The following weeks came cold and not without restraint. It was late October, 1916. With the coming winter days chilled with icy winds in the north eastern state. It was not warm, it was not particularly cold, but for the strong willed New Yorker it was manageable. Nothing a thick pea coat couldn't fix.

For America, this was a time of peace. For the world, this was a time of war. As the Great War raged on America struggled to keep their right foot out of the action to the best of their ability. But still, feelings grew sore. The immigrants in the modern day "Big Apple" felt an unrest for their relatives sacrificing so much over the Atlantic. Day by day they flooded in, increasing it's size to the largest metropolitan area in the whole country.

There was one thing the warmth of a newly tailored jacket could not cure in this cold city. Ever since her return nearly a month ago Alice had begun to feel an enormous weight on her heart. Depression most likely. She played the part of Clark's fiance, and she had attended multiple engagement parties much to his chagrin. When not attending outings with her fiance, she often would find herself surrounded by complete silence in her room.

The wedding had been postponed until mid November, despite the ensured snow due at that time. Charlotte had already arranged such an elaborate celebration. The ceremony was to be held at St. Paul's Chapel, with only the most esteemed people to attend. Wealthy associates of her father, her family members deemed worthy, and even the young and rather dashing Mayor Mitchel. Her mother always loved to make a point on how much of a looker he was, "To be young and single again." she would rage. But one thing that hurt Alice the most was the news that Peter was unable to attend. Whether it was a lie from her mother or an honest incapability was irrelevant, it only worsened her mental state.

To make matters worse, Clark had already begun to display controlling and an abusive tendency. It started out small, that Alice was not to wander into the Harlem regions of the city. The reasoning was that the area was filled with, "Trouble making Negros". It was fair enough to her, until he began to limit her visits with Janet. It had gotten to the point where she had not seen her beloved friend in close to two weeks, while she had grown used to her company every day for practice.

Still, the hours grew shorter and closer to the day where she would sell her soul. The anxiety in her heart was agonizing as it caused an unresolved inconsistency to it's own beat. Often times she'd find herself nervously tapping her slender fingers against her porcelain skin too keep her sanity. Her chest pounded hard that day. She and her mother had taken the liberty of having a day out to see the town, no matter how upset it made her. They had seen a Broadway show that night. How Alice used to dream of staring in one. Some of her earliest teenage memories were of herself memorizing parts of famous Shakespearean plays in the bathroom mirror. Now it was a faded memory that laid untouched in her mind as she sat patiently in the taxi next to her mother, who seemed more irritable than normal,

"Look at this Negro scum. They litter the streets like apes... I almost cannot see them in the darkness."

"Mother!"

"Alice." She spoke with a stern voice, "You will not raise your tone at me." Her eyes narrowed with her command.

It was normal for Charlotte to make comments like these. It made her wonder why, with her blatant racism, she remained in a city quickly filling itself to the brim of the kind she dreaded. But Alice was forced to bite her tongue whenever a thought of doubting her mother crossed her mind. Charlotte often called it breaking her in for her life of submission to her husband. For the rest of her life, Clark would always be right, he would always provide, and she would blindly follow him in his life's journey as he commanded. It sickened her.

But she preferred not to think of it. Although it was hard not to, whenever she could she found herself letting her mind wander. Sometimes back to the days when her dreams ran rampant and she believed the idea that she could live out any dream she had. A lot of the time her head lingered back to the evenings she spent with Janet in her elementary years. She actually used to be quite a trouble maker, enough of one to be pulled out by her parents and home schooled by a tutor,

"Mother, do you remember that day the Police Officer brought me home?" Her mother peered,

"I do recall it had to do with your act of truancy?"

"Yes." Alice laughed, " Janet and I decided to treat ourselves to lunch that day and I guess our superiors thought otherwise." She remembered the exact shade of red her mother's eyes turned, "I do remember how angry you got when you saw us walkin' up them stairs with shame on our face..."

"Excuse me?"

"What?"

