A Moonacre Fanfiction Peace on Earth

Time did not drag in the tower nearly as much as it had, now that Jackie was also trapped. Ambrose was actually quite pleased he had inadvertently shut her in. It was something interesting, anyway. As long as he could keep up some small talk with her without causing her to go into a rage, he'd be all right. She was amusing, with her flying fists and snarling lips and sad, sad eyes. A little pitiful, but sad. Ambrose couldn't understand why she wasn't courting anybody; most boys weren't as picky as him. And she was pretty, even he couldn't deny that. But then, she had her heart set on Robin. Foolish girl. It didn't seem Robin's heart would be changing anytime soon. It was terribly pitiful, to know that she would keep loving someone even when she had no chance with him. Ambrose wasn't like that. He was practical. But usually, he got what he wanted. The little incident with Maria was an outlier, a rare exception that really shouldn't count.

"I said, we'd better split this." Her words jolted him from his sage contemplation. "I'm getting hungry, and I'll bet you are, too." She looked at him, expectation giving way to frustration. He looked down at the pie she held.

"I told you, I don't like sweet potato."

"I understand that, but you have to eat something. Remember, I was the one assigned to feed you."

"Right, but…sweet potato?" His lip curled in distaste. She looked steadily at him for a moment. He shrugged. Could he help it if he had a mature, discerning palate?

"Very well, you can starve." She dug into the sweet potato pie with a voracious readiness. He frowned, observing her.

"Don't they teach you manners at…servant maid training?" She didn't dignify that with a response. It was fortunate for him that she didn't. Well, he wanted to talk. "Say, now that there's two of us, why don't we look for a way out? It's bound to be easier with two people." She arched an eyebrow.

"Don't be too sure of that." She sat back against the wall, tossing the pie tin to the side. He was surprised she'd finished the pie so quickly. Actually, she looked a little less fierce, now that she'd had some food.

"Did you get breakfast?" he dared to ask.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I was serving, you nincompoop. That's my job."

"Don't you get a day off? It is Christmas, after all. You could go home to your family."

"Someone has to work. Might as well be me."

"Well, I'd rather be home than work in a dirty kitchen."

"Don't let Dora hear you say her kitchen is dirty." Was that the faintest hint of a smile on Jackie's face? If he could get her to smile, things would go tremendously better. Ask about her work, her background. Girls like a gentleman who is interested in them. Did he still count as a gentleman?

"Well, you told the people in the kitchen that you were going home. Won't your family miss you?" Her eyes had been open and amused. Now they narrowed.

"You've got a terrible memory. If you remembered our picnic, you would've remembered that my uncle hates me."

"Right…right, but your parents? Or siblings, at least."

"They're dead." She looked at him strangely, devoid of anger or sadness. "I told you this. Merryweathers killed them. I told you this on our picnic. You don't remember." She shook her head, looking down. "I shouldn't have expected you to remember. You were only wanting to know if I was in my rich uncle's good graces." When he didn't respond—how does one respond?—she looked back up at him. "That was what you were wanting to know, wasn't it?"

"Yes." The truth sounded feeble, soggy. Maybe she had said something about her parents dying, whatever it was, he hadn't heard it. Well, he'd probably offered his condolences in a most charming way, then pressed further for information. He tried to turn his mind away from his past mistakes and on toward the present. "Then…your uncle won't miss you?"

"He'll be glad I'm gone. He won't question it." Well, that was lovely. Something occurred to him.

"The Merryweathers killed your family?"

"Are you deaf?"

"No, I just—" he broke off. He stared at her a minute too long. She crossed her arms.

"What?"

"How do you bear it?"

"What?"

"How do you bear it? You're in love with Robin for some reason, and he up and courts a girl whose family killed yours. Aren't you the least bit angry?" She cocked her head.

"What do you think, Ambrose?" Her voice was a little sing-songy. "Do you think I'm a little angry?" She widened her eyes. "What cause would I have for anger, in this rich, beautiful life I have, serving prisoners and getting my heart ripped out every day? Why in the world would I be angry, when I've been relieved of my parents and haven't a care in the world? Tell me, Ambrose, what do you think?" Her voice trembled at the end, and her eyes were shining a little too brightly. She was probably a girl who did not cry, but that did not mean she was incapable of producing tears. Ambrose shifted uncomfortably in his seat on the floor. Finally he said,

"I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"I'm sure you didn't mean to upset me," Jackie sighed, and smiled oddly at him. "You don't really mean to make anyone feel anything. You don't really think about how your words or actions will affect other people." Oh, brother. Now she was on about this again.

"Listen, I'm sorry, and I told you I was sorry, but you don't want me to court you now anyway, so just let it drop—"

"Do you think I'm angry just because you left me?" Jackie chuckled now, which almost frightened him. She was off her rocker. "You sure do have a high opinion of yourself. No. I cried my fair share when you left. I'm still angry. But I've suffered worse. I am suffering worse. No, I'm angry because you left a great deal of girls brokenhearted. And not all of them have the same fortitude I do. I'm all right, you see?" She waved a hand under her pretty face. "Fine. Peachy. But there are other girls much more delicate and tender than I. And you hurt them all something fierce."

"I'm sorry, I didn't think—"

"That's my point exactly." She nodded. "I'd like you to promise me before I leave, that you will not undertake in any more of these ambitious matches. Let someone fall in love with you. Don't ensnare them. I've learned that some things can't be forced, and love is one of them." She squared her jaw. "Ambrose, leave the heart-breaking behind. There's enough of that in this world already."

Ambrose swallowed. What was he to say? He could always make the promise now and break it, he supposed. But now just thinking that seemed flimsy. Oh, no. What was happening to him? He had to be flexible. If he let his moral character grow rigid, there was no going back. No more fun, no more flirtations. If that happened…oh, but it was happening! Blast the girl. What was she doing? What was this room doing to him? He was going mad.

"Well?" She waited.

"All right," he said hurriedly. "I won't—I won't do any more of—of that." She blinked, smiled a little, and then began to run her hands through her hair, taking it out of its braids.

"I'm glad," she said quietly, rising to her feet. "Well, I think you'll keep your promise." Even as she said the words, he knew he would. Confound it. What was happening? She hesitated, looking at him a moment, then said, "Thank you." She walked to the door and slipped something in the lock.

He sprang from his seat.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving."

He rushed over to her just as he heard something click. Confused as he was, he knew he couldn't let her just leave. Then everything would be dull again. In a fit of brashness, he pinned her arms against the door. She struggled a little, but she seemed resigned.

"You could leave this whole time?"

"A girl's hairpin works for almost any lock in the region," she said matter of factly, fingers tapping against the wooden door. His grip loosened.

"Then why—"

"If you'll be kind enough to remember, my parents are dead, and my uncle hates me. Why would I go home on Christmas? I thought I could do some good for the prisoner." Her eyes twinkled unexpectedly. "And I think I did." Thoughts, possibilities rushed through Ambrose's mind. He acted on one of them.

He slid his hand down to hers, snatching the hairpin from her grasp. She studied him, and at this close proximity, her piercing brown eyes sliced though his.

"You have the key, Ambrose. What will you do? Think long and hard about it."

A/N: Dear reader,

No, this story isn't finished. I promise, you'll know when it is. We still have a couple loose ends to tie up. Thank you for your continued reviews! Please tell me what you think about Ambrose & Jackie. I really appreciate your opinion, and believe it or not, it helps drive the story. Love to all those who have stayed with me. Happy reading!

Your

Ponygirl7