*I do not own Glee or Glee Characters* Thank you everyone for your reviews!
I'm glad that you all seem to still be enjoying the story and I hope this chapter is interesting for you all.
People Will Say We're In Love
"Young lady!" Russell bellowed from the front door. "What did I tell you about—"
Her father paused for a minute as he stared down the hall; she was all the way to the back door with the scrubbing and he seemed uncertain for a moment. It made sense that he would be confused; she had managed to scrub the entire rest of the hallway in a very short time after leaving the Alehouse. She was sure that was what his current tirade was about. Quinn glanced up, her face numb; she didn't know what expression it bore, but she doubted it was the smile of a dutiful daughter. His footsteps echoed through the hall and his muddy boots came to rest at the bucket in front of her; clumps of dirt and grass littered the freshly cleaned hallway, but that didn't really matter to her now.
"I told you not to speak to that girl or you would regret it!" Mr. Fabray roared.
"I know," she responded evenly. "And I haven't."
"Don't you lie to me!" he raged, stomping his large foot down as he spoke.
"Yes sir," Quinn stated emotionlessly.
"You'd better just be glad your mother isn't here," Russell continued. "So far I've been able to spare her from your many indiscretions."
"Yes sir." She sighed; she couldn't muster the strength to even be angry or scared anymore and she continued scrubbing as though nothing were happening. "Do you want me to clean the dinning room as well?"
The water splashed over her knees and soaked her dress when he kicked the bucket over; it rolled past her and thudded against the back door. Quinn looked up; if she had the energy to laugh, she would have at the sight of his angry red face.
"Are you sassing me?" he bellowed down at her. "Don't you sass me, missy; you know what you've done is wrong and I want to see that you know it."
"I'm not sassing you, father," Quinn said with a shrug as she lied. "And I don't know what I have done."
She let out a gasp as he grabbed her arm and yanked her up on her feet.
"I saw you!" her father yelled in her face. "I saw you come out of that den of iniquity. Don't try to tell me you forgot your classwork because you came right out the front doors."
"Mr. Fabray!" a woman's voice rang out from behind Quinn.
Russell looked past Quinn with an expression of disgust and the blonde turned her head; Santana stood in the doorway, another of Quinn's new dresses draped carefully over her arm, her face set in equal disgust. Mr. Fabray let go of his daughters arm.
"Just drop it off and be on your way," he said flatly.
Santana stepped inside and wedged her way between Russell and Quinn; she handed the dress over to the blonde, but then didn't move.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
"She's fine," he assured her. "This is a simple family matter, so if you don't mind, it's time for you to leave."
Santana didn't flinch; her dark brown eyes searched Quinn's face. "I didn't ask you, I asked her. Is everything alright, Quinn?"
Quinn trembled as she shrugged her shoulders. "Everything is fine. Thank you."
The brunette still didn't move and she rested a hand gently on the blonde's shoulder. In turn, Mr. Fabray rested a rough hand on her shoulder and Quinn felt the girl squeeze at the sudden touch.
"There; you have heard from both of us that everything is fine, now I have to insist that you leave," Russell insisted gruffly.
"Don't touch me," Santana snapped.
The man gave her a hard shove out of the way and Quinn stepped forward, instinctively slapping his hand away from the other girl. Her father's face grew red again and he let out a curse and pushed Quinn against the doorframe of her room. A flurry of Spanish spilled out of the brunette's mouth as she shoved him back, giving him a hard slap across the face, and he lashed out, striking the dark haired girl across the face with the back of his hand.
"Daddy!" Quinn cried, throwing herself between the two. "Please, stop; she'll leave."
"Like hell I'll leave!" Santana hissed.
"I'll leave!" Russell bellowed back, turning on his heel, and heading for the front door.
As he opened the door, he turned again to glare down the hallway, and pointed at Santana. "When I get back, you had better be gone," he demanded, and then pointed to Quinn. "And you had better be in your room or there will be hell to pay."
The door slammed behind him and Quinn sank to the floor.
"Come with me," Santana said, putting her hand out to help her up.
"I can't," Quinn said weakly.
"You're not actually going to stay here and let him throw you around like a rag doll, are you?" her friend yelled. "Don't be stupid."
