Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Tuck Everlasting. It is owned by Natalie Babbit, the magnificent.

Never Again

Chapter 2 – Missing Jesse Tuck

    "No mother, I don't want to marry him," a still sleeping Winnie said softly. "No-no, I don't! You can't make me!" Winnie sat up; her face flushed, breathing hard and fast. She had just witnessed the worst dream ever. Her subconscious had envisioned herself marrying Clark! The very idea made the hair on her neck stand. Wiping her sweat streaked face with her dress sleeve, Winnie observed her surroundings and came to the conclusion that she was still in the garden. She chuckled, "I guess I dozed off." Suddenly, she heard a twig snap, Winnie whirled around only to see dear old Martha, their determined housekeeper struggling to get leaves off her apron.

    "Miss Foster! What on Earth? Please come inside, before you catch a cold," the elderly woman urged.

    "Alright, alright! Hold your aprons, will you?" Winnie said.

    "You know, you have a nicely furnished room inside to sleep in, no need to sleep in the filthy grass," Martha advised.

    "The grass is not filthy, and besides, my bed is as hard as a rock," Winnie lied; her bed couldn't get any softer. She stood up, and hiked up her trailing skirt. "Well, I'm of to bed. And I'm not hungry either." She said quickly as Martha opened her mouth to speak.

~ * ~

    "Winifred! Wake up, darling. Time to get up!" was the first words to reach Winnie's ears that morning. She pushed her warm, comfortable blankets away, and yawned deeply. "Winifred!"

    "I'm up! I'm up! Hold your goddamn horses!" Winnie grunted, not realizing she was speaking to her mother. When her blurry vision finally focused, she tilted her head up to see her mother with a disappointed frown on her usually stern face.

    "I will not tolerate bad language in this house, Winifred Marie Foster," Mrs. Foster said stiffly. Giving her daughter one last look she walked out of the neatly furnished room. Winnie clicked her tongue and sighed.

    'Great! Mother is already mad at me. . .' she thought. Getting up from bed, she stretched out her body, just as a cat would do after a long nap. 

    Feeling a little weak, she walked to her open window, outlined in wavy cream colored curtains and looked around. The summer sun was out, showering everything with its beautiful, bright rays of yellows, reds, and oranges. Winnie inhaled deeply and found that the air smelled of damp earth and trees. Birds soared high in the peaceful sky and around lavish, green tree branches, all the while singing their beautiful melodies, making the view even more pleasant. Down below, Winnie watched Mr. Black, their gardener, as he watered the garden flowers while whistling a melancholy tune. The vividly colored flowers added more color to the blissful scene with their shades of violet, magenta, white, and yellow. It was like a mural, or a picture, specially made for her. Sadly, she had to look away, for it was yet another lonely day she had to face without him. Ever since her 17th birthday was drawing near, Winnie felt even more miserable and confused.

    Winnie had never been the same for 5 years. She always blamed herself for losing something so precious; something she loved so dearly. It was her fault, why she was in this mess, she always thought. Sometimes, Winnie would cry and cry, and continue to sob, locked in her room for days, until she would tell herself that everything was going to be alright and that he was going to come back for her someday, somehow. Winnie would be able to touch his smiling face again and look into those eyes that she had fallen for what seemed like an eternity.

    "Aw, come on Winnie! You're supposed to be strong," Winnie lied to herself. "Stop fussing, he's going to come back, and you know it."

    Her belly made a sound, Winnie blushed. She had to eat, of course. . . Winnie took one last glance at herself in the shinny mirror. Her dark, chocolate curls hung loose down the back of her lithe body, all the way down to her slim waist. Her face was delicate and pale, with a slightly rosy tint to her cheeks. Winnie thought about powdering her face, but shook her head in disgust. No, she wasn't that kind of person. She liked the way she looked and didn't bother to change it. But maybe someday that would all change. Someday, but she didn't know when.

