Author's note: If the words are in italics they are thoughts. //Between the backslashes it is projected thoughts. Telepathy or it's close cousin.// The sentences between the 7's are from the first episode of the Magnificent Seven TV show
York County, Pennsylvania
Feb. 21, 1760
"Josiah?" John Miller softly spoke. "It would be best if thee came home with Elizabeth and me for a few days. At least until thee hast made some peace with this." Poor lad has lost everything in just a few short days. I have lost good friends but he has lost the only family he has. The measles have taken so many.
"Thank thee, Mister Miller, but no. I . . . can not stay, not now. Perhaps someday but not this one," Josiah answered in an emotionless tone staring down at the three freshly covered graves.
"Josiah, I would council thee not to make such a grave decision at this time. Amos would have counseled thee the same." John waved the other mourners off while he spoke with the grieving man. "Know thee that thou art most welcome amongst us."
"Aye, Mister Miller, thee are good people and I have found peace among thee these few years. I can not stay now. I feel their loss too deeply here. The house is so silent and empty," Josiah sighed, his broad shoulders seemed bowed down under the weight of his grief.
"Thou were the son that God sent to them in their sorrow having none of their own. Amos and Martha left everything to thee." Miller laid a comforting hand on Josiah's arm.
"I . . . could have loved them no more if they had been my parents," Josiah's voice trembled. "My Anna she was so small."
"Come thee home with me lad," Miller urged.
"No, no, it's thanking thee for thine offer but no. Your oldest boy is of an age to be considering marriage be he not?" Josiah seemed to shake off the weight of his grief for a few moments.
"Yes . . . ," John answered in a puzzled tone.
"Let him tend the place until my return. Thereby he might earn the coin to purchase a farm of his own. Then pass the care of the land on to the next of your sons if I have not returned. If I have not returned in ten years then it is thine to do with as thee will," Josiah directed.
"Josiah, think thee . . . ," Miller tried to interrupt.
"I have, Mister Miller, I have. Only one thing I ask. In place of rent, each year let one of thy family journey to Philadelphia that they might purchase indentures. Thereby continuing Amos' good work if thee would consent to sponsor those that be purchased. I would not hold thee to this bargain if the crops fail or there is need amongst thine own people," Josiah continued.
"Of course, Lad, we would have done so anyway. Will thee not stay and aid us?" Miller asked once more.
"No I . . . I will seek my God in his forests. I will go west for awhile," Josiah refused once more. Walking over to where his pack lay by a tree he shouldered it and straightened. "I will try and send thee word of my travels."
"Do that Lad, we will pray for thee, Josiah, that thee might find thy way," John said finally accepting that Josiah would leave the community.
London, England
The Vauxhall Gardens
April 7th, 1760
"Mr. Franklin," Ezra Standish smiled warmly at his unlikely friend. "It is a pleasure to see you once again, Sir." The boy was seated like a young prince surveying his domain in the gambling room presiding over a Whist table.
"Ezra, my boy, the pleasure is all mine." Franklin's eyes twinkled as he sat down across from the 11 year old scamp. "How is the lovely Maude?"
"On the prowl," Ezra smirked.
"Should I just hand over my purse now?" Franklin asked with a chuckle.
"Certainly not, Sir, allow me to practice my craft if you will," Ezra teased and began to deal cards. "Have you heard about the tempest at Carlisle House?" Standish asked.
"I was there. I found myself struggling not to laugh aloud despite poor Mr. Merlin's unfortunate injuries."
"He really crashed into the Duchess' mirror?" Ezra asked softly. Ouch!
"Five hundred pounds sterling's worth of vanity reduced to a pile of broken glass." Franklin tried to look appropriately distressed. Soon the man's chuckles were joined by a boyish giggle.
"What of Mr. Merlin's invention?" Ezra asked as he pulled in the chips as he won yet another round.
"Skates, they were skates, much like ice skates, excepting that instead of a metal blade small wheels had been placed in a single row. His experiment may have been brought to a successful conclusion if he had left his fiddle at home."
"He really was playing the violin as well? I had heard that this was so, but it seemed too farfetched," Ezra said.
"Broke the fiddle as well. Only a fool would trust his hide to such dangerous devices," Franklin sniffed.
"Were you not rendered unconscious for some time when you attempted to electrocute a poor turkey, Mr. Franklin?" Ezra asked mischievously.
"Hmmmph, I simply failed to control the electrode," Franklin snorted.
"Did you by chance have a moment to study the . . . roller skates?" Ezra smirked.
"Indeed, Mr. Merlin's idea was sound but his elocution of principal was sadly lacking. Something a man of his ability should have foreseen. There were no bearings making the skates difficult to control," Franklin explained.
"One would think a man of Mr. Merlin's mechanical genius would have known better. Foolish idea really," Ezra noted as he swept up Franklin's coins once more.
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"What in God's name are you two doing?" Maude growled standing at the door of what once had been her elegant drawing room two days later.
"Forgive me dear lady for disturbing your rest." Benjamin Franklin appeared sheepish as Ezra attempted to help him to his feet. His skate clad feet shot out from under him allowing the rather rotund elderly man to land on the floor with a thud.
