"You know Lucy is going to kill you when we get back, right?"
Wyatt squinted up at Rufus who was standing over him smirking as they both waited alongside the creek bed waiting for Tom to finish gathering up the rest of his wire traps. It had been hours since Lucy had disappeared upstairs with Mrs. Poe…and that was before he joined Tom and Rufus in pursuit of these traps. Shifting uncomfortably and regretting he had told Rufus what had passed between Lucy and the housekeeper that morning, Wyatt shrugged, "What was I supposed to do?"
"I don't know," Rufus mused with a meaningful frown, "tell that housekeeper to mind her own damn business?"
Wyatt scoffed. Sure, he could have stepped in…maybe…but as it was, he wasn't exactly in the mood to be on the receiving end of one of Lucy's lectures given how pissed she was when he told her that they had commissioned Tom to help them fix the LifeBoat. He had, after all, butted heads with her enough on countless missions before this to know that once they were out of earshot of John Fraser, the shit would hit the proverbial fan…and he had no interest in hearing her drone on and on about the many repercussions that might occur because someone found out they were from 260 years in the future. That, and his own reluctance to get on Mrs. Poe's bad side combined to have him happily standing by as Lucy was dragged upstairs to the bedroom where, he imagined, she would be on the receiving end of one hell of lecture on morality.
Upon further reflection, however, he realized that he probably should have intervened. No matter how pissed Lucy was before after learning of their confession to Tom, she was bound to be even more pissed now after enduring a never-ending sermon on modesty courtesy of Mrs. Poe. Rufus was right, Lucy was going to kill him.
"Come on, man." Wyatt urged, more to himself than to Rufus, "she can't be all that pissed…not when we're so close to getting home."
"Have you met Lucy?" Rufus asked incredulously. "Hell, I'm surprised she hasn't come barreling down this hill to literally skin you alive. That Mrs. Poe might be able to cook, but damn if she isn't the meanest woman alive."
"Oh come on, Rufus, she's not that bad."
"Says the man who wouldn't tell her to mind her own damn business and leave Lucy the hell alone." Rufus scoffed, "Admit it, Wyatt…she intimidates the hell out of you."
"Who?" he remarked with a grin as he got back to his feet, "Mrs. Poe…or Lucy?"
Quirking his lip, Rufus let out a small chuckle, "Yeah…well, just remember, you're married to one of them in this century…that is, until she kills you."
"Uh-oh, woman trouble?" Tom asked as he sauntered towards them, stuffing the last of the wire traps into a satchel.
"No." Wyatt replied meaningfully, casting Rufus a glare, "Nothing I can't handle, anyway…"
"Famous last words." Rufus muttered as he worked his way up the trail following Tom. "Still," he conceded, "there is something to thinking that she won't be as mad when she sees how much progress we've made. I mean, now we have a patch, wires…all we need is some glass jars and some foil..."
"And a way to get past the French army…" Wyatt reminded him.
"We've done it before…" Rufus offered, but Wyatt shook his head in disagreement.
"No," he explained in a hushed voice, "that battle that Lucy keeps going on about, is about to be on our doorstep any day." Jutting his chin towards the general direction of John Fraser's farm he continued, "Lucy and I heard the whole damn thing this morning. Braddock is on his way on Duquesne right now."
"I thought he was supposed to be going to Fort Cumberland?" Rufus gaped as Wyatt stepped past him on the trail.
"He was." Wyatt acknowledged, "but he left already. Apparently, he's trying to prove himself," scoffing he added, "more like he's trying to get himself killed."
"Literally." Rufus quipped with a derisive laugh, "Didn't Lucy say he dies in this battle?"
"I don't know, Rufus." Wyatt muttered as he quickened his step, "And I don't care anymore. All I know is we can't stay here. Every day we spend here - we screw up something else. I say now that we have the chance, an actual chance to get out - we just cut out losses and go home…and hope to hell everything turns out the way it's supposed to."
"Yeah, but…what does Lucy say about all of this?" Rufus asked in concern, "I mean, I get it…we want to get the hell out of here and I'm right there with you – 100%...but you know, if something happens here that's not supposed to happen…"
"Everything that's happened since we've gotten here wasn't supposed to happen, Rufus." Wyatt snapped impatiently.
"Look, all I'm saying," Rufus replied meaningfully, "is that we don't get a chance at a redo. We screw this up, go back home to the United States of France…we may not be able to fix that. Like ever."
"I know." Wyatt sighed heavily, stopping in his tracks. "I know." He turned and looked at the rolling hills surrounding them, the seemingly endless tracks of wild forest stretching beyond the horizon – the gateway to an entire continent on the cusp of a new birth.
A new start.
He would be lying if he denied that a part of him wanted to stay, but as much as he wanted to fulfill his mandate and protect his team – get them home – there was something he knew he would miss about this place. Life here was hard…but it was simple. Here he was actively engaged in the business of living. In 2016? He was actively disengaged…merely existing – taking one big risk after another with no real thought of his future. Here – his life had meaning, purpose…his survival was necessary for Lucy and Rufus' protection. No matter what Lucy said back at the Alamo, he knew that while she trusted him, depended on him, needed him…to Homeland Security, he was just another cog and while his loss might have been mourned by Lucy…and Rufus for a while, they eventually would have adapted to a new cog equally capable of protecting them and maybe actually killing Garcia Flynn.
"We can't stay here." he gritted out determinedly more to himself than to Rufus.
"I'm not saying we have to retire here," Rufus argued, "but I think…"
Wyatt, however, had no desire to listen to Rufus' reasoning. He knew everything he was going to say - he wasn't stupid – hell, he agreed. They did have an obligation to make sure the French won this battle, that George Washington, despite the rout, came off as a hero…to lay the foundations for his reputation to help him take the reins in the American Revolution. He also knew, however, that if they got caught up in this battle, it would be all too tempting to stay to make sure the next one went right, and the next one…and the one after that…until they had spent ten years living a lie...and then? What would be the point of going home?