"I believe you just let your inner southern show... don't let it happen again."

Alice turned herself to the window opening, directing her gaze at the shadows of buildings that passed by. It was difficult to much of anything in the dark, the cabs probably wouldn't be running much longer, "I spoke with Clark today."

"Don't you always? If I did not know any better I would think you two were lovers." Charlotte let out a sinister sort of chuckle, one laced with resentment towards her daughter's lack of co-operation,

"I honestly cannot find any reason for you to be anything but thrilled."

"Thrilled in what? Marrying that controlling gentleman? I can think of a few."

"He will make a fine suitor and a very reliable provider for you. If you would only open your heart, then maybe you would realize this."

"I beg to differ. In my own opinion, if I might be allowed one, I would honor any man but him."

"And who might you have in mind?" Alice's eyes widened for a moment, but she quickly masked it as she leaned against the metal door. She pursed her dainty lips to release a sigh, "That Texan boy?"

It took all her strength to play it off. To keep her head from nearly turning one hundred and eighty degrees in pure shock. Instead she kept her eyes nearly closed as she looked over at her mother,

"I made no specifics. In fact, I have no idea what you are getting at."

"Don't you play stupid with me, Alice. Your father knows everything. Why must you be so stubborn?" She glared,

"What do you mean?" Charlotte tsked, shifting her eyes to her daughter. She couldn't help but shutter at her own mother's glare. It felt wrong to be so afraid of the woman who should care most about you,

"From Peter's letter, we were told that you had some form of intimate encounter with this degenerate?"

"That is a lie."

"I won't have you sneaking around like this. Especially some offspring of a criminal and his whore."

"What are you talking about?" By the time she noticed her voice had been raised it was too late, "Mother you are making absolutely no sense."

"Your father did a background check on his legal files. Birthdates, places he had lived, relatives, from what he found, well, let us just say that it was not very pretty. Murders they are, robbing nearly fifty banks." She stated, "You are forbidden to even think about that boy."

Alice turned away from her mother in silence to face the door. This conversation had caused her stomach to churn, aching just another organ in her body. She wished she had avoided the topic all together, but ever since her return it was the only thing her mother would speak about. Beforehand she had nary a word to say, now it was all about every man her daughter passed on the street. Everything from unfaithfulness to envy was what she was accused of. All she wished for was just a moment of silence. For that to happen, she must break,

"Yes, mother."


The house was dimly lit by an overhead light as they entered it's shelter. After closing the large wooden door, Alice unbuttoned her coat to hang on it's wooden peg by the door. Her heels clacked against the wooden floor as she proceeded deeper into the entry way. For now, she only wanted to go sit in the darkness of her room. A couple of loud voices provoked her curiosity, however, as she descended from the few steps she had already climbed to the upper floor.

Around the corner she saw that the office was still lit with visible light through two cracked doors. She decided to make her way over to see who was accompanying her father. When she peeked through the crevice, she saw two men in suits approaching. Quickly backing away, her father saw her figure in the light that shone onto her,

"Why, sweetheart, I'm sorry I didn't see you there. Welcome home."

"Thank you, father." Her eyes shifted to the man who stood next to him, nearly towering over him. It was Clark. He shone a smile down at her that seemed ever so innocent. If she hadn't known any better she would doubt every second anyone who told her he was to become a pompous jerk. But he was not that bad in all honestly. Every man had their faults, and his controlling aspect was his vice. He would be a good husband. As always, she masked her displeasure in his presence, "Clark, what are you doing here?" She questioned politely with her warm smile on her lips. He tipped his hat that he had just placed on his head,

"Your father had some things he needed to speak with me for. Nothing to worry about."

