In the Shadows of My Mind Chapter 11: Good Riddance To Good Manners, a rise of the guardians fanfic

Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians. Dreamworks and William Joyce does.

Ch. 11 Good Riddance To Good Manners

The governor's house was a quaint but sturdy two-story building with a coat white enough to match the snow outside. You had to climb three stone steps to get to the front porch and Jack always marveled at such a broad space made just for sitting and doing nothing. It was Betsy, the head housemaid, who greeted the Overlands at the door to the governor's house, but it was Rebekha Hamilton, the governor's wife, who all but flung her servant aside and threw her arms around Jack's mother in a warm embrace.

"Oh, my dear, Lydia, I have been so looking forward to your visit! I have such things to share with you!" Rebekha gushed, her slender frame trembling in excitement. Her eyes drifted to Jack who was helping Emma take off her cloak before handing his own and hers over to Betsy. "Good gracious, is that the young Jack who used to sit on my lap and stuff his face with macaroons? You've grown so big!"

Jack felt heat blossom in his cheeks and all could do was nod his head at her in greeting and smile sheepishly.

Mrs. Hamilton reached out and cupped his face between her hands before kissing his forehead tenderly. "It gladdened my heart when I heard you did not drown in the lake after all. You must take more caution when going out adventuring. Your mother would be very sad if anything ill befell you and so would I."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack said feeling the heat rise to his ears now.

He watched as Mrs. Hamilton greet Emma and note what a fine young lady she was turning out to be as she tapped his sister's nose saying that she was, "cute as a button." Emma beamed brightly and Jack smiled. Mrs. Hamilton had always felt more like a doting aunt than the governor's wife or his mother's employer.

"I suppose you'll be thrilled to hear that Matilda has finally had her kittens," Mrs. Hamilton said.

Emma clapped, hopping up and down excitedly. "May I see them? May I?"

"Of course, you may. Betsy, show these two young dears to the kitchen and serve them some tea," Mrs. Hamilton said as she took Lydia by the hand and drew her towards the stairs. "Lydia and I shall take ours in my room."

"Do you not want to see what I've tailored?" Lydia asked bemused, tucking the bundled parcel under her arm as she followed Rebehka up the staircase.

"Oh, the dress, yes, we shall discuss that too since I doubt I may fit it much longer," Mrs. Hamilton tittered. "There is much to talk about. I have a fierce joy that cannot be contained!"

Jack heard a creak and looked to see the kitchen door swing shut, his sister having already followed Betsy inside. He started after them, passing the parlor room as he did only to stop in his tracks as he heard someone's throat clear.

"Jackson Overland, as I live and breathe," a girl's voice declared and Jack turned his head to see Clara Pratchett, the silversmith's daughter, reclining on a pale yellow cushioned settee by the fireplace. The glow from the fire made the blonde ringlets poking out from under her white linen cap shine a bronze-orange.

"Come sit with me, Jack," Clara said in voice that was more a command than an invitation as she patted the empty spot beside her.

Jack hesitated, eyes glancing back at the closed kitchen door and wondered if he could still make a run for it.

"There's a delicious plate of macaroons here," Clara coaxed him, motioning to a side table that held a tray of tea and heaping pile of his favorite dessert upon it. "It shall be impossible for me to eat all of it by myself."

Mouth watering and his mind screaming no at him, Jack found himself begrudgingly stepping into the parlor and towards his own demise. It was no use trying to avoid her. If his mother found out he had ignored the girl, or any lady on purpose, he would never hear the end of it.

Green eyes glittered in triumph as he drew closer and twin dimples appeared on her cheeks as Clara's lips curved into a smile.

Jack sat down stiff-backed, trying to maintain the correct posture and fought back the urge to fidget idly. His good manners were slightly unpolished as he didn't much put them to good use aside from church. Still, he knew he must at least attempt to try otherwise they would simply be sitting in an awkward silence which would be quite rude.

"So, uh, how is your family faring?" Jack cringed inwardly at how bland he sounded but he honestly could not think of anything else to ask.

Clara's laugh sounded like the pealing of bells. "Oh, you are abysmal at small talk, Jack. You haven't even given me the chance to inquire after your health first, it being the greater concern. You did fall through the ice and all."

Now Jack did fidget, tugging at a stray thread that had come loose on his buckskin vest and feeling very foolish and self-conscious.