Stalking away from him as fast as he could, Wyatt made his way up the hill, cursing under his breath for once again, feeling sentimental about a time and place where he did not belong. Rufus, however, wasn't deterred. Following close behind, he asked, "I mean it Wyatt," Rufus hissed, "how the hell can we just pack up and leave this place when we have a job to do?"
At that, Wyatt's patience was spent. "My job," he spat out meaningfully, "is to protect you and Lucy. I can't do that in a war. I can't guarantee that any of us will get out of here alive…or that we will even get out of here at all if we stay now. Don't you get it Rufus? This is our chance…we have to take it."
"Yeah, but Wyatt…"
Rufus' argument, however, was interrupted by Tom who shushed them with his his finger pressed to his lips, "Ya'll keep on fussing like that somebody is liable to hear you." he muttered softly, nodding towards the trees. Panicked, Wyatt spun around just in time to see a flash of movement just beyond a small clearing on the other side of the creek. Gripping his musket in his hands, Wyatt made to move forward, but Tom shook his head, "Come along now, they's more than likely a scouting party…probably looking for their friends from last night." Looking up to the greying sky he added, "…'sides, it looks a might like rain and I sho don't want to be trekking around in the mud…did enough of that las' night." Nodding at his two companions, he urged calmly, "Let's go."
Casting a glance towards Rufus, Wyatt nodded tersely, keeping an eye on the woods behind them as they trudged their way up the hill. A roll of thunder sounded above them indicating the coming storm as they finally made their way out of the woods and into the clearing near John Fraser's farm. "Well, would you look at that," Tom remarked, noting the horses still tied to the posts in front of the house, "Master John still gots company…I wonder who it is."
"Daniel Boone." Wyatt replied, smirking as he saw Rufus do a double take in the corner of his eye. "I spent the whole morning with him and Daniel Morgan, looking over maps and talking about Braddock's insanely stupid strategy."
"You're kidding? The Daniel Boone?" Rufus gasped as Wyatt nodded. "Why am I thinking he's not supposed to be a thing yet?"
Wyatt shrugged, "I thought the same thing…but I mean, you got to start somewhere, right? He may not be Daniel Boone now, but…"
"What do you mean he ain't Daniel Boone now?" Tom asked, confused. "That's his name in'it?"
"Uh…" Wyatt stammered awkwardly as Tom continued…
"Yeah," Rufus offered, "but…you see, where we come from, Daniel Boone…he's…well…he's…"
"Nothing." Wyatt gritted out meaningfully, suddenly serious. Casting Rufus a warning glare, Wyatt continued in explanation, "Look, it's…it's just, for us…with this job that we do…we're meeting people and seeing people we've only read about it and the things they're famous for well, they aren't necessarily famous for them yet when we meet them – that's all."
"Uh-huh." Tom replied. "Well, I guess it's handy to have you folks around, seeing as how you knows what' s'posed to happen and all. I guess you might could be handy if it comes to war with the French."
Rufus was about to reply, but Wyatt, again, stopped him with a look, "Actually," he said, "things, well things aren't really going the way they're supposed to so we …um…we don't really know what's going to happen." Exchanging another look with Rufus, Wyatt continued, "So I don't know how much help we will be."
"Won't that mess things up for you if things don't turn out the way they s'posed to?" Tom asked in confusion.
"Yeah," Rufus acknowledged with a significant look towards Wyatt, "yeah, it will."
Look, Tom." Wyatt offered with an exasperated sigh, "We…we do what we can to try to keep history from changing…but sometimes we can't help it. It happens. And we…we do our best to keep it from changing too much." He swallowed hard as he added, "Even if we'd rather change it…we…we…can't."
Tom nodded at him in sudden, solemn understanding, "So I guess what you's saying is the French win, huh?"
"No." Rufus added quickly, before amending, "I mean, well…yes, they win a few battles. But ultimately the British win the war. At least, they're supposed to…but who knows now? Chuckling nervously, Rufus explained, "Hell, we may get back to 2016 and find ourselves in the United States of France."
"United States?" asked Tom in confusion. "What's the United States?"
"Well, this is." said Rufus with a shrug, "The colonies…they become states after the American Revolution. You see, the British get all crazy about taxing tea or some such nonsense and well, there's a war and George Washington kicks the British out and becomes the First Preside…
"Rufus." Wyatt gritted out meaningfully, before taking him by the arm and whispering to him harshly, "I don't really think it's a good idea to tell Tom what's supposed to happen. I mean…isn't that like the Back to the Future thing – you're not supposed to know too much about your own future?"
"Yeah, that's what Doc Brown said, but then what did he do? He taped that letter back together and got himself a bulletproof vest."
"Yeah, so?"
"So, I'm planning on giving Tom a chance to get himself a bulletproof vest." Rufus chided back, before explaining to an exasperated Wyatt, "He's brilliant, man. Brilliant. He doesn't deserve to live his life like this. He could be something great…reallygreat if he was just given the right opportunity. Not left here to get caught up in a war for ten damn years and then, get screwed over when the Revolution happens."
"Rufus!" Wyatt hissed, casting a look over his shoulder to Tom, who seemed to take a sudden interest in weaving a few blades of grass together. Sighing, he continued, "Look, I understand, I do. Hell, we both wanted to save Lincoln, remember? But Lucy is right. We can't change the past." he paused, as if suddenly realizing something, before adding quietly, "no matter how much we want to." Releasing Rufus' arm, he nodded, "We can do what we can to help him…here, now…but that's it. We can't tell him what's supposed to happen here in the next 30 years. We can't. He already knows too much as it is."
"You didn't have a problem changing the past when you were burning down that damn French fort." Rufus muttered.
Narrowing his eyes, Wyatt glared at Rufus, "What the hell – how else do you think I was going to get Lucy out of there? You think I should've just left her there to die?"
