A/N: I've taken a bit of liberty with these upcoming chapters but I've done it because TURN made the changes first. Technically there's supposed to be a two year gap between Yorktown and Evacuation Day but TURN made it seem as if the events happened much closer in time so I'm going with it because it also benefits my story. Again, IT'S FANFIC. SUE ME. (Or take it up with the writers of TURN, I dunno…)
Also I edited this while my cat crawled over my laptop so if there are errors I apologize.
What if she doesn't want to see us?
What if she's not even living there anymore? What if she's already moved away?
Where do you think she'd go? Williamsburg? Maybe we should have stayed South. Maybe this was all so stupid.
The questions all belonged to Charlie, an always-nervous girl that could no longer hide her anxiety as she walked the streets of York City. The last time she was here she was alone, heading to the docks to meet Caleb so he could transport her safely across the river. Before that it was her father, the same man whose permanent absence had now brought her back.
Their journey north took all of two weeks. Michael estimated that Charlie got barely an hour of sleep each night and was now running on nothing but sorrow and stale bread. She was thin, perhaps thinner than she had been when he first saw her at the Continental camp but he was somehow happy for that fact. If the bonnet she wore didn't cover her face so well he assumed people would be staring, expecting to see her stomach swollen simply because it was the only explanation for her not holding a baby in her arms. It was as if even brave women were only given courage, and permission, by the men in their lives. It didn't make sense for Charlie to leave on her own accord, just as it was now a bit perplexing to see her returning, all without a husband and child by her side.
When they turned the corner onto their block Michael paused to stand motionless with Charlie while she took in the brick building she used to call home. The street was almost untouched and the white paint around the home's door seemed brighter showing that even amongst the chaos her mother has insisted on propriety.
"Do you think she's home?" she coughed out, swallowing but still refusing to look to her brother.
Michael pulled his shoulders back and released an unsteady exhale. "Only one way to find out, eh?"
His question brought her back to the present. The hand Michael offered her differed from the upper arm she'd gripped all the way from the Jersey border. It was more intimate and as Charlie felt her brother's grip between her fingers she was made stronger by his resolve. For only a moment she felt guilty, wondering what thoughts plagued his surely indecisive mind. Perhaps the way he looked back to his sister was to catch a glance of the bright blue home on the other side of the street where he hoped Alice was unmarried and still living with her family.
Had they all survived?
Who else had this war claimed?
The questions were Michael's now but he shook them from his mind as they approached their childhood home. This time Charlie did not hesitate and when he stopped, frozen, she let go of his hand to knock on the door. Michael assumed a rush of courage pushed her there and he was thankful for that. If she didn't knock when she did he feared they'd never be granted entry to the home.
There was silence. Charlie didn't dare look to Michael almost afraid that taking her eyes off the bright red door would cause it to disappear. If it weren't for her heavy breathing Michael wouldn't have noticed his sister still standing by his side. She no longer wanted to hold his hand — this must have been just another thing she demanded that she do alone, as if preparing for the world she'd accepted she'd live in for the rest of her life.
When the door opened both siblings blinked. It was not their typical greeting as their mother, dressed in black but still looking as stunning as ever, greeted them stiffly. There was anger written across her face but that faded to shock, then sadness, before incensing itself to fury once more.
All at once the door was slammed shut. Michael and Charlie released the oxygen they'd been holding, causing their shoulders to drop in slight defeat.
"It's okay," Charlie reminded. "We expected that, right?" When Michael said nothing she turned slightly to look at him. "Right?"
He nodded swiftly. "Right."
"Do you think she's dismissed Grace? And Albert?"
Michael blinked, hard. "No...well, perhaps," he conceded.
"Should we—"
The door opened again. The woman standing there was not Charlie's mother but she might as well have been. Grace always wore dark colors so her appearance didn't display mourning in the way her mistress' had. Her eyes were also different, a bright white blurred behind a set of fresh tears contrasting with her dark complexion.
"Grace…" Charlie almost whispered.
"Miss Charlotte?" she croaked. "By God, chil', come in!" She took a step, grabbing for Charlie's small frame to guide her inside. As Charlie moved, Michael followed. It was in this moment that Grace placed a hand to the young man's shoulder, also greeting him. He noted the scent of freshly kneaded dough on her hands, giving him hope that not everything had changed since he'd left nearly three years ago.
Charlie's shock at seeing her childhood home as pristine as it had ever been caused her to fall into the old habit of giving her hat and shawl to Grace who, after years of performing the very same task, was warmed by Charlie's almost innate movements. Her vision was lost up the staircase before them where she could only assume her mother had traveled upon shutting the door.
"Are we...can we be here?" Michael mumbled. The somewhat arrogant boy that used to walk these halls was now a shy man, unsure of every step and breath.
