A/N: They FINALLY meet. This has been in my brain for awhile; one of the reasons why this story started percolating to begin with. I hope you enjoy this! Also, I will get to reviews as soon as possible, sorry for the delay.

St. Louis. October 12, 1882

The day had begun so well.

A large piece of the set had fallen onto the stage between shows and left a hole in the floor. It was a small one, but still a hole. Eugene was furious. All of the afternoon shows were canceled while the carpenter worked on it.

Charles was secretly thrilled. Here was the opportunity he had been looking for. While most of the others made plans to spend the day in Tower Grove Park, he hurried to the dressing room. He exited wearing his best suit and nearly collided with Nellie.

"Oh!" He gasped. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Cohan-"

"It's no trouble, Charlie." She laughed. "We're all in a hurry to get out to the sunshine."

"Including Josie and Georgie."

"Especially them." She sighed as they walked down the hall. "They get so little time outdoors."

"Are you all going to Tower Grove as well?" Charles frowned slightly. "I think Grigg, the Carters, Miss Edwards and Miss Neal are going on a picnic there."

She nodded in understanding. "Yes, we're going as well. Don't worry. Jere says it's a big space. We won't run into anyone who doesn't want us around."

The episode with the ink had left its mark. Nellie raised her eyebrows. "I'm surprised you're not going with them. I thought there was at least one person here whose company you prefer."

Charles felt his face grow warm. "Well, yes, I mean-" He stuttered, then grew silent. Nellie laughed out loud as he opened the door outside. "I want to buy Miss Neal a new hat." He half-whispered. "Her birthday is next week."

"That's lovely, Charlie. Do you know a good shop?" Josie ran over to her mother, swinging her hand.

"C'mon, Mama, let's go!"

"No. Do you know a good place?" He hoped she did. He had not traveled much in the city, other than between the boardinghouse and the theater.

"Just a moment, dear." She touched her daughter's cheek before turning back to Charles. "There's a good milliner on Oakland Avenue. West of here. It's a bit of a walk, but it's not a bad day for it. They have a good selection there."

Charles smiled and tipped his hat. "Thank you, Mrs. Cohan. I hope you all have a wonderful time."

"The same to you. Courage!" She whispered as Josie dragged at her hand again. "Alice likes you, too. I know it."

He took a deep breath. "I think so."

"I hope you find what you're looking for." She winked, then she and Josie ran across the street where Jere and Georgie were waiting. Charles gave them a wave before heading in the opposite direction.

The leaves on the trees had changed color over the last week. Bright reds, oranges, and yellows popped in his vision in front of a background of the bluest sky he had ever seen. The weather had finally cooled, but the sunshine provided just enough warmth to be comfortable. Charles hummed to himself as he turned on Oakland Avenue.

It was a beautiful day, and he was young and in love. What could go wrong?

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Elsie looked through the basket one last time. Tea, bread, some strawberry jam. Cold chicken and crisp red apples. Scones from Beryl. She hummed, wondering which book she should take along.

"Da said you should take Robert Burns with you." Mam nodded at the table. Elsie smiled. She picked up the well-worn title, running her thumb over the title.

"Of course he would. I don't mind. I haven't read it in a long time." She tucked it into the basket.

It was a treat. First to go on a picnic at all, and during the week at that! She and Pen had been stunned when the Schwartzmanns told them they were closing the store for a few days. The women had both offered to work, to keep it open, but the owners held firm. They always gave themselves three days off for Octoberfest. It was only fair to extend the holiday to their assistants. Helen was also anxious to see their daughter, due soon with her second child. When Mr. Schwartzmann gave them their wages on Wednesday after closing, Elsie nearly cried. One week's wages for only three days' work! Neither she nor Pen could argue with that.

So Elsie found herself on a perfect Thursday in autumn, walking to Pen's house. She climbed the porch steps and knocked on the door. To her surprise, Mrs. Avilov answered.

"Hello, Mrs. Avilov." Elsie said awkwardly. She knew the older woman could only understand a few words of English. "Is Penelope at home?"

"I'm here, Elsie." Pen shuffled to the door behind her mother. Her nose was swollen and red. She sighed. "I'm so sorry, but I can't go on our picnic. I woke up this morning-" She stopped, coughing.

"You've got a cold, Pen. You should be in bed." Elsie tried to sound firm as her heart sank. Mrs. Avilov put her arm around her daughter as if to draw her back inside. Pen said something quickly to her, and the older woman retreated into the hallway.

"It's just a cold. I'll be all right in a few days." She squinted into the sun. "You should go to Skinker today. It would be a waste not to be outside."

"Don't worry about me. You get some rest."

"I will." Pen gave her a wan smile then shut the door.