   As Winnie descended to the bottom of the stairs, she picked up the scent of bacon sizzling. She sniffed, ah, a hint of rosemary to. . . Martha might have bought some at the market this morning, she wasn't sure. She was never sure of things anymore. Now a days, Winnie spent much of her time in her own little world, somewhere, where nothing exists but her along with her imagination. She was never in tune with things and didn't really care what time it was, or what the latest fashion girls her age were wearing. She was her, and only one thing kept her almost alive. To her surprise, she yawned, her mouth stretching out wide. Saltine water came to blur her vision. She must still be sleepy. It didn't seem like it. . . Her vision blurred as more water covered her eyes.

    "Gah!" she rubbed her eyes. "What is so wrong with me? I am going to go damned crazy in this place!"

    "Winifred, I told you this morning that there will be no foul language spoken in this house," Mrs. Foster said when she approached her a finger up pointing at Winnie's face.

    "Well, sorry mother. I will never do it again," Winnie said sarcastically as she brushed her mother's finger away.

    "Good," her mother replied, and walked away looking slightly pained.

    Winnie didn't notice, "Oh, mother?" her mother stopped mid-step. "I'm going to the Wood today, after breakfast. Do you mind?"

    "No, dear. I don't," Mrs. Foster said stiffly and continued to walk regally away from her daughter.

    When Winnie's mother was out of sight, she growled, "She'll never understand me! Ever! She's too wrapped up in her old strict ideals. . ." Winnie paused and realized something. Winnie too had been wrapped up in her own. And while other people will never understand her what she is going through.

    Finally, Winnie had reached her destination, the kitchen. She kicked the swinging door open and saw Martha staring at her, holding a wet frying pan with bubbly white soap suds all over it. She was obviously washing the dishes.

    "Oh my lord, I thought you were a burglar," Martha breathed. Then laughed, "Then I would have heard the main door open." Winnie raised an eyebrow. "Ah, yes. These ears are still keen as can be! Even though I'm in my forties."

    "Whatever." Winnie muttered.

    "Winifred. . . Is there something wrong?" Martha asked. "Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?" she asked playfully.

    "No. No! Not at all," Winnie said quickly.

    "I know that something's up. I've watched over you since you were in underclothes (A/N: diapers, hehe. I don't think diapers were invented at the time.)," Martha said with concern in her eyes.

    "I guess, it's just mother. She's been fussing about how I look, when I get married, things like that. It's just so-so annoying!" Winnie said.

    "Ah, I see. But something tells me that there's something else apart from that that's bothering the hell out of you."

    "No way . . . nothing else is bothering me at all but that. But then there's that Clark. Ooh, he makes my blood boil! But other than that, I'm completely fine. Just fine, fine!

    "You're lying."

    "I certainly am not."

    "Are too."

    "Am not. Am not. Am not!"

    "Winifred, for goodness sake! Just tell me, will you?"

    "I. . .I miss him. I miss him a lot," Winnie said in a lowered tone with pain in her voice. "I miss him a lot." Martha knew who Winnie was talking about. In fact, Winnie told Martha everything about Jesse Tuck, except for the fact that he was immortal. She remembered how Winnie would blush when she would utter his name or how she always felt happy when they talked about him at times. But it all changed when she turned 16. Martha remembered Winnie whispering to herself, "Should I drink it?" What exactly is she going to drink? But she pushed the thought to the back of her mind.

    "Oh, Winifred. I am so sorry."

But Winnie didn't say anything. She was too busy crying her heart out. Winnie hadn't cried in such a long time, in the manner she was now, and thought that is was time. She felt Martha pat her on the back, and smiled up at her with crystalline tears in her eyes. Martha had always been there for her. . .

    "Thank you, Martha."

Authors Note: I re-wrote everything again! Isn't much better than the last one? Simply better! And their longer, which is SIMPLY BETTER! Okay, I really don't know Winnie's mother's name, so from now on I name her Wilhelmina. Okay?. . . Yes, anyways, I hope you like the changes I made. And THANK YOU Jillian for helping me out. YOU ARE THE BEST!! SIMPLY THE BEST!!

- Darling Angel -