"Where am I gonna go, Santana?" the blonde asked. "Can your family support another mouth? Because I'm fairly certain he's over at the Pierces' right now demanding they let you go. Besides, if I'm not here, who is he going to take it out on? He's angry, but it will pass, but if he comes back and I'm not here, what then? What if he decides to come after me? No one will take me in, not when he comes to the door worried sick about if I'm okay; they'll think I'm making it up or exaggerating. I have to just ride this out and then—"
"And then what?" Santana snapped back at her. "Wait till he finds another excuse to slap you around? You're pathetic!"
"I am," Quinn mused. "But so are you."
"I'm pathetic?" her friend sneered. "How so?"
"I saw you," the blonde admitted. "I saw you and Brittany kissing."
Santana took a huge step back and the blood drained from her face.
"I'm not going to tell anyone," Quinn quickly assured her. "How could I? I'm—I—"
She wasn't sure that the other girl could even hear what she was saying; it looked as though Santana was in an intense state of panic, but the blonde dropped her head and made her confession without caring if her friend heard or understood it.
"I'm the same," Quinn whispered, but it felt like she might as well be yelling it at the top of her lungs. "I'm in love with someone too. Someone I shouldn't be and I kissed her."
The brunette leaned against the opposite wall and slid down, mirroring the position that Quinn was sitting in. They sat in silence for a while, both of them contemplating their predicaments, and neither could bring themselves to make eye contact just yet.
"So you are in love with Berry?" Santana finally spoke.
"Yes." Quinn let out a little sob.
The blonde jerked her head up when the other girl started to laugh and her hazel eyes bore into the other girl.
"It's just that we're all so—" the girl wheezed, "well—we're all so fucked aren't we?"
Quinn gasped a little at the language, but the corners of her mouth twitched up; everything was going so wrong, so there was nothing left to do but laugh. Santana's name was being called outside; they recognized the voice as Brittany's, and she jumped up quickly. She reached down and pulled Quinn back to her feet and then, awkwardly, pulled her into a hug.
"If he hits you again, I'll kill him," Santana whispered in her ear before letting go.
With that, the girl disappeared out the back door and Quinn stumbled into the room and shut the door. She dropped the dress that her friend had delivered on a chair and changed out of her wet and wrinkled clothes before slipping into a warm flannel nightgown. The blonde sat on her bed and listened for the sound of her father's return, but after an hour, she ventured under the covers and eventually fell asleep. She was so exhausted from it all and she didn't wake until noon the next day.
Mr. Fabray vowed that she would not set foot in school for an entire week; her father had said it would be good for her—it would give her time to think about her future. Quinn realized it was more than that, of course, and that he was showing her how short a leash he could keep her on if he chose to. Her mother fussed about how pale she was, how the rims of her eyes were always an angry shade of pink, and about how she seemed to often fall into an inexplicable daze, but Quinn shrugged it off and Russell assured her that it was merely a physical malady that would pass in time. She helped her mother mind the store while her father spent most of his time with Mr. St. James and she listen to Judy bubble on about the inevitable proposal and wedding plans without interest. Quinn refused to talk about the Hudsons, dresses, or what season would be the most perfect for the ceremony, and in time her mother seemed to at least pick up on the fact that she would get more conversation from her daughter if she spoke of other things. So they spoke of standard town gossip, of which there was plenty, but it always lead back to romance in one way or another, as though Judy were trying desperately to get a spark of some kind ignited in Quinn.
They talked about how Tina and Mike would make a very powerful paring; his father was a prominent town judge and her father being the new owner of the bank. Her mother giggled excitedly that young Miss Jones had taken to a certain young man who had arrived with the wagon train and that now not a Sunday went by that Samuel Evans was not sitting in the front pew beside her. Judy hinted that Sugar, whom she always talked about dismissively, was behaving far too boldly around Finn, but that he was being a true gentleman and obviously only had eyes for Quinn. Her daughter would roll her eyes and assume that the other girl's affections were merely going over his head the same way so many other obvious things did. The blonde's ears did perk up a bit when Judy commented that Santana Lopez seemed to be pursuing Mr. Anderson and that the Hummel boy and Brittany were often seen together; she would smile and comment on what a good pairing the four of them made. It was the least she could do to reinforce their cover.