Grace did not falter. "Yessuh, your mother requested I let you in."
"Why would she do that?"
"Well I 'magine she didn't wan' you standin' out on the stoop in the cold."
"She didn't want us to draw unnecessary attention," Michael guessed.
Charlie's eyes scanned the staircase. "Can she...is she okay here? They're not…
Grace must have understood the meaning behind Charlotte's words because she grinned and nodded. "She's fine. Several soldiers 'ave been by checkin' on her. Miss Stanley comes by almos' ever'day wit' pies an' flowers. No one knows what tuh say, but Mistress has 'ardly been alone."
Charlie wanted to cry but she forced a smile instead. With the foyer lacking sound again she shuffled, allowing Grace to guide them into the house's sitting room. The siblings teetered between kin and strangers, even as Grace walked away. She returned shortly thereafter carrying a tray of tea and scones. The warmth in the room and the familiar treats had both Michael and Charlie momentarily forgetting that they'd made conscious decisions to leave this place and how somehow since their departure and with a war being fought just outside, nothing seemed to have changed.
Grace disappeared again. Having swallowed her scone far more quickly than her mother would have found appropriate, Charlie clutched her cup of tea, thankful for many reasons that her and Michael were alone again.
"This is odd, no?"
Michael chuckled, relieved. "Yes. Unbelievably so."
"It's like...I'm just waiting for Father to walk in."
"Do you think they're all just living in denial?"
"I don't think Grace knows the meaning of the world. I don't think she'd allow Mother to live that way. She may be delicate in her care but...no, she wouldn't," Charlie settled.
"She said Mother wanted us here."
Charlie snickered before taking another sip of her drink. "Yes, well I'm still grappling with that one. That may have been kindness on Grace's part."
Michael could only manage a smile before they were interrupted again. Grace walked toward them, carrying two dresses that were once so familiar to Charlotte. Both were black with one made of a heavier cotton while the other had sleeves of silk. The cotton gown typically came with a soft gold skirt but without the item looked much like the frock her mother wore when she greeted them at the door.
Grace carefully placed both gowns on the settee before them. The garments floated up into the air before resting just as gently upon the cushions of the sofa.
Charlie swallowed, recognizing the dresses but not the girl who used to wear them. "Grace?"
Her lady's maid ignored her, instead donating her attention to an equally gobsmacked Michael. "Albert 'as already begun tuh press your suit, suh."
"My suit?"
"S'right," she nodded.
"Grace—" Charlie wanted to stand but found her crossed ankles giving in to the plushness of the Camel Back they sat upon.
"Your mother 'as called for the seamstress," she explained simply. "You look thin an' I can't possibly fatten you up 'fore tomorrow so I'm sure she'll have tuh at least take in the waist. Which one did you prefer, Miss?" she asked, gesturing to both gowns.
Charlie's mouth had fallen open. "Prefer for?"
"Your father's memorial dinner."
~!~
Upon his death, Charlotte and Michael's father was buried almost immediately. While the British and all loyalists began leaving the city in droves, Mrs. Grayford insisted on a night burial and arranged for her husband's coffin to be transported all the way from Smee Street to the cemetery off Bowery Lane just after dawn. With his title and rank, he was pulled in carriage with the selected soldiers acting as pallbearers only when they reached the gravesite. It was a solemn affair, Grace explained, but many attended.
It was well past midnight when Mrs. Grayford finally left. She'd spent several hours weeping upon her husband's casket and then several more hours in the carriage on the ride home. Her sorrow had her so exhausted, Albert had to help Grace retrieve her before a new day began.
The war didn't allow for the typical viewing. A small blessing was given before the burial but a priest wasn't even present at the cemetery. Friends came in waves but their presence passed without words. It was for this reason that Mrs. Grayford was hosting a memorial dinner, one that could now be properly attended by more comrades and the few members of their extended family that didn't feel it was safe to travel so soon after the surrender.
Charlie chose the gown with the lace sleeves. It did need to be taken in at the waist and still required ample stitching to fit comfortably beneath her black brocade petticoat. Grace helped Charlie into the frock just as she'd done so many times before. This all happened after she'd taken the time and care to give Charlie a bath, her first in months.
Even as Charlie's frail frame curled into itself she couldn't help but to sigh at the feeling of warm water cascading down her hair and onto her shoulders. When she stood and Grace helped to wrap her in a soft muslin blanket, Charlotte got the first glance of herself in the mirror near her armoire. She cocked her head to the side at the sight, even going as far as to take a now-drying curl and bring it over her shoulder, her eyes seeking out normalcy. She wondered if this was how she'd looked to Ben all these months or if the sallow cheeks and bony limbs were a more recent look she'd acquired on her journey northward.
