The silence between them was brief and weighted. Thomas shuffled through the options of what to ask her first, but Mabel beat him to the chase by asking the only question that mattered to her at the time:

"Have you seen my horse?" Her cold stare traveled from the lanky young man in front of her to the surrounding landscape. When she managed to sit upright, she found that the track, the crowd and the other racers had vanished into thin air. All that could be found was the river that she had been pulled from and its healthy, green semblance of riparian vegetation.

"Your… horse?" Thomas backed away from her, but only slightly. Baffled and intrigued, he tried to gain back Mabel's attention as her search for Buttercup began. Surely, he deserved more kindness and respect than she was giving him! He did just save her, after all! "Miss?" He continued, climbing over top of the damp, rocky terrain with far less grace and precision that Mabel. This embarrassed him slightly, but he wouldn't give that away as he proceeded to woo her. "You're going the wrong way. If your horse is out there, it's probably downstream. You were going that way when I saved you from the rapids."

Mabel stopped and turned on the platform of a tall, smooth rock. "Rapids" was an overstatement and they both knew it. Her expression changed from frustration to something that Thomas couldn't quite read. "Oh." She mumbled. Before he could interject, Mabel leapt to the ground and started heading in the other direction. "You're right!" Her sopping ponytail clapped against her back as she jogged towards smoother ground. She was disoriented and secretly frightened by the sensation of being one place in one moment and another in the next. The only way that she could remedy this fear, it seemed, was by remaining in motion.

"What does your horse look like?" He followed behind her like an eager, unwavering shadow. "I can help you find him! Two pairs of eyes are better than one!"

"Buttercup is a palomino and, for your information, she is a girl." Mabel explained without looking back. "She is easily the finest show horse in South Carolina and I am the finest rider. Neither of us should be running amuck in the wilderness, if you understand what I'm saying." When Thomas laughed, she turned and produced another seemingly heartless glare. "What's so funny!?"

"You can't be that good," he teased, as young boys often do when they are completely smitten, "to be thrown into the river like you were! Besides, you aren't in the wilderness! My family owns this land and I know its surrounding forests and waters like the back of my hand! If you're South Carolina's finest rider, then I am its finest guide!" Thomas caught up with her in the clearing and imposed an awkward handshake. "What is your name, Miss?"

"Uhm," her forehead creased the second their hands clasped, "Mabel. Hi. Look, not that I don't believe in propriety, because I do, but I am in the middle of something of a crisis here!" She allowed herself a few seconds to get a better look at Thomas, who was just as bewildered as she was. A few seconds was all it took. She knew him. If not, in a different form. "You look like Tommy Martin," she said, bluntly, pursing her lips once her thought was concluded.

Thomas retrieved his hand and crossed his arms. So, she did know him! And he knew her! But how? And they had met before! But when? "I thought I knew you from somewhere! And it's Thomas, but I'll gladly be 'Tommy' for you." He wiggled his eyebrows as best he could. Naturally, this gesture was merely awkward and darling… and anything but suave.

Several boys attempted to flirt with Mabel while she was growing up. She was smart enough to sense their intentions right away and was usually spectacular at finding something better to do and therefore, letting them know that she was both unobtainable and uninterested. The only means of avoidance in this case was to keep walking, and that's exactly what she did.

"Nope," she grunted with a sharp turn, "Thomas will do. It's the same amount of syllables, after all. Since nicknames were originally created to shorten the syllable count, I think it's silly that-" her train of thought was cut off in order to produce a shrill scream. A ghastly body of a fallen British soldier was enclosed between two boulders on the natural embankment below her feet. She fell backwards, right into Thomas and shook with terror momentarily before successfully pulling herself together. "Nice river!" When her fallback pillow of sarcasm failed, Mabel shot off, away from the embankment, the deceased, and her invasive companion.

"Where did you say you were from?" Thomas asked, when he finally caught up with her. "And where have you been over the last two years? For a lady who spends so much time outside that she results to wearing trousers… well, I'd think you'd be used to seeing carnage."