Then Quinn would let her mind wander. Could their façade work, and if so, could it work for her as well? She didn't know how Rachel felt about what had happened—the unplanned, unintended, and probably unwanted kiss. Could the brunette feel the same way as she did? Her hazel eyes would rest on some far away object and she would forget where she was for a moment. The blonde would let herself dream for a few moments that her feelings were returned and—more dangerous still—she would let herself imagine a place of their own where they could simply be together without interference. A warm afternoon on the porch, watching the sun set when their hands folded softly together, and she knew that they would need little more than to look into each other's eyes with an understanding of what the other was thinking – that their life was good. Her mother would pull her reluctantly from that comfortably hazy world with a laugh and a jibe about young girls in love; it was true, but as Quinn nodded along, she knew the bobbing of her head was only a half truth. At dinner her mother would chatter about how her daughter blushed like a bride already and about the plans they, meaning she, had made that day. Quinn comforted herself that it seemed to sooth her father's temper and she intended to allow him to think of her as reformed. Perhaps then he would even allow her to return to school.
As beautiful as her daydreams were, Quinn's nightmares were growing worse every night. Tonight she was standing on the balcony of the Berry Alehouse and Inn with Rachel's head rested lightly on her shoulder. Music drifted through the air so clearly it seemed almost tangible and it vibrated around them and inside them as though it passed through Rachel and into her, connecting them perfectly and completely. The sound of a gunshot fired in the distance and the melody scattered away into silence, taking the sunlight and warmth with it, and was replaced by the crackle of fire from torches. Rachel's warm brown eyes turned cold as though they were icing over as Quinn watched, and the brunette seemed utterly unaware of the crowd that was quickly converging upon them. She wanted to run, but could not get the other girl to move with her; Rachel remained stone still until the first rough hand of the crowd came down on Quinn's shoulder, and with that touch, the brunette melted away, fading from her grasp as though she had never been there at all. The blonde kicked and screamed; she scratched at the featureless faces that pressed in around her and drug her backwards down the stairs. A familiar laugh, light with a menacing echo, sounded around her and her hazel eyes darted every which way for its source, but never found it. As they pushed her through the doors and into the street and then rounded the corner with her in tow, the fence line to the cemetery came into view; a lone man was digging a grave and as she squinted into the darkness, she realized it was Finn. The faceless masses pushed her ever closer to the gaping hole he had dug and he smiled at her with his usual dopey grin.
"You'll love it here," he said proudly, as though he had just finished making something magnificent, and held out his hand to her. "I'll make you so happy. I love you."
"I don't love you," she screamed, but the words never actually left her throat. "I never loved you."
With that, she felt the final shove and her feet slipped over the edge of the grave.
Quinn sat bolt upright in bed; she could feel the sweat standing out on her forehead and her heart pounded in her ears. She was panting and shaking as she wiped it from her brow and began to ease herself back down in bed.
"A guilty conscious always leads to unpleasant dreams," Russell spoke suddenly. "The devil always takes his toll."
She was instantly sitting up straight again, her eyes peering into the darkness of her room, as she searched for her father. As Quinn's eyes adjusted she could make out his silhouette and she let out a little gasp. Had her throat not been so parched it would have been a scream.
"What are you doing?" Quinn asked, barely able to hide the malice in her voice.
"What any good father would do," Russell replied lazily. "Giving up my well earned sleep for the betterment of my daughter's soul."
She wondered for a moment if she spoke in her sleep; if she had called out anyone's name or given away any damning information. Mr. Fabray seemed calm, so she had to assume that wasn't the case.
"Did I wake you?" Quinn asked timidly.
"No," he answered. "I've been here for a while. Praying."
The flesh on her arms tingled and crawled at the thought of him watching her sleep. She wanted to ask how long this had been going on; how many nights.
"And I will continue to do so until you are set right again," Russell continued. "Now, go back to sleep; tomorrow is a big day. We have been invited to dinner at the Hudson Ranch."
