Despite Wyatt's missive that she get some sleep, Lucy's mind was far too preoccupied with the events of the evening to even begin to entertain that as an option. Pacing in her bedroom, she thought over every single solitary thing that had transpired since dinner – the ambush, the trek through the unrelenting rain, the letters she now held in her hands…and the knowledge that she had kissed Wyatt all fought for precedence in her over-worked mind as she worked herself into a near frenzy before the fireplace.
They had nearly been killed….by a raiding party looking for a murderer… and while a supposition had begun to grow in her mind, Lucy was stubbornly determined not to allow it to take root.
Because Wyatt hadn't murdered anyone.
Instead, she tried to concentrate on the letters he had procured for her, but the very fact that she had them put her in mind that Wyatt had taken it upon himself to save them for her. It shouldn't have mattered…he was her teammate after all. This was part of the mission, but she found that holding those letters, even now, she was about as giddy as her high school self when Michael Garrison had asked her to the prom. Michael Garrison who had only asked her to the prom to make his ex-girlfriend jealous – who, in the end, left her dateless, miserable and embarrassed…so much so that she opted instead to go to the debate tournament instead.
Which was precisely why she was kicking herself for getting so worked up over Wyatt.
So, he had stolen her a few letters? That absolutely did not mean anything. It wasn't like he was professing his undying love for her because he had clandestinely defied Mrs. Poe. This was just part of the job, the mission…and dammit, she needed to remember that also included her. This marriage was a cover, a sham…a continuing farce that they needed to play in order to survive out here. It was literally life or death…and as he had repeatedly made it clear that nothing would induce him to ever…well, for her own ego's sake she needed to remember that when faced with the prospect of sticking it out in 1754 or taking that risky, blind and probably suicidal jump to 2016, Wyatt had, without hesitation, chosen the latter.
Well, so had she…but that…that was different. She had been thinking of Amy.
Wyatt, she knew…was thinking of his misery.
She couldn't help but remember his heartbreaking pronouncement there in that battle-torn hell of the Alamo. "What difference does it make? Everybody I care about is gone." He had been so ready, so determined to end his own life, to sacrifice himself…because he had no one. But he did…maybe Wyatt didn't feel anything for her, but she could not let him risk everything when, at the moment she realized he would be lost to her forever, she realized…she loved him. It didn't make any sense…she hardly knew him then…but sitting there in the midst of cannon fire and bullets, she just knew that there was no one else in the world she trusted or needed more than Wyatt Logan.
She had tried to tell him then that he mattered to her, that she would be lost without him…that she needed him…and Wyatt, she knew, thought she was just appealing to his sense of duty. His obligation to her and to Rufus, superseded his own despair…for the time being anyway. But when they were left stranded here and Rufus gave them those billion to one odds of survival, Wyatt unsurprisingly agreed to take that risky jump - going so far as to look at her as if daring her to dissuade him from his recklessness again.
And what could she do?
After defending him to Homeland Security, after pleading with him at the Alamo, declaring that he made the right decision ever time? She had betrayed his trust. Flynn and that damn journal had given him every reason in the world to regret that he ever listened to her. Was it any wonder then that he had opted so readily to take a most likely suicidal risk over the prospect of living it out with her and Rufus in 1754? The odds were not at all in their favor, she knew…but she also knew that without Wyatt, there was no use trying here anyway. If he was willing to die trying to get home because he just didn't give a damn anymore, she was going to have to remember what it was she was fighting for and make her own decision…and she?
She was fighting for Amy.
Though she was terrified at the prospect of flying home blind, with a billion to one chance at survival should Mason not find the Protocol, she knew that if she gave up now, Amy would really be lost to her. As scared as she was, agreeing to try was the easy part. The hard part was the waiting…while all of history went to Hell around her. Watching helplessly from the sidelines as events changed? Knowing that somewhere out there Flynn was roaming unchecked? There was nothing she could do but wait…and as waiting also involved living with, sleeping next to and falling even harder for one Wyatt Logan she was pretty much convinced that hurtling blindly through time and space would be more far more appealing than the torture she was currently living through.
Resigned to her fate, Lucy flopped down on the bed and fluffed up her pillow behind her back, determined to try to figure a way out of the mess they were in…sleep would just have to wait. Rumpling open the letter she hadn't been able to finish downstairs, Lucy read back over the promise de Contrecœurhad made to Louis Coulon - 2000 troops to Duquesne…400 more than what was supposed to be sent there and several months too soon. She could almost hear Wyatt in her head, telling her that a few hundred troops wouldn't make much difference, but even so, history had changed…again…and she wasn't quite sure what the ramifications would be.
Her anxiety already heightened, she read on…finally getting to the portion that she had been kept from reading and found herself…disappointed. Far from being chock full of French battle plans and troop movements, de Contrecœur, spent the rest of the letter showering Louis Coulon with undulating praise for his efforts in the region going so far as to recommend him to a position in Canada. Rolling her eyes, Lucy was about to toss the letter to the side when she was struck by the letter's closing statement, "…and maybe, God-willing, with our combined forces we can finally exact vengeance upon those who have caused you to suffer so grievously."
Lucy paused, biting her lip, as that same suspicion form earlier that night, once again took root in her brain. The more calm, rational side was telling her that this was just an assurance from one military commander to another that their enemies (in this case, the British) would be taken care of in the coming war. Nothing at all unusual or anxiety-inducing in that, right? Except that the other part of her brain, the part that had her riddled with worry was reminding her that some of the men who had attacked them this evening were looking for a murderer and…
"No." Lucy dismissed, shaking her head, "It can't be. No…he wasn't the one who…" But even as she attempted to bat those dark thoughts away, the memory of Wyatt fleeing with her from the French fort came rushing to the forefront of her mind. The shot that rang out, Nicolas crumpling to the ground…and those cries…those screams that called after them….
"Wyatt didn't kill him." Lucy gritted out to no one but herself as she tossed that letter to the side and picked up a stack of others, determined to not feed into her anxiety and paranoia. More than anything, she hoped that these next letters might offer something in the way of distraction – camp gossip, political intrigue…anything to keep her mind from dwelling too much on the possibilities of why they were ambushed as they were. However, once again, she found herself disappointed. Not only were these notes devoid of anything remotely interesting, but they were also hardly legible – merely order forms and supply lists, smeared undoubtedly by the rain. Still it was something…and Lucy, still too anxious to put the letters to the side and attempt to get some much needed sleep, read on…but soon her eyelids began to feel heavy, her head began to droop, and she could no longer ignore the soft drumming of the rain outside her window, nor resist the downy softness of her pillow. Sleep, finally, mercifully came.
Though it was short-lived.
It felt as though she had only closed her eyes for a fleeting moment before they blinked open again to find the early morning rays of sunshine streaking through her window. It was clear she had obtained a few hours of sleep, at least, but somehow, she felt even more tired than she had the previous evening. Groaning, she rolled onto her side, desperate to re-enter the world of dreamless bliss, but already she could hear the sharp rebukes of Mrs. Poe from the down the hall…and she knew there would be no chance to sleep in today.
