't like me, don't even bother to review it.

Please keep in mind that parts of this story have been taken as excerpts from the Tuck Everlasting Movie and Book. Only bits and pieces that suited the plot were borrowed.

Also, why did everybody take so long to review? I know there's school and all, but it's not like it takes up every second. Please explain?

Never Forget

Chapter 1 – Tears on the Wind

The hanging wooden sign said 'Welcome to Treegap', but it was hard to believe that the town ahead was really Treegap. Whereas main street had been dust, it ceased to have changed over the years, but there were many other streets now, crossing over it. The road itself was blacktopped and there was a white line painted down its center.

Mae and Tuck, on the seat of the clattering wooden wagon, bumped slowly into Treegap behind the fat old horse. They had seen the continuous change and were accustomed to it, but here it seemed shocking, and sad.

"Look," spoke Tuck, "Look Mae! Ain't that where the wood used to be? It's gone! Not a stick or stump left! And her cottage – that's gone too." His voice fell.

It was very hard to recognize anything but from the little hill, which had once lain outside the village, and was now very much part of it, the thought they could figure things out.

"Yes," whispered Mae, "That's where it was, I do believe. 'Course, it's been so long since we was here, I can't tell for certain."

There was a gas station there now. A young man in greasy coveralls was polishing the windshield of a wide and rust Hudson automobile. As Mae and Tuck rolled passed, the young man grinned and said to the driver of the Hudson, who lounged at the wheel, "Looky there. In from the country for a big time." And they chuckled together.

Mae and Tuck clattered on into the village proper, past a catholic mixture of houses which soon gave way to shops and other places of business: a hot-dog stand; a dry cleaner; a pharmacy; a five-and-ten; another gas station; a tall, white frame building with a pleasant veranda, the Treegap Hotel – Family Dining, Easy Rates. The post office. Beyond that, the jail house, but a larger jail house now, painted brown with an office for the county clerk. A black and white police car was parked in front with a red glass search-light on it's roof and a radio antenna, like a buggy whip, fastened to the windshield.

Mae glanced at the jail house but looked away quickly. "See beyond there," she said, pointing with a slim finger, "That diner? Let's stop there and get a cup of coffee, alright?"

"Sure," said Tuck. "Maybe they'll know something.

Inside, the diner gleamed with chrome and smelled of linoleum and ketchup. Mae and Tuck took seats on rumbling swivel stools at the long counter. The counterman emerged from the kitchen at the rear and sized them up expertly. They looked alright. A little queer, maybe – their clothes especially – but honest. He slapped a cardboard menu down in front of them and leaned on the foaming orangeade cooler. "You folks from off?" he asked.

"Yes," said Tuck. "Just passing through."

"Sure," said the counterman.

"Say, said Tuck cautiously, fingering the menu. "Didn't there used to be a wood once, down the other side of town?"

"Sure," replied the counterman with a shrug. "Had a big electrical storm, though, about three years ago now, or there-abouts. Big tree got hit by lightning, split right down the middle. Caught fire and everything. Tore up the ground, too. Had to bulldoze her all out."

"Oh," said Tuck. He and Mae exchanged worried glances.

"Coffee, please," murmured Mae softly. "Black, for both of us."

"Sure," said the counterman. He took the menu away, poured coffee into thick pottery mugs, and leaned again on the orangeade cooler.

"Used to be a fresh-water spring in that wood," said Tuck boldly, sipping his coffee.

"Don't know nothing about that," said the counterman. "Had to bulldoze her all out, like I said."

"Oh."

Afterwards, while Mae was shopping for supplies, Tuck went back through the town on foot – back the way they had come – out to the little hill. There were houses there now, and a feed and grain store, but on the far side of the hill, inside a rambling iron fence was a cemetery.

Tuck's heart quickened. He had noticed the cemetery on the way in. Mae had seen it too. They had not spoken about it. But both knew it might hold other answers. Tuck straightened his old jacket. He passed through an archway of wrought-iron curlicues and paused, squinting at the weedy rows of gravestones. And then, far over to the right, he saw a tall monument, once no doubt imposing, but now tipped slightly sideways. On it was carved one name.