Quinn shifted uncomfortably; the idea that she was expected to be able to fall asleep again seemed preposterous.
"Sleep," her father said sternly.
"I can't," Quinn protested. "The nightmares—"
"Are God's punishment." Russell nodded gravely in the darkness. "They will stop when you have repented and are forgiven. Perhaps tomorrow I will get the sign I need to know that you have made right with the lord."
She shuddered and laid back down in bed, but her eyes refused to close; her body trembled as she felt her father's eyes on her, but she didn't feel the judgment of god that he proclaimed—the only judgment she felt was his. The floorboards creaked and she held her breath as she hoped Russell was heading back to his room; instead, she felt the bed shift as he sat on the edge close to her head. His large, rough, hand brushed the side of her face before smoothing down her hair and she closed her eyes.
"I want to forgive you, Quinnie," he choked, "I really do. I want my sunny little girl back, but I have to do what's right by the book. How can I love one so rebellious? God will tell me when you've been forgiven and then I can love you again."
She nodded against his hand and waited for him to stand, but he didn't – not until a good hour after she had pretended to fall asleep.
The dinner the widow Hudson set out for them was practically a feast, but it might as well have been stale bread and water for all Quinn knew; the food slid over her tongue and down her throat without any taste. The blonde was sitting next to her mother and across from Finn. Her father sat at the head of the table and Mrs. Hudson was seated next to her son; the empty chair at the other end of the table had a weather-worn and badly abused looking jacket spread across the back of it—she assumed it belonged to the late Mr. Hudson. Quinn was acutely aware of every glance the adults around the table made between herself and Finn. Her food rested unevenly on top of the nervous knot in her stomach and she sipped her water slowly, hoping to relieve her growing discomfort. Part of her knew that they all expected, or intended, for him to propose today, but for the moment, the boy she had once believed she was in love with seemed content to remain silent as he shoveled food into his mouth. Her cheeks were tinted a faint shade of pink from the tension growing around the table and she hoped her parents' interpreted it as excitement. Knowing what she now knew about how close to the edge her father was, there seemed like there would be no way to turn Finn down—not with them watching. Quinn needed a way to get him alone for a moment before he acted upon his intentions; as angry as she had been with him, she felt that he would understand if she could just make him focus while she explained herself.
She had recited her speech in her head over and over again on the ride to the ranch. Quinn had gone over what must be said several different ways and even now the words she planned to say whirled around in her head while she watched for an opportunity to show itself. Mr. Fabray cleared his throat, catching everyone's attention, and began to make small talk. Her hazel eyes landed back on her nearly empty plate as she tuned out the low rumble of her father's voice. She was busy calculating the odds that Finn would actually stage his proposal at the dinner table.
What a charming story to tell our children. Quinn thought dryly to herself. I asked him to pass the peas and he asked me to be his bride.
She wouldn't put it past him, but she hoped that he would at least wait until the table was cleared; if she were very lucky he would ask to speak with her privately—and she desperately wished to be lucky. Mrs. Hudson invited them to relax on the porch for dessert and, once again, she found herself only half listening as her parents praised the beauty of their land and the craftsmanship of the house.
"Quinn," Finn said quietly before clearing his throat. "Would you, um—"
He stammered to a stop as everyone ceased their conversation and stared at him. She was holding her breath; for a moment she felt like she had forgotten how to breathe at all, while she waited for the hammer to fall.
"Would you like to go for a ride around the fields?" he continued uncertainly.
"Yes," she said, jumping at the chance to get away from their prying eyes.
Finn smiled broadly at her obvious excitement.
"You're not properly dressed to ride." Judy gasped.
"I'm sure I will manage, mother; I'll be careful," Quinn assured her.
"But surely—" her mother protested.
"It's just a dress, Judy," Russell interrupted. "If it tears, we will have it mended. Let the young people have their fun."
Mr. Fabray gave his wife a quick wink before turning a cold glance to Quinn and motioning for her to follow Finn. She couldn't believe how easily this part of him ebbed and flowed, like the tide, without anyone around them noticing. It was an act, one that used to fool Quinn, but now she could see right through it. Outwardly her father was a jolly and hardy man, but on the inside, he was cold and frail in many ways; the blonde couldn't help but wonder how long he had been this way—or maybe he had always been like that. There wasn't time enough to wonder about it now; her mind was too full of what had to be done.