Elsie stood for a moment on their porch. Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. She had been looking forward to this day all week. Just a day to spend with a friend. For a minute, she thought about going home. But she and Mam were planning to go to Ailsa's on Friday to help with Bridget's wedding. They would be busy all day.

She tried to remember whether she had ever had a day to herself since she was a child. She couldn't.

Skinker Swamp was only a few blocks away, but it felt like a world apart. A gentle breeze blew through the tops of the trees. It sounded like they were whispering to each other. The swamp itself was mostly quiet. During the summer, the noise of the crickets and frogs made such a racket it was impossible to hear herself think. But not today.

Elsie found a dry spot under a tree and spread the old blanket out. She peered through the leaves, looking up. The bells at St. James had tolled noon as she was leaving Pen's. There was enough food to last through tea-time. Plenty of time, girl. She pulled out a piece of chicken and an apple. She was sorry Pen couldn't come, and that Beryl had to work. But she was going to enjoy herself, and not worry about anything for once.

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He first noticed it when he had walked several blocks down Oakland. A mother with her child, who gave him directions. He thought she had looked at him strangely. Two other women stared at him openly in the milliner's shop. The milliner had been polite, if curt. By the time Charles had left and walked back into the sunshine, he was rattled. What was the matter with everyone? It hit him as he left the grocer's store with bread, cheese and a small bottle of wine.

The brogue. It was as if someone had dropped him in the middle of Dublin. With his Yorkshire accent, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Anger coursed through him. Wasn't America supposed to be welcoming? Maybe they only meant it for the Irish. Narrow-minded Charlie. Easy for Jamie to say. He was born here. He already belonged.

Where do you belong? Where can you feel steady?

He stomped down the street, his face like a thundercloud. He needed to find a place away from anyone until he cooled down. Someplace where he could think. But where could he find a quiet place in one of the biggest cities* in America? A man carrying a saddle stopped at Charles's voice.

"Skinker Swamp," The man pointed to his right. "Over there. It's a popular place to walk, kids like to play there. Ain't no one gonna be there today though, not during the week. It'll be quiet enough for ya."

"Thank you." Charles walked away, grateful that he had managed to ask someone who looked and sounded like a local. He found a place in the swamp under a wide oak, carefully set Alice's hat box down and uncorked the wine bottle. He sighed, removing his hat and coat in the warm sunshine. He ate the bread and cheese slowly. The sun moved into the afternoon sky, changing the shadows around him.

Why did it bother him so? Grigg seemed to be settled enough. Mr. Avilov didn't miss Russia. Charles smirked. He wouldn't miss Russia, either. Thousands of people came to America and didn't look back. Why couldn't he stop looking? He ran his hand through his black hair, feeling the thick hair stand up.

If only he could hear her voice again. He swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. "She's dead, Charles." His voice startled a nearby bird. It flew away, its red feathers contrasted against the yellow leaves. He held his hands over his eyes.

Mother was dead. She was dead and nothing would bring her back. Even if he returned to Downton, it wouldn't be the same. And if he went back, a part of him knew he would never leave again. That's why he wanted to see a bit more of the world. To see if there was another way.

He gently untied the ribbon around the box and lifted the lid. It was beautiful, the hat. Alice would love it. It was a deep plum color with soft grey feathers in the front. He could see it on her head, her laughing eyes.

He sat with the hat in his big hands, softly fingering the trim, before placing it gently on his coat. He uncorked the wine and drank the rest, savoring the taste on his tongue. Too sweet for his taste, but not bad. He laid down, watching wispy clouds sail by. The breeze rustled through the leaves.

Charles sat up in shock, the sun sinking in the horizon. It had to be after six. It was a good thing he wasn't in a hurry. He put the empty wine bottle back in the paper sack before reaching for the hat box. He vaguely remembered opening it. Putting the hat on his coat. His coat lay on the ground, nothing on top.

"Damn!" He jumped to his feet, looking around frantically. He sighed in relief, seeing the plum color tangled in some tall grass on the edge of the swamp. The bank was too steep for him to go that way. Charles stopped and groaned. His best suit! There was nothing else to be done - he couldn't leave it here. At least it was a thin section of swamp. He estimated from his present spot to where the reeds were was maybe fifteen feet across.

Leaving his shoes on the bank and rolling up his trouser legs, he waded in. At first, everything was fine. He was halfway across when he realized the mud was more solid than he realized. He sank deeper, the water and sludge up to his thighs as he swung his arms to propel himself forward. In horror, he stopped, then tried to move again. He could move his legs a little, but there was no moving forward - or any other direction, for that matter.

He closed his eyes. The hat lay barely five feet in front of him, out of reach. His shoes lay behind him on the opposite side.

He was stuck.

