Quick A/N. I read Gillian's name as Jillian, so when Joe says "Gil", it's like saying "Jill". And as much as I hate giving characters names that aren't actually there's, Joe's last name is Morgan.


"How about that man by the general store? He looks like he's selling that pile of lace next to him," Gillian remarked, discreetly pointing at said man with a sly smirk on her face. Joseph looked in the direction of the man before rolling his eyes to the woman next to him.

"Gil, I've already told you; Mother sent us with only enough money to buy the vegetables she needs,"Joseph said, slightly annoyed at her constant persisting of buying new lace. She only looked at him and scoffed.

"Who said anything about needing money?"

"If you plan on stealing it, then go and get your brother if you need help. He's more of the robber type than I am," he concluded, readjusting the box of vegetables in his arms. She merely flipped her auburn hair behind her shoulder and placed her hands on her hips.

"I don't need any assistance. I can get that lace for watch." With those words, she turned on her heel and sauntered towards the man.

Joseph huffed and leaned against a tower of boxes behind him, crossing his arms and watching as she swayed her hips a bit more than necessary. He glanced around, not wanting to be noticed as one of Gillian's associates. They were currently in the marketplace next to the harbor in New York City. Merchant ships were occupying most of the docks and stands of various goods littered the pavement. People were running around about their business; some making simple trades while others taking a stroll through town. All-in-all, it was a decently crowded place.

He turned his attention back to his partner, who had just reached the man she was targeting. She had been pestering him for new lace since she began her project of making a new dress. He did not understand her desire for brand new lace considering there were many different patterned sheets around the house. Regardless, when she wanted something, there was no obstacle she wouldn't cross to get what she wanted.

"Good afternoon, sir," Gillian said as she eyed the man carefully. He was middle-aged with a thick beard and the slight smell of alcohol emanating from him. His hat was a bit off centered and a few stains dotted his blue vest.

"Madam," he stated, tipping his hat lazily. Her eyes moved to the pile of lace and she feigned excitement.

"Oh, this lace is simply remarkable! Such detail. My Mother would adore this for her birthday. How much are you offering it?" Gillian lied, picking up the sheet of lace and examining it meticulously. She was sure to plaster a smile on her face to make it seem that she was being truthful.

"Fifty cents," the man stated bluntly. Knowing she had no money to bargain with, she had to convince him to give it to her somehow.

"Fifty cents? That sure is a lot for a sheet of this lace. I don't happen to have my bag with me. Perhaps there is . . . something else I can offer you?" she asked with a hint of seduction in her voice. She place the lace on her chest, as if seeing what it would look like, and steadily slipped it lower until her cleavage could be seen above the cloth. The man blatantly stared at her chest without shame, but continued to keep his face straight.

"It's fifty cents, madam." She hid the pout threatening to form on her lips and leaned on the table, accentuating her breasts for the man to see.

"Are you sure there is nothing I can do? You have many sheets of the lace. I'm sure you won't miss just one," she drew out, placing her hands together on the table to push her breasts together. The man furrowed his brows and slowly rose from his wooden chair.

"Are you trying to steal this lace from me?" the man growled, instantly wiping Gillian's fake smile from her face. She took a few steps back to distance herself from the man.

"O-of course not, sir, I simply wanted to-"

"'Cause if you were, I will not hesitate to call the authorities," he threatened, keeping the distance between them close enough so he could grab her should she try to escape. She knew if she only took one more step back, she could make a run for it.

"I assure you, sir, I had no intention of such-" Just one more step and..

"Oh, for heaven's sake, I am so sorry, good sir," a Boston-accented voice interrupted her thoughts. Both Gillian and her aggressor turned to the man currently mingling in their affairs. Joseph was wearing his tricorn hat, which he heavily detested, and his jacket was buttoned with a black scarf tying the top off, an outfit combination he would never typically wear. Not knowing where he was going with his getup, Gillian kept silent and stared at him, urging him to continue speaking.

"An' who are you supposed to be?" the man questioned Joseph.

"The name's Paul and this here's my sister Lucy." He got a little closer to the man and covered his mouth from Gillian's ear-shot. "She needs quite a bit of a leash, if you know what I mean." Despite his efforts, she ultimately heard him and pouted at his insult.