"The last two years?" She sat down on a thick, mossy branch, facing away from the river. If only this Thomas character would grant her some time to gather her wits! Mabel knew what this implied. Not only had she believed that her father was a man from another era; it took one elongated glance into Peggy Shippen's biography, followed by several attempts at conversation with Giselle to make the connection. The uniform on the fallen soldier confirmed her suspicions. But why now? Had her accident on the steeplechase field been fatal? She shut her eyes tighter and tighter as Thomas' adoring, albeit unwelcome stare beat down on her. "How far away is Waterford?"

"A three hour walk by foot. Two and a half if we take my shortcut." As he attempted a wink, the right side of his face scrunched slightly. "I have a friend in Waterford. Charlie's his name. And he has this teacher who looks almost exactly like you!"

Mabel rubbed the wrinkly surface of her tightly closed eyelids. "That's really cool, Thomas…"

"According to Charlie, she's very unusual. One day in class, she had everyone make kites and fly them in an open field! Then, they had to write poems about it! Even the boys! I don't care how pretty she is, Miss Casey would never get a poem out of me!" He turned redder than an apple. Something that he had just said ignited another one of Mabel's icy glares. "I just inadvertently admitted that I find you pretty, didn't I?"

"Casey?" She patted the branch, inviting Thomas to sit beside her. "Which Casey?" All that she received was a shrug. "Can you take me to Ms. Casey, please?"

He adjusted his hat and grinned before placing his hands on his hips in true Peter Pan-style, "Your wish is my command!"

They ran, to Mabel's relief, away from the river and across the fields of green corn that were still glistening with a coat of morning dew. Thomas reached for Mabel's hand several times and on the third attempt, she allowed him to hang on. When they grew tired, their paces slowed, but their hands remained clasped. Mabel's eyes fell to the grass below her feet when Thomas moved his thumb across her knuckles.

"There aren't any cities," she caught her breath, taking in the fog-covered horizon. Mabel recognized the terrain as the distant hills that connected suburban Waterford and Pembroke. "That will all change, of course. Give it a couple hundred years. It's a shame because it used to be so beautiful."

Thomas didn't understand her musing in the slightest, but remained entranced. They'd only just met less than an hour ago and had he been a little bit older, he would have realized how irrational he was being. As Mabel breathed, a stream of smoke passed through her lips. It swirled and spun like a tiny galaxy between them. He longed to travel through that unexplored space and not stop until after he granted her an innocent kiss. But Thomas was much too shy to make such a bold journey. "You're beautiful," he managed to say, and left it at that.

"I can actually find the schoolhouse from here," she wiggled her hand free, finding it rather annoying that boys in the 1700's use banter that is just as cheesy as in present day South Carolina. She did feel bad, however, to see that smile plummet from the adorably uncouth boy's face. "Do you own this land, too?"

"The property line ended when we crossed that wooden fence earlier. You still have quite a ways to walk! But if you have grown tired of me… well. You can, however, come and see me whenever you wish! We could be friends. If you'll have me. I have younger siblings, but it's still been very lonely for me since my brother went off to war. I haven't gone exploring with anyone in months! And you… you're not like my younger brothers or sisters. You're fearless and tough. And I really like that about you. I really like you, Mabel."

The coldness in her eyes melted into something else. She was being irrational, too- just in a different way. Thomas didn't deserve the hostility that he'd received from her during their time together. She smiled widely and confessed into the ground, "I haven't gone exploring with anyone in a very long time, either." Her body tensed as her confidence in him seemed to grow against her will. "Everything has been practice, practice, practice since I lost Fa seven years ago."

"Fa?" Thomas asked, carefully.

"My father," her eyes remained glued on the barren earth between her boots, "he was my best friend. We went everywhere together. You probably don't want to hear this." Again, Mabel could feel Thomas reaching for her hand and like before, she invited it. She wanted to know why she was here and if she could follow the tracks left behind by the Casey Family to find her father. But for now, Thomas had quickly gone from an annoyance to a tailor-made friend. She wanted to spend more time with him and Waterford would always be there. "What's your favorite thing to do here?"