Sighing heavily, she sat up in bed – yawning and tossling her hair as she reached for the last of the letters that were still laying by her side, figuring that she might as well spend the little time she had left of peace and quiet to finish reading. She had just unfolded one letter when another one, still sealed…and a bit damp, fell into her lap. It was very thin and small…and Lucy concluded that it must have gotten wet and stuck fast to the larger one the night before, causing it to go unnoticed. Curious, she broke it open, gasping as she noted that it was an unread response from Louis Coulon to de Contrecœur.
With her anxiety mounting again, Lucy carefully unfolded the letter, her eyes darting back and forth, murmuring in both French and English as she perused its contents. She groaned as yet another change in history had made itself apparent. De Contrecœur was apparently now at Duquesne and Louis Coulon was leading his 2000 troops on a reconnaissance mission near Greensburg. His thanks for allowing him such an honor made up the first half of the letter and while Lucy was beside herself with that change to history, it was nothing to how she felt as her eyes fell upon the next line.
"The death of my brother was a great sorrow to me, but a brother's loss is not so grievous as that of a…son's." Lucy's eyes widened in alarm as she anxiously scrambled out from underneath the covers, pacing the room as she read on, "His death at the hands of that murderer must not go unchallenged. I thank you again and again for the command of these troops so that I may personally see to it that justice is delivered to the assassin responsible…"
"Oh my God." she sobbed as the letter fell from her shaking hands. No longer was she able to dismiss her fears of paranoia - this was a nightmare…a total nightmare. One fateful run-in with the French had pitted them squarely against the French and thrown all of history off track…and it was their fault. Completely their fault. From forgetting the stupid map, to wandering aimlessly in those damn woods looking for Flynn when they should have stayed near the Lifeboat…everything that had happened to them since landing in this century, every change to history…all of it hinged on those stupid, stupid mistakes. If they had just been honest with Wyatt at the start…
"Oh God, Wyatt." Lucy gasped as she raced towards the door, tears already battling their way to the surface as she wrenched open the door and raced down the hall.
"No, no…there's no way that's going to work." Tom argued as Rufus leaned over a rough and hastily drawn schematic of the LifeBoat. "There's no way you're gonna be able to get that to stay on there…not without soldering it into place."
The sun, which had barely peeked over the horizon at the start of their collaboration, was now dancing just above the tree line – promising a bright day after such a harrowing night, as Wyatt, Tom and Rufus huddled together over the worktable in the forge.
"Well then, what do you suggest?" Rufus breathed out, throwing down his charcoal pencil, "I can't take a whole mess of tools out there to solder it on."
"You're worried about tools?" Wyatt asked incredulously, "need I remind you that it's sitting five miles from that damn French fort?" He scoffed, "You heard Lucy last night – if what she said about that letter is true, that whole area over there is gonna be crawling with French soldiers."
"Okay, okay…" Rufus groaned, "if I can't solder the patch on…can I use some kind of, I don't know…resin?
Tom quirked his lip ruefully, "The bond wouldn't be very strong…"
"But it could be enough," Rufus maintained, leaning back over his plans again, "if we could make the patch…with…with a lip…something that we could insert inside like so and then, the patch itself could sit over the top…"
"You mean kinda like a gas cap?" Wyatt suggested with a frown.
"Yeah, exactly." Rufus nodded as he began drawing up a model, "something along the lines of this. It might," he maintained with a determined nod, "it might be enough to help hold that patch in place."
"It won't be very strong, though." Tom remarked as he pointed to Rufus' plans. "If this thing travels as fast as you say it does…and if the outside of your contraption curves like so…I don't know how a bit of resin is gonna keep that from flying right off."
"It's just to protect the inner components." Rufus explained dismissively, "we don't want to risk a wire flying free and losing power mid-jump." He bit his lip as he continued, "Once the rings start spinning, the centrifugal force it creates should be enough to push that patch against the Lifeboat and effectively lock it into place…we just need to make sure it doesn't blow off before then."
"So, you get this patch on there." Tom began, "and that's it? Your machine is fixed?"
"No." Rufus breathed out in exasperation. "I need to cannibalize a few electronic systems…and make a couple of Leyden jars to jump start her…"
Wyatt narrowed his eyes at him in confusion, "I thought you needed to make a capacitor? What the hell is a Leyden jar?"
"Seriously? Didn't you ever watch Mr. Wizard as a kid?" Throwing his head back in exasperation, Rufus sighed heavily and explained, "A Leyden jar IS a capacitor…it's capable of storing a high voltage electrical current. This Dutch guy invented it in 17…something…I'm not Lucy, so don't ask me." Rufus added as he began drawing again, "Because I have to cannibalize some of the electrical components…and because it's just been sitting out here in the woods for so long…I need to generate some power to get it started. The bottles hold the charge, but I'm going to need some foil…"
"If you need foil, you gonna need to go to a tin smith." Tom quipped with a click of his tongue.
Rufus gaped at him, "Isn't…isn't blacksmithing just like…"
"Ha!" Tom barked out a laugh, "No sir…not at all. Rolling out foil ain't nothing like hammering out iron – it's whole different skillset. And no," Tom added as Rufus made to ask another question, "I don't know the first thing about how to do it."
Throwing down his pencil again, Rufus held his head in his hands and groaned, "Dammit! We're right back to where we started…"
"No, we're not." Wyatt offered, "Rufus, we're making a patch…how hard is it to make foil?" He shrugged, "Like Tom said, we just need to find a tinsmith…"
"Good luck finding one out here," Tom quipped, "They's easy to find in the cities…but out here? He shook his head, "You might could find one at a fort…someplace that has a lot of trade, but mostly folks around here just orders tin goods from Philadelphia or Williamsburg."
Rufus threw down his pencil in exasperation, "Well that's just great. Just great! Ugh…we were so damn close."
"Now, now…" Tom urged, "don't get too upset. If you could find some tin and melt it down then maybe you can get what you need, but you can't use these kinds of tools." he said pointing towards the forge, "Tin smithing ain't at all like blacksmithing, "he explained, "you might use heat to melt down your tin…but then it needs to be cold rolled…it's too soft to beat flat."
"Could you do it?" Rufus asked Tom hopefully, "If…if I were to get the materials…could you do it?"
Tom shook his head, "I told you, I don't know the first thing about how…I could take a try at it…but then again," he added with a meaningful nod and shrug, "so could you. It ain't no difference, you know about as much about tinsmithing as.I do."
"You said it needs to be cold rolled?" Wyatt asked, "What…what…"
Picking up a hammer and heaving it over his shoulder, Tom explained, "When I form metal as a blacksmith, I needs that metal to be hot as the blazes so that I can change its shape with every blow." he explained as he struck the anvil for good measure. As the subsequent clang of metal still sounded throughout the forge, Tom explained, "With tin…it's different. It's softer…If I'd smash hot tin with my hammer?" he shook his head, "It'd just latch onto the hammer…wouldn't do no good to anyone. So instead," he explained, "you gots to cool it down while you're forming it…it's tricky business. I don't know how they does it…I just know it ain't a thing like this."