"No!" Rufus spat out in frustration, "but come on, Wyatt…you can't get all high and mighty about not changing the past…the very fact that we're living here and have been living here for the past couple of months is pretty much the definition of changing the past – because you're right," he snapped, "we don't belong here….and neither, neither does Tom."
"That's just the thing." Wyatt said quietly, "He does. Rufus…" he added meaningfully, "we may not like it…but he does. This is…"
"This is garbage." Rufus spat out angrily, "He's helping us, Wyatt…he's helping us get home and what are we doing for him in return? Nothing. Nothing. It's not fair." He shook his head at him, "I don't give a damn what you say, I'm telling him…"
"I heard ya." Tom interrupted with a frown, "I didn't understand half of what you was saying, but I heard ya.." He nodded at Rufus meaningfully, "Look here, I appreciate you being so concerned about my welfare, but I told ya when you offered to teach me how to read…this is just how things is – no amount of learning can change that."
"But it can." Rufus argued passionately, "It can, Tom. You…you have a gift. You should be allowed to use it. To…to make something of yourself."
"Now see here," Tom replied, looking very nearly offended, "I don't think poorly of myself," as Rufus made to apologize for the misunderstanding, Tom waved his hand dismissively, "I know you thinks the world of schooling, but I aint changed my mind none on that." He nodded at Rufus meaningfully, "I said it then and I say it now…some learned men be great fools. I don't think I seen one, including yo'self that hadn't gotten themselves into some kind of mischief because they's thinking too highly of what they know, stead of remembering He who knows all." Nodding his head towards Wyatt, Tom agreed, "This here time and place…it's just the lot I was given and I aims to live my life the way I was intended to live it." Again, Rufus tried to argue with him, but Tom spoke over him, "I do appreciate you thinking so highly of me…but Mister Wyatt is right. I don't want to be a meddlin' with time…look what kind of mess it's got you in."
Rufus desperately wanted to make him see reason, but Wyatt silenced him with a shake of his head. Unwilling to let it go without a fight, Rufus gritted out in a voice filled with emotion, "If you only knew how long it's going to take for men like you and me to be free…"
"I's not supposed to know." Tom replied firmly, "and I don't intends to know. A man gets too caught up in what the future s'posed to hold or," he added with a meaningful nod, "what came a'fore…and well, he forgets thinking about the here and now. A man could miss his whole life that way."
Wyatt stilled and stared at Tom for a moment, even as Rufus continued to argue.
"No sir," Tom continued, "you folks come back here meddling with things you ought not to have been messin' with, and look at the fix you's in. Stuck." he reminded him meaningfully. "You's stuck here with troubles that ain't your own."
"That's just it." Rufus cried passionately, "Your troubles are my troubles…we…you and me…we are the same."
Tom smiled at him, "See, that's where you wrong." Turning to Wyatt, Tom asked, "You own him?" As Wyatt vehemently shook his head in the negative, Tom turned back to Rufus, "You owned by anybody?"
"Well…no…but…"
"Then we ain't the same." Tom replied simply. "You free. For me? Tha's enough. It don't matter none to me when it happens or how…because looking at you? I know it will happen."
"But don't you want that for yourself?" Rufus asked him pointedly, "Don't you want…"
"It's not up to me." Tom replied pointing upwards to the sky, "The Good Lord heard the cries of his people in Egypt…and then one day – he gave them Moses. Nodding he continued, "I 'spect there was a good number of folks never got to see Moses, nor no Promised Land neither, but they had faith a Deliverer would come jes the same. The ways I sees it, I got something a little better than faith," he said with a meaningful nod, "I got you."
Frustrated, Rufus ran a hand across his face and hung his head down in his dismay, "I can't just stand by and leave you knowing…
"Well let's not put the cart afore the horse…you ain't gone no where yet and won't be if we don't get you fixed up with the things you be needin. As for feeling like you owe me something?" Tom shook his head, "I told ya before, -it don't cost me none to help out a friend in need – I don't 'spect nothing in return for being kind and if you thinks I do…well, then maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do." He smiled at Rufus as he continued, "you're a good friend…and if that contraption of yours works, well, I hope when you get back to where you belongs, that you'll tear that thing to pieces and build something more worthwhile." Shaking his head as he began making his way back down the trail, Tom muttered, "No sir…meddling with time gets ya nothing but trouble."
Another roll of thunder sounded over head as Wyatt, Rufus and Tom made their way back across the lane towards John Fraser's farm. The storm Tom had predicted seemed to be well on its way and while the increased wind and darkening landscape should have offered up a sense of foreboding, procuring those wire traps had buoyed Wyatt up with hope…though one glance in Rufus' direction proved that he was not exactly sharing in the optimism he was currently enjoying.
"It's just the foil now, right?" he asked, hoping to encourage his friend to talk.
"And the bottles." Rufus muttered with a sigh as he stole a glance towards Tom, leading them through the gate.
Noting this, Wyatt nudged his friend, "Look man, I know you want to help Tom…"
"I know what you're going say," Rufus replied, shaking his head, "but dammit Wyatt, it's not like I want to change the past. I just want him to have a better future, a chance at a better life…is that so terrible?"
"It's not terrible at all." Wyatt shrugged, "But Rufus, it's his life. It's his decision."
"It's not his decision." Rufus snapped back. "He's not free to make any choices…"
"He chose to help us, he chose to not tell John Fraser about who we really are…"
"You know what I mean," Rufus argued, before halting with a heavy sigh, "I know we need to get the hell out of here, Wyatt…and believe me, no one is more ready to leave this place behind than I am…but," he shook his head as he muttered despondently, "I can't help feeling like an ass for leaving good folks like Tom behind, ya know?"
Yeah, Wyatt knew. He was haunted by the same bittersweet feeling – part of him desperately ready to get the hell out of Dodge and the other part of him, inexplicably mourning the loss of a life that wasn't his own. Nodding at his friend as a few drops of rain began to fall, he sighed, "Yeah, I know."