The man did not seem affected by Joseph's lie. Noticing this, Joseph quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him protectively.

"I hope she did not cause you any trouble, sir," he continued in his fraud Boston accent. "I am sorry for her actions. I will keep a closer eye on her." With those words, he made his exit, keeping his hand gripped on her arm as he made his way back to his abandoned vegetable box.

Once the two were out of sight and earshot of the man, Gillian remarked, "You can let my arm go now, brother."

"I don't know about that one," he replied in his regular New York style of speaking. "If I let you go, you might flaunt yourself at some other slob of a man just to get what you want." He quickly took his tricorn hat off his head and ran a hand through his hair. He released her arm an bent down to grab the wooden box.

"Please, I would have gotten that lace with a few more minutes," she countered.

"As I recall, that man was five seconds away from calling the guards on you."

"I could have outrun him."

Joseph sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you don't enjoy having to steal and run away from your pursuers every time you attempt thievery. Besides, you didn't even get a chance to take the lace."

"I would have run back while he was after me to grab it," she huffed, before sighing herself and looking at the ground. "But it doesn't matter now. He knows what I look like, so he won't even bother listening to me again."

"No need," Joseph stated simply before handing her the box to hold. She shot him a confused glare as he began undoing the buttons he loathed having together. Once the final button was unclasped, he reached into his inner pocket and pulled out the sheet of lace Gillian had been so determined to take. Her eyes widened as he put it in her free hand and took the box from her.

"What? When . . . when did you take it?" she managed to spit out in her utter amazement, admiring the details with more appreciation that she had earlier with her gloved hands.

"I called your brother more of a robber than me simply because he does it more often. That does not mean he's better at it than me." He gave her a sidelong glance paired with a proud smirk.

"Wait a minute," she began, a thought crossing her mind, "I remember you saying you wouldn't help me." She gave an interested smirk. "What happened to change your mind?"

"Do you honestly believe I would watch as you get yourself into a situation like you had just now?" he asked. "I refuse to sit back and allow you to cause trouble that could come back to hurt you." He looked forward again, knowing her smirk was widening.

"Oh, Mister Morgan couldn't stand to watch me get hurt," she taunted, pulling her hands to her chest and leaning into his shoulder as if she were truly a flattered damsel.

"Not when you're my responsibility, no." She chuckled and pushed herself off of him, refocusing on their path. "But when it comes to a race across town, Miss McCarthy, I'm sure fences don't hurt too much," he kidded.

"You know I would beat you home if we had a race right now."

"I don't think you realized it, but I happen to be carrying a box of vegetables that limit my movement. Of course you would win."

"I'm sorry, would you rather me carry them? I'm sure I would still win," she teased.

He gave her a blank stare. "I will not race against someone with a disadvantage. I would think you wouldn't, either."

"I spent years on the streets. I took any advantage over my oppressor that I could take. It's habit, now." His gaze softened a bit. He knew she didn't like talking about the years she spent without a home. Without parents. Without the promise of a meal. Her life before her and her brother were housed by Joseph's parents was often a sensitive topic, which is why it was a bit unusual to hear Gillian openly talking about it. Even though it had been seven years since she had been homeless, having a childhood like hers is something never easily forgotten.

She noticed how lost in thought he was and sighed, knowing what he was so deeply pondering.

"It's been seven years, Joey. Seven years since I was left on the street. Believe me, I have gotten use to having that portion of my life being a part of who I am. I'm sixteen years old and I have learned to accept my past. I have also learned to be thankful for everything I have now."

He turned to her, knowing what she was connecting her last sentence to, and stopped in the middle of the vacant road they had been walking on. She stopped as well and gave him her attention.

"You know that if it wasn't for you, Fillan or myself might not even be alive right now. I can't remember if I've said it before, but thank you," she admitted, despite how out-of-habit it sounded coming from her. "I would have never been at such a high point in life."

Joseph couldn't help but chuckle a bit before pushing her slightly with his shoulder and continuing to walk. "I wouldn't consider having to steal whatever you want a high point in life."

She laughed, much different from her typical snickering. "You know what I mean, Joey."

A grin made its way onto his face and he said nothing.