Rufus frowned, "So I'd have to figure out a way to keep the metal hot enough to keep it thin and pliable while cooling it down so that I can allow it to set…." He shook his head at Wyatt, "How the hell am I going to do that in this century?"
"There's got to be a way, Rufus." Wyatt offered, "I mean, obviously, there's tinsmiths around that know how to do it, right?"
"Yeah," Rufus scoffed as he reminded him, "in Philadelphia or Williamsburg." He rubbed a rough hand over his anxious face as he let out a sigh of exasperation, "Maybe…if I could find a book…or something…"
"You might could find something in one of them almanacs over there," Tom suggested with a nod towards the corner, "Just like your Jethro Tull thing…you might could find something in one of them pages about tinsmithing."
"Maybe" Rufus mused, thoughtfully though he looked completely dejected by this latest road bump.
Noting this, Wyatt offered, "Okay, let's not worry about the foil anymore. Let's focus on something we can do. What else are you going to need for these jar things?"
"Barring the foil, I need a few large glass jars" Rufus sighed, "and I'll need something, preferably a chain of some sort…or maybe even some wire…"
"I knows where you can get some wire," Tom offered as he took a sip of his coffee. Smacking his lips together, he nodded, "Got a few old wire snares about a mile or two in the woods there." he said with a nod. "We can go out there, gather a few of them up and take them apart – get what you need from them."
"You sure?" Rufus asked, uncomfortably, "you…you really don't mind? I mean, you're already doing so much for us…I just, I hate that we can't do more to help you."
"Help me? How?" Tom shrugged,, "We's supposed to help those around us in need. That's just the Christian thing to do. You saved my life." Tom said, nodding towards Wyatt, "And Master John's. That ain't exactly undeserving."
"Yeah, but…" Wyatt began, exchanging a look with Rufus.
Tom nodded his head thoughtfully, "You all may not have been honest when you first got here, but you ain't vicious. Lord knows nobody round here would have believed what you had to say anyway." He chuckled, "I's still having trouble believing it."
"We would have told you sooner…" Rufus offered apologetically, but Tom dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
"Nah, don't you fret none. We's all sinners…not one of us is perfect. That's why," Tom explained, "we's got to do what we can to help each other on our way. Your home may be 260 years in the future…but we's all from the same place, really."
Rufus couldn't help but smile at his friend as he remarked softly, "You know, you're a lot wiser than a lot of people I know in 2016."
Tom shrugged, "Well I told you before – many a learned man is a great fool." Nodding his head at Rufus, he continued with a smirk, "Meddling with time? That's got to be about the most foolish thing I ever heard of."
Rufus exchanged a glance with Wyatt before shaking his head and shrugging in agreement, "You're not wrong."
"So, how long do you think it'll take to make that patch?" Wyatt asked.
Tom frowned at Wyatt and shrugged, "Don't know…maybe a couple of hours…not long." Shooing Rufus out of the way with a wave of his strong hand, Tom tossed a warped piece of metal into the fire and began working the bellows.
"Are you going to tell Lucy?" Rufus asked nervously as he joined Wyatt at the door of the forge.
Scoffing Wyatt shook his head, "I don't know why I'm the one who has to tell her…you're the one who…"
"Yeah, but look man, we're that much closer to getting out of here, now. She can't be mad about that." Wyatt eyed Rufus doubtfully and he amended, "Okay, maybe she will be a little pissed that we kinda…I kinda spilled the beans to Tom, but hell, it's not like he didn't already know something was funny with us."
"I'll tell her." Wyatt offered resignedly, "But you better damn well start looking through those almanacs to see if you can find anything about tinsmithing. Otherwise, it won't matter whether we have a patch or not…if we can't get the damn time machine to start, we're not going to be any better off than we are now."
"You don't have to tell me twice. Just see if that cranky housekeeper has any bottles she can spare. If not, we'll have to figure out where we get a hold of some." Wyatt nodded as Rufus continued, "I'll come find you when we're ready to head out for that wire, okay?"
"Fine." Wyatt replied with a wave as he walked away from the forge with a burgeoning hope that maybe…just maybe they might get out of here after all. Last night's adventures aside, it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to feel comfortable about staying here for much longer. He didn't belong here…none of them did…and every day they stayed seemed to have some sort of space/time continuum disaster attached to it and dammit, they couldn't take any more chances.
Still, he thought as he looked out at the heavily wooded hill scape surrounding them, this place, this life - had its charms.
Shaking his head at that useless hope, Wyatt nodded to one of the yawning sentries that John had posted outside the house as he pushed his way through the back door. He had barely crossed the threshold, however, when the sounds of shouts and galloping horses sounded from the front of the house. He was quickly making his way down the hall in confusion and curiosity when Lucy, still dressed in her nightgown, collided with him, looking absolutely beside herself with worry. Stopping short at the sight of her, Wyatt reached out and grabbed her arm, "What's wrong?"
"I…I need to talk to you." she whispered frantically, but as she gripped his wrist to pull him upstairs, an already disgruntled Mrs. Poe was making her way downstairs, muttering angrily as John shouted to her from the front room to prepare for some unexpected guests.
Not interested in being berated by the housekeeper, particularly since she was already in a bad mood, Lucy backed away into Wyatt desperately looking for an escape. As he had spent the entirety of the previous evening memorizing every inch of John Fraser's home, Wyatt immediately took the hint and sprang into action. Grabbing Lucy around the waist he hauled them both into the Butler's pantry just off the dining room. It was a cramped space, not much more than a small closet - but now, it served as the perfect hiding place from Mrs. Poe's disapproving gaze.
Well, maybe not exactly perfect.
Sliding the pocket doors closed, Wyatt soon began to regret his decision, finding himself uncomfortably pressed between them, the cabinets behind him…and Lucy who was practically flush against him. As they waited with bated breath for Mrs. Poe to make her way through the hall, he couldn't but notice how her chest heaved against his…which put him in mind of the night she had practically mauled him in their bed…the night she had kissed him senseless and how he…hadn't exactly stopped it.
Not right away anyway.
Glancing down at her now as she bit her lip in concern, he was struck by her disheveled appearance; her tousled hair, her oversized nightgown falling away from her bare shoulders…and oh hell, he wanted nothing more than to wrap himself around her and return the favor.
Shit.
Eyeing her warily and attempting to keep as much distance between them, Wyatt whispered – half dreading her answer, "You wanna tell me what this is about?"
"We have a problem." Lucy began seriously.
"No kidding" Wyatt muttered as he attempted but failed to back further away from her.
"What?" Lucy hissed back.
"Nothing." Wyatt replied, clearing his throat with a slight cough. Grateful for their darkened surroundings, Wyatt attempted to at least sound casually aloof…even if his heart was pounding a mile a minute. "What…what do you mean by problem?" Then, remembering he had given her those letters, he adjusted, "This isn't another history problem, is it? Because I'm telling you Lucy…I really don't think it's going to make much difference when this batt…"
"No, no." she shook her head frantically, "Wyatt, listen to me…we're in trouble."
Wyatt shifted uncomfortably, silently agreeing with her assessment of their current situation. His backward movement did nothing to alleviate his present predicament, however….in fact, it had only made things worse as Lucy, thinking he was stumbling in the dark, attempted to steady him with her hands on his arms. Ignoring the shiver that went up his spine at her touch, Wyatt stammered, "What…what do you mean by trouble?"