"Suppose I'm tired of being reminded of my own recklessness," Jack mumbled without thinking and then reminded himself that complaining to company was impolite as well. He began bouncing his right knee in agitation acutely aware this was also a form of fidgeting but he was too nervous to stop.

"It must be awfully tedious for the same subject to be brought up again and again," Clara nodded in sympathy. "Constance and Verity tell me you fell in saving Emma. 'Twas a noble act on your end. Pity that people only focus on the folly not the good that came out of it."

Constance and Verity were her second cousins if Jack remembered correctly, or third. There were far too many Pratchett families in Burgess to keep track of. The main trait that they all shared in common was that they devoured gossip like Sunday supper and more often than not, knew people's own secrets before they figured it out themselves. You had to watch your tongue around a Pratchett, his mother always told him.

"Aye," was the only response Jack could think of.

"There's been all kinds of ridiculous rumors floating around," Clara continued to press.

Half of which, Jack was certain, the Pratchetts had spread themselves.

"People will believe anything if they've a mind to."

"Well, you seem to have kept your wits about you as far as I can see. You're smart enough not fall to boyish taunts even at their most cruelest, I am sure."

Jack shot her a sharp look. Was she referring to Anthony? What did she know? How much if any had he whispered in her ear?

Clara was pointedly not looking at him now as she poured herself a cup of steaming hot tea and dropped three sugar cubes in, humming lightly as she stirred it with a tiny spoon.

"I do wonder what has Mrs. Hamilton so flighty that she forgets that I'm here entirely as soon as your mother walks in," Clara said changing the subject abruptly. "Not so much as an introduction either. What could be so important in a talk between two women that all other matters are considered trivial?"

"I take it you have a good wager why," Jack said curious as well and a bit relieved that the conversation had veered away from himself.

Clara cocked her head to one side and appraised him with a crafty look. "Did you not hear the words she spoke? How she did not even care for her newest acquisition for her wardrobe? There's only one thing she's ever wanted more than the latest fashion." She leaned forward so her face was a hairsbreadth away from Jack's and the scent of lavender oil assaulted his senses.

"She's going to have a baby," Clara whispered in a conspiratorial manner before drawing back and sipping her tea.

"Are you sure?" Jack asked.

There had been many attempts before in past years, Jack remembered. There had been good visits with Mrs. Hamilton holding him by his tiny hands and spinning them both dizzily around the room as she sang. Then there had been the bad visits as well, with Mrs. Hamilton hugging him tightly and weeping into his hair as his mother comforted her as best as she could. Something always went wrong in the end.

Clara nodded matter-of-factly. "I was called here to take a look at her necklace and see if the clasp can be fixed. It's a family heirloom, rather important. She has not even acknowledged my presence or told me to come back later and she wants to speak with your mother of a fierce joy that cannot be contained. What else can it possibly be?"

"Well, that's good news then," Jack said and hoped this time that everything would be well.

"You musn't speak of this to anyone," Clara said, sharpening her gaze at him. "Tis bad luck. That's why she lost all the ones before. She broke the glad tidings too early. The trick is to keep it a secret for three months. That will keep the Devil at bay."

"That sounds like an Old Wives' Tale," Jack tossed a grin her way. "Don't let Father Goodall catch you talking like that."

"Father Goodall can go choke on his Communion ale," Clara huffed. "He's as honest as a man of God as Judas was."

Jack who had pilfered a macaroon and was biting down near choked on it. His astonished gaze met her own knowing one and she smothered her own laughter behind another sip of tea.

The conversation relaxed after that and Jack thought that maybe small talk wasn't as difficult as he first thought. Clara seemed to enjoy the sound of her own voice and was doing most of the chatting. He gladly let her babble on about the latest gossip, how Mrs. Jones' apple pie recipe was in no way equal to her mother's, did you know Josiah Wilkerson sells used tea leaves and markets them as fresh, and blah, blah, blah. He gave occasional grunts and nods now and then to assure her he was indeed fascinated by all this knowledge. In the meantime, the pile of macaroons was notably decreasing in size. He even stuffed a few in his pockets to take back to Baby Tooth. He supposed he must have dropped his guard because he once again found himself caught fast by a topic he couldn't avoid.

"Is Thomas Grymes going to accompany your mother to the Yule Fest?"

"What?" Jack could only stare blankly at her.

