When Lucy was fielding offers for a teaching position, a small college in Ohio caught her eye. Small town life, quiet living…and a school where her mother's legacy, while known, wasn't constantly hanging over her head like a dark cloud looking to forever rain on her parade. It wasn't that her mother wasn't supportive, it was just that she was seemingly never satisfied with anything Lucy had ever accomplished.
She could always do better.
And so, when Lucy told her mother about the job offer that had come in from that tiny, no-name school in the Midwest, it was hardly surprising when her mother scoffed at the very idea of Lucy "selling herself so short." "Stanford" her mother had said, "was the only rational and clear choice." Lucy, however, disagreed. Though her mother's legacy had given that Department the prominence it enjoyed, Lucy knew that no matter what she had accomplished in her own right, she would never be allowed to revel in the satisfaction of her own achievements. Accepting the open position at Stanford would ensure that she would forever be held to the standard her mother had set…and more so, given that she was sure there would be some among her peers who saw her as nothing more than a coat tail rider; cashing in on her mother's legacy. Still, it was that legacy, her mother wished for her to carry on. No one else could possibly fill the void Carol Preston would leave behind when she inevitably retired from academia…or so her mother had told her over and over again.
Though Amy had told Lucy to forget Stanford and make her own future, Lucy couldn't help but remember when she had tried to do just that during her sophomore year of college. Singing had always been something of a passion, more so because it was something that was all her own as neither Amy nor her mother could carry a tune. When the opportunity arose to actually make a little money off of that passion, Lucy eagerly jumped at that chance only to find herself, hours later, trapped in a sinking car, absolutely kicking herself for being so reckless and irresponsible with her life.
From that moment on, she would err on the side of caution, wouldn't take unnecessary risks, play it safe.
Ohio wasn't reckless or irresponsible, but it wasn't part of the "plan" and so accepting that position was already something of a risk for her. While she had almost accepted the position, her mother's cancer diagnosis had come in and the thought of leaving the burden of caring for their ailing mother all to Amy was something she couldn't do. It was a sign, she believed, that her future was set. She had a responsibility, a duty…and so she took the position at Stanford, telling herself that if she worked hard enough and refused any special favors, she could become the professor she wanted to be and not just be known as "Carol Preston's daughter."
Despite her own and Amy's disappointment in the decision, Lucy busted her ass for years, had become one of the most popular lecturer's in the department, had believed she had actually made a name for herself and stepped out of her mother's shadow…but after years of hard work and a stellar record, she didn't even get tenure.
She had never felt like a bigger failure in all of her life.
Until now.
Lucy stood gaping at the wooden fortress that was Rufus' prison wishing to hell she had taken that job in Ohio and never looked back. If she had never written that journal, none of this would have ever happened. Flynn would never have stolen the time machine, Amy would have never disappeared, they would never have been stranded, Wyatt would have never been killed and Rufus wouldn't currently be awaiting his turn on the auction block.
If what Garcia Flynn had said about that journal was true, then yes, she was ultimately responsible for it all; Amy, Wyatt, Rufus…all of it.
How could she have failed all the people she loved most in this world?
Gripping onto Nicolas' arm as he ushered her away from the guardhouse, she pleaded, "S'il vous plaît. C'est toute la famille que j'ai qu ittée. Je ne peux pas le perdre.''
Nicolas looked down at her with the utmost sympathy, but looked utterly helpless to do anything more than apologize for her loss. Gently leading her away by the arm, he explained, ''Mon père voulait vous tuer tous les deux. C'était la seule façon d'épargner ta vie.''
Consumed with emptiness and failure, Lucy closed her eyes as a fresh stream of tears fell from her eyes, "Je pense que nous aurions préféré mourir."
''Les choses semblent sombres maintenant,'' he consoled softly, ''mais j'espère qu'un jour vous serez heureux à nouveau.''
Lucy let out a scornful laugh. Trapped in a century where she did not belong, witnessing Wyatt's death and Rufus' sentence into a life of bondage? How could she live with herself let alone ever be happy again? "S'il vous plaît...'' she begged, ''Je ferai n'importe quoi. Vends-moi... me tuer, je m'en fous... Ne blesse zassez pas Rufus.''
Nicolas stopped abruptly and shushed her, clearly sympathetic, ''Tu ne devrais pas parler comme ça. Vous devriez valoriser votre vie, Mademoiselle.'' he lectured her gently, ''C'est un monde nouveau, une nouvelle terre, pleine de promesses et d'opportunités''. As Lucy looked up at him doubtfully, he added, ''Je ferai tout ce que je peux pour m'assurer que vous êtes bien soigné et protégé, vous avez ma parole.''
As much comfort as she wished she could take in Nicolas' promise to look after her and see that she was safe, his words meant absolutely nothing. What did it matter what happened to her anymore?
Wyatt and Rufus were the only ones who understood.
They had become her family; they were the only ones who knew that she was supposed to have a sister named Amy, that the life she was living after that ill-fated Hindenburg mission was a complete lie. It wasn't just the missions and the job that tied them together, it was the risks they took, the things they knew, the secrets they were forced to keep. They were the only people in the world, except for Garcia Flynn, who weren't unknowingly living in an altered reality. Every time history changed, every event that didn't go off like it was supposed to, left them as the only witnesses to their known history.
And now they were gone…and she was utterly alone.
Well, she wasn't alone…the jeers from the French soldiers more than reminded her of that fact…but without Wyatt and Rufus, she had lost her only connections to the present, her only connection to a timeline with Amy, she had lost the last people on Earth, besides her mother, whom she wholly cared about.
And it was all her fault.
