December 17, 1924, The Homestead
Kate sat on the top step and listened to everyone in the kitchen. Dutch and Max and Mrs. Koslova. A mix of English and Russian and Dutch's full laugh. She couldn't bring herself to join them. She had come home the day before excited about the discovery of Margaret Debuchy's records. That excitement even overshadowed the frustrations of her training and her concerns about Dutch and being left alone.
But she had stayed up late in the night reading and re-reading the records she had copied down in her own notebook, tracing a name that was attached to Margaret Debuchy. A name that suddenly stopped appearing next to hers in the records.
Margaret Debuchy was cursed.
When she finally went to bed, her thoughts lingered on something Max had said to her. An offhand comment that she'd barely even registered at the time. But as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about her family and about the curse, the words wouldn't go away.
Max said he cared about her.
She didn't sleep well. She knew she was afraid of being on her own. She knew what Max had told her, that she didn't have to be alone. But he was wrong. For her, for a Barrowman woman, being alone was the only way. And when she finally got out of bed, the realization of what she needed to do was like a lead weight at the pit of her stomach, and she couldn't bring herself to face Max or Dutch. So she sat on the steps, closed her eyes, and let their voices wash over her. Until she heard her name. Her eyes snapped open, the conversation coming into sharp focus.
"Katherine is going to miss breakfast."
"Yeah. Maybe we should…" Dutch's voice stopped when he stepped into the hallway and met Kate's eyes. She held her breath as Dutch turned back to the kitchen. "You know, she's probably just sleeping in a bit. You and Jo have been working her pretty hard. C'mon." And he was pushing Max out the front door and keeping him from looking her way as he said, "You said you'd race me to the top of the church this morning."
Kate waited for the front door to close, counted to fifty, and exhaled slowly before standing and making her way down to the kitchen.
Mrs. Koslova was cleaning up from breakfast. She glanced over her shoulder at Kate, but, instead of her usual disapproving cluck, she just waved a hand in the direction of the stove.
"The biscuits are still warm."
"Thank you, ma'am." Kate replied quietly. She settled at the kitchen table, broke open one of the biscuits and spread orange marmalade in the middle.
Mrs. Koslova sat in the chair across from her with a cup of coffee. And Kate's eyes went wide when she pulled a silver hip flask out and dumped something clear into her mug.
Mrs. Koslova glanced up and answered Kate's unspoken question. "Vodka. Dutch found it for me last week."
Kate shook her head and focused on her breakfast. Of course Dutch already got his hands on booze. And of course he used it to win over the older woman who set the rules of the house.
After a few moments of letting her eat in silence, Mrs. Koslova leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, and asked, "Which of the boys are you avoiding?"
"What?" Kate looked up. "I'm not avoiding anyone."
Mrs. Koslova shook her head. "I'm not that old. And I'm not blind. Thick as thieves, the three of you. Until today."
Kate studied the woman for a moment. She wasn't normally this talkative. At least, not with Kate. Maybe it was the vodka.
Kate sighed and repeated, "I'm not avoiding anyone."
Mrs. Koslova nodded, accepting the statement. Though she didn't look convinced. She let Kate eat in silence for another few moments before saying, "It must be hard to be a young woman in the Order with so many men."
Kate glanced up again and found Mrs. Koslova watching her with a knowing smile. Kate knew she was trying to get something out of her. She just didn't know what. So she tried to turn the conversation around.
"How do you know about the Order, Mrs. Koslova? How did you come to take on lodgers like us?"
The woman's smile faded. "I am a widow." And it was enough of an explanation for Kate.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," she said, looking down at her half-eaten biscuit.
"It's fine," Mrs. Koslova replied, waving her hand dismissively. "My Pyotr died a nearly a decade ago.
"Peter?" Kate frowned. The name sounded different coming from Mrs. Koslova though.
"Pyotr," she repeated. "It is the same name as the friend you lost. Just Russian."