"Shhhh…." she hushed him as John Fraser's voice sounded in the room beyond.
"…you mean to tell me that Braddock already left Cumberland? What on Earth could he be thinking? Marching over 2000 men up five mountain passes? Through this rugged terrain? How many wagons?"
"Over one hundred and fifty wagons and that's not counting the artillery." came the weary reply.
Wyatt winced as Lucy shifted herself closer to the door…and by so doing, turned her back towards him. He was practically spooning her now as she tried to peer through the crack in the door, the shadows of figures pacing in the room beyond apparent through the tiny sliver.
"Only a fool would even consider making such a trek." John Fraser groaned, "but I imagine Braddock doesn't believe himself a fool…in fact, I'd wager he thinks he can actually do it. He gave a mirthless chuckle as he continued, "Didn't anyone tell him that road is barely large enough to accommodate a wagon? Daniel, you know this land better than any of us…"
"Oh come on, John…you know those Europeans haven't the slightest idea of what the terrain is like in these parts. I imagine they merely looked at the map and marked out what they thought was the quickest way."
"Yes, but…"
"He wouldn't listen, John." came another voice, harsher than the first. "The man thought the journey to Duquesne from Cumberland would only consist of 70 miles on easy road. It took five of us, including Washington to tell him it was 110 and even then, he wouldn't hear a word about the impossibility of making such a trek"
"Where is he now?" John asked with a heavy sigh.
"We left him at the Madison," came the first voice again, "but the rest of the army is still at Great Meadows, close to Necessity last time we received notice. He's got 300 men down there clearing out four to six miles of forest a day.-moving at a snail's pace. Morgan, here finally convinced him, two nights hence, to send forth a flying column…but we're so far ahead of the main body now…"
"Aye…and if we get too far, I'm afraid we'll be 1500 men completely cut off from our supply line. If the French and their Native allies attack us…we'll be slaughtered."
"I think you should know," John remarked seriously after a long pause, "friends of mine were just attacked by the French and a few of their allies last night – in the middle of that storm, no less." Lucy looked over her shoulder and locked eyes with Wyatt as he continued, "I'd like to say that that was unusual…but these past few weeks, they've been terrorizing families all throughout this region. I can't even begin to tell you the trouble we've witnessed." He walked slowly across the room and sighed, "If Braddock was hoping to surprise them, he's failed by now. If what you're saying is true, Coulon and Contrecouer know he's well on his way…and I can promise you, they're not just going to sit around and wait for him to attack."
"That's not even the worst of it, John."
"What do you mean, Morgan?" John asked seriously as Lucy gasped in realization.
"That's…that's Daniel Morgan." she whispered to Wyatt. "He's one of the best Continental officers of the American Revolution." With new interest – and much to Wyatt's chagrin - Lucy bent forward to try to get a closer look, now peering through the keyhole on the furthest door.
Wyatt cursed under his breath.
"Shhh…" Lucy waved to him, flapping her arm behind her, nearly knocking him in the face.
"I didn't want to be the one to relay this to you John," Daniel Morgan continued, "but seeing as how Braddock would not wait for counsel…and as you are, well, you're such a friend to these tribes..."
"Are you asking me to meet with our Native allies?"
A pregnant pause followed this question before Daniel Morgan admitted glumly and with some hesitation, "He alreadymet with them." Scoffing, he continued, "It was a bloody disaster. Braddock saw them only as…'troublesome exotics' – those were his words." John groaned as Daniel added angrily, "We had six chiefs – the Oneidas, the Ohio Delewares, the Shawnees, and Johnson was good enough to send Croghan down with the Mingos…"
"George?" John asked in confusion, "I thought he was holed up with that devil Tanacharison?"
"Tanacharison is dead." Daniel Morgan informed him with a heavy sigh, "Fell ill in October."
"Pneumonia." Lucy softly muttered to Wyatt, who nodded as he realized she had told him that would happen before.
"Well, I'm sorry to hear it – but, that should make Louis Coulon happy." John observed sardonically, "Seeing as he was the one who butchered his brother."
"Yes, well - we could have used his help. As it is George managed to bring about eight Mingo guides for Braddock as well as the chief…but I don't know how much good it will do. Every single one of them asked General Braddock what he his intentions were with the land once they helped drive the French from this valley and do you know what Braddock said?" Another pause followed before Morgan spat out angrily, "He looked them straight in the eye and told them that under no circumstance would any savage inherit it."
John let out a curse and slammed his hand down on the table as the other man spoke up, "You see now why we had to come, John? Washington is sick with the dysentery, McKee is off to God knows where, Croghan has got his hands full…you're the only one who can smooth this over. You're the only one who has the connections that can stave of disaster. If we lose the few allies we have…"
"Washington is sick?" Wyatt muttered in alarm, looking at Lucy. "George Washington?"
Lucy nodded, "Yes, but that's supposed to happen. In fact, practically the whole army gets sick with dysentery making this trek, it's so grueling,…horses drop dead practically every day, wagons are reduced to splinters, " she shook her head as she whispered in frustration, "but that's not supposed to happen until seven months from now. Wyatt," she hissed frantically, turning towards him once more, "if Braddock follows his same route…if all of this is leading up to that same battle…Wyatt, it will be all around us in just a matter of days…"
"Shhhhh…" he soothed, turning her more fully towards him and rubbing her arms, "It's gonna be okay, Lucy. We're going to get out of here." he promised, but Lucy shook her head.
"No, Wyatt…you don't understand." she whispered frantically, "They're going to kill us…"
"Hey," Wyatt urged, concerned at how upset she was, "don't worry, okay?" Lucy shook her head, desperate to tell him all that she had read in that letter, desperate to tell him why they had been ambushed in the first place…but her words got lost somewhere in the confines of her throat as tears of fear and frustration battled their way to the surface. Seeing this, Wyatt reached out and caressed her jaw with his hand, assuring her, "Lucy, I'm not going to let anything happen to you, alright? She nodded, offering him a grateful smile through her tears as Wyatt wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. He sighed heavily, rubbing circles on the back of her neck with his thumb as Lucy let out a shuddering breath; a breath that carried with it all the stress and anxiety they were both feeling. It felt so natural holding her like this and while he knew it was all just a role, he couldn't help but feel that if they had somehow failed to fix the time machine, that maybe this role…well, maybe it didn't have to be a role anymore. Maybe they could actually build a life…here…together.
No.
Apart from what they were already facing, this century was hardly the place for any of them. Growing old together? Yeah right. They were lucky they had all survived this long. Shaking himself back to reality, Wyatt pulled away from Lucy with a heavy sigh, "Besides," he whispered, "we're gonna get out of here…"
Hearing that, Lucy looked up at him, her eyes narrowing in confusion. "What…" she began, but stopped…as she was suddenly struck by how close she actually was to Wyatt…Wyatt who was staring at her as if he had just realized the same thing.
