Chapter 11: Another Suitcase In Another Hall
I do not own Assassin's Creed 3 characters. I do own MaryLynn, Madam, the Maverick brothel, and Audrey (The woman from an early chapter who tried to seduce Connor into her bedroom. "Now they're climbing buildings for that woman!")
Italics: Memories and native tongue.
Please Note: As I was playing some naval missions on AC3 the other day, I accessed the information files to get some ideas for upcoming chapters. I had looked up Surry's file and did not realize that "he" was a "she." I do apologize for this! I have a male Surry imbedded into my mind, unfortunately, so I do hope that you will accept a genderbent Surry!
Eva: Call in three months time and I'll be fine, I know
Well maybe not that fine, but I'll survive anyhow
I won't recall the names and places of each sad occasion
But that's no consolation here and now.
Eva: So what happens now?
Che: (Another suitcase in another hall)
Eva: So what happens now?
Che: (Take your picture off another wall)
Eva: Where am I going to?
Che: (You'll get by, you always have before)
Eva: Where am I going to?
Huevo: Don't ask anymore..
- "Another Suitcase In Another Hall" from the musical "EVITA"
"Get the basket, will you, dear? My back is killin' me," Madam requested, rubbing the lower section of her back in circles. "Laundry should be dry in a while."
MaryLynn abided by the older woman's request, picking up the large wicker basket from the grass. The crisp white sheets and blouses swayed in the afternoon breeze so gently, tempted to break free of their confines to fly up and away into the vast periwinkle heavens above.
With a pudgy hand, Madam motioned a wave for MaryLynn to follow her to the pair of outdoor chairs settled near the back door. Abandoning the wicker basket at the open door, the blonde woman eased herself down into the chair beside Madam, who was already flapping her hand up and down to create some cooling relief. Her cheeks were red, having no pigmentation in her Scottish flesh whatsoever except for a deep pink hue from the heat. Her breathing was slightly heavy, but she managed to regain a steady rhythm as she composed herself in the cool shade. She stretched out her limbs as far as they would reach, her eyes tightly sealed as she moaned. A crack or two was audible from her bones.
"Aahh, Christ. Tha' felt good," the older woman moans. "I'm so goddamn old."
MaryLynn chuckled lightly, shaking her head as she lazily tilted her head up towards the skies to bask in the warm afternoon sun. It was only in the sun's radiance that any worry gnawing away her at brain would vanish like desperate shadows scurrying to escape the emergence of dawn.
"So," breathed Madam aloud, "how long did you think abou' this? All mornin', you had said?"
The blonde woman nods, lowering her head. The full blonde waves shift and bounce with the motion. Ever since she had stopped her services at the brothel due to her condition, MaryLynn had allowed her hair to grow out. The curls had begun to uncoil into waves, stopping just a brush above her shoulders. It felt quite odd having more hair, she had to admit. It had fallen differently, as well as molded differently after a fitful night of slumber. Nonetheless, it would be a nice thing to experiment with since she had not had longer hair in years.
"Over ten years in the business, and one mornin' has brough' you to the decision to move on. I'm not insultin' you, dearie, but I'm jus' curious. How long have you been feelin' like it's time to go? Have you planned out where to stay and where to earn money?"
MaryLynn began to wring her small hands, feeling the leather bracelet digging into the tender flesh of her inner wrists. The uncomfortable sensation did not bother her, for she was preoccupied with understanding how to verbalize her ever staggering emotions. She looks down at her fingernails, seeing that they have grown longer as well. A useless observation. Just a mere distraction from the present moment.
"I knew for some time that my purpose here was coming to an end. Knowing about the baby…" she pauses for a moment, swallowing hard, "…then losing it forced me to truly evaluate my life. You have done so much for me, and my only wish is to repay you somehow. I feel so guilty over my planning of leaving this brothel. I feel as if I cannot repay you at all. What do I have that is even of some worth compared to you saving my life?"
"Don' you feel any sort o' guilt. Guilt is a waste of time. Say, I could go for some whiskey righ' abou' now. Mind fetchin' some before we continue this?"
"I don't mind at all. I need some myself!" the blonde woman laughed apprehensively, grateful for the suggestion.