Despite being aware of Charlie's hesitation, Grace paid it no mind. They were certainly on a time schedule but Grace also knew better than to pester the girl for details. She could see now in the way Charlie gazed at her lovingly and with so much appreciation that if it were possible, Charlie would have told her about her plans to leave. Grace didn't hold it against her especially considering the young woman had returned.
"Grace?" Charlie tried, still holding her blanket close. Behind her Grace twisted her locks, ringing out any remaining water.
"Hmm?" she asked as she leaned into Charlie.
"Can I...can I ask something?"
Grace smirked. "Uh course, chil'. What is it?"
Falling back into routing, Charlie lifted her arms as Grace helped her into her shift. Her clothes had been laundered upon her arrival, turning the garment white again. "It's, uh, you can't tell my mother." Charlie bit her lip. "Actually, you can't tell anyone."
Grace had already moved around Charlie, beginning to lace up the stay she held to her chest. "Alright then, girl. Out with it."
"It's about...well, there was this man...is this man," she corrected, now with burning pink cheeks. "We were...intimate, you see, and I…" She chuckled, releasing just a bit of nervousness. "It's silly because I think I know the answer but I just want to be sure…"
"When?"
Charlie swallowed and turned back to her. "Pardon?"
"When? When were you and this man intimate?"
"A...three weeks ago perhaps?"
"Just once?"
Charlie's cheeks somehow deepened in color. "Yes'm. Just once." Her voice was sheepish too. "But that's all it takes, right? Or is it many times?"
Grace couldn't help but to give a chuckle of her own. "If we're talking 'bout the same thing, then it's jus' once."
Charlie sighed. "Oh."
"Did 'e...finish inside o' you?"
Charlie's eyes widened. "I don't follow."
The lady's maid pursed her lips in amusement. The woman in front of her had far more education than she and yet when it came to certain things — the important things — she was utterly clueless and all because her world wanted her that way. "When you were done...when 'e was done," Grace tried, "did 'e pull out?"
"Well we hardly slept like that," Charlie deadpanned, earning a loud laugh from Grace.
"I only mean…"
"Oh!" It occurred to Charlie. "That stuff...it has to…" She looked back to Grace who was nodding. "Oh, thank God!" she let out, pressing a hand to her forehead in relief.
"Is that a no, then?"
"That's a no...oh, thank god he…" She giggled from behind the hands that covered her embarrassed face.
Grace was nearly done fastening Charlie's stay, all the while wearing a knowing grin. "Who is 'e?"
"Oh, he's...it's nothing," she shook off.
A bow was tied at the base of Charlie's corset, keeping it in place. Charlie was so thin the item almost lacked necessity. "He din' force 'imself on you, did 'e?"
"Oh, no...of course not."
"Was 'e a soldier?"
Charlie's nodded, suddenly feeling small. "A Major, yes."
"Our side or theirs?"
"Ours," Charlie assured. Grace said nothing so Charlie continued. "I don't think I'll ever see him again so it's not that I don't want to have his children I just don't want to raise a child alone."
Grace stepped into Charlie to drape the gown over her head. "Is he alright?"
As it fell, Charlie turned to her friend. "I don't know. I don't...I have this awful feeling that he's not." Grace was preoccupied so Charlie spoke once more, hoping to gain her attention once more. "I wanted to marry him."
"Oh?"
"And I think he wanted to marry me."
Grace only nodded.
"Please don't tell my mother," she pleaded, now almost in tears.
Charlie was dressed now, her curls untamed and frizzing around her face. Grace placed her hands to Charlie's cheeks and kissed the girl's forehead. "I would ne'er. It's none of my business but I can tell you care for this man an' I'm only sorry 'e's not 'ere with us now."
"I love him," Charlie croaked out.
"Love him?"
"Whether he's here or not...in this life or the next...I love him," she revealed steadily.
Grace beamed. "I believe you."
~!~
Charlie had supper in her room, once again feeling guilty for the plentiful meal she consumed, even if alone. Michael knocked but he left when she did not answer. She was doing her best to focus on her family now but he still felt as if he'd left a part of her in Yorktown and he wondered if he'd ever see that part of his sister again.
With her meal done, Charlie slipped into a stiff pair of heeled shoes. They contrasted greatly with the riding boots she'd worn the past few months. She almost felt unworthy to be wearing them, especially when she allowed the shoes to take her out into the hallway where just downstairs the party had already begun.
Descending the stairs Charlie held her petticoat in her hands, careful not to trip on the taffeta gown but also using the time to steady her breathing before she greeted the room. Already she felt people staring and though her conversation with Grace was a revealing one she didn't wish to share any details, no matter how chaste, with any guests. She couldn't even explain these things to Michael but that didn't stop her from seeking him out. An immense amount of relief washed over her when she found him carrying on in conversation with Alice's father. The pretty blonde was nowhere to be found but Charlie waited, sipping at her flute of champagne in an alcove until her brother finally passed by.