The air buzzed with a strange electricity. Neither of them moved, hardly even breathed as they stood there gazing at one another in the dark. Wyatt's fingers teased at the back of Lucy's neck now and while she wasn't sure, she could have sworn she saw his eyes flicker to her lips. Swallowing hard, she tentatively leaned forward, praying she wasn't going to make a complete fool of herself when suddenly, the doors slid open, causing them both to stumble out onto the dining room floor. "Oh…I'm…I'm terribly sorry," John Fraser stammered in confusion and shock as looked at them both sprawled at his feet, "I…I didn't mean to intrude, I had no idea this…ahhh…closet…was occupied." As Lucy and Wyatt stared back at him in stunned silence, he continued in explanation, "I was just fetching a fresh supply of whiskey for our guests here…"
"Oh no, John we…we were just…" Wyatt stammered as he quickly got to his feet, but a sudden look of understanding descended on John as he eyed Lucy in her nightgown.
"Ah…hiding from Mrs. Poe, are we?" At Lucy's nod, he continued, "Well, my dear," he assured as he offered a hand to help her up, "you'll be pleased to know she's out in the kitchen preparing breakfast, you should be safe from her scrutiny for a little while at least. No need to take refuge with the table settings." Lucy flushed awkwardly as she made to move away, but John Fraser, ever the consummate host, called out, "I…uh…you'll forgive me for not introducing you. Daniel Morgan, Daniel Boone…this is…"
"Daniel Boone?!" Wyatt exclaimed with a gasp, "You're kidding?"
The three men looked at one another in confusion, before John cleared his throat and asked with some hesitation, "Kidding?"
"What Wyatt means," Lucy began apologetically, elbowing a still gaping Wyatt in the ribs, "is that…uh…he has a…um…friend named Daniel Boone….in New York."
"Is that so? How interesting." John agreed with an awkward chuckle as Lucy made to shift her nightgown back over her shoulders. "Yes, well our Mr. Boone is quite the frontiersman…even at his young age. He knows these fields and woods better than anyone I know."
"John," Wyatt began awkwardly as he noted the two men staring at them both suspiciously, "We…we didn't mean to…I mean, we weren't trying to listen in or…or anything."
"Oh, no need to concern yourself, my lad." John assured him, "It's nothing we haven't already discussed before, I assure you…"
"But you did hear…" Daniel Morgan remarked warily, still eyeing them both with suspicion.
"Oh now, Morgan," John assured, "no need to worry yourself over the lad. Besides," he added, "he's no friend of the French, I can tell you that. These were the friends I spoke to you about earlier…lucky they were to survive that ambush last evening."
Daniel Morgan nodded slowly, still eyeing Wyatt with some apprehension, "But the matters we were discussing…"
"He's a good man and has my trust." John said with conviction, "He saved my life and that of my best man, Tom. I wouldn't be standing here without him…nor many a British soldier at Cumberland."
Seemingly satisfied, Daniel Morgan nodded, "You must understand my concern," he explained with a bow to Wyatt, "these are…dangerous times."
"Indeed they are." John replied with a nod to the map, "But these two are no stranger to our troubles here. Why in fact, Wyatt here was the man we have to thank for doing all of that damage to Duquesne."
"Is that so?" Daniel Morgan replied with an impressed frown, "Took down a whole portion of the East wall, wasn't it?"
Wyatt shrugged dismissively, "I just started a fire."
"Indeed," laughed John, "just took on Louis Coulon's entire French army." Shaking his head, he sighed, "I have been trying, gentlemen, to get this lad to join up with His Majesty's army, but alas he will not be convinced."
"Shame," Daniel Boone observed lazily, "we could use a man of your bravery. Especially since Braddock seems determined to march us straight into Hell."
"Is Braddock really on his way here?" Lucy asked breathlessly. The men turned to her in surprise apparently forgetting that she was among them.
Casting a sideways look at John Fraser, Daniel Boone nodded, "Yes'm…he is indeed. Boasted that Duquesne can hardly keep him occupied for more than three or four days." He scoffed, "He'll be lucky if he gets us out alive the rate he's going."
"Mmmm," mused John, " he labors under the impression that Coulon and Contrecouer will lie in wait for him behind the walls of their fort. They may be French, but they aren't fools. They know very well the walls of Duquesne wouldn't last against an artillery bombardment. No," he said with a shake of his head, "the French will use their allies and set up ambushes all along the trail, that is certain."
"You wouldn't be the first to say as much, John." Daniel Morgan assured him. "Ben Franklin told Braddock as much while we were passing through Frederick."
"What the devil was Franklin doing there?" John asked incredulously.
"Well, it seems word reached the Post Master General that Braddock was not very much impressed by the Quakers and their unwillingness to fight for their own land. Yet, when offered the colonial militia, he turned his nose up at them declaring them backwoods ruffians." John snorted out an incredulous laugh as he continued, "I'd wager he wouldn't have gotten this far into the Ohio Valley without those "backwoods ruffians.""
"No indeed." Daniel Boone agreed. "Braddock would be wise to remember that he is the stranger in these lands and there are many o' man who know this land a might better than he does and fought over it too."
"But how in the devil does he plan to approach it?" John asked with a groan, walking over to the table and leaning over a map they had spread forth. Pointing, he observed, "Braddock won't be able to get his artillery and wagons up the pass to my farm…it's far too steep for wagons and artillery…he'd never make it…or he'd die trying. No," John added with a shake of his head, "he'll have to swing out westward where the land levels out a bit and there, he'll be forced to cross the Monongahela not once, but twice in order to make his approach to Duquesne. With the French and the Indians patrolling all along that river? They'll never give him the chance to get with a few miles of that fort. The entire operation is doomed." John sighed as he sank heavily into his chair. "If he had just waited…"
"Braddock is eager to prove himself," Morgan answered with a musing frown, "Twenty-six years he served as a lieutenant - twenty-six - and only advanced to Colonel because he purchased the position. He's never commanded in war…never once has been tested on the field of battle…and yet, he comes here, unwilling to heed the advice of those who have fought here? Insulting our allies? Half killing his army with his damned road making?"
Wyatt couldn't help but remark with a smirk, "Sounds like a General, alright."
The three men chuckled as John added with a sigh, "His inexperience aside, he has no concept of what this enemy is – an invisible army, slinking in an out of the trees and disappearing just as quickly as they came. I have lost one I loved most dearly, watched as men around me have had their scalps removed or their hearts cut out – not as they lay dead, no. They are subjected to those most gruesome of savageries even as they're writhing and screaming on the ground, begging for mer…oh," John Fraser turned and stopped suddenly at the sight of Lucy, "for…forgive me my dear, I shouldn't discuss such terrible things. I forget myself sometimes."
Lucy nodded her appreciation and asked with some apprehension, "So…what are you going to do?"
"Well," John sighed, "that's the question, isn't it?" He turned and looked at his guests, "What would you gentlemen have me do? Talk to Braddock? He won't listen. Talk to the chiefs? I'm not sure that will…"
"They trust you, John" Daniel Boone reminded him. "You and George Croghan and William Trent…you've all worked among these people for so long…".