In the quiet, Joseph glanced at his partner. She was wearing one of the outfits she had made by hand, detesting anything that limited her range of movement. Her emerald dress was low-cut and sported white details in the fabric. The skirt was wide open in the front, which was unnoticeable when viewed from the back, and had white trimming outlining the edges. She wore white leggings and leather knee-high boots while her sleeves were tied off at her elbows and curtained down to her mid-forearm. Her hair was in a low ponytail positioned down her back and reached as low as her elbows. She would typically wear dresses such as this: elegant, to demonstrate her social class, but adjusted so she could run and climb as easily as if she were in pants and a shirt. She absolutely loathed anything that prevented her from being able to escape a pursuer.

Minutes had passed in silence when an African American woman came into view ahead of them. As soon as she was close enough to see distinguishable features on her face, Joseph recognized her.

"Ella? Ella is that you?" he called at her. At the sound of her name, Ella glanced up from her path and smiled, noticing the person calling her as the son of her employer.

Ella had been working with Joseph's family for nearly a decade. She was considered by society a slave to the Morgans, but she was treated quite oppositely. She was given one of the guest rooms to live in, she earned a small salary, and was given the respect any other hired hand was given. Despite her typically preparing the meals herself, she was always welcome at the dinner table and was accepted as a member of the family regardless of her skin color.

"Mister Morgan! Miss McCarthy!" she replied, quickening her pace to meet him sooner. "I thought you had already reached the countryside by now."

"Not quite. What are you doing in town? We already picked up the vegetables Mother requested," he said, stopping to dip his head in respect, which was followed by a light curtsy from Ella.

"Your father requested Mister McCarthy be picked up from his violin tutor early today. I believe I overheard him planning supper early as well."

That's odd, Joseph thought. "We could pick Fillan up. It would be no problem for us."

"Oh, but Mister Morgan, I would hate for my journey into town be for naught," she said.

"It doesn't have to be," Gillian interrupted. "You could return with the vegetables. Besides, I need to talk to my brother as quickly as possible."

Joseph glanced at her, his instinct telling him her last sentence was not entirely true.

"O-oh, well if you must speak with him, then I suppose I can take the vegetables back to the house. I'm sorry for the trouble," Ella apologized unnecessarily.

"No need to apologize. You are doing me a favor, Ella."

After a few moments and a glance from Gillian, Joseph passed the box of vegetables to Ella, who stumbled slightly before regaining her grip on the wooden box.

"Are you sure, Ella? It really is no trouble to carry the box myself," he asked, helping her adjust the box in her arms.

"No, no," she assured, "it is my pleasure to be of assistance to you and the McCarthys. I will see you two and Mister McCarthy at supper. Have a safe trip!" She began walking away from them, a slight stumble in her step at first, but she quickly regained her composure and ambled out of sight.

The two watched the spot where she had disappeared for a few moments before Joseph muttered, "You didn't have to lie to her. You weren't even carrying the box."

"No, I wasn't carrying the box, but neither are you anymore. Now we can have a fair race," she said, an eager gleam in her eye.

He rolled his eyes at her. "All that trouble for a race to Fillan's tutor?"

"You aren't afraid of losing to me, are you, Joey?" she baited.

"I'm not going to play this game with you, Gil."

"One race?"

He kept silent for a moment and pondered the thought. One race couldn't hurt.

"Fine. We'll race to Fillan's tutor. Winner gets bragging rights."

"So be it."

And in less than seconds, the two were sprinting down the street, headed for the tutor's house.

From their point on the street, the tutor's house was diagonally north with the only options of getting there being following the alleyways and avoiding fences and tables or taking to the roofs and make a straight line to the house.

The first building serving as an obstacle came into view. Joseph decided to utilize the alleyways and swung his legs over the first fence in his path. Gillian, not wanting to take the same road as him, began to scale the building one window at a time. Once she reached the edge of the roof, she pulled herself over and continued running towards the opposite edge. She leaped from one roof to another with ease and jumped to a sign on the side of a building. From there, she jumped from pole to pole before rolling to the ground to continue her endeavor.

Joseph gracefully hopped over the fences that obstructed his path. He weaved between tables and desks and grabbed a nearby flagpole to swing around a corner to keep his momentum. The people in his path were narrowly avoided while strings of "sorry!" and "my bad!" were left in his wake. The tutor's house finally came into view, and from what Joseph could see, Gillian was not there.

