Disclaimer ~ Disney not mine!!
A/N thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far!! Please tell me what you think of the next chapter, thanks!! ^_^
Chapter Three ~ Innocent?
And so the life of the three children, Jack, Rosie and Bill continued. Bill without his father, and Jack learning to cope with his. Rosie lived with her aunt and had never known her parents. But no matter what happened during their home life, they had each other, right?
Bill carried his father's sword everywhere and practised with it constantly, often challenging Jack to a duel. The two were getting quite good, until a neighbour spotted them and threatened to go straight to Ronaldo Sparrow. After that jack stopped raising to the challenge. Beating Bill in a play sword fight was not worth a 'tanning' from his father.
Marcie continued to act her heart out, most nights at the theatre, she refused the continuos offers of a place in London. She doubted her husband would approve of the glamorous city, any more then he approved of his glittering wife.
"You see Jack, if you try hard enough, there ain't nothing you can't achieve." She told him once, as she stroked her black hair. "Take me for instance, what was I? Nothing, a nobody, and now." She flung her arms around, spinning in a circle in her dressing room.
Jack watched her with his eyes.
"See, my love." She said, giving him a quick peck on the forehead before leaving.
The relationship between the two was certainly peculiar, at one time it appeared such a link did not exist and at others it would be the strongest bond ever between mother and son.
Meanwhile Bill was sitting in his room. His hand was still bandaged even though the cut had almost healed. He twirled the dagger around in his hand, as his angry thoughts consumed his mind.
His father had been a good honest man, regardless of what jack said. Jack still maintained a healthy belief in Mr Turner's guilt, but Bill refused to accept it. His father was innocent.
And what did he for his lifetime of innocence, he had been hung, killed by the very men he had supported and remained loyal to all his life. Something wasn't right with this world, the grave injustices cut through life, life was unfair.
"I'll change the way of the world." The boy muttered to himself. He clenched his fist, and winced from the pain in his cut hand. Maybe changing the world was too much work for a young boy to undergo, but whatever happened Bill would try.
He crept down the stairs, trying desperately not to make a sound, but the wood creaked mercilessly as he applied his weight.
"Bill." His mother called.
Bill sighed, and walked slowly into the living room.
His mother lay sprawled on the couch, an air of disapproval on her blackened face. Her eyes were crying, though no tears leaked down her face. Her mouth was held in an unlucky horseshoe curve, as she stared absently into space. She shook her head slightly as though returning herself to her senses as Bill walked into the room.
"Bill." She said again, in her slow drawling voice.
He approached the couch on which she lay. He grabbed her arm. He puled back, but it was too late. She dragged him to her side, and held a tight pincer grip on his weak arm.
"You are so like your father."
He swallowed back the fear, that had gathered in his throat, and tried to hide the disgust from his young face. Why did she always do this? Talk about his father like this? He hated how she stared at him, how she cried for herself, and wallowed in self pity. Self pity had never helped anyone. "Oh Matthew, Matthew." She dropped his hand, and he instantly stepped back. She stared past him, into the empty doorway, her hands reaching out to nothing. "Matthew, Matthew."
"Mum, he's gone." Bill said, trying to hold back the tremor in his voice.
His mother wept bitterly, as she reached once more for the door. "Matthew." She cried once more.
His heart beat with pity for his mother. She was an empty soul, a lost little sheep, only half a person without her husband. It was sad how she had depended so fully on one person, and now that he was gone. . .But it was Bill's job to look after her, not his job his duty. And he could not back down from
his duty.
He stepped forward and flung his arms around his mother's neck. She clung to him like a frightened child. "Bill?" She muttered.
"I'm still here."
"Where's your father, Bill? Why did he leave us?" She sobbed.
Bill clung to her tighter. "I don't know why, all I know is that he was innocent he shouldn't have been taken from us. We'll see him again, in heaven." Bill insisted.
Bill sat with his mother until she fell asleep, then when she was snoring gently, he got up slowly and crept from the room. It was too late to go out as he had originally planned to do. Instead he walked back upstairs and threw himself down on his bed. His mother was getting worse, she was talking to herself, worse talking to Matthew, calling for him, crying for him, seeing him everywhere she looked.
And Bill wasn't sure he could cope. He needed help, comfort, the comfort only friends bring.