"Well, I'm glad you could stop by. It truly has felt like too long since last we saw each other." He chuckled, his own cheeks turning a different shade in the glow of the room's emitting light,

"It has hasn't it." He lifted a hand to her cheek, "Maybe I could treat you to dinner tomorrow evening. Only the finest this island has to offer for my sweet flower." Must he compare me to a plant? She thought,

"That sounds quite nice. But unfortunately Janet and I had planned an evening together. I have not seen her since my return. Maybe the day after?" The displeasure on his face was evident. He battled hard not to convince her otherwise like his controlling self told him to. Surprisingly, he won,

"Of course, of course..." He whispered to himself. She couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy at his words. He lifted his wrist to inspect his watch in the little light there was. His eyes widened in surprise, "It is getting rather late. I best be returning home." He placed a kiss on her cheek. She could practically feel her father's stares of approval in the the side of her head,

"I'll see you out." She turned to her father, now leading Clark away from her.

She watched from a distance as they neared the foyer in a speculative way. She watched him put on his coat, his father open the door for him. Her curiosity allowed for her head to turn towards the open doors of the office. Only on occasion had she entered the room. Often times her father was too busy banking and up to his own line of work to allow any disturbances. It couldn't hurt for her to let herself in just this once... plus she wished to know what they were doing in there.

When he wasn't looking, she slipped through the light wooden doors into the inviting office. The number of books on anything from banks to gambling that filled the shelves never ceased to amaze her. These shelves also housed some of her favorite childhood books of hers. When not dancing or taking acting lessons she often enjoyed the quite serenity of her room as she read a book her grandmother had bought her. Her favorite being The Prince and the Pauper by the famous American writer, Mark Twain.

But something that hadn't been so familiar to her was the scattering of papers across her father's desk that were not bank notes. It intrigued her to look closer. She picked up one piece of paper with cursive writing on it, holding it under a table lamp as to read the horrible penmanship. It gave a specific description of a certain man. He was tall, 6ft, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Born in 1895, that would make him about twenty one this year. Who was this man? It wasn't until her fingers traced the ink letters of his birthplace that she realized that this man's information was strikingly similar to the kind given to her by Jack. Sure enough it was his name.

Name, Jack Marston. Birth date and place, -. Son of John and Abigail. Low and behold the files of both his parents laid there too. John Marston, born in 1872 on a ship voyage from Scotland to the Americas. Father, Tavish. Mother, unknown. The rest of the file gave an in depth summary of the names of known murders committed by the man. The number nearly made her heart stop. She wanted to cry, nearly two hundred innocent people known.

Alice collected all of the papers into one file, crumpling some in the process. Her movements were anything but steady in her anger as she quickly threw open the window with one hand. The autumn winds soon gusted away each of the pieces of parchment, carrying them far away from the glass window pane. Angrily, she slammed the window shut and started towards the door. But before she reached it, her father arrived through it's opening,

"Oh, sweetheart...What are you doing still up?" She glared, pointing towards the desk,

"What was all of this" A crumpled remain of his files remained. She grabbed for it to shove in his face,

"I don't know what you're..."

"Please, father. I know that you and Clark were looking at the southern boy's files. All I wish to know is why!"

"Your mother and I won't have you fooling around with some boy up to no good. Your fiance just wanted to look out for you."

"Well I think it is none of your business." She threw the paper to the ground, heading towards the door. Before leaving, she turned to face him, "I have severed all ties with him already, so there is no need to stalk my every move."

"Alice!" He called out after her, but by the time he reached the door she had already started up the large staircase.

She could hardly stop the tears from streaming down her face. The idea of the murders still was fresh in her mind. How could such a chivalrous man be related to these burdens on society? These monsters? It almost made her glad to see him gone... almost. Her hand reached for the silver knob, shoving by her African maid,

"Now, child, what's gots' yew down?"

"Nothing."

"Child!" She slammed the door before she could enter it, "Child, I gots some of em fresh towels, nows yous bettah let me in!" The woman pounded her tight fist against the wooden door, "Alice."