"Aye, but what good is my word, when Braddock intends to break it?" John Fraser remarked with a shake of his head. "They see us now as men without honor…making promises, forging alliances only to have an army sweep through these lands, demanding their assistance and telling them under no circumstance do we intend to let them live on it. "Shaking his head he muttered, "We might as well surrender everything to the French now."
"The Natives haven't always been men of honor either, John" Daniel Morgan reminded him. "You remember what Washington said after that business at Jumonville Glen? We were bound by circumstance to rely on people we could not wholly trust. Hell, half of them abandoned him and his army in that battle. So it is here. Braddock may have dashed to pieces every alliance you helped so carefully to build…but there are some in that Confederation who will stand by the English just to spite the French."
John frowned thoughtfully with a nod, "Perhaps you're right." he muttered. "After all, a lost cause is only fully lost when one stops trying."
At this, Lucy cast a glance towards Wyatt who met her eye with an odd sense of understanding. Clearing his throat, he announced, "Well, we had better not take up anymore of your time…just let us know if we can do anything to help."
John nodded his appreciation as Wyatt joined a frantic Lucy in the hall, "Okay," he whispered as she ducked into an alcove by the stairs, "What's going on? What the hell was all of that about in there?"
"This is everything that is supposed to happen 7 months from now, Wyatt. This march, the meeting with the chiefs…everything." She ran a hand through her hair as she pressed on, "Except now, the French have more men and Louis Coulon is leading them…not Contrecouer."
"What the hell difference does that make?" Wyatt scoffed, "Unless that Contrecouer guy is supposed to die or something…"
"No," Lucy shook her head frantically, "No, Wyatt…listen…
"No, you listen." he interrupted, checking over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being overheard. "It's not going to matter anyway…we're getting the hell out of here, Lucy." he whispered. At her confused expression he explained, "Rufus and I…we told Tom about who we really are…"
"You what!?" she spat out angrily, smacking him on the arm.
"Yes, we told him." Wyatt maintained, "and he agreed to help us. He's out there right now making the patch for the LifeBoat."
"You told him we were from the future?!" she gritted out in a harsh whisper.
"We kinda had to…he already saw the damn gun." Wyatt reminded her. "Look, I know you're worried, but Tom isn't going to tell anybody…"
"You don't know that." she spat out, "He…he could slip….he could accidentally let it out that we…"
"Tom isn't going to say anything." Wyatt promised. "Rufus trusts him. I trust him," he maintained with a meaningful nod, "You should trust him too."
"This isn't about trust, Wyatt." Lucy scoffed, shaking her head at him incredulously. "This…this is everything we're not supposed to do on these missions – like tell people we're from the future!" She threw her hands over her face and groaned in frustration, "Great, great, it's just another thing…"
"Lucy, dammit." Wyatt breathed out in exasperation, "It's not the end of the world, okay?" she glared at him through her fingers as he continued, "Tom's going to make that patch, Rufus is making the capacitors and then we are going to get the hell out of here."
"And how do you think we're going to be able to do that," she snapped, "when the French are…" Wyatt rolled his eyes and dismissed her with a wave of his hand, but Lucy, though bristling, was not deterred, "I'm serious, Wyatt. Listen to me. The reason Louis Coulon is leading the troops against Braddock is because…"
"Saints preserve us!"
Lucy winced as Mrs. Poe's shrill cry rang through the hallway. Groaning, she threw her head back in exasperation as the austere housekeeper scolded her vehemently, "Didn't I warn you last night that I would wallop you if I caught you parading around half-naked again?"
"Oh really, Mrs. Poe," John interceded weakly as he stepped into the hall from the dining room, "I hardly think that's…"
"And here you are," Mrs. Poe admonished, completely ignoring John Fraser as she took a firm hold of Lucy's wrist and began dragging her away from the alcove and towards the staircase, "standing before the Master and his guests in naught but your night dress. It's not proper…"
"But Mrs. Poe," Lucy gritted out, "I have to talk to…Wyatt!" she called to him desperately from the stairs, but he merely smirked at her and waved, finding Mrs. Poe's rebukes on Lucy's immodesty far too amusing to come to her defense…especially now that he was off the proverbial hook. Spared from Lucy's own admonishment, he cast his eyes upwards, listening to her continued protests as Mrs. Poe threw out some admonishments of her own. He could hear them scuffling and fighting as they made their way down the upper hall, he heard Mrs. Poe's angry rebukes and finally the slamming of a door before he finally turned to John Fraser and shrugged.
"Perhaps we should consider enlisting Mrs. Poe's help in our fight against the French." John observed with a frown, "I daresay she would put the fear of the Almighty into even the bravest of men." He shook his head and bowed slightly to Wyatt as another ear-piercing screech sounded somewhere above them, remarking ruefully, "My sympathies to your wife."
Lucy was going to kill Wyatt.
It wasn't enough that she had Mrs. Poe sermonizing at her as she roughly combed and pulled at her hair, nor after stuffing her into a corset that was, right now, currently suffocating her – no, no…she had to go through the ignominy of reciting scripture while scrubbing the floor on her hands and knees. "Mrs. Poe," Lucy breathed out, wiping her brow, "please, you have to understand that I needed to…"
"Likewise, ye younger, submit yourselves unto the elder. Yea, all of you be subject one to another, and be clothed with humility: for God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the humble" Mrs. Poe called out to her from her rocking chair as she shoved a knitting needle into place, "Again." she said with a severe nod.
"But Mrs. Poe…" Lucy breathed out.
"Again."
Groaning, Lucy dipped her bristled brush into the bucket of water and vinegar and recited glumly as she began scrubbing the wood planks on the floor, "A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband: but she that maketh ashamed is as rottenness in his bones."
"Aye, that she is." Mrs. Poe nodded severely as she continued to rock in her chair and knit, "And don't you be forgetting it."
Lucy couldn't forget it if she tried. Her hands were red and raw from scrubbing, her knees ached, her back hurt, and if she had to say that scripture verse one more time…
Ugh.
But that wasn't even half of it. Apart from just standing there while Mrs. Poe dragged her off for the scolding of a lifetime, Wyatt had enlisted Tom in the repair of the Lifeboat. Tom. 1754 Tom. How many times had she warned them all of the repercussions that could come should their true situation be discovered by any of the people they encountered in the past? How many aliases had she cooked up in just about every single one of their missions to avoid some weird space-time continuum pattern? All of these historical events? All of these people they've come into contact with? Her biggest fear going into this was that someday, somewhere, some undergraduate student would be researching and find it oddly coincidental that a Lucy Preston, Wyatt Logan, and Rufus Carlin randomly popped up all throughout history as witnesses to events…or even, in some cases, as actual participants. So, despite reluctance from some members of her team (Wyatt) she had pushed for aliases – ridiculous aliases at times, yes…but it wasn't without reason. She thanked her lucky stars every day that she had had the foresight to call herself Juliet Shakesman in 1865. She knew that Wyatt didn't mind stomping all over history and the timeline…but Juliet Shakesman Middle School was proof of just why they had to be careful.
Actually telling someone from the past that they were time travelers? She didn't even want to think what would come from that. And here – they didn't even have the benefit of an alias to hide behind.
Ugh…she was going to kill him.