Clara twirled a finger in one of her blonde ringlets as a naïve mask settled over her face. "It's only that… word is that he's courting her."

"Well, he's not!" Jack exclaimed, slamming the palm of his hand on the arm of the settee. "Mother's not remarrying—not now, not ever!"

His voice had deepened and grown louder in his violent outburst, but Clara did not so much as flinch, although her innocent façade had melted away.

"Then I suppose your dear mother will no doubt refuse the brooch Thomas Grymes ordered us to craft for him," she said, her green eyes narrowing shrewdly.

"What brooch?" Jack demanded.

"He came to my family not too long ago—why, I do believe it was during your illness or right thereafter—and requested an engagement brooch. It was not too difficult to imagine who it was for: he ordered the inner symbol to be shaped like a spool of thread and a needle sticking out," Clara explained.

Jack said nothing, only sat there feeling the sickly twist of a quiet rage settling in the bottom of his stomach.

"Oh, Jack," Clara sighed beside him and he felt the soft touch of her hand on his shoulder as she inclined her head towards his ear. Her breath came warm against his cheek, smelling faintly of peppermint from the tea. "I cannot tell you if this is just one man's imaginative fancy or what your mother's choice may be. I can only tell you that in the trade language of silversmiths, to have so specific a request on an engagement brooch means a great deal of thought has gone into it."

Firelight gleamed on something silver and shiny partially hidden under the folds of her long white collar. Jack caught a glimpse of the shape of a small bird. Clara brought up her free hand to finger the object almost without thinking before she smoothed the fabric back down and pulled away.

Jack stood suddenly and began walking swiftly towards the parlor's open doorway. He gave not so much as "I bid you well" as he left or any explanation on where he was going. He knew this was considered to be very rude, but he felt if he stayed one second longer he would give in to the temptation of smashing things into the fireplace and then the fireplace possibly roaring back its displeasure at him with him pretending he hadn't heard it or worse, screaming back insults in return, thus finally putting an end to anyone's doubts that he was indeed adled in the head.

He felt Clara's eyes boring holes into his back with every step but she made no attempt to call him back or any noise that she was offended by his discourteous behavior.

"I heard from Father this morning that Thomas Grymes is back from his hunting trip. He should still be at the Hollybush for the day before he heads home," came her final words of parting like she was remarking upon the weather outside.

Jack snatched up his cloak from the coat closet and stomped out the door, slamming it harshly behind him.

Good riddance to good manners, he thought, his heart stinging as cold and unforgiving as the snow as it fell.

oOo

There were no particular train of thoughts in Jack's head as he made his way down the frosty road that led towards Burgess, just a quiet simmering fury like that of a bee buzzing angrily around the inside of his head. He did not know what he intended to do or say if he encountered Thomas Grymes at the Hollybush, but he found himself traveling in that direction with the determined stride of a hunting dog fast on the scent of his prey.

The entrance of the Hollybush smelled of wood smoke from the fireplace and freshly baked bread from the kitchen in the back. The clanking of mugs and the scraping of utensils on wooden platters as the building's tenants enjoyed their midday meal filled the open dining area. The place was more of a tavern than an inn, hosting meals for weary travelers passing through, although there were two small spare bedrooms available to rent out for the night if need be. Most of the townsfolk took their supper at their own homes, although the lone bachelors and widowers as well as tradesmen were regular customers. The menu did not change often: small meat pies, a slab of cheese and bread and an apple. Although during the harshest of wintertime, the tavern-keeper's wife, Hannah Pratchett, was known to make a hearty roast beef stew in a large cauldron.

Apparently, the small snowstorm outside was not strong enough to boast her concern today for the cauldron was absent from the roaring fire as Jack swung the door wide open letting in a whirlwind of flurries behind him.

"Jack, lad! Shut the door! You want to freeze us all?" roared out Samuel Rawlins in a gruff bark.

It took more force than necessary to close the door since the wind had started to kick up in a howling gust seeming bound and determined to follow him inside and in the end, Samuel had to get from his warm table by the fire to help Jack slam it shut.

"Just when a body starts to thaw out," he muttered non-too pleased as he sat back down and glared at the table's other occupant. "Thanks for the help, you old codger."