Foster.

Slowly, Tuck turned his footsteps towards the monument. And saw, as he approached, that there were other, smaller markers all around it. A family plot. And then his throat closed. For it was there. He had wanted it to be there, but now that he saw it, he was overcome with sadness. He knelt and read the inscription.

In Loving Memory

Winifred Foster Jackson

Dear Wife

Dear Mother

1870 – 1948

"So," whispered Tuck to himself. "Two years, she's been gone two years." He stood up and looked around, embarrassed, trying to clear the lump from his throat. But there was no one to see him. The cemetery was very quiet.

In the branches of a willow behind him, a red winged blackbird chirped. Tuck wiped his eyes hastily. Then he straightened his jacket again and drew up his hand in a brief salute.

"Good girl," he said aloud. And then he turned and left the cemetery, walking quickly.

Later, as he and Mae rolled out o Treegap, Mae said softly, without looking at him, "She's gone?"

Tuck nodded, "She's gone."

There was a long moment of silence between them, and then Mae said, "Poor Jesse."

"He knowed it thought," muttered Tuck. "At least, he knew she wasn't coming. We all knew that, a long time ago."

"Just the same," Mae sighed, and then sat up a little straighter. "Well, where to now, Tuck? No need to come back here no more."

"That's so," said Tuck. "Let's just head on out this way. We'll locate something."

"All right," said Mae. And then she put a hand on his arm and pointed. "Look out for that toad."

Tuck had seen it too. He reined in the horse and climbed down from the wagon to where the toad squatted in the middle of the road, quite unconcerned. In the opposite late, a pickup truck rattled slowly by, and against the breeze it made, the toad shut its eyes tightly. Yet it did not move. Tuck waited till the truck had passed, and then he picked up the toad and carried it to the weeds along the road's edge.

"Durn fool thing must think it's going to live forever," Tuck muttered to Mae.

And soon they were rolling on again, leaving Treegap behind, nd as they went, the tinkling little melody of a music box drifted out behind them and was lost at last far down the road.

A blustery wind tossed dirt and leaves into the air, abandoning them on their way down. One such leaf, gleaming the color of a sunset, his the side of a boy on a motorbike, and continued it's freewheeling down to the ground.

Paying no heed to the fragment of nature, the youth continued down the road, the visor of his helmet shielding his eyes from the dirt and other wind-blown objects as he turned onto a narrow lane.

Tree after tree seemed familiar to the boy, Jesse Tuck. The way that they waved in the wind, tossing their branches in every direction. He smiled softly, entranced in the memory of the same night that they had saved Mae from the gallows. The last night he had seen her.

He passed the blackening bronze gate, at the white picket fence, and came to a slow halt in front of the cottage, shutters as clean as the day before, and windows glinting in the suns rays.

Then, reaching up, Jesse removed his heavy black helmet, and let his layered hair fall in dirty blond strands around his head.

"For some," he whispered, sapphire eyes shimmering with excitement, "time passes slowly. An hour can seem an eternity. For others, there's never enough." Jesse inhaled long and slow, letting a smirk tug gently at the corners of his mouth. "Winifred Foster, for me and you, it doesn't exist."

His helmet lowered back over his head, Jesse revved the engine of his bike, and continued down the lane to a small gas station, a tiny clump of trees just beyond it. That's where the old tree had been, he could feel it.

Surrounding the clump, was a wrought iron fence, a small gate hanging gently open despite the harsh winds, and Jesse pushed through it, and then through the brush and plants.

The clearing was there, and when he found it, he grinned. However, the joyful expression faded without delay at the white blossoms that scattered the ground, and the heavy white stone that sat in the center.

In Loving Memory

Winifred Foster Jackson

Dear Wife

Dear Mother

1870 – 1948

"That can't be right." he muttered, shaking his head softly, and lowering himself to his knees. "Winnie, you can't be gone. We never saw the world."

His eyes fell, and a worn hand softly caressed the stone marker. And just as a gust of wind parted the trees and leaves, a single silver tear fell from his eyes, and was caught up in the burst.

A/N : More to come with three reviews. Who ever said Winnie had died . . .

R&R

Miracle