"Alright." Mrs. Poe sighed as she looked over spectacles at the glistening floor. "I'd say that's a fair amount of work you've done today. I pray you've learned your lesson." Scrambling to her feet, Lucy nodded, watching anxiously as Mrs. Poe gathered up her knitting and made her way to the door. "You think on what I said." she reminded her with a nod before sighing and clutching one of Lucy's raw and aching hands, "I take no delight in being so hard on you m'dear. I think on you quite like my own daughter. I dinnae like you makin' a spectacle of yourself…and it's my hope to see you become a true lady afore I die."
As much as she resented Mrs. Poe at the moment, Lucy couldn't help but feel a bit sentimental at the old woman's remark. If what Wyatt had told her was true, they would be leaving and as such, would have to say goodbye to the friends they had made here in 1754. There were many things to dislike about Mrs. Poe. Her judgmental nature, her harsh rebukes, the physical labor coupled with the unending lectures on morality were enough to drive anyone crazy, but Mrs. Poe had, more than anyone else, helped her navigate this century as a woman…and for that, Lucy was grateful. She had a newfound respect for what it took to be a woman on the frontier and she had learned to become tougher, more capable…more skilled under Mrs. Poe's watchful eye. True, she was no seamstress…and she still wasn't that great of a cook, but she had learned and Mrs. Poe had been her teacher. Unable to help herself, Lucy wrapped her arms around the old woman and pulled her in for a hug, "Thank you." she whispered.
"Ach, now." Mrs. Poe declared, patting her on the back, "Don't you go getting all soft on me now. It'll do you no good to try and butter me up." She pulled away from Lucy and patted her lovingly on the cheek, "I'll still be expectin' you to do your share of the cooking this evening…especially now that we've got a few more mouths to feed." Waving her away, Mrs. Poe declared, "Alright then, go on, go on…get off with you now. I expect that husband of yours will be wondering what happened to you."
Biting back a disbelieving scoff, Lucy slipped out of the bedroom and made her way down the hall. She highly doubted her whereabouts were of much concern to Wyatt, and even if they were, she was determined to make him regret he had ever refused to come to her defense in the first place.
"Rottenness in his bones." Lucy gritted out under her breath as marched past the alcove at the bottom of the stairs where she had last seen Wyatt. "I'll give him rottenness in his bones, alright."
Huffing angrily, she searched throughout the house but much to her frustration and dismay she found absolutely no sign of Wyatt…or Rufus either for that matter. Stepping out onto the porch her eyes scanned over the mayhem in the yard, \"The forge." she muttered in answer to her own unspoken question of where Wyatt could be…but when she crossed over the threshold, she found it too, to be frustratingly empty. "Where are they?" she gritted out angrily.
"Who you looking for, miss?"
Lucy turned in surprise to find a child, no more than 14, hands laden with baskets of vegetables heading to the kitchen. Crouching down slightly, Lucy replied, "I'm looking for Wy…my husband. Have you seen him?"
Nodding towards the road, he offered, "Him, Mister Tom and that Mister Rufus went walking down that way just a little while ago, misses."
Offering her thanks, Lucy waved as she turned and marched down the familiar trail to their cabin, figuring that Wyatt and Rufus must have gone to collect their scant belongings for the eventual trek to the Lifeboat.
But that was exactly why she needed to talk to Wyatt.
The sunshine of the morning had given way to a dark, and dismal day. Gloomy clouds hung heavy overhead and with it, an icy chill blew in the air. The road, she noticed, though muddy and slick from the heavy rains of the day before was dotted with patches of thin ice, indicating to her through all of her woolen layers just how very cold it actually was. Her breath swirled around in a mist before her as she cautiously scanned the hillside, suddenly realizing that it probably wasn't wise to head this way on her own…but, she reasoned, she was halfway there now and since Rufus and Wyatt were probably already at the cabin, she would merely walk back with them.
After she killed Wyatt, of course.
When she arrived at the cabin, however, she found it quiet and solitary. The stillness at any other time might have been peaceful…welcome even, but now, as her eyes fell upon the splintered wood and gaping holes from the musket shot from the night before, her home, which had before been a place of refuge, now filled her with unspeakable amounts of horror and dread. The battle scars it bore served as a severe reminder of how very close they had come to being killed and she couldn't help but run her shaking hands over the ruined pillar that had taken the shot meant for them.
The door, still hanging open, only added to her sense of unease. It wasn't inviting…it was foreboding. Even as she stepped over the threshold, evidence of their near escape could be seen everywhere; in the broken shards of her pitcher, in the remnants of their dinner still sitting on the table, in the overturned stools littered the floor. Sighing, she picked up her laundry basket and began collecting their clothes, figuring the least she could do since making a useless trek out to the cabin would be to pack up what she could. What she couldn't carry in her basket she tucked into her apron pockets, determined not to have to make another trip back to the depressing scene.
Balancing the basket on her hip she made her way across the yard, scanning the tree line for any sign of Wyatt or Rufus, wondering where on Earth they could have gone to. Her feet splayed at odd angles in the mud, causing her to slip slightly from time to time, but she trudged on, anxious to get back to the safety of John Fraser's farm. The hill, however, was proving a difficult barrier, even more so with the basket filled with petticoats and dresses. Try as she might, she could not gain her footing, her shoes absolutely sticking into the muck that caused her to slip every time she made an attempt to clamber upwards.
Winded and frustrated, Lucy cursed and attempted to make her way towards the field when she completely lost her footing, twisted and fell to the ground. "Dammit." she gritted out through clenched teeth as she righted herself into sitting position. Dirt and ice-cold mud clung to her hands, shins and marred her once clean dress, but it was her throbbing ankle that drew the most concern. Struggling to get up Lucy found herself nearly unable to put any weight on it at all. Too far from the farm to call for help, she scanned the roadside in the hopes of finding a stick or a limb she might use as a crutch to take the pressure off of what she hoped was just a sprained ankle.
Hunched over and favoring her right leg, Lucy hobbled over towards the small patch of woods on the left side of the road, in search of just that when a bit of movement caught her eye a little further in. Thinking it could be Wyatt & Rufus, she rushed forward, except that the ground, which had seemed level with the road, was anything but. Between her and the thicker woods beyond, the ground gave way, opening into a gully and before she even realized her mistake, she was tumbling and sliding down the steep side of the hill, her desperate attempts to stop herself thwarted by jutting rocks and tree roots that cut and soft mud.
Finally coming to rest at the bottom near a small stream obviously formed from the rains of the previous night, Lucy stared – stunned and breathless, at the canopy of naked tree limbs above her.
"Ow."
Aching, bruised…and far worse for wear than she was just a moment ago, Lucy gingerly shifted from her back to her stomach, letting out a curse at both the pain she felt in doing so and noting how steep the climb back to the top of the hill would be. "Dammit." she grunted, shifting to her hands and knees. She was sore…and cold. The wrap she had hastily depended on for warmth in her determination to find Wyatt was lying several feet above her, snagged on a tree root. Her dress was filthy, but now, thanks to her fall, it also had a tear along the side, exposing her scratched and bleeding leg. She made several attempts to crawl up the hillside, feeling that she absolutely would not be able to stand on her ankle now, but it was no use…the grade was far too steep, and she was far too sore and far too cold to waste her time and energy fighting gravity. So instead, Lucy crawled along the bottom of the gully, wincing as she passed through ice filled puddles of water, in an attempt to find a gentler slope that would make her climb back to the road easier.