Why the hell did she even agree to these missions? She was nowhere near the world-class historian her mother was and Stanford had just made that perfectly clear. Ill-qualified and hardly able to even clamber inside the time machine without suffering massive panic attack and now Rufus' life - hell, their only chance at getting back to the present depended wholly on her?
It was like she was trapped in that sinking car all over again; she couldn't think, she couldn't breathe, an icy chill gripped at her heart the full weight of nearly paralyzing her with fear as she realized that there was no one to save them this time. It was all up to her…and she felt completely weak and helpless. She couldn't do this; she couldn't survive the 18th century on her own. A woman in her position, unmarried, unprotected? How would she even live? She couldn't own land, she had no rights, she had no means to protect herself.
And then there was Rufus…how was she going to save him?
Never before had a small wooden building looked so hopelessly impregnable as that tiny guardhouse.
This was a nightmare – it had to be.
Yet even as that thought crossed Lucy's mind, her sides screamed in agony as she was laced into a new corset, making her painfully aware that this hell she was currently living through was real. Gasping for breath, Lucy leaned forward as a new petticoat and skirt were offered up to her as well as a bed jacket and apron. Unlike the gown she had procured from Mason's collection, this outfit was plain and coarse, far more suited to the harsh conditions of frontier life than that had been. Once changed, the woman charged with her care, began attacking Lucy's curls with a bristled brush, yanking and tugging until Lucy's eyes were watering from the pain. Once satisfied that her hair had been essentially detangled, her hair was drawn up, away from her face, roughly secured with pins, and covered with a muslin scarf.
"Maintenant, vous avez l'air décent'' the woman tutted with a judgmental glare as she tossed her brush aside, ''Imaginez, marchant autour de la moitié habillé. C'est du jamais vu.'' Giving her one final glance over, the woman, seemingly satisfied with her work, roughly tugged at Lucy's arm and led her out of the one-room dwelling she had obviously called home and out to the open kitchen and laundry area beyond.
It was here that Nicolas had escorted Lucy, promising her that he would do everything in his power to make sure she was not left wholly unprotected. Located on the far side of the fort, this little alcove was home to servants and the handful of soldiers who had traveled to western Pennsylvania with their wives. Apart from the few rough dwellings, there was a small garden, kitchens and large washtubs and lines for laundry.
Here, among the few other women of the fort, Nicolas believed that Lucy would not only be kept safe from harassment, but that she would also "etre là où elle se sentait le plus à l'aise"…something that Lucy couldn't help but roll her eyes at. Yes, it was the 18th century and women's roles were horribly limited, but even if she was more comfortable in the domestic arts, this was hardly the kitchen and laundry room she was used to.
If Nicolas hoped that Lucy wouldn't face harassment here, among the people he thought she would be most comfortable, however, he was sorely mistaken. The moment Lucy stumbled out of the humble one-room abode, all eyes were on her, full of judgement and disdain, not a friendly face among any of them….and she had never felt more alone in all of her life.
As a woman with apparent "loose morals" and wavering "loyalties", she was essentially shunned. No one would approach her except to bark orders or insult her and while she had dealt with her fair share of bullies in the past, this was like nothing she had ever experienced before. The labor was back breaking. She was given a wash tub all to herself where piles and piles of shirts, stocking and underwear were left for her to launder. She was laughed at as she struggled to follow each instruction to the tee, unused to hand wringing clothes and cranking them through a press, her hands ached and her muscles strained until she was involuntarily shaking from the effort. As she limped her way through the camp, arms filled with clothes to hang, she was deliberately tripped or shoved which caused her to drop her load of freshly washed linens and start the process all over again.
By dinner time, she was both physically and mentally exhausted, too tired to even care that she was practically being mauled as she helped dish out stew to all of the soldiers and traders vying for a hot meal. She took little comfort in the fact that she was hardly the only woman on the receiving end of their attentions; the unmarried servant girls whom she was assisting, however, seemed to welcome their advances at times. And why not? In this era, catching a husband was one of the principle focuses of a woman's life. Having a husband meant you were protected, provided for, and allowed to at least share in the rights he enjoyed.
Still, there was a fine line between what was respectable and what was not and while these women were most definitely being flirted with, it hardly compared to the harassment Lucy was receiving. Her absence of attire upon arriving at the fort, the gossip that she had been traveling alone in the company of men, and the fact that she was more or less a prisoner all served to plant in each and every one of their minds that she was not much more than a harlot and should therefore, be treated as such.
Some of them grabbed at her waist, others nuzzled into her neck, a fair few came right out and made indecent proposals towards her and one man actually grabbed her by the arm attempting to lead her off, no doubt to force himself on her in a darkened corner somewhere, until Nicolas came rushing to her aid, waving off her harassers as she flushed with both anger and humiliation. With a gentle and kind hand, he ushered her over to a comfortable spot by the fire, giving her a blanket to warm herself with, apologizing once more for the behavior of his men, and offered her a hearty portion of stew, which she adamantly refused.
Nicolas frowned at her and attempted to coax her into eating a little something, reminding her that she had hardly eaten anything all day and needed to keep up her strength, but Lucy despondently shook her head as a few tears trickled their way down her cheeks.
She had no appetite.
The abuse she was receiving she more or less expected, and though it didn't make it any easier, the horrors she was experiencing were nothing compared to the absolutely dehumanizing situation Rufus was in. Locked away in that guardhouse like an animal, awaiting to be sold into a life of bondage with no hope whatsoever of being a free man again?
It made her sick.
But what could she do? If she had entertained any hopes of somehow rescuing Rufus, they were pretty much quelled after the day she had. Little more than a slave herself, there was not much she could do. She was being forced to do all the work that was typically shared among the other servants. Instead of assisting her, they mocked her, shunned her….and while she didn't mind being left alone, her every move was monitored, so that if she rested for even a moment, she was assailed with threats and abuses.