"Pssst!" she tried. The mix of alcohol and bubbles had her mind dizzy. "Michael!" she whispered, finally gaining his attention.
The bizarre look he gave his sister revealed that already he was falling back into his role here rather nicely. This was confirmed as he grabbed Charlie's arm and yanked her out into the hallway with him. Only the servants saw but as they walked toward the noise of the party, others stared, and not just because of their presence. Instead they watched the way Charlie wore a rather vacant, almost silly expression. Her posture was slouched and she smiled as if she were concealing a secret.
"How much have you had to drink?" Michael whispered as they moved to yet another couple wanting their attention.
"Enough," Charlie grumbled, leaning into him.
"You're being ridiculous."
"I'm ridiculous?" she slurred. "I needed to relax, Michael. I can't handle all of this attention. I just want—"
"Ben, I know," he sighed. "Well you're going to have to get over that...at least for tonight. Mother's going to—"
"Charlotte!" A voice practically sang as a figure sauntered toward them in a deep green and grey gown.
Charlie hadn't seen her aunt in many months but the sight of her, so sincere and welcoming, had the young girl swallowing the bit of sense she had left. As Lillian enveloped her niece in a hug she held on, whispering the same piece of news that motivated her to attend this gathering in the first place.
The sound of the truth had a rather sobering effect on Charlotte, who now blinked, an action that procured tears while also asking that they disappear. Her mouth dropped open too and she was only made to look like a casual participant in the conversation between Michael and their aunt.
"...Isn't that right, Charlotte?"
She blinked again, bringing herself back to the moment. "Hmm?"
"I said—"
"Are you sure?" she muttered. It was all too clear she was still lost in her Aunt Lillian's embrace.
Lillian forced a smile. "Darling, why don't we—"
"How can you be sure? I mean…" There was an unbelievable pressure in her chest and Charlotte suddenly felt nauseous. She looked around, searching for a chair but her vision was too blurred by the tears she had already started to cry.
"Charlotte, darling…" Her aunt's movements were not swift enough. Already Charlie was running for the stairs, stumbling in the process as the alcohol and shoes she wore provided for a severe lack of balance and overall sensibility. At the top of the stairs she hurried into her bedroom and slammed the door shut. If she had remained downstairs she would have felt the way everyone stared at her. She also would have seen the figure following her, the same one that opened her door and shut it just as quickly as she had done.
Very few words were exchanged between Charlie and her mother since her return and this didn't seem to be any different. Before Charlie could speak her mother was reaching out, raising her hand at the perfect angle so when it came into contact with her daughter's cheek the engravement on her mourning ring etched itself into the girl's face. It was largely overshadowed by the deafening sound of the slap and the sudden wave of heat that accompanied the crimson complexion Charlie wore. If her Aunt Lillian's words had her in disbelief this was a demand for her to return to sanity, even if her version of the world involved feigned smiles and other forms of pretending.
"How dare you!" her mother seethed. "This is not about you, Charlotte! This isn't even about me! This party is meant to honor your father and you've gone and made a fool of yourself and of this family!"
Charlie didn't say anything. She didn't even hold a hand to her cheek to placate the stinging skin. She deserved every ounce of regret being hurled her way. She was also still calmed by her aunt's news — still processing something so wonderful now that she'd started to believe it. Charlie even began to smile.
"And you're looking...happy?" Mrs. Grayford roared. "Have you lost your mind, girl? I raised you better than this! And I've welcomed you back into my home, your father's home, and this is how you show your gratitude? You're lucky I don't send you out on the streets tonight. Perhaps you'll find your sense there because God only knows the things your father and I have always tried to provide to you were never enough. You had a bath and a warm meal and you've slept in a feather bed and you still act as if there's something better out there. If that's what you believe then go!" Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. "Go, Charlotte!"
Her smile dwindled but Charlie showed no signs of movement. This only infuriated her mother more, and Charlie didn't blame her when she stormed out of the room, leaving the door ajar in her wake. There was shame for causing her mother so much pain but Charlie's mind was still elsewhere — back in Yorktown perhaps?
"Chil'?"
She looked up and tried to smile when Grace approached, bending to hold Charlie's face in her hands so she could access the damage. It was amazing to think that with all of the tension that existed in this house for so many years this was somehow the first time her mother had struck her.
"What is it, Miss Charlotte?"
"He's...he's alive," she explained brightly. All of the tears she'd been holding back bubbled out, and the bruising on her cheek was now stained with wetness that flowed so easily even her lips were covered. "Ben's alive."
Tooootaaallly thought I was closer to the end but there's actually 8 (I think) chapters left. Insane.
Thanks for reading? Review please? I'm like tinkerbell...I need applause to live.
x. Elle