"All the breakables have been moved to safety, Mother," Ezra hastened to reassure his mother.
Maude tapped her foot. "Do put everything back in order when you're done. Please stay away from the windows, I would hate for you to reenact Mr. Merlin's grand finale." Maude turned and swept regally up the stairs. Oh David have I done the right thing. Pushing our son to trust no one and live by his wits. Ezra was laughing. Our boy genuinely laughs so rarely. I have stolen his childhood away from him.
"I had thought Maude would have been out for the day," Ezra said softly. His eyes lingered on the staircase.
"Have I gotten you into trouble, lad?" Franklin asked worriedly.
"In for a penny, in for a pound." Ezra grinned. "Perhaps we should consider how to stop these things now that we have them rolling."
"A good idea, my boy, a fine idea." Franklin smiled ruefully and rubbed at a bruised portion of his anatomy. "Shall we remove ourselves to the drawing board?"
Once more Ezra attempted to help Franklin to his feet, only to end up with both of them on the floor this time.
"Might I suggest removing the skates before we attempt rising again?" Ezra suggested rubbing at the knot on his head.
Somewhere along the Missouri River
Early summer, 1760
Trevin sat silently beside his grandfather. The only sign of the 6 year old's distress was the trembling hand resting over Daffydd's straining heart.
"Dying is only another part of life," Daffydd wheezed trying to comfort the boy.
"Where is Nathari?" Daffydd asked worriedly. Trevin is distressed and the guide is no where to be found? I chose the wrong guide for you. Forgive me my grandson. I took the easy path but I was certain that Nathari was the way.
"The new priest Ian leads the warriors in a dance to drive the evil out of the village," Vin's sentinel soft whisper carried the contempt the boy felt for the priest. "Yellow Wolf ap Ian asked Nathari to dance with the men despite his not having gone through his manhood rites."
"That is the way of the others . . .," Daffydd panted. Even if there had been anyone else in the lodge to observe the sentinels, they would not have heard the old man's words. So they seek to control the guide, Ian and his black hearted son Yellow Wolf.
"Unless they are lead back we will become only a shadow of ourselves. Maddoc's people will be no more. Our children will be lost to the true God's way," Daffydd's faint words were laden with sorrow. "Where are the elders that this was allowed?" he asked angrily.
"They listen to the false priest," Vin replied his tone amazingly bitter for a child so young. The boy's protective instincts had been triggered, and the young sentinel viewed Ian ap Iago as a danger to his tribe.
"What of Eban?" Daffydd demanded faintly; the dying beta sentinel tried to rise struggling to once more defend his people. Too late it is too late. It is Trevin's time now. My poor boy what sorrow will come to you.
"Please no, Tadig," Vin pressed down on his grandfather's shoulders. "Fostri is with Momma. This new baby is making her very sick. They do not speak of it but they fear the baby will not be born."
Daffydd hissed faintly as his heart seized. So the snake's path is clear for the taking. I have to teach Trevin enough to survive until his real guide is found. //HEAR ME TREVIN!// Daffydd's last act was to protect his grandson, forcing open the boy's immature channels so that he could teach him mind to mind.
//Tadig?// Vin suppressed a pained whimper.
//Forgive me child, you are too young. Far too young but I am out of time.// Daffydd 'spoke'. Wordless images laden with emotion ripped through the young sentinel's mind. With a mental scream the boy collapsed next to his grandfather. Instinctively the sentinel mind worked to heal the damage. The simple shields of the child's mind began to alter. Intricate layers of meshed shielding began to form under the direction of Daffydd.
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Hours later the exhausted Eban entered Daffydd's lodge searching for his sons. Sadly he pulled a blanket over Daffydd's cooling body. Eban's kindly features drew into a scowl as he looked down on the curled body of Trevin. Nathari, what are we to do.
"Hush Vin," Eban soothed when the boy flinched painfully at his touch. Dammit Nathari, where are you?
Vin sat up painfully. //Tadig?//
Eban swept the trembling boy into his arms and carried Vin out of the lodge. Wide sapphire eyes didn't seem to blink. No sound came from the boy as his fostri cuddled him close. Is this a zone?
Nathari straightened to his full height towering over his stepfather as Eban stalked toward the lodge preparing for yet another of their explosive confrontations. I'm not a child. I was doing men's work. He has no right to chastise me. There was a defiant look on the boy's face yet he had an apprehensive look in his eye.
Eban's eyes were angry as he brushed past the towering youth.
"See Vin's safe, he was simply sleeping over at his Tadig's," Nathari snorted at Eban's unreasonable demands for him to always keep the boy close.
"You were needed. I had to leave Rain with Raven," Eban said impatiently. "I will speak with you later."
"You're not my father! I don't have to listen to you," Nathari yelled at Eban's back.
"I am a name warrior, boy!" Eban spun around. "A position of respect that I earned," the seasoned warrior snarled softly. Nathari blinked and took a nervous step backward. "You have an amazing gift that no one else in this village has. A man sees his duty and does it. You are only a spoiled child. You aren't ready for manhood rites and I will not sponsor you."
