The floor was beginning to grow warm from all the walking Morgan did back and forth. A gust of wind whistled past and she glanced up to see Jack landing on her windowsill. He swung his feet around, ready to come inside, but Morgan was already pulling herself up to his lap.

"So you're talking to Jamie now? How did you get a hold of his number and – argh, what are you doing?"

"You are going to fly to Lancaster and you're taking me with you."

"Lancaster, England?!" he guessed with an argument already forming why this was a terrible idea. Her hand swiped the back of his cold, spiky hair. "Ow!"

"No, you nitwit. Lancaster, Pennsylvania!" she chastised.

"Nitwit?"

"Just go." Jack shifted the girl on his back and pushed off of the window and into the current. She wrung her hands while tightening her arms around his neck. He coughed from her nervous grip but refrained from saying anything to her. Whatever Morgan was after must be pretty important to trace Jamie's number down, make sure Jack knew to be there, and sneak off in the middle of the night without any kind of hesitation.

"Why are we going to Lancaster?" Morgan removed a folded sheet of paper from her pocket with one hand, tightening her grip with other hand. Jack hacked, attempting to catch his breath. Her elbow nudging his face. "Uhh..." She stared at picture she drew, using her aerial directions to guide her.

"Can we turn over here?" she gestured to a wooded area.

"Yeah but can you..."

"Do it."

"Ok-ay!" he shouted, and turned against the current, slowly floating down. The closer they glided towards the wooded area, the more Jack realized it was actually less wooden than it originally seemed. There were greyish blocks in sequential order in the opening between the trees. "Is that a cemetery?"

"Just go towards it."

"Why are we going towards a..."

"Jack!"

"I am starting to see the resemblance between you and your mother." Morgan rolled her eyes but silenced herself as Jack landed in front of the headstones. "Isn't it illegal to be in a cemetery after dark?"

"Nobody can see you and as my big brother, you will protect me," she stated plainly, hurriedly starting down the path that had been thinly veiled with snow. Several of the headstones in the front had fresh flowers sitting at the foot of them, and had names cleared of snow. The further they walked down the path, the fewer tombstones had flowers in front of them, and many of the ones that did have flowers. Some of the tombstones had bouquets that were thin, dried, and lacking in petals. The names were now covered in snow and the craftsmanship of the stones were not as glossy and looked a little eroded. While Jack continued to question her motives, Morgan kept her eyes on the stones, watching as they grew much more simplified in detail and weathered. She turned down the path quicker than Jack could process what she was doing and then jogged to catch back up to her. She scanned past the stones, her eyes darting over every name unfamiliar to her. Then she spotted one. The one. Her pace slowed and she puckered her lips in thought. Her eyes were fixated on the stone, but she now had her ears open to Jack's words.

"I understand you like history," he was saying. "Some of this tombstones might be interesting to see, but why in the middle of the night? You get a little crazy sometimes when it comes to history and facts, kiddo, I'll admit that, but this is a little bit-"

"Jack, I brought you out here for you," she interrupted with a voice a little too mature sounding for a ten year old.

"What do I want with a cemetery?" he almost laughed.

"Because this is your sister's final resting place..." Her response came in the most silent of voices, but the answer seemed to be the loudest thing Jack had ever heard in all of his 300 plus years.

"What?" His voice was short and quiet, barely even a question and more of a request for clarification. The gentle snow fell against the ground and the silence was great enough that every individual flake could almost be heard hitting the ground. Morgan took a generous amount of the icy air into her lungs before shifting to star at Jack. He seemed younger in his nearly paralyzed state, looking to her carefully to search for an explanation.

"When Emma married, she moved here. She was 19 years old. She had six children. Two boys, four girls," she informed with a slightly somber tone. "Her husband's name was Joshua Pearce. He was a doctor."

"I was... an uncle...?" Jack carefully said. The word "uncle" seemed to catch on his tongue and he panted heavily, a smile struggling to appear on his face. "To six kids...?" A gentle smirk broke on Morgan's face.