"It's weird, right?" Rufus chuckled as they continued up the hill together, "Being stranded here like we are, nearly being killed…you'd think we wouldn't even think twice about leaving this place in our dust, but if we hadn't been stuck here like this…"
Wyatt frowned and nodded, "Definitely going to miss the people we met here." He scoffed as he admitted, "You know, leaving Jim Bowie behind was probably the hardest damn thing I ever had to do…knowing he and everybody else in the Alamo was going to die? I only knew him for a day…and yet, because it was Jim Bowie I felt like I had known him my whole life." He smiled to himself as the thought came to him that that must have been how Lucy felt about every historical figure they came across., before turning solemn once more and admitting with a thoughtful frown, "He was my hero, Rufus. If I could have saved him…I would have, in a heartbeat. But, that's the job, right? We protect history. We don't change it…well," he amended with a chuckle, "not on purpose, anyway."
"Yeah, I know." Rufus agreed with a sigh, "It just sucks."
Wyatt could hardly argue with him there. How often had he and Lucy butted heads over this very thing? How many times had he rolled his eyes at her insistence that history mattered? That there was no such thing as fate or meant to be's….everything was just dumb luck, just a roll of the damn dice, just choices? Of course, for Lucy this was personal. One change to the Hindenburg and her sister disappeared.- the man she knew as her father – married to someone else. Her entire life was completely upended because someone survived who wasn't supposed to. He hadn't wanted to consider it then, but now…faced with the prospect of coming home to a present they didn't even recognize, Wyatt had to admit that Lucy had a point.
Changing the past could completely wreck their future…not that he had much of a future ahead of him. In fact, the very idea of returning to 2016 filled him with an odd sense of loss, that he couldn't fully explain. He stood outside the barn even as heavy drops of rain began to shower down upon him attempting to understand it. When they first landed in this century, he was so ready to leave all of this behind – the team, the missions…the damn cat and mouse game they had been playing for centuries across time with Garcia Flynn – all of it. He wanted nothing more than to leave with what little scraps of reputation he had left, and go back to…what? Mindless missions with fellow grunts? Risking his life on some dangerous mission in some God-forsaken corner of the world…no longer worrying about the civilians in his care, but being part of a team of soldiers, just as capable as he was?
Breathing heavily as he looked around the place they had called home for the past few months, Wyatt was struck with the realization that leaving the team wouldn't change anything – not for him. His life had become nothing more than the next mission, the next risk…something, anything to distract from the reality that was his miserable existence. Here, he might have been living a lie…but that lie had reminded him of what it was to be alive – to live and not simply exist.
"I found a couple articles on tinsmithing in these almanacs," Rufus called out to him absentmindedly as he shucked off his jacket, "it shouldn't be too hard to make the foil, but it's …Wyatt? Wyatt?" Slowly he lifted his eyes to Rufus' who chuckled at him with a shake of his head, "You okay?"
Rufus' question reverberated off the inside of his troubled mind like a pinball, each uttered word rebounding against his stubborn pride forcing him to acknowledge for the first time since Jessica died that no…no, he was not okay. Slowly, Wyatt's mind began to fill with thoughts he hadn't allowed himself to dwell on. How for the past five years he had shunned attachments, too afraid to lose someone else he cared about, how his reckless behavior and reputation for bravery hadn't stemmed from courage but from his near suicidal mindset, how his life had become nothing more than a mission of self-destruction and self-loathing.
Until…
"Lucy." He murmured almost to himself, before looking up at Rufus' confused face and stammering, "Lucy…she um…she doesn't know…ya know, um…how close we are to…yeah…". Backing away from the open barn door, Wyatt jerked his thumb towards the house, "I should probably talk to her…tell…tell her…"
"Better you than me." Rufus jeered with a shake of his head, as he rolled up his sleeves, "Just remind her that she can't kill you…we need you to help us get us past the French."
Hardly hearing him, Wyatt raced back to the house in the rain, his heart thudding madly in his chest as the realization dawned him that his desire to be free from the team hadn't stemmed so much from his anger…but from his fear. He hadn't wanted to admit that after years of rejecting attachment, he had become attached to both Lucy and Rufus…and it scared the hell out of him. Their betrayal hurt so much because he had allowed them in…had gone against his better judgement and began to care…and in that dilapidated Washington DC hotel room, Garcia Flynn had reminded him why that had been a bad idea. His initial knee-jerk reaction was to burn those bridges, reclaim his aloof, stoic and isolated existence…to run back to his Delta Force team and try to forget…
But he knew now…he couldn't…and not just because 24 hours later they had found themselves stranded in the 18thcentury.
No. Wyatt knew that even if he had thrown in the towel and high tailed his ass back to Pendleton, there would always be a nagging/a tugging at his heart strings every time he heard Stanford University mentioned in the news or saw on of Mason's high-end cars on the road. There was plenty to dislike about 1754 – plenty he wouldn't miss, but there was also plenty to appreciate. Not only had it given him a purpose, it had forced him to grow even closer to Lucy and Rufus…and in so doing, had given him a much-needed wake-up call. He was not okay. His life, as he was living it, was not okay.
Stopping on the back porch just long enough to scrape his muddy shoes on the mat, Wyatt entered the hall, breathless and dripping wet from the rain. Shucking off his coat and hat, he was just turning to make his way down the hall, when he was met by an annoyed Mrs. Poe. "Well, I see it's raining pikels out there again." she observed with a disapproving glance at the muddy footsteps Wyatt had left in his wake. "I suppose it'll be soup tonight…just as well," she added with a meaningful sigh, "seeing as how your wife has neglected to honor her promise and help me out with dinner."