Even now, as she looked around the camp, the disdainful glares of soldiers and servants were turned towards her…and also Nicolas - particularly from Louis Coulon, himself…something she was quick to point out to him. "Ton père n'aime pas que tu sois gentil avec moi. Peut-être que tu ne devrais pas.'' she observed with a sigh, hating that she was brushing off the only person who had showed her any bit of kindness in the midst of all of her misery.
Far from becoming apprehensive or self-concious over the attention, Nicolas shrugged, ''Ma mère m'a toujours appris à traiter tout le monde avec respect... en particulier les femmes.'' He smiled, ''Mon père n'est peut-être pas d'accord, mais je ne peux pas déshonorer la mémoire ou les conseils de ma mère.''
Lucy nodded to him gratefully, but couldn't help but be concerned about the consequences his kindness could bring down upon him. As the commander's son he may have been afforded a bit more liberty than most others in his position, but it was that selectivity that Lucy worried about. Having been in a similar situation herself, she knew that perceived favoritism due to patronage could cause resentment, jealously and even in some cases, attempts at subterfuge. She, being a prisoner…particularly one who was suspected of being a British spy and getting cozy with the commander's son could lead to all kinds of trouble…for both of them. With that in mind, she attempted to warn him again with a solemn whisper, "J'apprécie votre gentillesse, mais je ne veux pas vous causer d'ennuis. Les gens peuvent se tromper d'idée."
Nicolas looked as if he was going to contend her point, but as he looked around the camp at the stares they were both receiving, he heaved out a sigh and made his way over towards his father. While Lucy was glad that he had taken the hint, the moment he got up to leave, she inwardly groaned, knowing that his absence meant that she was back on the proverbial meat market. As she looked around the camp fire at the other soldiers, jealous glares give way to wanton leers and she was hardly surprised to find that the men who had been crowding around her in the food service line were now hovering around her as she sat by the fire.
Feeling extremely uncomfortable, Lucy made to get up and leave, but she was immediately pulled down into her seat again by a not so friendly face who had taken Nicolas' spot next to her - the man who had shot Wyatt. Seething with absolute hatred for him, Lucy yanked her arm out of his grip and attempted to slide away from him, but the moment she moved, his hand tightly gripped her thigh keeping her essentially pinned in place. The stench of sweat and alcohol nearly overwhelmed her as he leaned over and muttered perversely in her ear, "Où pensez-vous que vous allez?"
Slamming her own hand down over his, Lucy glared at him as she wrenched his fingers off of her thigh, "Enlève tes mains de moi." she gritted out angrily, tossing his hand away from her. As he lunged for her again, Lucy darted sideways away from him which caused him, in his inebriated state, to tumble to the ground. As the men around the campfire laughed and jeered him, he made a furious lunge for Lucy again, but no sooner had he dove towards her than another man had wrapped his arms around Lucy's waist and pulled her onto his lap.
An eruption of cheers followed this as Lucy leaned forward, struggling against her new harasser who kept tightening his grip on her and pulling her backwards against his chest so that he could press kisses on the shell of her ear. Lucy wriggled and writhed in an attempt to loosen the hold he had on her, but it was no use. The moment she managed to break out of his hold, he grabbed her again, this time hauling her up in the air and dragging her away. Kicking and clawing at him now, Lucy desperately fought against him, knowing with a pang of dread that this was her life now. As an unprotected woman in the 18th century, with no one to watch over her, she was going to have to come to grips with the fact that fighting off harassment and assault would be a normal part of her life…or she was just going to have to accept what was increasingly seeming to be the inevitable.
Tired and exhausted as she was, she hardly had the strength to fight…and as the camp erupted in whoops and whistles, cheering while she was being slowly hauled away, she found she hardly had the will to. What was the damn point, anyway? Tomorrow it would be just more of the same…and the next day….and the next. They were never going to stop. She was outnumbered among people who didn't give a damn about her or her virtue…and since they already had more than enough reason to call that into question, why would they? As far as they were concerned she was a fallen woman and was just reaping the fruits of what she had sown.
She desperately rammed her elbow into the ribs of the man behind her but her efforts were in vain. Instead of loosening his grip, he only grasped onto her that much tighter, now trying to pin her arms down so she couldn't fight him as they made their way backwards through a sea of laughing and jeering soldiers. Frantically she threw all of her weight forwards and attempted to wriggle away, but her resistance was wearing thin as hopelessness began to overtake her. The whole thing seemed absolutely futile. There was no point to fight. Without Wyatt or Rufus, she couldn't survive here, without Wyatt or Rufus she would never get home…and even if she did - who knew what kind of present she would even come home to? With Flynn left unchecked, all of history would be completely torched and there was nothing she could do about it. There would be no saving Rufus, no saving history, no saving Amy…so why in the hell should she even try to save herself?
Figure out what you're fighting for and you'll be okay.
Wyatt's advice from what felt like so long ago, came hurtling back to her from across the centuries, as if he, himself, were urging her not to give in and give up. Tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered that awful day in 1945 Germany; how scared she had been, how she had wanted to quit…but Wyatt, sensing she was struggling, came in and helped her "get over the hump." Though this particular hump seemed insurmountable, the memory of Wyatt's comforting words of advice, filled her with the same conviction she had felt that day. What was she fighting for? She was fighting for Amy…and if she ever wanted to see her again, she couldn't give up. Amy was depending on her…and so was Rufus. How could she abandon them? How could she give up on them? She was their only hope. Their lives depended on her and though she hadn't the faintest idea as to how she was going save Rufus, she knew that she had to…not only to save him from a life of bondage, but to save both of them from this - their 18th century prison. They needed one another to get out of this mess and if she gave up now, they both might as well be dead.