"Her headstone..." She extended an arm to the rounded slab of granite sitting at the end, third one in. "It's right there..." Jack did not move. For a moment, Morgan wondered if his body of ice had finally merged with the rest of the snow. Then his left foot raised and he began to sluggishly move in a daze to the stone. Jack stared at the stone, scared to really let himself believe what Morgan was saying, but his eyes traced the writing and it did indeed say Emma Pearce. The birth date, 1703, confirmed Morgan's words and he slid against the snow in front of it, falling to his knees with emotion collapsing on him. Morgan appeared behind him. As a young child, she was still unclear as to what helped made people feel better when someone they loved died, but she put her hand on his shoulder. She barely noticed when the ice stabbed her hand as he reached over and placed his hand over hers.

EMMA PEARCE

1703-1776

Loving wife,

Loving mother

On this day 15 September in the year of our Lord 1776, Emma Pearce joins her husband, Joshua Pearce, parents Annalise and Henry Overland, and her brother Jackson Overland in the Kingdom of God

"It is her..." Jack muttered through gasps for air. Icy patterns of ferns appeared over the stone as he touched his name "joins... Jackson Overland... that's my name..."

"She lived a very long life for her time."

"She probably never had any fun and cheated death..." Jack teased. He swung his body to face her and a thin coating of icicles rimmed his eyes where he had been attempting to cry. "How did you find her?"

"Todd's computer knowledge and my love of history..." she stated. "I just remember hearing these stories on TV about people finding out their history through websites and thought maybe I would try it." She sat down in the snow beside him. "I thought, this way... at least you get to see where she was buried."

"It was a... a really good idea..." he uttered, words failing him. His fingers formed more ferns of ice against the name of her husband. "I don't suppose it told you if he loved her?"

"History is only facts, Jack. Unless a diary or letters are found, it is super hard to find how people felt about other people," she told him. "I can keep looking. I think it's fun. If you want me to. I just don't know where I would start looking. I like history but I am not a historian or an arch... an archy... and archa..."

"Archeologist."

"Yeah. I'm not one of those," she told him sadly. "Pennsylvania has gone through many things in 300 years."

"He better have loved her," he mumbled a little aggressively. "And he better have loved her a lot. Emma deserved nothing less."

"I don't know that. I'm sorry, Jack," she apologized.

"Don't apologize." Jack struggled to get his normal voice back, clearing ice particles from his throat. "You have done more than I could ever imagine." His arm extended around and squeezed her firmly. "I picked the best person to call family." Morgan beamed brightly and then stood up.

"I'll leave you alone for a sec." Her feet could be heard making soft crunches against the wet, white earth.

Jack rocked himself in front of the stone that had his sister's name clearly etched, despite being rubbed down by winds and rain for a couple hundred years. He knew the first part of her life, had burned into the front of his mind and since finding out who he was before he was Frost, memories of her played through his brain every day. Now he had an ending, and she lived so long for her time. He imagined what was in between. Often marriages were business arrangements, but he hoped, needed even, for her marriage to have been full of love. He refused to accept any other ending out of her life. Then he thought about her children, and what they would have been like. If he had known his previous life before, he would have given them the greatest snowball fights ever, performed every trick humanely possible to get them to see... and then get their mother to see. He wished he would have known before.

He exhaled, knowing that nothing could be done about it, and Emma lived life the way she was supposed to – full and natural. She was warm-bloodied, not made of ice, and had a family. She was a fantastic mother, he knew that much of her. She had a husband who hopefully loved her. She lived and she died in old age. Unlike him. He could only feel happy for her. TO wish her to be with him now only seemed selfish, and she wouldn't want him to sit and think about what ifs or blame himself for anything. So with a satisfied curve of his lips, he touched two fingers to them and then pressed his kiss to the top of the stone.

"Good-bye, my little goose..."

I don't know if it's pathetic that I made myself cry but I did. I really wanted to get this chapter up, but now I really need to get to sleep. Rosie Out.