"I am a man and I have better things to do then watch babies," Nathari snarled.
"You were more of a man when you were eight," Eban snapped. "You will not disturb your mother with your childish temper. She is ill and needs her rest less she miscarry this babe."
Nathari shifted his feet guiltily. The boy's dark eyes settled on Vin cradled so protectively to Eban's chest. He sucked in a shocked breath at Trevin's unblinking gaze. The young sentinel seemed unconnected with the world around him. "What's wrong with Vin?"
"Daffydd died," Eban said shortly before entering the lodge leaving Nathari to stew in his guilt and self-righteousness.
Northwestern Germany
Oct. 23, 1760
Eighteen year old Christopher John Francis Larabee stared down at the medal in his hands a moment before dropping and grinding it into the mud with his foot. "A tawdry bit of metal in exchange for the lives of my countrymen. I would have preferred a bit of my back pay or at least a meal or two," Chris growled bitterly.
"Chris, hold yer tongue, man, least ye lose it," Buck Wilmington hissed under his breath watching Lt. General, the Marquis de Castries, mince his way back to his waiting carriage.
Larabee snarled faintly but fell silent. Turning he studied sixteen year old William James Thomas Wilmington worriedly. "Buck, honestly now how do ye fare?"
"All the bells in Christendom are still ringing in me head," Buck admitted ruefully.
"Hannah stitched you up neatly. It will not scar overly bad," Chris reassured Buck. "Fortunate that ye did not lose the eye it is."
"It's thanking ye I am for skewering that Englishman." Buck's hand lifted toward the bandage over the left side of his face.
Chris slapped the hand lightly. "Worse then a wee lad ye are. Don't be picking at it lest ye set it to bleeding again. Hannah will be taking a switch to ye if ye undo all her fine stitching."
"Is it the right thing we be doing, Chris? Except the officers it was mine own kinsmen we were killing," Buck muttered. Perhaps me own Da was amongst them. It was Highlanders we engaged.
"Nothing but cannon fodder, the lot of us," Chris growled, glaring at the carriage as it rolled away.
"They'll be making ye an officer after this set-to," Buck reminded.
"Think a meal will come with a promotion? I cannot be taking a commission ye know," Chris smirked faintly.
"And why is that?" Buck demanded. He'll make a fine officer. It's not like he's no been doing the job the last two years or more.
"It's shooting ye fer looting I would have to be," Chris grinned faintly.
"If it is stealing chickens then it's yerself you will be shooting as well," Buck reminded with a grin.
"Think ye can stay a horse?" Larabee asked seriously.
"Aye and where is it ye'll be getting a horse I'm asking?" Buck asked nervously.
"Yon pigeon is in fair need of plucking," Chris smirked.
"The General?" Buck hissed.
"Aye, his purse was full as well as his belly," Chris reminded. "I'll wager he's carrying enough to pay our back wages."
"Aye. Ye kin there be no staying here if ye be doing this?" Buck questioned. Larabee nodded. "Where is it ye be going?" Buck asked sadly.
"It's the greens of Erin I'm missing most sorely, Buck. I'll be going home. I'm wanting to go home." Chris answered softly.
"I'll be wishing you well, Christopher Larabee." Buck smiled weakly.
"Wishing me well? And where is it ye be going?" Chris demanded.
"It's home to Ireland ye be going," Buck frowned.
"I can not be leaving me brother behind to be hung for stealing chickens. It's best ye be coming with me." Chris smiled.
"7There going to be ladies where ye be going?7" Buck asked mischievously.
"7Aye, I imagine so,7" Chris answered ruefully. Only Buck.
"7Then I imagine I'm in.7" Buck grinned cheekily. "Now then how are we going to do this?"
Gwynedd, Wales
Dec. 24, 1760
Four year old JD Dunne peeked into the drawing room. His dark eyes widened in awe at the towering tree and the mound of presents.
"Johnny, son, get you to the kitchen." Mary Dunne gently ruffled her son's dark hair.
"It is so beautiful," JD said in wonder.
"Yes it is. Now go, you know you aren't supposed to be here, go," Mary urged her son onto the servant's stair.
"Do you think we can watch the stars tonight? JD asked sweetly.
I'm so tired little one. "Yes tonight we will look into God's heaven," Mary promised hugging her son.
"Nain Bess is taking me to mass with her," JD said importantly.
"That is good," Mary said while she fearfully looked around afraid of the child being discovered.
"I love you, Mam. Merry Christmas," JD hugged his mother.
"I love you too," Mary hugged back warmly. "Dress warm," she ordered. Too little to be working in the stables. Old Ben swore to keep him safe but the horses are so big. Mary chewed her lip worriedly before hurrying back to her duties. Such a good boy. He doesn't seem troubled in the least at how little he gets from Father Christmas compared to the other children.
In 1759 the measles caused innumberable deaths among the settlers of Pennsylvania.
Mr. Merlin really did create the inline roller skate in 1760. While showing off his invention at a Masquerade ball at Carsile House on Soho Square he crashed into a mirror valued at 500 pounds and caused himself serious injury. And yes he did break his violin.