With all the energy she could muster she fought against her captor once more, this time slamming her heel sharply into the man's shin until he loosened his grip, causing her to fall roughly to the ground. As she attempted to scramble to her feet, a group of cat calling soldiers descended upon her, and while she was determined to beat every single one of them off if she had to, Nicolas' arrival made it unnecessary. Once more, he quickly dispatched her harassers and angrily ordered the rest of the on-lookers to get on with their dinner, as he helped her to her feet.
Once the crowd had dispersed, Nicolas sighed and looked down at a dishelveled Lucy, "Tu vas bien?" he asked her breathlessly, obviously from rushing over to assist her. Lucy swallowed hard, too humiliated to even look at him as she nodded her head curtly. Hugging her arms around her protectively, Lucy made to limp back to her station fully prepared to endure a few more hours of harassment before she was finally released back into the care of the prudish woman charged with her care, but Nicolas stopped her. " Tu as l'air d'être blessé. Tu veux bien voir le docteur?''
Memories of the previous night came flooding back to her; the concern Wyatt had had over her ankle…his desire to take care of her and how it had been the reason he was ultimately killed. Though she tried to maintain her composure, she found herself choked with emotion and Nicolas, seeing this, took it to mean that she was in physical pain and insisted they stop. No amount of assurances from her would dissuade him and before she knew it, she was sitting outside the medical tent, while Nicolas ordered the doctor to examine her.
Lucy flinched in pain as the doctor held her unstockinged foot in his hand, rolling her ankle and pressing his fingers over the obvious areas of swelling. ''C'est une entorse.'' the doctor announced after a few moments, ''Elle devrait le tremper dans du vinaigre et l'envelopper dans du gruau jusqu'à ce que l'enflure diminue.''
Lucy scoffed at the prescription, insisting that she did not need vinegar or oatmeal around her foot to help it heal, but the doctor dismissed her with a wave of his hand and she soon found her ankle being slathered with a lumpy and revolting paste made up of oatmeal, vinegar and fat before it was wrapped tightly with a muslin bandage. As Nicolas handed her her shoe, he bowed slightly and observed, "Avec une blessure, tu devrais vraiment manger quelque chose. Tu as besoin de ta force."
"J'ai pas faim" Lucy answered with a roll of her eyes, wishing he would stop badgering her about eating. His attention and concern for her, while appreciated, was drawing more attention her way, even now as they sat together outside of the medical tent she could see several pairs of eyes fixed on them, observing their every movement, listening to their conversations, watching them. "S'll vous plaît,'' Lucy pleaded, ''laissez-moi tranquille. Je vais m'en sortir.''
Nicolas, however, was not deterred. Attempting a new strategy he asked, ''Tu mangerais quelque chose si tu dînais avec ton ami?''
Lucy's eyes darted to his in disbelief, hardly daring to believe what he was suggesting. "Rufus?" she breathed out, ''Tu vas me laisser voir Rufus?"
Nicolas smiled as he explained, ''Mon père m'a donné la permission de vous permettre de rendre visite à votre ami avant qu'il ne soit emmené demain.'' He frowned as he nodded solemnly at her, ''J'ai pensé que vous aimeriez dire au revoir.''
One last meal to say goodbye. The thought of seeing Rufus filled Lucy with unspeakable amounts of joy, yet the knowledge that she only had until the following day to break him out of that cell before he was sent off to the ends of the Earth to live out the rest of his days as a slave, sent her mind reeling. How could she do it? There was no way she could sneak him past the guards. No way she could slip him a weapon so that he could fight his way free.
This wasn't her skill set…it was Wyatt's.
Nicolas procured a pot of stew as well as some bread and cheese and motioned for Lucy to follow him towards the other side of the fort. Though her ankle still hurt, the supporting bandage made it less painful to walk on and she jogged slightly after him, desperate to see Rufus. As they got nearer and nearer to the guardhouse, Lucy wracked her brain for anything she could do to help him escape, but her mind was drawing an infuriating blank. She kicked herself for freezing up at such a time, she had fought at the Alamo, dammit…she was better than this.
But this…this was different.
This wasn't attempting to bring down the Hindenburg by pretending to be terrorists, this was breaking someone out of a fortress, surrounded by men with guns. Even if she did manage to somehow get Rufus out, how would they both escape? As the door to the guardhouse swung open, panic gripped at Lucy's heart as she realized that she had no plan to save them and this would probably be her only chance to try.
And she was blowing it.
The same horrid stench that assaulted her senses that morning, met her again as she stepped into the gloomy, low-ceiling room. The light of a small lantern flickered in the corner, casting long shadows on the floors and walls, giving the entire place an ominous feel…which only added to Lucy's desperation. Rufus was standing, shackled before her behind the iron bars of his prison, looking absolutely relieved to see Lucy. After the guard unlocked the door to his cell, Lucy charged forward and wrapped her arms around Rufus' neck, sobbing into it miserably, "I'm so happy to see you."
"You're happy to see me?" Rufus asked incredulously, "I'm happy to see you."
With shaking hands, Lucy ran her hands over Rufus' shackled hands, hating to see him in this state, "Are you okay?" she sobbed, "I'm so sorry."
"Hey." Rufus consoled, "It's okay, Lucy…don't; worry about me - I'm alright." he cleared his throat as he stepped back away from her, "You look like hell though.' he observed with a hint of concern in his voice as he took in her disheveled appearance, "what the hell did they do to you?"
Tears sprang to Lucy's eyes, but she dismissed his worry with a shake of her head, "I'm fine…Nicolas," she said as she motioned towards the French lieutenant, "has been…um… watching out for me." Rufus raised his eyebrows at her, clearly curious as to what "watching out for her" entailed, but Lucy rattled on, "He got permission from his father for me to see you. Are you hungry?" she asked as she motioned to Nicolas.