"Before today?"

He was proving to be quite the flirt and would require a close watch. "You're the reason why girl's daddies have shot guns, you know?" Mabel laughed, louder than she had in a great, long while. "Let's assume I haven't grown tired of you yet. Where would you like to go?"

His grip tightened and off they ran. Mabel was surprised at herself, she hadn't thought about dressage for at least a half an hour! It felt good. Liberating. To just be a teenage girl, running down a country road with a charming stranger. They avoided the river as best they could, but had to cross it at least once before reaching the destination that Thomas had chosen. But the fun was short lived. As they neared the tall grasses, Mabel made another terrible discovery.

"Oh, no." She gasped, forcing Thomas into a clumsy halt in front of her. "Oh, no…" Sprawled on the ground on the other side of the water was her beautiful palomino. Mabel dashed over the slick rocks to the side of her oldest friend. "She's okay! She's still alive!" She called, fighting to keep her tears from leaving her eyes and falling into Buttercup's wheat-colored mane. As the elderly mare inhaled a shallow breath, dried blood crackled around the edges of her nostrils. "I was so hard on her," Mabel said slowly, locating the bits of flesh that she had whipped raw. "I wanted to win so badly and I…" a puddle of blood on the ground beside the horse's leg grabbed her attention. There would be no healing Buttercup. Her leg had bust open during the final jump in the race. Mabel looked up at Thomas, trying with all of her might to appear in control. "The rifle on your back. Is it loaded?"

"Mabel," his hand moved to the strap. He knew little of horse racing, but growing up on a farm enabled him to understand the measures that one must take when a large animal is suffering. "You shouldn't have to do this. Please. Allow me-"

"No!" She willed her tears away with aggression and forced her voice to remain steady. "I'm the one who made her suffer. I should be the one to relieve her. It's best to do it quickly. If only I'd known what had happened to her sooner…"

Thomas wanted to console her, but Mabel's second demand for the rifle was filled with more anger than the first. He watched as she stroked the poor creature's velvety muzzle and hummed several measures of an unfamiliar song. Her humming grew louder to hide the rifle's "click" as the bullet moved into place. When Mabel was sure that Buttercup was unaware of what was happening, she stood. Then, she rolled back her shoulders, taking on a powerful, confident stance and fired a single bullet into the horse's golden temple.

When the smoke receded, Mabel bent like a willow tree. Death usually didn't make her cry. It wasn't until after she left her father's side all those years ago that she allowed herself to grieve in full force. It was the same for Buttercup- a drought, a painful dry spell, deprived of the release of falling tears.

"Those victories weren't mine," Mabel confessed, laying the weapon on the grass, "they were ours. I spent all those years thinking that I was something special- God's gift to the riding world and the truth is, I don't think I even know how to ride another horse. I don't even know if I want to try."

The shot that Mabel had fired didn't go unanswered. Within moments, another shot rang through the forest. Then another and then another.

"We aren't safe here!" Thomas whispered, fearfully. "Just about anywhere can become a combat zone these days."

They both knew that the shots weren't far off, but Mabel didn't like the idea of leaving Buttercup behind without so much as a backwards glance. "She has the flowers and the sound of the river, I suppose. Perhaps it isn't so terrible of a gesture to leave her here."

Cries from the approaching troops coincided with the gunfire. The children ducked down as they moved through the tall grasses and out of harm's way. The farm wasn't far, especially in a full sprint. Busting through the barrier that the wooden fence made was like gaining sanctuary, but the gunfire behind them was both thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Mabel leaned her back against the pole once she knew that she was safe, "I don't know what I'm doing here." The tears that she had fought so hard to suppress began to fall. "Everything and everyone I ever love gets snatched away in the cruelest and most elaborate ways, it seems. Why?"

Thomas didn't know how to answer this. He didn't even attempt to touch her for fear that she might combust entirely. To his surprise and relief, she reached for him and placed their intertwined hands between them, on her folded ankles as she cried.

"Where did you come from, Mabel?" He asked as her tears subsided. "I want to help you, but I don't even know who you are…"