"Oh," Kate blinked. Max or Dutch must have told her the story.
"My son," Mrs. Koslova went on, "moved to New York five years ago, and my daughter, my Lena, is in France."
"Are they both in the Order, too?"
Mrs. Koslova shook her head. "My son is an Assassin, yes. But Lena is a translator, like I was. She works for the Order but did not want to kill. You chose a difficult path for a woman."
"I didn't choose it," Kate said, voice full of bitterness. "It chose me."
And when Mrs. Koslova clucked her tongue, Kate grit her teeth. The sound was disapproving in the way Nana's arched eyebrow was disapproving. And she wasn't about to let this woman, no matter how well-intentioned she may be, take over for Nana. So she tried, again, to take control of the conversation.
"It seems like Max and Dutch have told you everything else, so I assume you know why I'm here? What I'm looking for?"
Mrs. Koslova raised her eyebrows at Kate's inquiry. "I know you are looking for information about your family."
Kate bit her lip and considered what she wanted to say. She couldn't tell Mrs. Koslova everything. There were things she probably shouldn't know. But she needed to explain enough to get her to drop the subject. She remembered Charles's words about keeping secrets. Close to the truth without giving anything important away.
"My family is cursed," Kate said, her voice coming out flat. "Whichever ancestor lived here last did something to curse us. We don't get to fall in love. We don't get to have families. We die young. We lose the ones we care about."
"So you joined the Order to break this curse?"
Kate shook her head. "I joined the Order because it's in my blood. Because even when I wasn't a part of it, my family, my friends, they were dying because of it."
"Your Peter did not die because of the Order," Mrs. Koslova said, her voice as stern as when she listed the house rules the first night. "He was killed by Templars."
Kate held Mrs. Koslova's gaze for a moment. But then she sighed and let her shoulders slump a little. Mrs. Koslova was partly right. It wasn't the Order's fault.
"Tell me why you didn't come to breakfast with the boys," Mrs. Koslova requested. "What is really bothering you?"
Kate sighed. And decided it couldn't hurt to try to talk through at least some of what was running through her head. It wasn't like she could talk about it with Max or Dutch anyway.
"Yesterday, Max and I found records of one of my ancestors here. I have letters of hers, letters her grandmother wrote to her. And I know that, while she was here, she fell in love. She had a baby in the middle of the Revolutionary War." Kate shook her head. "I wasn't even sure I believed in this curse when I started this. But the more I find out about my family…"
She trailed off and chewed on her lip again, unsure of how to articulate the rest of her thoughts. Mrs. Koslova just waited patiently, sipping at her spiked coffee.
"The records I found yesterday," Kate said finally, returning the where she started. "I know from the letters that she was in love. And I know it was someone she worked with. They worked in groups or pairs a lot during the war. And there's one name that came up more than others. More than half of her assignments were with him. That's how my parents met, too. They worked together. Maybe it's nothing, but maybe it's him. And he died. His name just…disappears from the records."
"But it may not be him," Mrs. Koslova said, her voice softer than Kate thought possible. "And he may not have died but left the area."
Kate shrugged. She had considered both of those thoughts as well.
"And it may be the curse," she said stubbornly. "Before I left, my grandmother warned me that this would be a lonely life. My mother tried to keep me out of it. She told so many lies to protect me. My father didn't even know I existed until a month ago. I see the Miles family and everyone here. And Max told me we could stay together, Dutch and my father…but I can't. Not really. If my family was cursed a century and a half ago, and I can't even figure out why…how am I supposed to break the curse?"
Kate looked down at her hands, rubbing a small, faded bruise on her knuckles. She knew she hadn't really answered Mrs. Koslova's question about skipping breakfast, but she wasn't sure how to admit her real reason. She wasn't sure she wanted to say it out loud.
"Do you know the story of the king of birds?" Mrs. Koslova asked, interrupting her thoughts.
Kate blinked at the odd question. And frowned. "I…don't think so."