A/N thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far!! Please tell me what you think of the next chapter, thanks!! ^_^
Chapter Three ~ Innocent?
And so the life of the three children, Jack, Rosie and Bill continued. Bill without his father, and Jack learning to cope with his. Rosie lived with her aunt and had never known her parents. But no matter what happened during their home life, they had each other, right?
Bill carried his father's sword everywhere and practised with it constantly, often challenging Jack to a duel. The two were getting quite good, until a neighbour spotted them and threatened to go straight to Ronaldo Sparrow. After that jack stopped raising to the challenge. Beating Bill in a play sword fight was not worth a 'tanning' from his father.
Marcie continued to act her heart out, most nights at the theatre, she refused the continuos offers of a place in London. She doubted her husband would approve of the glamorous city, any more then he approved of his glittering wife.
"You see Jack, if you try hard enough, there ain't nothing you can't achieve." She told him once, as she stroked her black hair. "Take me for instance, what was I? Nothing, a nobody, and now." She flung her arms around, spinning in a circle in her dressing room.
Jack watched her with his eyes.
"See, my love." She said, giving him a quick peck on the forehead before leaving.
The relationship between the two was certainly peculiar, at one time it appeared such a link did not exist and at others it would be the strongest bond ever between mother and son.
Meanwhile Bill was sitting in his room. His hand was still bandaged even though the cut had almost healed. He twirled the dagger around in his hand, as his angry thoughts consumed his mind.
His father had been a good honest man, regardless of what jack said. Jack still maintained a healthy belief in Mr Turner's guilt, but Bill refused to accept it. His father was innocent.
And what did he for his lifetime of innocence, he had been hung, killed by the very men he had supported and remained loyal to all his life. Something wasn't right with this world, the grave injustices cut through life, life was unfair.
"I'll change the way of the world." The boy muttered to himself. He clenched his fist, and winced from the pain in his cut hand. Maybe changing the world was too much work for a young boy to undergo, but whatever happened Bill would try.
He crept down the stairs, trying desperately not to make a sound, but the wood creaked mercilessly as he applied his weight.
"Bill." His mother called.
Bill sighed, and walked slowly into the living room.
His mother lay sprawled on the couch, an air of disapproval on her blackened face. Her eyes were crying, though no tears leaked down her face. Her mouth was held in an unlucky horseshoe curve, as she stared absently into space. She shook her head slightly as though returning herself to her senses as Bill walked into the room.
"Bill." She said again, in her slow drawling voice.
He approached the couch on which she lay. He grabbed her arm. He puled back, but it was too late. She dragged him to her side, and held a tight pincer grip on his weak arm.
"You are so like your father."
He swallowed back the fear, that had gathered in his throat, and tried to hide the disgust from his young face. Why did she always do this? Talk about his father like this? He hated how she stared at him, how she cried for herself, and wallowed in self pity. Self pity had never helped anyone. "Oh Matthew, Matthew." She dropped his hand, and he instantly stepped back. She stared past him, into the empty doorway, her hands reaching out to nothing. "Matthew, Matthew."
"Mum, he's gone." Bill said, trying to hold back the tremor in his voice.
His mother wept bitterly, as she reached once more for the door. "Matthew." She cried once more.
His heart beat with pity for his mother. She was an empty soul, a lost little sheep, only half a person without her husband. It was sad how she had depended so fully on one person, and now that he was gone. . .But it was Bill's job to look after her, not his job his duty. And he could not back down from
his duty.
He stepped forward and flung his arms around his mother's neck. She clung to him like a frightened child. "Bill?" She muttered.
"I'm still here."
"Where's your father, Bill? Why did he leave us?" She sobbed.
Bill clung to her tighter. "I don't know why, all I know is that he was innocent he shouldn't have been taken from us. We'll see him again, in heaven." Bill insisted.
Bill sat with his mother until she fell asleep, then when she was snoring gently, he got up slowly and crept from the room. It was too late to go out as he had originally planned to do. Instead he walked back upstairs and threw himself down on his bed. His mother was getting worse, she was talking to herself, worse talking to Matthew, calling for him, crying for him, seeing him everywhere she looked.
And Bill wasn't sure he could cope. He needed help, comfort, the comfort only friends bring.