"Starving." Rufus admitted as Lucy handed over the tureen of stew and a loaf of bread. As he tore into the bread, he paused and looked at Lucy who was sitting against the wall, watching him, "Aren't you going to eat?"
"I'm not hungry." Lucy dismissed as her stomach rumbled loudly.
"Lucy," Rufus said with a disbelieving shake of his head, "you look like hell, you need to eat something." Lucy shook her head again, but Rufus pushed the soup towards her, "Eat." he demanded, "or I won't." Sighing heavily, Lucy humored him, taking several bites of stew before she grimaced and handed it back to him. "What?" Rufus asked, "isn't it any good?" He sniffed at it and tried it himself, "Tastes fine to me." He observed, but noted that Lucy was looking a little green, "What's wrong?" he asked in concern, "Are you sick?"
"Nothing is wrong with me." Lucy maintained, but her stomach was turning…not from any illness, but from disgust. Having dished out countless bowls of that stew all while being assaulted left her unable to even smell it without feeling those roving hands all over her body. "I'm just not hungry."
But as she said that, her stomach gave another loud rumble and Rufus scoffed, "Yeah, right." Tearing off a piece of bread and cheese, Rufus handed it to her, "You are a terrible liar, Lucy Preston. Eat." Relenting with a sigh she nibbled on the bread and cheese, leaning her head against Rufus' arm as he dipped some of his own bread in the stew. "So," he asked as he wiped his mouth, "you gonna tell me why you look like you had one too many romps in the hayloft?"
Lucy glared at him, but let out a derisive laugh, "Don't worry….like I said…Nicolas has been watching out for me."
Rufus cast his eyes towards the French officer, offering him a grateful smile before turning to Lucy with concern, "He's not going to be able to watch out for all the time, Lucy." he said quietly.
She nodded, fighting back the tears as she admitted, "I know."
"Then what's the plan? How are we gonna get out of here?"
"I don't know." Lucy blurted out in tears as she shifted her gaze to the floor, "And we're running out of time. Nicolas told me they are sending you away tomorrow…I don't know where." she gasped out, "I keep trying to think of a way to get you out of here, but Rufus…I'm not Wyatt" she cried out desperately, "I don't know the first thing about breaking someone out of prison."
"That's bullshit and you know it, Lucy." Rufus countered, "On our first mission you took off your damn bra so that Wyatt could pick that lock."
"I don't have a bra, Rufus!" Lucy hissed, "Besides, even if I did, I don't know how to pick a lock…do you?"
Rufus shook his head, frustration and despondence written all over his face, "No." he admitted glumly, "but if my choices are: be sold as a slave or stay up all night trying to pick a damn lock, you better believe I'm gonna be up all night trying to pick a damn lock."
Lucy covered her face with her hands, feeling like an enormous failure. Rufus was depending on her to save him from the auction block and all she did was bring him dinner. She knew she was running out of time, she knew at any moment her visit would be over…and with it, all hope of ever leaving the 18th century. "I'm sorry, Rufus. I don't have anything that can help us." Lucy sobbed, "I don't know what to do."
Feeling guilty for making her cry, Rufus nudged her, "Hey…don't….I mean, I don't know what to do either." he admitted. "And as much as I don't want to give up my freedom…I think I'm more worried about leaving you here to fend for yourself." Lucy looked up at him with red rimmed eyes as Rufus looked at her desperately, "What the hell is gonna happen to you, Lucy?"
She didn't have an answer for that, hell, she didn't even want to think about what the next day would bring with Rufus gone. Turning to him pitifully, she wrapped her arms around his neck and cried, "I don't know…I just know I can't lose you too."
"You're not gonna lose me, Lucy." Rufus declared firmly, "We'll figure this out, okay? Okay?" he asked as he pulled away from her, waiting for her to nod in acknowledgment. "We're not gonna let this century kick our asses…you got that?" Lucy nodded and as she did tendrils of her hair fell from her bun and became plastered against her wet cheeks. As she swiped away her tears and went to tuck her hair back into place, she froze when her fingers grazed one of the pins securing her bun. Suddenly, she was transported back to that cell in 1937 New Jersey.
Piece of crap old lock.
Can you open it?
Oh yeah, easy with a hairpin, which I'm guessing you don't have.
"My hairpin!" Lucy gasped as she yanked it loose and slid it into a confused Rufus' palm, "Remember? Wyatt had to use my underwire on the lock because I didn't have a hairpin."
As realization dawned on Rufus' face, the French guard announced that Lucy's visit was over. Wrapping her arms around him once more, she whispered, "Get yourself out of here…don't worry about me. I'll make it out somehow."
"I'm not going to leave you." Rufus maintained, but Lucy shook her head at him desperately, pleading with him silently to save himself. As the guard pulled Lucy away from Rufus, he called out to her, "Wait…Lucy…how will we find each other again?"
Stumbling out of his cell, Lucy turned to look at Rufus as the two French soldiers flanked her and led her out of the guardhouse. Standing on her tip toes, she peered over their shoulders toward her friend and pilot blurting out, "The Lifeboat," before the guardhouse door snapped shut behind her.
As Nicolas led her back to her own prison, Lucy silently prayed that Rufus would be successful, that he would escape…and that somehow, she could find him again. Their old camp site wasn't the greatest of options given that it was where they had been captured before, but that was precisely why Lucy had chosen it. Their supplies were there…and so was the time machine. Rufus could hole himself up inside the Lifeboat while he waited for her to arrive, completely hidden and protected from the French soldiers and any other problems that might come along.
But that wasn't the only reason she had chosen that as their rendezvous point.