All that was left for the two was a quick sprint to the front door. Joseph was running through an alleyway and could only see the house at the end. Gillian was heading down the main street with the tutor's house coming up on her right. The outer fence could be seen from her perspective, but nothing more. Just a hundred feet more, she thought to herself, not seeing her opponent anywhere near the property.

She finally came across the beginning of the fencing belonging to the tutor. She took a quick glance to the right down the alleyway and was shocked to see Joseph much closer than she anticipated, which gave her a quick jolt of adrenaline to beat him.

He saw her on the outside of the fence when he reached the tutor's property. The only way he could beat her to the door was to cross the front yard. With this in mind, he briskly hopped the fence keeping Gillian out and made a mad sprint to the door.

She saw him cutting the lawn and turned the corner to the front door's pathway. Just a little bit closer!

He was only feet away from the door, but so was she. Almost there!

She leaped forward, desperate to touch the door before him.

He lunged towards the door.

At the moment her hand touched the doorknob, his hand clasped on top of hers in an attempt to touch it first.

"I beat you!" she cried in triumph, panting.

"We touched it at the same time!" he tried to proclaim, also breathing heavily.

"Not with my hand on the bottom. I won."

"By less than half a second."

"It matters not. I beat you." Despite her ragged breaths, she shot him a cocky smile.

He placed his hands on his knees. "We'll have a rematch."

"Perhaps," she muttered, removing her hand from the knob. "But that will be for another day."

She straightened out her dress and hair before knocking lightly on the door that had been her target mere moments ago. Joseph cleaned himself up as best he could, straightened his posture, and regulated his breathing. The faint violin notes in the background stopped suddenly and steps were heard coming closer to the door. The doorknob jiggled slightly before opening, revealing a stout woman with a glossy violin in her free hand.

"Oh! Miss McCarthy! I was not expecting to see anyone for Fillan for another half hour. Is there an issue?" the woman inquired before a blonde haired boy peeked around her arm.

"Sister!" the boy cried, rushing from behind the woman to hug Gillian's waist.

"Hey there, Fill," she laughed, squeezing his shoulders.

"We were told to pick him up early," Joseph filled in. "You will still be paid in full at the end of the month, as usual."

The woman nodded and backed into the house, returning with a violin case and a few papers in her hands. "This is what he needs to practice during the week," she instructed, handing Gillian the papers once her brother released her. She passed the leather case to Fillan, who smiled and held it carefully, and leaned forward to his level. "Don't forget to tune that violin of yours." She grinned and kissed the top of his head.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Johnson!" Fillan called happily as he, his sister, and Joseph began walking towards the street.

Once the house was out of sight, Joseph bent down and ruffled Fillan's shaggy hair. "Hey, Fillan, how was the lesson today?" The boy beamed at him and raised free hand over his head. Joseph kneeled down, grabbed his hand, and swung him over his shoulders while Fillan explained, "It was fun! Mrs. Johnson taught me a little bit of Mozart's concerto."

"Oh yeah? Which one?" Gillian asked as Joseph took the violin case from the boy and held onto one of his legs for support.

"There's . . . more than one?" he asked innocently, his smiling faltering.

His carrier laughed and replied, "He has quite a few, Fill. Definitely more than one."

"Well, I'm still better than you, Joseph!" Fillan announced proudly, tapping his head lightly.

"Yeah, you are," Gillian confirmed. "Better than him and me."

Both Fillan and Joseph glanced at her, a smile on their faces. The older boy looked at the sky and noticed how low the sun was.

"Come on, Fill, Mother and Father said to be back before dark. We don't want to get in trouble like last time, do we?" Joseph felt the boy's body sway from his vigorous head shaking and readjusted his grip on him. He chuckled at Fillan's actions and continued walking down the street leading to the countryside.


So, at this point in time, it would be 1823. Joe would be 17 years old, Gillian 16, and Fillan 12.

I imagine after taking Gillian and Fillan in, Joe's parents would treat the two as if they were their own, so they had no problems with offering them luxuries such as tutors and whatnot. Of course, that would come with other things such as upholding proper manners, being taught life skills (such as sewing, in Gillian's case), and other adult things they'll have to know. This will be explored in more detail in the upcoming chapters.

Anywho, thank you for reading, and give someone a compliment, just for the heck of it. (:

-iTomboy