"Lay them outside the door, Eliza." She huffed. Frustrated, she plopped the linens on the ground beside the door. It was unlike Alice to lock her out. Many times before she was able to console in her when her mother offered no sympathy. She was like a second mother to her, which drove her to become persistent,

"Alice, Honey, yew knows ah'is always he-uh tuh talk, right?" Silence followed, causing the woman to sigh. It was obvious that talking would do her no good. As she just about gave up, the door had finally opened. When she turned to see the red eyes of her almost-daughter, she couldn't help but notice the half smile on her lips,

"I'm not quite sure how mother let's you speak like that in our home."

"Child, I run this place Without me yew guys'd have nuthin."

She hated the tears. Weakness was the one quality she hated most in herself. It was true, that she possessed a sensitive and humane side, but that's what made the discovery all the more disturbing for her. Having been sheltered from the sinful truth of the world, it made the reality that much more shocking.

She fondled the brass knob in her hand, contemplating on if she should open it,

"Hows about yews open dat there door now?"

"Eliza..." She slowly pulled the wooden door open, allowing herself to peep her head from the small crevice, "You must promise not to tell mother or father."

"Now, why would ah do uh thing like dat?" She shrugged, turning away to allow the darker woman to enter the large room,

"Maybe you could be conspiring against me?"

"Whut ahm not sures about is hows yew think ah'd tell dat woman anythang."

Alice collapsed onto the queen sized bed, nuzzling her face into her goose feathered pillow. It felt so tender against her soft cheeks, she couldn't help but crawl up into the fetal position. Meanwhile, Eliza plopped her towels on her dark wooded dresser. At the sight of the child on the bed, she couldn't help but place her hands on her hips in disgust,

"Whut the hells is wrong wit you?" Alice lifted her head from the pillow,

"I thought you were on my side?"
"Ah am." She harshly pulled the covers from under her, tucking them in on the side, "Ah just don't has a clue why yous actin so pathetic." She sat up straight with her legs folded indian style. She wouldn't admit that she agreed, it was how she displayed her stubbornness,

"I am not pathetic!"

"Quit your cryin!" When her fingertips touched her face a wetness soaked them. It had begun to come so naturally now that she could hardly notice the tears rolling down her cheeks. Embarrassed, she rubbed her eyes on her forearm,

"Oh damn these tears! They'll be the end of me!" Her teeth clenched, "I am sorry, Eliza." She could feel her dark beady eyes nearly impaling the side of her head as she came to sit next to her,

"Yew hasn't been right since yews got home. What happened down in Texas?" Her voice was soft, her eyes were wilting at the sight of the pain in Alice's eyes. She had raised her from a young child, and it was almost as if she were her own,

"Nothing happened, Eliza. Please believe me." She stood and walked to the door, crossing her arms in frustration. The harshness in her voice was evident even more so with the fact that she refused to make eye contact. Eliza stood as well, making her way towards the door,

"Alls I know is dat yew ain't lookin in that boys eyes the same way you aughta be for uh bride, dat way yew used to." Alice motioned towards the door, looking to her in pure shock,

"I never looked at him with any kind of love."

"Sweetheart, yur marryin 'im. If yew ain't in love, whatcha suppose yew gonna do 'bout this heur situation?"

Her eyes drifted to the floor to her left. They were partly open, not exactly examining her surroundings but rather deep in thought. The honest truth was that she had no clue what to do about the situation with no idea how she could avoid the situation. And yet, she couldn't understand why, whenever the thought of escaping came up, Jack always came to mind.

She clenched her fists, throwing both of them from their crossed position to her hips in anger,

"Well, I can tell you right now that I am not marrying him." Her voice was calm and slightly less louder than expected from her disposition. Eliza neared her, placing a loving hand on her shoulder,

"Good luck emancipatin yurselves from dem overbearin parents of yurs."

It was decided then. Like a slave held in chains, she had succumbed to her parents will. She had been born into it like so many, so much like the blacks of the era before hers. To be free, she'd be forced to break those chains. To travel down the path blazed by so many before. Rebel against the one's who make her suffer. Jack became her Ohio River, the bridge to her freedom. To receive the freedom she must claim back herself. Regain her wings to escape her slavery and to return to her promised land.