Wyatt narrowed his eyes at her in confusion, when John Fraser stepped into the hall with a warm greeting, "Ah, there you are, I was wondering where you had gotten to." Eyeing Wyatt's wet clothes he nodded, "Obviously, you got yourself caught up in the storm…no matter, we'll get you dried up in no time." Waving him forward, he announced, "Got some brandy in here that will warm you right up…and then I'd love to hear your thoughts on this business with Braddock…"
"Wait," Wyatt stopped, turning once more to Mrs. Poe who was already stooped on the floor cleaning up his footprints, "what do you mean, Lucy didn't help you out with dinner…where is she?"
"Devil if I know." Mrs. Poe responded with a shrug as she got to her feet, "I thought she was off with you somewhere, seeing as how you both disappeared." Stopping suddenly, she looked up at Wyatt sharply, "Do you mean to say she hasn't been with you since she left me…"
"I haven't seen Lucy since you took her upstairs." Wyatt admitted, his alarm evident. Not wasting another moment, he pushed past John Fraser and raced up the stairs, taking two steps at a time until he reached the upstairs hall. Desperately trying to quell the mounting panic in his chest, Wyatt made a quick and determined march towards Lucy's bedroom at the end of the hall, half convinced by the time he reached the door that he would open it to find her curled up in bed taking a much-needed nap. Rapping his knuckles on the door, Wyatt called out in a voice of forced calm, "Lucy? Lucy?" but even though no answer came, he wasn't about to surrender himself over to panic and despair. Wrenching open the door, he stumbled inside only to find it chillingly empty.
"I'm telling you," gasped an out of breath Mrs. Poe, who had obviously jogged after him, "I saw her go out into the yard just afore noon and haint seen hide nor hair of her since."
At that admittance, Wyatt raced out of the room and back down the stairs, past a bewildered and concerned John Fraser in the hall, and out the back door just as an ominous roll of thunder sounded overhead. "Lucy!" the panic was obvious in his voice now as he peered through the merciless deluge before him, hoping to God she was huddled in some outbuilding somewhere, attempting to stay dry.
John Fraser and his guests were at his side now, offering up words of comfort and advice, but Wyatt hardly heard them. Instead, he raced out into the driving rain searching every nook and cranny of the farm, until he stumbled into the forge where Rufus and Tom were working diligently on reconstructing the wire traps into a long spool. Upon seeing Wyatt, Rufus grinned, "Look who's not dead – guess Lucy wasn't as mad as…"
"Lucy is gone." he interrupted, his voice quivering with emotion.
'What?" Rufus exclaimed sliding off of his stool, "What do you mean…gone? Where the hell could she go?"
"Mrs. Poe hasn't seen her since…" Wyatt trailed off and swallowed hard, battling a wave of nausea. "Rufus," he gritted out helplessly, "it's been hours since anybody has seen her…where the hell is she?"
"Now, now…calm down." Tom offered bracingly, "Maybe she just got caught up in this storm…"
"Yeah," Rufus agreed, "You checked the kitchen? The storehouse?"
Wyatt nodded, "I've looked everywhere…how could she just disappear?" Of course, Wyatt knew given the time and place that it was very easy for her to just disappear but after their close call from the night before, he couldn't believe that Lucy would be so careless as to wander off alone…"She wouldn't have," Wyatt murmured more to himself than to anyone, before reiterating his question as if to convince himself, "Rufus, she…wouldn't have, right?"
"Wouldn't have, what?" Tom asked in confusion.
"Didn't you say Lucy was upset this morning?" Rufus asked quietly, looking at Wyatt with growing concern.
"Yeah." Wyatt admitted dragging his hand over his mouth and cursing, "Yeah, she was…um…she was upset. Said she needed to talk to me. Dammit, Rufus…you don't think she…"
"This is Lucy we're talking about, Wyatt." Rufus offered bracingly. "You know how damn stubborn she is."
"Shit." Wyatt cursed again, before racing back out into the yard screaming her name. He was racing towards the barn to search in there again, when John Fraser called out to him from the yard, his arm around a young boy.
"Wyatt, my lad…." John offered gently, "this young man says he saw your wife …"
"Where?" Wyatt asked desperately, "When?"
"Jes about lunch time, sir." came the answer as the young boy pointed out towards the road, "She was a hunting you and I tol her I saw you heading out down the lane, there."
"She went that way?" Wyatt asked, breathlessly, indicating the road to their cabin, "You're sure?"
"Mighty sure, sir." he answered, "I watched her make her way up the hill thinking she might fall on all that mud." Looking a little guilty for his impish remark, he sighed, "I promise I didn't want her to get hurt, I just thought it might be funny to see, that's all."
Wyatt, however, wasn't interested in hearing anymore. Without so much as a backwards glance, he raced towards the lane and trudged his way up the hill in mud, heedless of the shouts from Rufus, John Fraser, and Tom sounding behind him. Lucy could still be safe, he thought. There was a very good chance that she was at their cabin when the rain came and had decided to stay there to weather out the storm. When he crested the hill, however, that small glimmer of hope was dashed into a million pieces when there, laying in a heap on the ground before him, was an unattended laundry basket filled with sodden items he immediately recognized as hers. "Oh my God." he exclaimed, horror-stricken as he stumbled forward and down the hill until he found himself hovering over the basket in desperation. Panic coursed through him as he searched the road side for any sign of her, "Lucy!" he shouted, but no answer came.
Tumbling down the hill after him, Rufus skirted to a halt at the sight of the ruined supplies lying in a sodden heap in the muddy lane. "Oh no." Rufus muttered, "You don't think…"
"What else could have happened to her, Rufus?" Wyatt snapped, angry more at himself than anyone, "It's my fault," he lamented, "if I had just listened to her…".
"Don't do that, man…don't. We don't know that she's…" he nodded, as if trying to assure himself, "She's alive, Wyatt…we have to believe that."