The thought of Wyatt, lying there…alone…in the middle of a lonely wilderness with no one to mourn him or give him a proper burial, absolutely broke her heart. He didn't deserve that and while she wasn't sure she could handle seeing his maimed body after several days out in the forest, she couldn't bear the thought of not honoring his remains.
As a soldier, as a friend…he deserved no less.
''J'espère que tu te sentiras mieux maintenant.'' Nicolas' voice called her from her thoughts.
"Hmm?" Lucy startled. They were standing outside the home of the prudish woman he had charged with her care. She had completely forgotten he was walking beside her, had hardly even noticed where she even was. Coloring slightly, Lucy nodded, "Oh…um…ouais. Merci de m'avoir laissé le voir.'' she said with a smile, ''C'était exactement ce dont j'avais besoin.''
Yes, it was exactly what she needed. Seeing Rufus? Giving him a chance to escape? Her heart felt about a million times lighter than it had and for the first time since Wyatt was killed, she felt hope.
Looking absolutely pleased with himself, Nicolas nodded, "Je suis content de l'entendre. C'est bon de te voir sourire." he murmured softly, his face slightly flushing as he raised her hand to his lips, "J'espère que vous avez une agréable soirée."
Lucy gaped at him, hardly knowing what to do or even say as he bowed to her again and then turned on his heel and walked away. She was grateful for his kindness, but she thought it had come from a place of gentlemanly respect. Now, however, she was wondering if he might be harboring a little crush…and while she was flattered, she couldn't help but feel guilty. She was plotting against him and his father, after all, using his kindness as a means to break Rufus out of jail…and while she absolutely did not regret it, she knew that he would probably bear the brunt of her treachery when it was discovered that Rufus had escaped.
She couldn't think about that right now, however.
Right now she needed sleep and given that she was sure the next day would be just as grueling as this one, she preferred to do that sooner rather than later…not that she would sleep well.
Nicolas, considerate as he was, understood that Lucy would be a target for harassment and therefore arranged for her to spend her evenings under the watchful care of an elderly servant, Madame Auclair, who served as a type of chaperone for the other unmarried women of the camp. Disciplined, pious with a bristly personality, she was not a woman to cross and as Lucy came through the door, she knew with one look that she was in for a tongue lashing.
It was well past curfew and as Lucy was already suspected of being not much more than a harlot, the judgement heaped upon her was strong as she was handed her bed clothes and lectured on how "twilight was the devil's playground." Stepping behind the screen to change, Lucy tried to tune out the harsh rebukes still being thrown her way, but when Madame Auclair screamed out in fright and began crossing herself uttering up prayers of deliverance, Lucy stumbled out from behind the screen, her night gown completely askew, and bore the brunt of even more accusations. "Jézabel !'' she gasped out in affronted disgust, ''Des hommes rôdent devant notre maison à cause de toi.''
Lucy bristled at the notion that she had brought the soldiers to their door. It wasn't like she asked for them to harass her every hour of the day, but she knew, given the glares of judgement from the other women crowded around the small table in the center of the room, that it would do no use to argue. Muttering an apology, even though she had no idea what she was apologizing for, Lucy took her spot on the stool next to the fire as prayers were read before they all retired to sleep.
There were only two full sized beds in the room already occupied by three women each. Lucy, as the newcomer and "harlot" was relegated to the loft above…which was really nothing more than a low-ceilinged shelf accessible only via ladder. Lucy's chest tightened as she made her way up the rickety ladder, noting with mounting anxiety how low the loft actually was. Bumping her head on the ceiling as she sat on the thin mattress attempting to get herself under the covers, Lucy let out a shaky breath, willing her anxiety to fade away, reminding herself that at that very moment, Rufus could be working his way out of his shackles...and it was with that thought, the thought of Rufus gaining his freedom, that she finally drifted off into a fitful and dreamless sleep.
As Lucy suspected, the next day brought with it the much of the same horrors, though instead of laundry, she was relegated to the much more isolated kitchen – Madame Auclair's attempt at keeping her new charge "away from temptation." Though she had never been comfortable in the kitchen…even less so in rustic settings…Lucy found this arrangement much more agreeable even if it was meant to be a punishment for her.
Tucked away in the kitchen, Lucy was tasked with washing and cutting up vegetables, kneading and baking bread…and while she was definitely neither a cook nor a baker…she found that after a few tries, she was managing fairly well. Of course, she had help…and while none of the other women wanted to talk to her, when it was clear Lucy hadn't the first clue of what she was doing, they had to get over their indignation at her "immorality" and lend a hand, lest they all bear the wrath that would surely come over a ruined meal.
Apart from instructing her here and there, however, the women mostly left her alone…which didn't bother Lucy one bit. Less talking meant that she had more time to think – and she had plenty to occupy her thoughts.
First and foremost on her mind was escape…and how she could possibly manage it given that every gate was manned by a minimum of four soldiers night and day. Second, of course, was Rufus…and whether or not he had been successful in his own escape attempt. Being in the kitchen, while good in that she was shielded somewhat from the harassment she faced the previous day, had her cut off from the goings on in the fort at large. If Rufus had somehow managed to sneak out, she had no knowledge of it – no alarm had sounded, no general excitement was in the air…at least none that she was aware of.
By late afternoon, Lucy was getting a little anxious. Surely if Rufus had gone, there would be some indication, some concern, some alarm raised throughout the fort…but every time she managed to peek outside, there was nothing to suggest that anything out of the ordinary had happened. She needed to find out, she needed to know and so when it was announced that more water was needed for boiling, Lucy promptly volunteered to go. Hardly trusting her to leave the confines of the fort alone, she was accompanied by a few other servants, each of them burdened with a yoke and two buckets.