Quinn followed him into the barn; she was shocked to see Puck readying the horses and she glanced quickly between the two of them.
"They hired me back," Puck explained with a shrug. "I guess after the big news, Finn decided to forgive me."
"We've been friends a long time." Finn nodded. "It seemed silly to hold a grudge when all he really did wrong was having a crush on you. I mean—who could blame him? But that's all in the past now."
Puck nodded back at him, a little sadly, but it didn't take long for his usual cocky grin to spread back across his face. "Besides, where would you be without me? You'd be branding the cattle backwards. This place would fall apart without me and you know it."
Finn patted him roughly on the shoulder as he took the reins from his friend; she was glad to see that they had patched up their friendship. Quinn could check that off of her list of things she felt guilty for.
"Whatever you say." He chuckled as he led the horses over to her.
Quinn took the reins of the dark chestnut appaloosa and gingerly slid her hand over its nose and up between its eyes as she murmured a hello to the horse; it had been far too long since the last time she had rode. Its eyes were a deep brown, almost human like, and she felt a squeeze in her chest at the memories the warm shading of its eyes invoked. She held the straps firmly in her hand as she eased around to lift up into the saddle, admiring the blanket with spots markings of the animal as she did so, and Finn helped her up. Quinn adjusted the skirt of her dress while he mounted the bay colored morgan she had come to associate with him; it was his favorite—a sturdy horse named Post. Finn waited for her to secure her garment for decency and then urged Post forward slowly and she followed. They kept a leisurely pace as they traveled down the path that led along the outskirts of the ranch's fields. Quinn glanced back to the house before they rounded the first turn that would take them behind storage barn and eventually would take them out of sight from the porch. Mrs. Hudson and her mother had left the porch, presumably to gossip inside the house as they cleared away the dishes from diner, but her father was leaned against their wagon and staring at them as they disappeared behind the structure.
"Thank you for suggesting this," Quinn said pleasantly, trying to set the tone for the discussion that was to come by starting out optimistically. "It's been a long time since I've gotten to ride; I'd forgotten how much I missed it."
"I just needed to clear my head; riding always clears my mind when I'm stressed." Finn nodded. "Guess everyone staring at me every time I opened my mouth kinda got to me."
"I can understand that." She nodded.
She was glad to hear that he was nervous as well; if he was finding the situation uncomfortable, then perhaps he was having second thoughts of his own. At the very least, he seemed uncertain and that was a good place to start.
"How do they expect me to do anything if they are watching me like a hawk?" he groaned. "Like I'm not nervous enough and worried I'll screw everything up."
"Yes," Quinn agreed. "It's hard to say what you need to say when you know everyone is watching you, expecting something from you that you don't know if you are even capable of; like they're willing you to fit into this role that they made for you whether or not you're ready for it."
"Exactly!" Finn replied. "I mean, it's like—it's a big move. I mean, if I do it, then it's real, and that means I'm a man and sometimes I just feel like a kid. I keep thinking about my dad and then it's like—I don't know—I'll never measure up to him even though I want to."
She nodded as she listened to him speak.
"I mean I want to," he continued. "I do, but I don't know, ugh, I'm messing this up."
Quinn tilted her head at him and gave him a reassuring smile. "It's fine. I actually needed to talk to you about something very important."
Finn's eyes went huge for a moment, though she didn't know how what she had said would disturb him so much, and he slowed his horse a little more, so that they were riding more evenly along the path.
"It's just that—about that thing they are all expecting you to do," she began. "I just wanted to say that—"
"Rosy," Finn blurted out as he pointed to the horse. "I wasn't sure if you recognized her or not, but when we were little, your dad brought you along to visit and she'd just been born; you took one look at her coat and demanded I name her Rosy. Her coat was a lot deeper then, it really looked red, and you said that little spot on her back looked like a rose."