But Wyatt couldn't believe it. Five years ago, he had allowed himself to hope, beyond every reasonable doubt, that Jessica was still alive – he had convinced himself that she merely run off with someone and would call him at any moment to tell him she was okay. As the days went by, with still no word, he refused even then, to believe the worst, even as police detectives told him they were switching their focus to a recovery operation…he refused to believe that his wife was dead. When that fateful call came, time itself, seemed to stand still. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, not until he found himself standing in that morgue staring down at her mangled, lifeless body lying on that stark, ice cold slab. It was a waking nightmare forever engrained into his mind – a nightmare he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy.
How in the hell, then, could he even begin to hope, given what they had gone through the night before, that Lucy wasn't…he couldn't go through this again…he just couldn't. "Rufus…" Wyatt pleaded, but even as his brain told him it was hopeless, something inside of him would not relent. Nodding in determination, Wyatt left the road and began scanning the fields and forests beyond for any sign of her. "Lucy! Lucy!" he strained his ears listening for a response, suddenly feeling an odd sense of déjà vu as he peered for any sign of movement through the rain.
Something about this seemed oddly familiar.
Charging forward through the brush, Wyatt fought off his anxiety, hoping to find her seeking shelter somewhere just off the road when the ground beneath him gave way. "Holy sh…" he exclaimed, scrambling back towards the road, "Careful," he called back to Rufus, "there's a steep drop here…" the words were barely out of his mouth, however, before his attention was drawn to a red shawl snagged on a root below him, swaying slightly in the wind. "Rufus!" Wyatt shouted as he swung down from the ledge above and eased his way down the side of the hill, bracing himself on tree roots and rocks until he managed to pull the fabric free.
"What is it?" Rufus called somewhere above him. "Did you find her? Is she hurt?"
"No…but she definitely came this way." Wyatt replied grimly, lifting the shawl he recognized all too well as his eyes surveyed the broken limbs and tell-tale signs of recently displaced rock along the cliffside. As carefully as he could, Wyatt eased his way to the bottom of the gully, half expecting to find her lying in a bloodied and broken heap somewhere. "Lucy?" he called out as his feet hit solid ground again, "Lucy?!"
"Watch out!" Rufus called from above him, but not before the man himself came sliding down the hillside with a spectacular crash, "Ow," he exclaimed as he lay at Wyatt's feet, "That's a hell of a lot steeper than it looks from up there."
Noting the steep incline, Wyatt nodded, "She wouldn't have been able to climb back up from here…it's too damn steep." Stepping forward, he followed the path along the small stream that had formed in the gully, his eyes scanning back and forth, looking for any sign of what might have happened to her. "There!" he exclaimed suddenly, rushing towards a birch tree that had the perfect outline of a muddy handprint on its white bark. Encouraged that he was going the right way, Wyatt quickened his pace, calling out with his hands cupped, "Lucy! Lucy!"
Jumping over jutting rocks and roots, Wyatt and Rufus raced along the gully until a large series of boulders blocked their way. Huffing and out of breath, Rufus observed, "Well now what? …you think she climbed over this?"
Wyatt narrowed his eyes in confusion as he took in the pile of boulders around him – sharp, jutting and large he knew that Lucy, in all of her skirts, would have had a hell of a time if she had even attempted it. "Maybe…" he stated, more hopeful than anything as he too began to scale the slippery surface of the rocks. "Dammit." he gritted out as he lost his footing and slid down the side…coming face to face with a small streak of red. "Oh, shit…Rufus!" he cried out, but his friend was already by his side.
"Is that…blood?" he asked tentatively, eyeing Wyatt with a worried brow.
"She's hurt." he gritted out tersely, not wanting to allow panic to overtake him once again. He rubbed a rough hand across his face and paced anxiously in front of the rocks.
"Come on, now," Rufus urged, attempting to calm him, "We…we don't know that it's blood. It…it could be paint…or…ya know…um…something else." Wyatt offered him a withering glare as he continued anxiously, "Even if it is blood, that's…that's not necessarily a bad thing. I mean, if she's hurt, that means she can't have gotten very far, right?"
"Not alone, no. Wyatt remarked seriously, casting Rufus a troubled look.
"You…you don't think…"
"We were almost killed last night." Wyatt reminded him, his voice wavering. "Lucy…she left that road for a reason. She wouldn't have just…" he bit his lip, a pained look spreading across his face as he breathed out shakily, "someone got her, Rufus. Someone got her, dammit and…I…I wasn't there."
Sinking to the ground, he held his head in his hands looking more helpless and lost than Rufus had ever seen him. Though he hadn't said it, Rufus knew where his mind was…after losing his first wife on the side of a lonely road, it wasn't too hard to imagine that Wyatt was currently reliving one of the worst moments of his life. "I…" he began before swallowing hard and adding quietly, "We're gonna her find, Wyatt."
Scoffing, Wyatt shook his head, "She's been gone hours, Rufus. I only left Jessica alone for twenty minutes."
"So, you're just gonna give up?" Rufus pressed, "You're just gonna leave Lucy to fend for herself out here in…" he paused, narrowing his eyes as he noted Wyatt wasn't listening to him, but instead, had cocked his head, staring at the ground beyond him, across the stream. Slowly inching forward, Wyatt furrowed his brow in confusion, before suddenly scrambling to his feet and sloshing his way through the stream to the other side of the gully where he stooped suddenly and scooped up what looked like a balled-up piece of paper. Brimming with curiosity, Rufus stumbled right after him, "What is that?" he asked. Hardly hearing him, Wyatt carefully uncrumpled and smoothed the page before him, his eyes widening as the words The History of Tom Jones, A Foundling came into view.
"Holy shit." Wyatt gasped, before turning and frantically searching the ground around him. Crashing through the trees and underbrush he eyed the forest floor up and down until he, once again, dropped to his knee and scooped up another piece of crumpled paper. "What is it?" Rufus asked a little more impatiently.
"It's Lucy." Wyatt replied grimly, holding the second rumpled page, "she's in trouble."
