Author's note : To my readers, fair warning. The storyline in this chapter does not follow the preceding one. Remember my oft repeated warning, this is a time travellling tale. Read and follow along and let the story develop itself as you peice together the threads of the chapters. I promise you, it will come together. For now, I implore your patience and as always, have enormous respect for your time that you grant me, spent in wading through the twisted streets of my warped imagination...and am always, ever grateful for your efforts. Please do leave a review and do not hesitate to let me know your thoughts. A story, as I always believe, is guided by the thoughts of its audience and your words, good or bad are always motivating. That said, let us continue. Remember..follow along..


"It's for you. And it's got real cream and strawberries too! Go on then".

She peered at the little boy crouching down among the brightly colored viburnums and dense honeysuckle. The bushes were thick and in full bloom and the heavy undergrowth hid them well from the brightly dressed crowds that were thronging the sprawling lawns, further atop the hill and closer to the main house.

Even at this distance, she could hear them, laughing and chattering in the mid-afternoon heat and she knew that if she craned her neck and peeked through the gaps in the hedges, she would be able to see the round tops of their wide brimmed hats bobbing in the summer breeze.

"Hurry up", said the boy a little impatiently. "I have been gone long enough and I need to run back before Mamie finds out I am missing. They would be starting to hand out the presents soon. I don't care much for them and for their stuffy little gifts. But then again,Father insists that I have to mind my manners and thank them and say nice things".

The green eyes that stared back into his coal black ones softened visibly at the bitter tone that had crept into his voice. At the look of pity on her face, the boy stiffened, angry at himself for some reason and glared down at the silver plate with the sliver of cake in his hands.

"Well, do you want it or not"? I went to quite a bit of trouble stealing it for you", he said stiffly, stretching out the plate towards her.

His black eyes flashed as he watched her reach out tentatively and take the plate from him. Holding the plate in one hand, the little girl sat up a little, careful to remain hidden in the tall bushes. Kneeling she tugged at the blanket he had spread under her to keep the dampness of the wet grass from seeping through.

The blanket!

He swallowed hard as he caught sight of what remained of the blanket from under her flowing green frocks and choked back a groan.

What was he going to do about the blanket!

It had been Catherine's prized festival blanket; a brightly colored soft cotton one that she kept locked in the mahogany linen chests in her bedroom and which was brought out only during very special occasions. After every use, it had been carefully handwashed by Mamie, ironed and folded and wrapped in soft parchment and tucked away from light and dust until the next house party or special ball.

The little boy's dark face paled as he saw it now, grimy and filthy, its vibrant rich colors dulled to a murky red from the thick dust. Wet grass and mud crusted its undersides and the gloss of the silk thread embroidery fringing its edges were faded and gray. The front of the blanket was splotched here and there with splashes of dew mixed with dirt.

He wondered feverishly if Mother had intended to use it tonight and his heart beat fast.

"Well, there's nothing much I can do about it", he thought dejectedly. He might as well face it. He had been in trouble before and another tongue lashing from Father would not break him. Or would it be a whipping this time? It was too late now, anyway. He didn't care much, he told himself. He was used to pain, and he was not afraid. He'd handled the whipping, had'nt he, that he had received last week when Raydon had broken another of Mother's cut glass crystal vase? Raydon had been too scared to admit it and he'd taken the blame himself and he had not cried one bit when the heavy whip had landed on his back and shoulders time and time again.

And besides, what was he to do anyway? Even though it was July, the grass still held its wetness and Mamie had always said little girls were such delicate creatures, prone to sniffles and such. He'd needed something for her to sit on and the blanket had been the first thing he'd been able to lay his hands on when he had rushed into Mother's room, early this morning.

He looked at the little girl again, his face thoughtful.

This one, he doubted, was anything like the other whiney faced wispy little girls around the neighborhood. He brooded silently on the number of times he had seen her now and each time, she had surprised him.

No, he was almost sure about her by now. Certainly nothing like the other girls who screamed at the sight of ants and fainted for as much as a scraped knee.

Morbid thoughts of his Father's livid face and his mother's disapproving one crowding his mind, he waited sullenly as the little girl took her time tucking her legs under her to balance the plate carefully across her knees. She had on no hat or cloak, and her tiny feet were encased in small black shoes that peeked out from under her green cotton frock.