Quinn's jaw dropped for a second as she glanced back at the mark he was pointing to on the horse's hind quarters. She smiled as the vague memory played out in her mind; she remembered scurrying to the barn, excited to see the horses and watching Finn playing with Post, only half grown at the time, as he tried to convince the foal to cooperate, but it kept bucking him off. She clearly remembered taunting him that he would never be able to stay on without a saddle and him puffing up his chest and declaring that he could ride bareback; several falls later, he had dusted himself off while she giggled and said that Post needed a break and that he should show Quinn the new foal. She also remembered her with her chin jutted out, stomping her foot, and saying she wanted to try to ride Post, but he had taken her soft little hand in his already calloused one and drug her into the barn, declaring that ladies didn't break horses. The memory made her laugh, but the sound of laughter, so foreign to her after the past few days, brought her back to reality—the present.
"Finn," she said with a little irritation at his blatant attempt to change the subject.
In truth, she was more angry with herself for allowing him to derail her train of thought than anything else, and she set her jaw as she locked eyes with him.
"I'm sorry." He sighed. "It's just—I know what you're gonna say and then I'm gonna say what I'm gonna say and it's gonna hurt your feelings, but I don't mean it too."
She chewed the inside of her cheek while she listened to him ramble; the words of her carefully planned argument were beginning to scatter in the wake of his tone.
"Still," Quinn insisted desperately. "It's something I have to say and if it doesn't change your mind then that is simply the way it is, but I have to be honest with you, Finn."
He slumped a little in the saddle and nodded.
"I don't want to get married," she said softly. "Finn, you're a wonderful man, you really are, but I have to be clear. I do care about you, I do, but I don't love you. Do you understand? I don't love you, but I do want the best for you; that's why I don't want to marry you, because you deserve someone who does love you." Finn's head shot up and his mouth fell open, but she shushed him. "And you can't hate me for helping you on your way to finding that someone."
Quinn needed to study his face, but she couldn't bring herself to look; her eyes refused to follow her orders and they stared straight ahead over the field they were entering.
"Because you love someone else?" he asked, though something in his tone seemed off to her. "Is it Puck?"
"No," Quinn responded quickly. "I am defiantly not in love with Puck."
"Quinn?" he commented and she felt his hand rest awkwardly on top of her hand.
She finally gained control of her face and turned, ready to see his pleading eyes, but what she saw instead was a broad smile taking up much of Finn's face, which was very close to hers since he had to lean over to touch her hand.
"Thank you." He breathed. "I mean it sucks that you don't love me, but I was kind of having doubts myself. I guess I just wanted to believe you still loved me so much that I made myself believe I couldn't live without you, but even after I thought you were still in love with me, I kind of felt like something was off. I thought it was you because you were being so cold, erm, I mean unhappy seeming, but then after my mom and your dad started talking about the proposal and when I was gonna do it and how and the wedding and all that, I realized it was me. I just didn't see a way to back out of it because I thought—well, I thought you wanted it so bad."
"I'm sure my father made it seem that way." The words came out in a sigh and she wasn't completely sure he had heard her.
Finn let out a loud sigh and she felt his relief as an echo of her own; this had gone better than she had ever dreamed it could. Quinn had been half ready to have to chase him down, racing their horses to stop him from rushing to her father and demanding an explanation. It had never crossed her mind that he might be relieved. How could she have known? She hadn't talked to him unless she had to and had listened to his responses even less, but to be fair, there had been many pressing issues on her mind—many of them were still bearing down on her in the wake of her momentary euphoria.
"So are you in love with Sugar then?" she teased as their horses picked up speed.
"What?" He gasped. "No."
"But you've got your eye on someone or your pride would be more hurt," Quinn pointed out.
Finn laughed but nodded. "I wouldn't say I'm in love—I mean I hardly know her; I don't even know how to speak to her, but there is just something about her."
"So," Quinn said tensely, suddenly wondering if it could be Rachel he was talking about. "Are you going to tell me who it is?"
"Are we going too fast? Do you want to slow the horses down?" he dodged, glancing back at her sheepishly.
"No." She laughed, and it was true; if she wasn't so desperate to get an answer, she would have loved to bring them to a gallop. "Stop stalling."
"Well, who are you in love with?" he shot back over his shoulder.
When she didn't answer, he glanced back; her face must have betrayed her because he brought Post to a full stop and turned him around.