Hands shoved in her apron on the pretense of keeping them warm, Lucy winced as she tore yet another page from her beloved first edition of Tom Jones. Grateful for the spattering of rain to camouflage the ripping sound that followed each and every act of violence to the novel, Lucy was even more thankful that she had had the foresight to shove the book in her apron pocket to begin with. Of course, she had done that initially to preserve it…but now…now she hoped and prayed it would preserve her.
Feigning another coughing fit, Lucy wrenched the fist holding the crumpled page out of her apron and carefully allowed the paper to drop at her feet as she lowered her hands back down and shoved them back in her pocket. She knew Wyatt would look for her, that wasn't even a question, she was less sure however, that these pages would survive the onslaught of rain…or that Wyatt would even find them. She hoped he would. To anyone else, random pages of Tom Jones might not mean anything, but Wyatt, she knew, would understand that nothing would induce her to ruin her prized souvenir except the direst of circumstances…and well, her circumstances were pretty damn dire. It might not have been the greatest idea she ever had, but it was something…and something had to be better than doing nothing…even if it did break her heart a little every time she ripped out another page.
"Ow!" she cried out as one of the Natives flanking her roughly pushed her forward, "Do you mind?" she gritted out angrily, "I'm going as fast as I can, you know."
"Les femmes sont une nuisance, n'est-ce pas?" remarked the French soldier leading them on. Turning slightly with a huff, he rebuked her even as she rolled her eyes at his remark, "If you continue to make this trek difficult, I will make it more difficult for you." "My leg hurts." Lucy gritted out angrily. "Can't we just…rest a little?" Please?" Smirking at her, the soldier shook his head and made a few steps back towards her, before roughly gripping her chin with his hand, "Your charms may have worked on Nicolas," he stated simply with his thick accent, "but they will hold no such power over me." Pointing to her leg, he spat out emotionally, "Your pain brings me joy. It is but a small price to pay for your guilt." "I didn't kill him." Lucy spat back, wrenching her chin from his grip. "Why would I?" she continued angrily. "He was the only decent person in that…that place." Frowning, the French soldier shrugged, "Perhaps to appease your lover?" Lifting her hand, he noted the ring on her finger, "Mari, je veux dire" he amended with a satisfied smirk, before narrowing his eyes and offering, "Or perhaps, I am wrong. Perhaps you did not kill Nicolas. Perhaps it was your lover? A jealous rage?" Lucy huffed out an angry breath, but said nothing as the soldier continued, "Nicolas was quite fond of you, you know? "Amoureux de sa beaute et de la force de ses sentiments" were his exact words," shaking his head he spat out, "L'idiot." At Lucy's confused expression, the soldier pulled a small leather bound book from his coat pocket and waved it at her, "Son journal"
Lucy swallowed hard and looked away, remembering how angry Wyatt had been the night he had rescued her from the fort. What had he said? That she had been cozying up to the French? That Nicolas was her boyfriend? At the time she thought he was just being overly dramatic because she had stabbed him in the arm, but now, now she couldn't help but wonder if he saw what she hadn't. That Nicolas' attentions were more than just kindness…
"I didn't…I didn't know." she murmured quietly before scoffing and adding with a sniff, "I…I didn't even know him that well…and…I had just lost… I mean, I thought I had just lost…" Lucy trailed off, thinking of those awful moments when she had believed Wyatt had been killed…and how overjoyed she had been to see him alive….right before Nicolas was killed.
"So in killing him your conscience is clear, heh? He was just a means for your escape?"
"No." Lucy spat back angrily. "I told you, I didn't kill him."
"Il y avait des temoins." the French soldier growled back, disbelieving. "You were seen. He confronted you and your lover and you killed him to make your escape."
"Yes," Lucy conceded with a desperate huff, "but, we didn't kill him. He was killed by a shot that was meant for us." She shook her head, "If he had just listened…"
'So it is his fault, then?" the French soldier mused, "He deserved to die because he was doing his duty to father and country? Ensuring a spy did not escape?"
"I wasn't a spy." Lucy gritted out.
Shoving the journal back into his pocket, he turned on his heel and barked out "Continue a marcher. Si elle s'arette a nouveau, tuez-la."
With another rough shove, Lucy stumbled forward, unable to contain her indignation, "If you kill me," she spat back defiantly, "My husband will kill you."
"I look forward to it, my dear." the French soldier taunted back. "I have every hope that he will join us soon." Turning once more, he approached her slowly, smirking even as he got within a hair's breadth from her. Uncomfortable with him being so close, Lucy attempted to flinch away, but no sooner had she shifted backwards slightly, than the soldier's hand was around her neck, essentially holding her in place. Lucy struggled against him while his other hand dipped into her apron pocket and pulled out her ruined copy of Tom Jones. "Tsk tsk tsk." he simpered, "Quel terrible gachis". Removing his hand from her throat he thumbed through the remainder of Tom Jones and sighed, "Maybe we leave him something more significant than just a ruined page, hmm? A lock of your hair, perhaps? A scrap of your dress?" Lifting her hand, he kissed it and suggested darkly, "A finger or two?" Wrenching her hand away, Lucy stared back at him defiantly as he continued menacingly, "If you don't keep walking, mon cheri, I will personally see to it that he finds bits and pieces of you all over this forest." With a flourish he handed the book back to her, but not before gripping her chin in his hand again and forcing her gaze back upwards to his, "Comprenez vous?" Shaking with fury, Lucy nodded, wrenching her chin once more out of his grip. Smirking at her again, the soldier turned on his heel and once more commanded his companions to march forward.
Fighting her emotions and gritting through the pain, Lucy trudged onward, limping miserably as she strove to keep up with the French soldier who seemed to be purposefully marching at double the speed he had before. Occasionally she would stumble, but the two men flanking her would roughly grasp at her arms and half drag her along until her feet found purchase in the soft, mucky earth. She had no idea how long they continued on thus – the rain had ceased falling, but the clouds were still heavy in the sky, blotting out the sun. Despite being half frozen, bruised, exhausted and sore, Lucy didn't complain again. She didn't want to risk angering the soldier any more than she already had…not for her sake so much, but for Wyatt's. It might have just been an idle threat, but even the suggestion that a macabre trail would be left for him to find had decidedly turned her from willfully defiant to reluctantly compliant. He had already had to live through one hell that involved a murdered wife, she wasn't about to contribute to the second.