Even without the added weight of water weighing it down, the yoke was heavy. She stumbled through the camp, ignoring the jeers from some of the more depraved soldiers as she sought to balance it neatly on her shoulders. It was a difficult task, one that would have been challenging under normal circumstances, but with her ankle, sore as it was, it became even more so.
She struggled as she made her way through the back gate and down the sloping path to the Monongahela river beyond. The afternoon was beautiful, but there was a heavy scent in the air which indicated a storm was soon on its way. The docks were bustling and crowded today, with many boats tied to the short pier and many crates being carried into the main gate of Fort Duquesne. It was obvious a shipment had come in and with it, hosts of traders, some Natives, but mostly French trappers and hunters, covered from head to toe in pelts and furs, mingled and bargained with one another all along the river's edge.
As she limped her way down to the shoreline, she groaned as she lowered the yoke to the ground and unhooked the first bucket. While the other ladies chattered away in French, filling their own pails, Lucy took the time to stake out the exterior of the fort, taking note of any vulnerability, any blind spot that she could possibly use to her advantage. While the fort's defenses were formidable, they weren't without defects…and she knew that if Fort Duquesne had one Achilles' heel, it was its low-lying position which made it susceptible to flooding. If a storm was indeed on its way, and if it was bad enough…maybe she could slip out somehow.
She was just lowering her second bucket into the swift flowing Monongahela when she chanced a look up to the pier and saw to her horror, Rufus, still shackled, and being led onto one of the waiting boats tied at the dock. Not able to contain her fear and panic, Lucy abandoned her bucket and sprinted towards him, battling her way through crowds of traders as she screamed, "Rufus! Rufus!" All eyes were on her as she clawed her way through Indian traders and fur trappers, she could see Rufus craning his neck to look for her as she screamed out his name, but it was no use, no sooner had she broken through the throng of people at the river side then she was roughly apprehended by the French soldiers and roughly dragged away from the water's edge. She could hear a commotion going on behind her, and she half hoped it was Rufus fighting back, but she knew even if he did, there was little chance that he would escape now.
Devastated and heartbroken, Lucy cried bitterly as she was carried back into the fort, fighting against the soldiers with every ounce of energy she had left until the scene she was making drew the attention of Louis Coulon, himself. "Qu'est-ce qu'elle a fait maintenant?" he barked out in anger over the din of murmurs and jeers from a growing crowd of soldiers and on-lookers.
''Si vous voulez, monsieur, '' one of the soldiers responded importantly, ''elle a essayé de s'échapper.''
Lucy tried to explain through her tears, that she hadn't tried to escape at all, but her clarification was interrupted by the now furious commander, "Silence! J'en ai assez de tes mensonges." he spat out forcefully. ''J'ai épargné ta vie, t'ai donné à manger, mis un toit sur ta tête, je t'ai habillé et c'est comme ça que tu montres ta gratitude?'' He turned towards a shame-faced Nicolas, "Je t'ai dit qu'on ne pouvait pas faire confiance à cette femme." With a spiteful glare, he nodded to the guards as he ordered, "Vingt coups de fouet"
"Non, père... s'il vous plaît, être raisonnable.'' Nicolas pleaded.
"J'ai été plus que raisonnable." he responded roughly. ''C'est une traîtresse et une espionne.'' He pointed roughly at his son, "Vous avez demandé d'épargner la vie de cette femme et je l'ai fait, mais je ne tolérerai pas ce manque de respect. Nous devons lui donner une leçon.''
''Ayez un peu de compassion.'' he pleaded again.
"Je n'ai aucune compassion pour les espions. C'est la guerre, mon fils. Les traîtres doivent être traités sévèrement." He nodded to the guards once more, ''Vingt coups de fouet."
That order, followed by laughter and cheers from the crowd, should have elicited some kind of reaction from her, but Lucy felt nothing; nothing but a horrifying sense of emptiness and hopeless isolation. With Rufus gone, there was no way to escape out of this hell and therefore…no more reason to fight. All of the determination and conviction she had felt earlier all but disappeared as she was led to the flogging post in the middle of the fort. She didn't care about their plans to whip her into submission, she was already completely broken and beaten down. They had taken everything from her…Wyatt, Rufus, her freedom and now…her dignity…what did anything matter anymore? Slumping against the post with angry tears streaming down her face, she clenched her eyes shut and waited for the first of twenty stinging blows.
But they didn't come.
Instead, shouts from the crowd, growing louder and more frightened, sounded all around her and though Lucy wasn't really in a position to do anything about whatever it was that had caught their attention, her curiosity got the better of her. Peeking one eye open, Lucy found that the crowd's attention, which had been wholly focused on her, was now anything but – every single soldier was pointing and shouting towards the far wall of the fort which she could now see was now consumed in a billowing cloud of black smoke.
Fire.
As chaos erupted throughout the fort, Lucy was left alone to struggle against her bonds. She may have lost all hope, but there was no way she was going to let this opportunity pass her by. She had nothing left to lose, after all...and she had no idea when another chance to escape would present itself and if she could somehow get to Rufus…it would be worth it. Gritting her teeth, she wriggled her wrists against the coarse rope, causing her skin to chaff and burn from the effort. When she finally managed to slip one wrist out, a rumble of thunder overheard had her working double time to loosen her other. The fire might keep the soldiers occupied for a while, but if nature was going to help their efforts in extinguishing the blaze, she didn't have any time left to lose.
With a gasp of pain, she wrenched her wrist free, grimacing as the cords cut into her skin, causing her to bleed. Cradling her wrist in her hand, she ran blindly to the opposite end of the fort, the black smoke coupled with the darkening clouds overhead making it nearly as dark as night. She stumbled towards the back gate, her sore ankle making her progress slower than what she would have otherwise liked. When she arrived there, however, she found that her exit was blocked by a large group of servants laden with water buckets who were making their way out to the river in an heroic attempt to save the fort.