"That bad?" Finn asked. "It's not like one of your friend's guys is it?"
She nodded, taking his suggestion, and twisting it into a lie that would properly insulate her, and shrugged.
"I'll get over it," she said with a false sigh, but he didn't seem to notice that it wasn't genuine. "That's why I'd rather not say. You understand?"
Finn nodded gravely, his face falling for a minute before he shook his head. "I don't know her name even."
"Excuse me?" Quinn asked.
"She came with the wagon train and I talked to her a little, but I didn't even get her name," Finn confessed.
She knew he was sharing this information to make her feel better, which was why Quinn felt so guilty for the amused look that she knew was plastered all over her face. He looked slightly hurt at her mirth and she waved it off and assured him that she wasn't mocking him. Simply knowing that he didn't have intentions for Rachel was a relief.
"Well, I will find out what her name is," he grumbled. "Eventually."
"I'll find out for you," Quinn promised. "And I'll get as much information as I can out of her so you will have a proper chance at wooing her."
A huge goofy grin replaced his scowl and he nodded at her.
"Do you mind if we pick up the pace?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.
Finn paused for a moment and then dipped his head as he made eye contact with her.
"Whoever you do fall in love with and want to stay in love with—well, whoever it is will be really lucky," he commented.
With that, he nodded and urged his horse forward quickly; Quinn sat stunned in place for a moment before digging her heals into her horses side, urging Rosy forward to give chase.
The clopping of Post and Rosy's hooves were slow and soft against the packed earth as they returned to the trail that led back to the ranch. They had stayed out riding longer than either of them had expected and Quinn was just now catching her breath from their playful racing. It had felt good to forget about all her troubles and worries, even if it had only been for a few hours, but now they were slowly creeping back into focus. The house was still blocked by both barns and she cleared her throat.
"Huh?" Finn uttered, turning his head to look at her in the fading sunlight.
"I have a favor to ask," Quinn admitted.
He simply nodded and remained silent; she swallowed thickly and she could feel a hot blush rushing to her face.
"I know this will sound absolutely insane but," she said seriously. "Could you not tell anyone that you're not planning to propose? I promise I will help you meet the girl once you point her out to me. I just need a little time; I need to get through the last month of school without my father finding out."
Quinn glanced up to see his shocked face and she let out a sigh as she prepared to explain further.
"I don't want him to know yet. If he knows, he will try to arrange another marriage and I know I'm not going to marry anyone in town. Please. When they finish the work on the school house, half of the people who came will probably return east. I want to go with them; I could stay with my sister and then maybe I could forget." She stopped and tried to choke back a sob. "Maybe then I could forget who I'm in love with and meet someone else—someone more appropriate."
Finn took a long pause to process all the information she had just given him, but then he nodded.
"Really?" Quinn gasped.
"Yeah," he shrugged, "of course; I mean if you're going to help me, the least I can do is help you a little too. I mean, I already know her family is planning to stay."
"You know her family is staying, but you don't know her name?" She scoffed before she could stop herself.
"Hey," Finn protested. "I'm helping you out, aren't I?"
"Yes, I'm sorry," Quinn apologized. "And thank you."
They rode the rest of the way in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts. As they rounded the barn, she noticed her dad was still leaned against the wagon and Puck was circling it; it looked as though the boy were utterly confused by something. She couldn't help but wonder if her father had been standing there the whole time with his eyes locked on the path, just waiting for them to return. Finn hopped down and helped her dismount before leading Post and Rosy back to the barn. She waited nervously, not ready to approach her father alone, until he returned and took her arm politely to escort her back to the house.
"Is there a problem, sir?" he asked Mr. Fabray as they came closer.
"Something on the wagon is broken I'm afraid—" her father responded. "I'm afraid we will have to stay the night and fix it in the morning. I'm sorry to impose on you."
"Not at all," Finn said cheerfully. "You're always welcome."
Quinn detected some muttering from Puck; most of it was incoherent, but she did catch a small part of what he was saying. "How in the world could that have just fallen off—doesn't make since—that—where did it even go?"