Mrs. Koslova took a long sip from her mug and stood. She began her story as she collected the last of the dishes from the table.
"There was a day when all the birds gathered. There were birds of all kinds and from all places. Birds from the mountains and birds from the plains and birds from the valleys. And they all gathered to decide on a king. There was to be a contest, and whichever bird could go the highest in the sky should be king of all birds."
Kate listened intently, spreading marmalade on a second biscuit before Mrs. Koslova took the jar from the table and returned it to the icebox. She had no idea what this story had to do with anything, but something about Mrs. Koslova's storytelling was still engrossing.
"The eagle was sure he would win. He was big and strong and fierce. He was so sure he would win that he let himself daydream of what it would be like to be king. And he didn't notice the little wren jump onto his back and clutch onto his feathers. He flew higher and higher, and the birds below him cheered. And he knew he had won. But just as he started to return to the ground, the little wren let go of the eagle's feathers and flew up into the air. The eagle didn't notice the wren. He returned to the ground and puffed out his feathers. And the wren landed silently next to him."
Mrs. Koslova paused and took Kate's now empty plate away, setting in the sink before continuing.
"The birds began to argue. Some said the eagle flew the highest. But the owl reminded them all that the contest was to see who could go the highest in the sky. And the wren was clever and didn't even have to fly, but he went the highest. And that is how the clever, little wren became the king of all birds."
Kate watched Mrs. Koslova smile and fold her arms across her chest. She pinned Kate with a look that suggested she was waiting for Kate to respond, to say something. But Kate had no idea what the point of the story was.
After a moment, Mrs. Koslova shook her head.
"You chose a difficult path for a woman," she said, repeating the words she'd said earlier. This time, she added, "And a difficult path to walk alone. And I think it may be too late to push those boys away. Avoiding them at breakfast won't do anything but make them worry and make you miserable. And it will not keep them safe from the life they, too, have chosen."
Kate's eyes went wide, realizing that Mrs. Koslova had figured out the answer to the question she had avoided. Mrs. Koslova just clucked her tongue.
"You do not have to do all the work yourself. And you are a clever, little wren. You will figure this out." Then she waved a hand at the doorway. "Now get out of my kitchen, or you will be late for your training."
Kate didn't argue, her mind too busy trying to sort out what in the world Mrs. Koslova was trying to get at. She tugged on her coat and glanced at the clock. Even though it would mean showing up at the carriage house a quarter hour early, she decided to head out alone. She needed time to think.
Fat, wet snowflakes were falling steadily, and there was a sharp, cold wind blowing. Kate shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets and pulled her hood up. The only sound she could hear was the crunch of the snow under her feet as she made her way through the woods.
At this point, breaking the curse seemed an impossible task. And Kate couldn't bear the thought of truly losing Dutch or Max. Not the way she'd lost Peter or the way Margaret lost Clipper. And with the Templars still hunting for her in Philadelphia, she decided it was time to take a note from her mother. She needed to focus on her training, to get her promotion as quickly as possible, and to leave.
She needed to do this on her own in order to protect the people she cared about the most. The way her mother did. The way her grandmother did.
The way Barrowman women did.
A/N: Lots of notes for today!
First, don't panic (I'm looking at you, beafstew). I promised no one would blow up a tavern, and I meant it.
Second, I can't take credit for the story of the wren and the election of the "king of birds." Variations of this fable show up in multiple cultures; I've seen it referenced by Aristotle (4th century CE Greece), in tales originating in both South America and South Africa, and in more contemporary Irish folklore. This is just my version.
Third, vodka was not really popular in America until the 1940s. During Prohibition, it was difficult to even find unless there were high concentrations of Eastern Europeans living in an area. Coastal Massachusetts (where the Homestead is, according to the AC wiki) had a couple of key Eastern European (particularly Russian Jewish) communities. And: Dutch is good at what he does. :)
Last but not least, thanks for your reviews and messages! I love you all. :)