Her pace was slow…and thanks to the thick underbrush and ice, not without obstacles. Her hands were throbbing from the cold and her ruined gown, though thick, was doing very little to shield her from the light misting rain that was now peppering her face and aching hands. She hadn't gotten far, perhaps only a few yards when a clap of thunder sounded overhead.
"Dammit." she groaned.
More determined now than ever, Lucy gripped onto a small sapling and with as much strength and grit as she could muster, hobbled onto her feet. Using the trees as crutches, she braced herself against them, limping from one to the other as best she could until she reached a series of boulders that completely blocked her path. Undeterred Lucy stumbled forward, determined to crawl over the damn things or at least tuck herself under them to shield herself from the coming storm…she wasn't much concerned with which…but her throbbing ankle was proving to be more of a hinderance than she had ever imagined it could be. Desperately she tried to climb, but she had never been exactly strong in the upper body department, and now without being able to use one of her legs to help her scramble to the top, she found herself slipping back down to the rocky ground below.
The rain was falling heavier now and Lucy, cold, shivering and feeling absolutely helpless, scooted as close as she could towards the boulders, half sobbing as she attempted to shield herself from the merciless weather. She was holding her head in her hands, desperately trying to calm herself so that she could think her way out of this mess when a voice had her startling back with a horrified gasp.
"Eh bien, qu'avons-nous ici?"
Crossing the small stream before her was a French soldier followed by two Native men, all of them sneering at her as she attempted but failed to scramble backwards away from them. Chuckling, the French officer stooped down before her and with a lingering gaze to her exposed and bleeding leg, he smirked, "On dirait que vous avez des ennuis, mademoiselle."
Lucy stared back at him, breathing heavily as he cupped her face in his hand, "Vous me comprenez, oui ? Shaking, Lucy nodded, frantically attempting once more to back away from the man looming over her.
"Dis-moi, ma chérie, d'où viens-tu ?" When Lucy refused to answer him, he smirked at her knowingly again. "Vous habitez là-haut, non ?" he asked pointing to the hill above her. Fighting back tears, Lucy shook her head, but she knew it was no use. Why on Earth would she be wondering around in these woods, in this weather, if she didn't live close by? As she suspected, the French soldier was not convinced. Smiling, he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "Je sais que tu mens. Je t'ai vu hier soir."
Lucy breathed out a shaky exhale, trembling now from fright and the cold as she stared back at the soldier, "Qu'est-ce que tu veux avec moi?"
Nodding to his companions who roughly hoisted her to her feet. the French soldier sighed, "Nicolas et moi étions de vieux amis". At the mention of Nicolas' name, Lucy let out a strangled sob, something that did not escape the French soldier's notice, who explained further, "Quand j'ai appris sa mort, j'ai juré de le venger." Eyeing Lucy, he asked, Le connaissiez-vous aussi ?
Fighting back tears, Lucy nodded as she admitted, "Oui, il était très gentil avec moi."
"So I've heard." he replied with a thick accent, causing Lucy to look up at him in surprise. Touching her hair fondly, he smiled at her before gripping her hair hard and yanking her neck backward as he spat out triumphantly, "Come, my friends, I believe we have found ze murderer we have been searching for."
Notes:
Sorry for the delay, but I have been BUSY this summer! My goal was to get WMHB finished before he summer was over so that took a bit of priority at the start and this chapter was ALMOST finished before my latest trip, but alas, I was not able to finish it before I left. As it required a lot of note checking and references back to my French and Indian War books at home I had to wait until I got back to finish this one...and boy is there a lot of history packed in it.
First things first though...Lucy has been captured and (surprise surprise) she's the one they were ultimately looking for. I know I had you all thinking it was Wyatt...and while he's not completely off the hook in this, Lucy was more known to the French and it was his father's concern (way back in Ch 13&14) that she was using him...and he blames her more than anyone else for his son's death. Whats going to happen? We'll just have to see.
The Braddock Expedition is so cool...which is why I wanted to bring it into this fic. It's a who's who of the American Revolution. Basically everybody you ever hear of in the American Revolution was involved in this sucker in one way or another. George Washington, Daniel Boone, Daniel Morgan, Henry Knox, Thomas Gage, Charles Lee, Horatio Gates...Benjamin Franklin (in a sort of round about way) and just like with the Mexican War/Civil War you have folks who fought beside each other in one war only to fight against each other twenty years down the road. It's a Charlie Foxtrot and a half...a complete mess...lots of drama...which will be coming up VERY SOON, so stay tuned.
All of that info about Braddock is true. He spent 26 years as a Lt...and to give you non-military folks some perspective - that's the lowest rank for an officer and about 7x longer than you'd normally be in that position. You typically make Captain in 4 years...and it's not like there wasn't a war going on. Braddock was involved with the War of Austrian Succession in Europe...and normally in those days you could get promoted pretty quickly in wartime...but he...he had to buy his way through the ranks.
I think that speaks volumes, don't you?
Benjamin Franklin did meet him and did try to warn him that this expedition was a very VERY bad idea. Always the consummate DIPLOMAT, Franklin showed up to Frederick, MD with a couple of wagons laden with alcohol and HAM when he heard that Braddock had basically shaded the PA militia just to show him that Pennsylvanians might be frontiersmen...but they were hardly savages. As a Pennsylvanian myself, I approve Franklin's efforts on our behalf. : )
Braddock did insult the Indian tribes and John Fraser was called upon to smooth things over...in fact, he was one of Braddock's chief scouts to help him navigate through the land and make nice with the native population. Daniel Boone and Daniel Morgan were wagon train drivers...and yes, most of his army was sick with dysentery, horses dropped dead...and wagons just fell apart as he tried to heave massive artillery up five mountain ranges. If you've ever been in that area of the country you'd know just how insane that trek was. Those hills/mountains are NO joke...so Braddock did have to improvise and do a sort of zigzag motion which made him cross the Monongahela not once, but twice...ultimately leading him to about 10 miles outside of Ft. Duquense where they were ultimately ambushed by French, Canadians and Indians.
As I said, LOTS of history in this chapter and some more French. Basically for those of you who don't speak/read French and don't want to use Google Translate I have him saying "What do we have here?" "looks like you are in trouble." "You can understand me, yes?" "Where do you come from?" "You live up there, no?" "I know you are lying. I saw you last night." Lucy asks "What do you want with me? " He answers "Nicolas was a friend of mine. I've come to avenge his death. Did you know him?" She admits she does and tells him he was kind to her.
That's all for now - I'm BOOKED solid for the next few months as we are rapidly approaching our move date. I have classes three times a week, plus homeschooling my kiddos, so my time will be very very very limited. The good news is, I will be (hopefully) getting a new laptop SOON and will be able to write as I commute, so I will do what I can to squeeze the rest of this fic out for you ASAP.
Thank you so much for reading and take care.