Disclaimer: I own everybody but Ichabod.

Once Upon A Time
Chapter Nine

"What a marvelous thing life is."

Ichabod stared up at Rose from behind his teacup. She did not look into the fire, but out the window, staring at the snowy trees and frosted earth. Her hand had strayed absently to her neck, where she gently fingered the blue topaz that reflected the wildly dancing flames. Her breath had slowed, so that her bosom rose and fell in an almost sleepy rhythm.

"Would you care to elaborate, my dear?" he asked, replacing the cup carefully on its saucer.

She gave a small smile at this. "It is only that fate seems so determined to push us apart, and we are so determined to stay together," she said. "It is amazing how those unseen forces are so very adamant about getting their way. Sometimes it seems as though they will stop at nothing to get us to bend to their will."

"Unseen forces?" he repeated, setting the saucer aside and making a thoughtful steeple of his fingers. He rested his chin atop his hands a moment before asking, "You do not mean God, I hope?"

"No," she said, turning her face back to the fire. "No, not God; but surely something more profound, much greater than God could ever hope to be."

"You speak such blasphemy," he said, smiling. "It is one of the many reasons I love you."

She flashed him a smile for a fraction of an instant. "Yes, well, I do not believe in a definite, infallible God; I know too much to believe that. But I do believe that there is some greater force at work in our lives, some higher power that we cannot see. I would not call it God; I do not know what I would call it. But it is there, whatever it is, and whatever it shall be named. And it is determined to tear us apart."

"Then I am afraid I cannot look upon it kindly," he said.

"Nor can I," she agreed, finally turning her head to look at him. "In fact, I am quite angry with it for its numerous attempts at our love's demise." She was silent for a moment, as if searching for the words she wished to say. "But that does not stop me believing in it." They were silent again when, after a period of five or so minutes, Rose suddenly stood and said, "I feel that I must go home now. I do not know why, but I feel that I belong there at this moment." She leaned down and kissed him tenderly on the lips, with her mouth slightly open, and whispered to him, "I love you."

And then she was gone.


It turned out that Rose's intuition was correct; she was needed at home. One of her mother's friends, a Mrs. Staub, had shown up at Rose's home, frantic. While in the market place, she'd heard some of the fishmonger's wives gossiping about a shipwreck a few days ago. Some of the employees at the local inn had rescued a few of the goods and people that had drifted ashore.

So, being a kind, caring neighbor, Mrs. Staub had inquired after the condition of a man of Mr. Hall's description, thinking that perhaps he had been one of the few who was saved. The fishmonger's wives, though irritated that there had been someone listening in on their conversation, were persuaded to supply her with the information she so desperately wanted. "And then I rushed here as soon as I could!" she finished, still breathless. "My carriage is still just outside."

Rose had paled upon hearing this news; not because James was possibly hurt, but because this new development could drastically effect the time she had left to spend with Ichabod. In the next hurried moments, she attempted to dissuade her mother from rushing them both out of the door and into Mrs. Staub's carriage. But her efforts proved futile, as her mother said, almost immediately after Mrs. Staub finished speaking, "Well, then, we must go and see him this instant! Rose, put your cloak on, quickly."

"But, Mother," she began.

"Now, now, Rose, we must go and see your betrothed," her mother said, sparing her a glance that invited no questions.

But Rose hardly had the cognitive capacity at the moment to ask questions. A sickening realization hit her, like a good kick in the stomach. She felt instantly ill, and feared she would lose the luncheon she had so recently devoured. Instead of saying or doing anything, she just managed to squeak out, "Betrothed?"

"Yes, you silly child," her mother said, almost scoldingly. "Now put your cloak on." Still Rose could not move. "Oh, for Heaven's sake," her mother said after a moment. She grabbed her daughter's cloak from where she had carelessly strewn it over the sofa mere minutes before, draping around the girl's broad shoulders. "I'm so sorry, Patricia," said Rose's mother to Mrs. Staub. "I've no idea what's gotten into the girl."

"Well," said Mrs. Staub, as Rose's mother began to fasten the girl's cloak, "I can imagine it must be quite a shock to learn that your future husband was nearly killed in a shipwreck."

"Future husband," Rose mumbled, and if her mother had taken the time to listen, she would have noticed the despondent lilt to her daughter's voice.

"Yes, my darling, your future husband." Mrs. Hughes sounded as though she were tired of explaining this to her daughter. "Well, you're all done up." She patted the cloak's clasps for emphasis and called out to her husband, who was in the drawing room smoking his pipe, "Richard, dear, Rose and I are running to the market for a brief errand. We should be back within an hour or two."

And without waiting for a reply from Richard Hughes, they were gone.


As the carriage bumped along down the frozen rode, Rose sat in a state of emotional numbness, leaning against the red velvet wall. She had known all along, of course. But she supposed that a part of her had wanted to continue to cling to the love she shared with Ichabod, to the impossible hope that they could actually be together in the end. Yet while her dreams crumbled before her very eyes, she couldn't help but be angry at herself. She was a smart girl, and she should have seen this coming from the very beginning. It was truly amazing what the mind could believe if the heart wished hard enough.

"Rose?"

Rose blinked. Her mother's intrusive voice woke her from her dismal, angry thoughts. She lifted her eyebrows questioningly and said, "Yes, Mother?"

"Are you feeling all right, darling?" asked Mrs. Hughes.

"She does look a touch pale," Mrs. Staub remarked.

"Oh, just a little tired," said Rose. "Such shocking news, and so much sudden rushing about. It's quite exhausted me, I fear."

"Well, don't worry, dear," said her mother, reaching over and giving her a reassuring pat on the knee. "You'll have plenty of time to sit down once we get to the inn." Rose only smiled weakly in response.

They reached the inn mere moments later, and Rose stood uncomfortably by as her mother and Mrs. Staub dealt with the inn keeper. She swallowed nervously and smoothed down her bodice as grungy old men leered at her breasts and the serving women from the tavern glared daggers at her generally well-kept appearance. Finally the inn keeper led the three of them up the stairs and down the corridor, passing by a room from which a half-dressed harlot emerged, giggling like a little girl.

"What a fine establishment," said Rose's mother, more than a hint of scorn and sarcasm in her voice.

"Why, thank you, ma'am," the inn keeper replied, smiling a toothy smile and sounding as if he had received a genuine compliment. Then he stopped suddenly, nearly causing Mrs. Staub to collide with him, and opened a door that looked as though it would fall clean away from the wall the next time someone attempted to open it. "Here ya are, Misses," he said, collectively addressing the three women.

"Thank you, sir," said Rose, speaking before Mrs. Hughes even had the chance to open her mouth. "We can handle it from here." At least, she hoped they could handle it.


OMG, more plot twist! I'm so evil, messing with you people like I am. The blood is the life, Sikerra.