Gregor Campbell, who looked as snug as a bug wrapped tight in his cloak and wool cap, only waggled white bushy brows as he downed a swig from his tankard of hot ale. "With old age comes lack of responsibilities. Now I get to enjoy bossing you rambunctious youths about." He winked cheekily at Jack. "Don't become like young Sam here, Jack. Twenty-two and still not married and he keeps getting more cantankerous every day. It's all that time he spends out in the wild hunting and trapping. Lost all sense of good manners. Now he's more beast than man and no woman will look at him for fear he'll suddenly transform into a bear."

"I'll settle down when I'm good and ready," Samuel said as he brooded over his own tankard of ale. "Perhaps I'll raise stakes and pull out of this town. Thomas Grymes owns all the prime real estate for hunting. He won't even allow you to hunt on his property, not even if you promise to split the profits with him. Greedy, pretentious swine."

Jack, whose opinion of Samuel Rawlins shot up significantly for that comment, asked in what he hoped was a casual manner, "Where is Thomas Grymes? I heard he was here."

Gregor Campbell was nodding his head. "Thomas Grymes may be a man of the wild like yourself, Sam, but even he knows how to polish himself up and play the courting game, though it took him this long to do so. Did your mam ask you to fetch him for her, Jack?"

"What?" Jack sputtered as the realization that the entire village of Burgess must know by now that Grymes was after his mother's hand.

It was one thing for everyone to think Grymes was courting Lydia. It was another thing altogether for them to think Lydia returned his affections.

Because she didn't.

He was going to set Thomas Grymes straight on that point. Once this conversation was over, Thomas Grymes would never darken the Overlands' doorstep again.

"Where is he?" Jack bit out in foul temper.

Old Gregor waved his hand towards the long bar counter that separated the dining area from the rest of the tavern and the kitchen in the back. Thomas Grymes rested in of the benches placed in front of it with the upper half of his body sprawled across the wooden surface. A rush reed dipped in tallow fat sat smoldering in a holder placed near his head shone light on his face. Dark circles ringed his eyes and wrinkle-lines deepened his brow into a frown as the back of his shoulders twitched fitfully in an uneasy sleep.

"Came in with some furs to trade," Samuel said still with a bitter tone. "Asked for old man Hugo, was told he had to wait, ordered one mug of ale, and then passed out afterwards. Who knows what concoctions of brewery he guzzled before he came here." His brown eyes slid over to Jack. "A man that drinks that heavily is not suitable husband material. Your mother should know of this bad habit before she enters any agreement."

"No," Gregor Campbell shook his head stoutly. "Thomas Grymes is no drunkard. Greedy, pretentious, and perhaps a tad too boastful for his own good he may be, but he doesn't drink. That ale was just to warm him up from the cold. He didn't even finish it. Stays away from the hard stuff at festivities too. Last time I saw him drink so heartily he was a lad younger than Jack here. Then one day he upped and stopped out of the blue." He snorted. "Maybe all of Father Goodall's preaching got to him."

Jack started towards Thomas Grymes fully intent on rousing him despite how tired the man looked. He only had made it two steps when two familiar heads of hair poked out from over the other side of the counter. He watched intrigued as Ezra and Gideon began lightly poking the man's cheek, stifling their laughter and sharing twin impish grins, each of their touches becoming harder as they attempted to wake him. Gideon elbowed Ezra in the arm obviously daring him to be bolder, and Ezra took a deep breath and leaned forward until he was almost nose to nose with Grymes and blew a loud raspberry right into his face.

Thomas Grymes jolted out of his sleep and blinked groggily until his vision came into focus. Ezra's face was only a hairsbreadth away and he was crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out sideways in a ridiculous expression trying to provoke some reaction from the man.

It worked astonishingly well.

Thomas Grymes screamed. It was no startled yell or confused shout. It was a full-bodied scream brimming with such fear and dread and Ezra stumbled backwards in alarm. Thomas Grymes stood to his feet so fast, he knocked the bench over and tripped twice in his haste to flee. He finally managed to gain his balance, forgetting his hat and cloak behind him. He dashed past Jack in a mad rush for the door, a wild-eyed, haunted expression engraved on his face—then he was gone.

"Drunk as a skunk," Samuel Rawlins stated slamming his tankard down. "I don't care what airs he puts on before other people. The man is a drunkard and it seems he's deranged as well. Tell your mam to steer clear from blaggards like him, Jack."

Jack walked over to the counter to see if Ezra was alright. The boy just looked shaken but was soon smirking at his friend. "Haha! I win! You owe me a meat pie now!"