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Turning the page, Elsie carefully wiped jam off of her finger as she swallowed the last bite of bread. She grinned. It would never do to get jam on Da's book. Especially one by Burns. Sacrilege!

She knew she should be leaving soon. The sunset was not far off. But maybe one more poem? It had been such a lovely and peaceful afternoon. She sighed, skimming down the page. "A Bottle And Friend" was a familiar one. She spoke the last verse out loud.

"Then catch the moments as they fly,

And use them as ye ought, man:

Believe me, happiness is shy,

And comes not aye when sought, man."

She closed the book with regret. Too true, about happiness. She hadn't been looking for it today, but it found her nonetheless. She put everything back in the basket, checking the ground. She didn't want to leave a mess. When she went to put the book in last, she noticed a tiny sheet of paper in one of the pages near the back. Da's handwriting was on it.

Read to Elsie, at Hogmanay*

Which poem had he marked? "To Miss Logan, With Beattie's Poems," She read out loud. She started to read the first line when she heard a distant, but clear yell.

"Help!"

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He didn't want to do it. He had tried over and over again to pull himself out, and only succeeded in sinking deeper. In desperation, he knew he had to call for help. He wasn't cold, but knew that would change. Especially after sunset. But who would hear him? He hadn't seen a single soul all afternoon.

"Help!" He shouted. He waited, but heard nothing. He put his hands around his mouth and bellowed at the top of his lungs.

"HELP!"

The cries of the birds seemed to mock him. He swore, feeling sweat trickle down his neck. He tried to lift his left foot again but with no success. Then he heard it. A voice.

"Where are you? Is someone there?"

Charles heart skipped a beat so fast it was almost painful. Saved.

"I'M OVER HERE!" He bellowed, waving his hands over his head. "By the oak tree!" He held his breath, hearing nothing. Then he saw someone move beside the tree under the yellow leaves. He had had to turn his head almost over his shoulder to be able to see, as he was stuck facing the other direction.

She pushed a branch aside and stood there for a moment on the opposite bank. Even from where he stood Charles could tell she was short. His heart plunged right down through his body. He couldn't stop the groan that escaped his lips.

"Are you hurt?" She moved to her left, and he didn't have to turn as far to see her.

"Not hurt. Disappointed." He blurted out.

"Oh?" She put her hands on her hips. He could see her eyebrows furred, her hat hanging from her neck. In the golden light of the sunset, he could see glints of red in her light brown hair.

"Well miss, I don't mean to be rude, but you aren't exactly what I was hoping for."

There was a silence that almost felt ominous.

"And who, may I ask, were you hoping for? I heard someone call for help, so here I am." There was an edge to her voice that wasn't there a moment before. And a brogue he couldn't miss.

Shit. Scottish, too. Why, Lord? He tried to explain.

"I just mean I don't think you're strong enough to pull me out of here-"

"If you were strong enough, you wouldn't have been yelling for help either! And who runs into a swamp?!" She was definitely angry now. "I should walk away and leave, since you're so disappointed," She spat out.

He could hardly blame her, yet he could feel his temper rising when she reminded him of his own folly.

"As if I would run in here for my health! Couldn't you at least be useful and go for help? Surely you know someone-"

"I can't believe you." She stomped to her right, forcing him to crane his neck painfully. "You call for help, then have the nerve to complain when I come running! Why should I help you? A rude stranger? At least the man saved by the Samaritan had the decency to be grateful!"

He gulped. She had a point - not that he intended to tell her that. "I didn't mean to offend you." She snorted in annoyance. He ignored it and the rising panic he felt. "I just don't want you to get hurt, or fall in yourself." It was a weak excuse, and she saw right through it.

"No, I'm not going to go for help! By the time I would find someone and bring them back here, it would be dark. So unless you want to stay here all night, you're stuck with me." She huffed for a moment, but seemed to have decided to stay.

Charles sighed with exasperation. As much as he didn't want to admit it, she was right. Again. Infuriating woman. "So what do we do now?"

She moved up and down the bank. "Well, if you could turn this way, the bank's closer to you on this side."

He turned as far as he could.

"Good. Now, you'll have to fall forward, to reach as far as you can-"

"Fall forward?" Charles's voice rose almost to a shriek. "My trousers are already ruined! What if my shirt's ruined as well?"

She almost laughed, biting her bottom lip. "What if there's a falling star? What if you get eaten by a bear? You can get another shirt."

"Not if I can help it." He made up his mind all at once. A part of him thought of how improper this was. She was a woman, and a stranger. Oh well. He'd probably never see her again.

He pulled his shirt gingerly out of his trousers and up to his ribcage, well out of the mud. He had undone his collar, grateful that his hat and coat were safe under the tree.