"So, is there any big news?" Russell prodded, his smiled beaming at both of them; his excitement would have seemed genuine to anyone who didn't know better—anyone but Quinn.
"Not tonight," Finn said sheepishly, leaning in to whisper to him. "I just need a little more time to figure out how to do it just right, you know."
Quinn smiled; she was honestly surprised at how well he was playing it off. She'd never thought of him as quick on his feet, but it seemed he was capable of performing in a pinch. The blonde hoped this sudden stroke of charisma wasn't just a fluke. She pretended she hadn't heard what Finn had said and equally that she didn't hear her father's jolly response.
"Of course, my boy; I understand all about the jitters you must be feeling," Mr. Fabray was assuring him in hushed tones. "There's plenty of time."
"I'll be back in the morning with the part," Puck said with a huff; his voice highly irritated.
"Must have come loose while we were traveling." Russell shrugged. "It's a wonder we made it without noticing."
Puck was muttering about how impossible that scenario was as he headed to the barn; Quinn scanned her father's face, a sick feeling shivered down her spine, but she couldn't see anything hidden there. Not long after Puck emerged on his horse, a stocky black horse that seemed more built for plowing; in the quickly fading sunlight the slash of white on its face and tufts of white above its hooves shone eerily bright. He gave one more disgruntled look towards the wagon before leaning forward in the saddle and compelling the draft horse forward.
"Well, there's nothing to be done about it until morning." Her father shrugged, his voice a little too upbeat for a man whose primary transportation had just been rendered useless. "Best we all get inside."
She and Rachel were sitting on the bridge with their fingers intertwined as clear water washed over their feet and ankles. It was warm and peaceful; Quinn could smell the honeysuckle growing along the roadside as she gazed into the warm chocolate eyes of the girl she loved and loved her in return. The brunette leaned forward as if to whisper a secret and their lips connected softly. When she drew away, the sky had gone dark and the water turned to mud; their legs became stuck and the sound of angry voices echoed all around them. Her brown eyes, so warm and trusting a moment ago, grew large with fear and Rachel suddenly shrank back from her; Quinn reached out to catch her as she lapsed off the edge and momentarily disappeared under the muddy surface. For that moment, the blonde felt her own lungs fill with the heavy sludge that had sucked the brunette away, and even though she could hear the mob approaching, she could not tear her eyes from the exact spot that Rachel had disappeared. When Rachel emerged, Quinn could finally breathe, but that release was short lived. They were surrounded; the entire group had identical faces. She recognized him, but in the moment his identity eluded her. Their rough hands plucked Rachel from the mire and dragged her along the road as they pulled her away from Quinn. The blonde felt the ghost of their fingers on her skin, the invisible grasp tightening around her arms, torso, and legs even as they faded out of sight. She wanted to follow them, to stop them, but the hungry pool of muck would not release her. Quinn felt the uncomfortable press of hands along her back, as though she were being lifted up, and her head suddenly became dizzy, the sensation of coming to a stop after spinning too quickly for too long. Everything around her was a blur of black and grey with the exception of one flickering light down the road; it was impossibly small and even more impossibly bright. She focused her eyes on it and her legs slid free; Quinn was on her feet and running towards the only speck of hope, but she didn't seem to be moving closer to it at all. She abruptly felt herself thrown to the ground, the shattering of glass ringing in her ears and the scent of burning clogged her nose and lungs. Quinn screamed, and the shriek that left her throat was not her own—it was Rachel's.
Sweat was dripping into her hazel eyes when she woke up, momentarily confused by her surroundings. Her mouth was open and her lips, as well as ever inch of her body, trembled as she told herself it was only a dream—that she was in a guest room of the Hudson ranch and the horrible nightmare wasn't real. Her hazel eyes swept the room and her muscles relaxed; her father was nowhere to be seen and the emptiness of the room comforted her. She listened intently, feeling sure that she must have cried out loud in her sleep, but nothing stirred in the large house. Quinn crept from the bed and tiptoed to the window; she rested her head on the cool sill and sighed. She could not shake the feeling that what had just happened was more than a dream; at the very least, it was a bad omen and she wanted nothing more than some sort of proof that Rachel was alright, but being where she was that was not an option.
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