Far from being discouraged, it gave Lucy an idea.
Rushing to the nearby kitchen, she scanned the shelves for a bucket of her own, but everything appeared to have already been taken…everything, that was except the cooking pot. Using her apron as a mitt, Lucy lifted the pot from the fire, dumping its contents over the hard-packed floor, hardly caring that the meal she had spent all morning helping to prepare lay ruined at her feet. The handle was hot though and her apron was thin – she was going to need something to help keep it from burning her fingers. Her eyes darted around the tiny room, finally falling on a heap of cloth covering half of a freshly baked loaf of bread…that was just in the process of being sliced. Scooping up the knife and dropping it into her apron pocket, Lucy readjusted her grip on the pot handle and made her way back out towards the gate.
The wind was blowing stronger now, the storm clearly only moments away from bombarding the fort with a deluge of rain. While the heavy showers would undoubtedly assist the French in their efforts, Fort Duquesne and its vulnerable position on the low-lying peninsula between the Ohio and Monongahela rivers was prone to flooding. If Lucy wanted to make a break for it, it had to be now.
Outside of the kitchen, everything was in upheaval. Soldiers were shouting and scrambling from place to place as the wind carried the fire to other areas of the fort, threatening to consume the whole. The gusts of wind were blowing smoke, ash and debris into the garrison making their efforts to stop the spread of the flames…and well, extinguish them in general…challenging. The smoke and the ash made it difficult to see clearly and even harder to breathe, even Lucy's eyes were stinging and watering with irritation as she made her way towards where she knew the back gate to be.
She hadn't gotten very far when she ran headlong into a soldier who was racing towards the fire. Toppling to the ground, the pot she had been carrying fell out of her hands and rolled off to the side. She was just about to scramble back to her feet and retrieve it when a gentle hand was reached out to her, "Je t'ai cherché. On doit vous mettre en sécurité."
Lucy shook her head, "No, Nicolas." she said with grim determination, "Je ne resterai plus ici."
Nicolas looked back at her in confusion momentarily before he was attacked and roughly shoved to the side by another soldier, who looked down at Nicolas fallen figure with utter disdain, "Consorting avec l'ennemi?"
Taking that as a cue to leave, Lucy quickly scrambled away only to find herself roughly gripped by the waist and flipped onto her back. "Où pensez-vous que vous allez?" the soldier gritted out angrily before adding with a wanton leer, '' Je n'en ai pas encore fini avec toi."
Peering through the thick clouds of smoke, Lucy could just make out the sneer of the man who had shot and killed Wyatt. He was roughly attempting to pin her arms, as he pressed himself on top of her, but Lucy was too desperate now. With a sharp kick upwards, she incapacitated him enough to flip back over and crawl away when he made a grab for her again. "Let me go!" she shrieked out, kicking back with her foot again, stretching her arm forward until her fingers grazed the edge of the pot. The metal was still boiling hot to the touch, but she was not deterred; as far as she was concerned, this was her last chance at escape and she was going to take it. Grasping the handle roughly in her hand, Lucy let out a painful yelp as she flipped herself over swinging the pot with her as she did so until it made contact with the head of the soldier who had her pinned to the ground. Gripping at his face in pain he let her go long enough so that she could scramble to her feet and make a run for it. "Arrêtez-la! Elle s'échappe!" the soldier cried out to a few French soldiers racing to his assistance. Lucy made one quick glance behind her to see three of them wrestling each other in frantic confusion before tripping over themselves to get at her.
In sheer desperation, Lucy sprinted as fast as she could out of the fort and towards the river. If she had to swim for her freedom…so be it. Though thunder was booming and lightning was streaking across the sky, she hardly cared…Rufus was somewhere on this river and this could be her one and only chance at finding him - dangerous conditions be damned. She had just stumbled into the Monongahela, the icy water swirling around her knees causing her dress to billow out around her, when she was nabbed from behind once more, her captor wheezing and coughing as he dragged her back to the shore. Undeterred, Lucy reached into her apron pocket and grasped onto the knife, determined to use whatever means necessary to save herself….to save Rufus. With a rush of adrenaline and fury she spun around, falling slightly as she did so and drove the knife into the forearm of the solider who had come racing out to apprehend her.
With a hiss of pain, he quickly dropped her as he grasped at his arm. Shoving him roughly away from her, Lucy made to rush into the river again until the soldier shouted after her in a voice that was oddly and impossibly familiar, "Dammit, Lucy! What the hell? It's me!"
With a sharp intake of breath, Lucy turned slowly. It couldn't be…she saw him die….yet….there he was, standing before her, dressed as a French soldier…and looking absolutely pissed. Stumbling backwards from the shock, Lucy nearly fell into the river gaping at the man whom she believed was lost forever. As a steady rain began to fall all around them, Lucy shook her head in disbelief, hardly able to breathe, hardly able to even articulate a sound except for the small squeak that escaped her as she gasped out in complete incredulity, "Wyatt?"
Notes:
I had 8100 words written on this a little over two weeks ago and it has taken me that long to get the last bit of this chapter written out for you (it's at a little over 9500 words). I apologize for that - with school starting we've had lots of meetings and events. (yes, even though I homeschool - we still have them for co-ops and extra-curriculars).
I wanted to give you a whole chapter from Lucy's point of view...and don't worry...you'll be getting Wyatt's POV in the next chapter...what happened to him, why it took him so long to get to her etc. I expect as we move past all of these "start of the year" things life will calm down again and I won't be leaving you hanging for so long.
I hope you enjoyed this update! Thanks so much for your patience!