Even if she wasn't really his wife.
With legs shaking from pain or cold…she honestly wasn't quite sure which at this point…Lucy clambered up ridge after ridge until finally, she found herself being led through the gate to a sprawling homestead where a small group of French soldiers had encamped. The yard was not nearly as expansive as John Fraser's, but it had been well-kept…that is, until recently. A smoldering ruin was all that was left of the barn and fields; the cabin, too showing obvious battle scars with what looked suspiciously like hatchet marks in the broken-down door.
A horrible sense of foreboding descended upon Lucy as she stumbled her way through the yard, her eyes darting back and forth…searching for what, she hardly knew…but the moment a familiar face appeared brandishing a bloody knife, she knew that her situation had just gone from bad to worse. "You!" she gasped out, staring in horror at the French soldier who had shot Wyatt.
"Ah…you know, Marcel?" the French soldier remarked as the man drew nearer, "But of course you do." he dismissed with a knowing chuckle, even as Marcel began toying with the strings of her bodice.
"Je t'ai manqué, ma chérie?" he asked as Lucy protectively wrapped her arms across her chest, staring back at him with absolute disgust.
Miss him? She despised him almost as much as she hated the French soldier currently wrenching her arm in his grip and yanking back on her hair to better expose her face, "This is the woman? C'est la femme?" he repeated desperately to her principal harasser at Duquesne, "Celui qui a tué mon neveu?"
"Nephew?" Lucy gasped, "Nicolas was your nephew?" she asked, looking at the French soldier with renewed interest, he however was focused on Marcel who seemed to be considering his options.
Studying Lucy for a moment, a grotesque smile slowly inching across his face as if he knew her life lay in his hands. Shrugging as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, he murmured, "Je ne suis pas sûr."
Clearly not pleased with his lack of certainty, the French soldier yanked Lucy's hair harder, causing her to wildly grasp at his hands to keep him from tugging further, "Vous en étiez sûr hier soir, n'est-ce pas ? Est-ce la garce qui a assassiné mon neveu?"
Once again, Marcel smiled and Lucy could tell he was devising some sort of scheme…and it made her blood run cold. Stepping forward, he glanced down at her and ran the edge of his newly cleaned knife down her cheek, along her throat and down to her bodice strings. "Vous devrez me pardonner, monsieur." he explained with a malicious sneer, "Je n'ai pas l'habitude de la voir habillée."
Lucy balked at that statement, thinking it was hardly fair since she had technically only been in her underwear once, but for the man holding her, it seemed to confirm every horrible thought he had harbored against her. "Jezebel." he spat out as he pushed her forward and unfortunately into Marcel's arms.
"Ma chérie, tu es toute mouillée." he simpered as he rubbed his hands up and down her arms, "On va devoir trouver un moyen de te réchauffer, non?"
Lucy wrenched herself out of his arms with a huff and pushed him away, turning instead to her captor. "You're Francois Coulon de Villers, aren't you?"
Slowly, the man turned to face her, "How do you know who I am?"
Realizing suddenly that her knowing anything about this man or his family would not help convince anyone that she was not a spy, Lucy quickly recovered, "I…I don't…Nicolas told me about you." she lied. "You…you were the commander at Fort de Cavagnal on the Missouri River…weren't you?"
"Yes – the first commander." Francois acknowledged with a slight nod of his head, before snapping, "That is until I had to leave my post to avenge my family." Shaking his head with fury he spat out, "First my brother, then my nephew…I will see to it that you and your British friends pay for what you have done to my family."
"Nous l'avons déjà fait, n'est-ce pas monsieur?" Marcel chuckled darkly…and it was at that moment that Lucy saw what he was referring to - the mutilated bodies of a man and woman just yards away from where she was standing.
At her horrified gasp, Francois Coulon de Villiers smirked, "Friends of yours?" When Lucy tried to look away he roughly grabbed her chin and forced it back towards the direction of her dead neighbors. "The Gibbs…I believe they called themselves." he offered up with a careless shrug. "As you see, it took some…uh shall we say convincing for them to tell us anything…but once Monsieur Gibbs understood that we were deadly serious, he recalled that there was a young man and young woman, newly married…who had just recently escaped Ft. Duquesne living less than 10 miles from here."
"If they gave you what you wanted then why..." Lucy began before Francois interuppted
"And eye for an eye." he stated simply, before explaining with some anger, "You think our Native allies there," he said with a jerk of his chin, "wouldn't take offense at the loss of their tribesmen? Do you think I would take it for my own men?" Chuckling darkly he shook his head, "As I told you, my dear...I will have my vengeance."
Lucy stared back at him but said nothing more, even as tears burned in her eyes. She hardly knew the Gibbs', but they were now dead…because of her. She wanted to vomit, she wanted to forever stamp out the sight of their lifeless faces from her memory…but she knew their deaths were just the beginning of Francois Coulon de Villiers' promise of vengeance. They were going to kill her - that much was certain. "Wyatt," she murmured quietly to herself as a single tear streaked down her dirty cheek, "where are you?"
Notes:
Sorry this is late in coming - I've just been busy.
Francois Coulon de Villers was the actual brother of Jospeh and Louis...and he was the first commander of that Fort on the Missouri. More significantly, he did seek vengeance for the death of his brother Joseph...though he does that in 1756...after the war is officially declared. I don't want to get into too much of this in the notes because I will be talking about him a little more in the next chapter and I don't want to spoil anything.
I know I've been busy...but I have been writing...and I actually have a good chunk of the next chapter ready...so HOPEFULLY it won't take long to get that out to you. This fic is so massive, I know...but there's so many moving parts in it it just takes forever to bring it all together.