"We'll split it," Gideon smiled not seeming to mind losing whatever wager they had made between them. He looked up. "Heyla, Jack."

"What are you two doing here?" Jack asked. The fact that he hadn't been able to speak to Grymes should have angered him but seeing the normally overly-confident man so unsettled gave him more pleasure than it should have.

"I wanna talk to Cap'n Hugo!" Ezra crowed leaping up and down in excitement. "Henry's great-uncle that returned from sea, savvy? I wanna know all about sea-faring!"

"You've inhaled too much flour," Gideon said looking bemused. "What's all this nonsense about being a ship captain now? Just the other day you said you were going to have the governor knight you after doing some heroic deed."

"I'm going to be a grand admiral of the sea!" Ezra swore fiercely. "It's my destiny!"

"Is it now, boyo?" came a rich, hearty chuckle and they all looked up to see a stout, elderly man walk out from the kitchen. He had a slight limp in his gait and leaned heavily on his cane for support. He had wiry, salt-and-pepper hair and a grey bushy beard. His round nose was perpetually red from his time spent cooking as well as sampling the ale, but his green eyes were clear and twinkling with mirth as he made his way around the counter and stopped before the three youths. "Ah, there's no hesitation if the sea beckons you with her call, sure as she did me."

"Mr. Pratchett, I mean, Captain Hugo, sir!" Ezra said drawing himself up straight and saluting with the wrong arm. "I want to know how one goes about being bonded onto a sea vessel! I told my da but he said I was only merry-making and would grow tired of this passing fancy soon. It's not true! I aim to follow your footsteps so please tell me how to become the greatest sea voyager there ever was!"

Old man Hugo laughed so hard tears leaked out of his eyes and he had to sit down on a stool near the fire. "Bless me," he chuckled. "I weren't the greatest there ever was, boyo. I weren't even a captain. Only made First Mate—didn't want all the responsibility that comes with command." He nudged the tip of Ezra's foot with his cane. "And the surname is Black, not Pratchett, difficult to remember in this tiny town where half that clan has their hands in its origins. Now go on and ask me what you want to know."

For the following half hour, Ezra pestered the old man relentlessly with questions, some boyish ("have you ever see mermaids or a giant squid?") and some not ("how do I form a bond contract without a parent's consent?"; "are there really places in the world that have buildings as big as mountains?"). Hugo Black looked happy enough to answer him showing no signs of impatience. It was rare for children of a small, backwoods village like Burgess to be interested in anything besides farming or trade between towns. Old man Hugo appeared to be enjoying his trip down memory lane of his time at sea.

Gideon stuck around although he appeared decidedly less intrigued about the whole topic than Ezra. Often times he cast speculative glances at his friend as if just now coming to the realization that Ezra might be serious.

Jack stayed as well not only because he was curious but also because if he left, he might be tempted to hunt down Thomas Grymes still and honestly, he was quite weary of thinking about that man. If he waited long enough, he could head home a short spell before his mother and sister and start supper early. Then Lydia would not be so vexed that he had left both Mrs. Hamilton and Clara in bad graces and without a proper goodbye.

He might have lingered at the tavern longer than he expected when Hugo Black taught everyone one of his old sea shanties. Jack was delighted to discover one could belt out a song and have no other instrument besides the sound of your own voice and still feel the beat of the rhythm pulsing through you.

"Tis easy, boyos!" Hugo Black had laughed at their skeptical faces when he had suggested singing. "I ring out a verse and you chant me back the chorus. And none of those soft angelic hymns you recite in church, oh no! All you do after me lines is shout 'Oh, what a terrible man! Oh, what a terrible man!' Have you got that?"

All three of them nodded their heads vigorously and old man Hugo slapped his good knee in anticipation. "Right then! We're gonna tear the rafters down from this place with our voices!" Then he roared out the first verse. "Oh the Captain, he was crude, he was vulgar, loud and rude!"

"Oh, what a terrible man! Oh, what a terrible man!" Jack, Gideon, and Ezra yelled in their loudest voices. Then they all stared at each other, nervous giggling bubbling up in the backs of their throats. It certainly was not any song their mothers would request.

"Keep it up, boyos, keep it up!" Hugo Black said, singing the next line. "The first mate made me climb tha' mast, cursed me when I didn't climb it fast!"