This was curious, he thought to himself. He had seen her now almost three times and each time, she'd always had a green frock on. It was never the same frock of course. Once, it had been apple green with lace trimmed flounces. His frown deepened. He didn't care too much about girls and what they wore, and he shrugged away the thought, irritated at himself. He had enough to worry about tonight than girls and their stupid dresses.

"It's supposed to be good stuff, you know", he said encouragingly. " The way you are staring at it, anyone would think you'd never eaten cake before. Hurry up, will you", he almost shouted, his patience finally gettting the better of him. Raising himself a little, he lifted his head to peer through the cracks in the hedges in the direction of the house.

The little girl hesitated and then picking up a gleaming fork on the plate, scooped up a tiny amount of cake glistening in red berry sauce and tentatively put it into her mouth. He almost sighed with relief when he saw her eyes widen appreciatively as the sweet creaminess melted around her tongue.

He had been desperate to get back to the house and to the crowds that had gathered to celebrate his thirteenth birthday, and before Father realized that he'd snuck away and likely send Thomas to look for him, but he had stubbornly waited, unmindful of the delay and even of the danger of getting caught for he had wanted her to taste his birthday cake.

He didn't know why but it had been important to him that she'd like it. Now, as he saw her greedily gobbling it up, his face relaxed and the faint lines of worry between his brows smoothened as he smiled, for the first time that day.

She had been watching him too, it appeared, for she smiled back, her green eyes twinkling with mischief as she teased lightly "You know, Grumpy, you should really smile more. I like it when you smile. You look so much nicer this way".

"Well, don't get used to it, Miss Preach-all-I -can", he retorted gruffly, instantly wiping the smile off his face and scrambling up quickly to his feet. "I doubt if you'd remember how to smile if you met Father". He pulled himself to his full height. At thirteen, he was taller than the rest of the county boys and Mother said he was growing like a palm tree.

He looked around again, careful to stay low and ducked his head to remain hidden among the tall bushes. Then noticing her woe begone look at his reply, he smiled again with an effort. "Well, cheer up. You never will meet Father anyway, and he doesn't scare me and ..", he broke off as he glanced down.

There was an angry exclamation, followed by slapping noises. "Blast! Now I'll catch it for sure"!

He had been hunkering down beside her in the shrubbery, unmindful of the hard ground and the wet grass and now, as he looked down at his pants, his face twisted in dismay.

They had been brand new this morning when Thomas had brought them to him; the broadcloth imported all the way from England and the creases sharper than a knives' edge. Catherine herself had ironed them until they shone like polished black ice, and she had spent the entire morning urging upon him, the importance of being mindful of his appearance tonight.

Cursing himself, he used the flat of his hands and started scrubbing the dirt off of the cloth.

"Oh dear, here let me help you", she said worriedly, hastily laying down her plate and making to rise up.

"No, stay down", he whispered fiercely. "They might see you. It's ok. Look, it's clean now, the dirt's all gone. I will be fine. Now remember, what I told you. You stay here and don't move. I will be back after the stupid ceremony and the presents"; and then noticing the lengthening shadows around them, suddenly anxious, asked in a rush, his words spilling over themselves "You aren't afraid of the dark, are you"? I am sorry I had to bring you here today but with all the folks around, I didn't want to take a chance… if the servants or Mother found you..."

"Afraid? And me? Pooh!", she cried bravely, trying hard to disguise the quaver in her voice." The dark does not scare me", she replied with feigned courage and gulped as with the corners of her eyes, she saw the looming shadows of the trees in the forest that hedged the Butler grounds.

A feeling of relief washed over him. And with it, a sudden respect for her. She was two years younger than him and she had more courage than the town put together.

"Good girl! Now just stay low and wait for me and don't make a noise. I will be back before it gets dark, I promise".

She nodded in silence and followed his gaze as he again turned to look back towards the white house in the distance. The rays of the afternoon sun had begun to flatten out into late noon and evening was fast approaching. Squinting his eyes against the glare of the sun, he could make out the slowly moving figures as they drifted towards the big house. Soon the celebration fest would begin and then the dancing.

He needed to get back.

He dropped his head and looked at the silent girl one more time. And then, without a word, he gathered up his jacket and broke into a run,moving fast along the curving path that sloped gently up the hill and away from the grassy knoll ...and towards the house and its beckoning white columns.