"Can you put this next to my hat, please? And this?" He tossed his necktie and collar at her. She caught them and put them down while he began to undo the buttons. Her mouth fell open.

"You cannot be serious." She held her hands to her face. Even from his sideways glance, he could see her face turning crimson.

"I already told you, I won't get another shirt. Better to ruin only half of my best suit, rather than the whole." He pulled the shirt over his head and threw it at her. She caught it and placed it next to his other things. He turned further, his left shoulder pointed at the bank. She was still folding his shirt sleeves. He tried not to notice the curve of her hip, how her corset framed her waist, pushing up her-

She straightened up, and he looked away quickly. Neither one of them spoke for a moment. Good Lord, man, get a grip on yourself.

"What did you want me to do? 'Fall forward', you said?"

"What?" She seemed to be lost in thought. "Um. Yes, yes, that's what I said." She bit her bottom lip again. Did she have any idea how distracting that was? He had to concentrate.

"All right, here we go." He said. He flopped forward, the mud and water cold against his chest. He reached for her hand, her outstretched fingers.

"Could you try and move a little closer?" She crouched down, leaning as far as she dared. He wiggled forward, wondering if a fish out of water felt like this. He crept forward, inch by inch, until he was nearly at the bank and felt sure that he could stand up a little. She caught his hands as he struggled to get his balance. He felt his cramped leg muscles straining at the effort. The least he could do was to keep her out of this mess.

"Now, there's no use in falling again." She said, keeping her balance on the bank. He was amazed at how strong her hands were. "Hold on until you feel steady."

He wrenched his feet out of the stubborn mud and scrambled onto the bank. Panting with exertion, he stood in front of her. Bright blue eyes looked into his. He squeezed his toes into the soft earth, feeling his body relax. Feeling her hands in his. Mud dripped from his torso and arms, but he couldn't resist rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles. Her fingers were entwined with his.

"I'm steady now." He said quietly. He wasn't quite ready to let go.

"Good." She murmured, not moving. A faint blush spread across her face as he leaned a little closer. Her pink lips were parted.

There was a crack above their heads. A squirrel jumped from a branch on the oak to the ground. She dropped her hands.

"Oh dear, you'll catch a chill." As she spoke, there was a gust of wind and he shivered, feeling goosebumps erupt all over him. She ran to a basket and pulled out a blanket. He took it gratefully, wrapping it around himself.

"I honestly did not feel cold until now." He wiped off as much of the mud as possible. She handed him his shirt. Pulling it on, he buttoned it back up. She handed him his collar and necktie before taking the blanket back. "Thank you for that," He said, unsure of what to say. "Thank you for helping me. I know you didn't have to stay." She looked back at him, her expression unreadable. He swallowed. "And-I'm sorry. For being rude."

A smile bloomed across her face, the orange light of the sunset emblazing everything with its glow. "I accept your apology. There. It wasn't that hard, was it?"

He opened his mouth to retort when he saw the twinkle in her eye. She was teasing him. She handed him his hat. "Wait a moment. You have mud on your forehead." Before he could think, he was bending over so she could reach. She ran her fingers across his hairline, then smoothed some of the wilder hair down. He felt a different kind of shiver as her fingers grazed his temple. She stepped back quickly, clearing her throat as he put his hat on. "Why were you in the swamp, may I ask?" She pulled a stray hair over her ear.

His eyes widened. He had completely forgotten about it. "Alice's hat! Damn! It's-"

"I see it. You put on your shoes, I'll get it." He pulled his socks and shoes on, feeling the cold mud all over his trousers. She scrambled onto the opposite bank, somehow balanced on her heels, then plucked the hat from the reeds. He got to his feet as she handed it to him.

"It's clean. No mud or water on it. None that I could see, anyway."

"Thank you." He put it back in the box, thinking of how feeble the words sounded. "I really cannot thank you enough."

She laughed quietly. "You're welcome. I'm glad I was nearby to help. Even if you were rude, no one deserves to spend the night in a cold swamp." Her eyes danced with amusement before her smile faded. "You had better go on, give that pretty hat to your lady friend." The corner of her mouth turned down as she gave him her hand.

He meant to shake it.

Instead, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. It tasted of sunshine and strawberry jam. She let out a shaky breath.

"I have to go. It's late, Mam will worry." Before he could say anything else, she picked up her basket and walked quickly away. He followed at a distance out of the swamp, standing again on Oakland Avenue. She crossed it, turned down another street, and vanished.

Does anyone else feel warm in here? Just me? Okay.

*At this time, St. Louis was one of the four biggest cities in the United States, behind New York, Philadelphia and Chicago.

*Hogmanay is a Scottish festival, celebrated around New Year's Day.