Disclaimer: I don't own Winnie or Jesse, or a single person, place or thing. Everything belongs to Natalie Babbitt. I am only borrowing them for a short time.

Tuck Revisiting

It was the first week in August, and the hot, almost oppressive sun beat down on the small community of Treegap. In the touch-me-not cottage by the wood, Winnie Foster, now Winnie Jackson, was standing at the window of her old bedroom, looking out across the yard. Winnie was different now, so different than the girl she was when she lived in this house. She was married to a man named Matthew. She was a mother as well. Her daughter, Molly, was almost two years old.

Yes, she was different. She had left Treegap for a time, gone to school in the north. She had been a very eager student, devouring any and all information she could get her hands on, filling her willing mind. She studied literature and art, history and science. She learned about foreign cultures, about other religions and philosophies. Then she met Matthew, and though it was not a powerful, all-consuming love, it was comforting, soft and stable, like a warm blanket on a cold day. Matthew was a good husband, a good friend, and he had given her Molly, who was the love of her life.

Winnie walked down the hallway, her footsteps echoing in soft, hollow sounds. She found Matthew sitting in front of the empty, unused fireplace with her father, Molly at his feet, crawling happily in circles. Glancing to the kitchen, Winnie made sure her mother was occupied. Once positive she had not been seen, Winnie slipped quietly out the front door. She sprinted across the yard in quick, young steps. She ran until she reached the fence, the dry grass crunching underneath her bare feet. Standing before the fence, she hesitated a moment before gingerly testing her weight on the lowest rung. She stepped up, claiming the fence as her chariot, her podium, just as she did when she was a child.

Winnie stared intently into the wood before her, as if willing herself to see that which couldn't possibly be there to see. And yet, despite the utter unlikelihood of the event, she saw him, hidden amongst the trees. He looked exactly the same; not an inch of his frame had changed. He was still deeply tanned, bordering on burnt, brown, curly-headed. He was still beautiful, and just as the day when she first laid eyes on him, Winnie was completely struck by the sight of him. Beautiful Jesse Tuck. And he was staring right at her.



She was not the Winnie Foster he remembered. She was not the wide-eyed child from his dreams. For a moment, he was not sure if she was his Winnie at all. But when, at last, she spotted him and their eyes connected, there was a flash of recognition. She remembered him! She knew him! She was his Winnie Foster, but.he had to admit eventually, she was not his. Her name probably wasn't even Winnie Foster anymore. Surely she would have married, would have a family of her own. As she looked back at him, she wore such a sad, careful expression. It was not a face of regret, just a gentle sadness. It was then that he realized it. She wasn't sad for herself, but sad for him. Sad because she wouldn't be joining him, not now, not ever. Sad for him because he had been alone for so long, and would continue to be alone.



An exuberant peel of infant laughter from inside the house tore Winnie's attention away from the tanned brown face in the wood. When she turned back, Jesse's deep eyes questioned her silently. Winnie nodded slowly. 'My daughter,' she mouthed. She wasn't sure if Jesse understood her, because for a long moment he didn't reply, or even move. But then he mutely asked, 'What is her name?'

"Molly," Winnie answered, not realizing she was speaking out loud. "Molly Mae."

Jesse smiled in recognition of his mother's name. 'She never forgot us,' he thought.

"Winne?" A loud, masculine voice boomed from the house. "Winnie, are you out there?"

"Yes, Matthew, I'm here," Winnie called back quickly. She didn't want her husband to come outside. "I just came out for some fresh air." Jesse's eyes widened and he shook his head at Winnie, scared. She knew that she couldn't let Matthew see him, knew that the secret in the wood had to be protected if Jesse and his family were going to remain safe. And more than anything she wanted them to be safe, and happy.

Winnie looked back to see Jesse's one last gaze and a small wave before he disappeared into the darkness and cover of the woods. When she turned her head to the house she found Matthew striding towards her, Molly in his arms.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked her.

Winnie couldn't help one glance through the branches to make sure Jesse was really gone. "Nothing," she finally said. "I wanted to get out into the sun for a bit. Come here, little girl," she cooed to her daughter, taking the child into her arms. Molly gurgled happily, as oblivious as her father was to the real reason her mother had been staring into the woods.

"Come inside, Winnie. It's too hot to be out now." Matthew looped one arm around her waist to try and lead her back into the house, but Winnie gently pulled away.

"Take Molly," Winnie said, handing the child back to her father. "I'll be right behind you."

Matthew threw his wife a curious look, but obeyed. Winnie watched him until the door shut safely after him and he was concealed inside the house. She turned back to the wood, tried to imagine Jesse's face among the leaves, but she knew that he was gone.

"Goodbye, Jesse," she whispered, giving up the last second of her childhood, the life in the touch-me-not cottage, and the little girl who had lost her heart to a stranger in the wood.