Rushing into the kitchen, the air humid and hot, MaryLynn retrieved a stout whiskey bottle from one of the higher up shelves near the spice rack. She was required to climb up on the counter in order to reach the prized bottle. Ah ha, the climbing of furniture never fails as MaryLynn grasped the bottle's thick neck. A triumphant smiles tugs at the corners of her rosy lips as she carefully climbs down with the prize. The blonde woman rushes back outside, handing Madam the bottle before sitting back down in her seat. Madam pops open the cork, keeping the small object hostage in her pudgy palm. She savored a quick swig of the strong golden liquid, breathing out roughly before relinquishing it to her best girl. In the same fashion, MaryLynn quickly gulps the liquor, the burn so sweet and painful simultaneously. It was a pleasant relief as the burn danced further down her throat.
"Anyway, as I was sayin'…I took you in when you were a tiny thing, pickin' at table scraps from the streets and in desperate need o' meat and some hearty potatoes. And I did it because I wanted to. I don' usually take in every poor unfortunate soul. I'm no ones hero. Never was, never will. I look out for myself. Sometimes, you've got to let people fall and look after yourself.
And yet, tha' look in your eyes as you looked up at me when I passed by those ol' food crates…You still had some fire inside you, even when livin' the way you did was spirit-damangin'. Even today, tha' fire ne'er wen' out. Tha' fire needs to be kept alive by livin' out there in the world. You won' discover your true self here in this place. You're not bitter. You don' compete for the hell of it so you can stroke your damn ego. You love people, and haven' got a mean bone in your body. After seein' you recover the way you did after losin' the baby, even findin' out tha' there was a baby…I know tha' you have what it takes to live a full life, MaryLynn."
With a second helping of whiskey, MaryLynn's eyes began to well with tears. She never thought that her heart would survive one tragedy after another. From her perspective, the only way to survive was to work diligently in loving the world instead of hating it. To hear someone so significant to her say that she was strong, capable of living a full life was enough to bring her to tears. This was common for the past week or so. She cried at certain words and memories, catching people off guard with the sudden onset of emotion.
This rugged, secretly affectionate older woman was going to be missed most of all. The blonde woman forced away her tears, sucking in air and wiping away any stray tears.
"How will I live without you?" she mutters, her voice quiet and childlike in tone.
"Silly girl, you don' need me! Quit hoggin' tha' bottle, by the way."
MaryLynn surrenders the bottle, a small smile on her lips. Nursing the bottle for a moment, Madam continues.
"You got out o' bed all by yourself. You decide to make a difference in your life when others would jus' roll over and take it up the arse. It wasn' me or Connor who did this. You did all tha'. You're more than ready, dearie."
She settles the bottle down onto the flimsy wooden armrest, her fingers still clamped around the neck of the bottle. The older woman stared absentmindedly at the golden liquor swishing about in the dark glass.
"Where do you plan on stayin'? When are you leavin'?"
"I have to settle that part of the plan. I am sending a letter tonight to make some negotiations."
Madam chuckles, the reverberations causing the bottle to shiver.
"So when's Connor comin' to pick you up? The window or the door this time?"
"I have not said anything about him!"
"You know, you can be bright. And then, you go lame on me as if no brains are in tha' head o' yours. It's not hard to figure out. He seems like tha' generous type o' lad. Besides, he cares for you. He woudn' take 'no' for an answer when he demanded to see why you were upset. I doubt he'd be content with you livin' in an inn. Where does he live now?"
"On a homestead community."
"He's not livin' in one o' those villages those Natives usually live?"
"No. He stays with an older gentleman named Achilles. He was the one to train Connor over the years, and so he decided to stay with the old man."
"So Achilles taught tha' boy how to fight the way he does? Must be more dangerous than he looks, even as an old man."
"I wouldn't know," she admits, her blue eyes beginning to brighten when she goes on to describe the community to Madam. "Anyway, they run the community together, gathering people up to come live and prosper. They even find work there as well. Connor told me that they have a physician, a seamstress, some craftsmen. There's even a church being built! I'm most excited over that."
"I'm sure you are. Communities such as tha' tend to be quiet. Closer to the woods. Is there somethin' you can do there to make a livin'? Don' ever be in debt with a man, even if he is a kind one."
"Well, yes. However, I don't think the women would be very happy about what I specialize in."
The pair of women laugh aloud, imagining the hilarious scandal unfold in a quiet community.
"Fine, so sex is out o' the question. Next?"
"I can keep the manor clean. Connor lives in Achilles' manor, and he often says that the place tends to get dirty easily with Achilles getting older and Connor constantly away in his missions."
"You could do tha'. Honest work. Make sure you are paid. Don' do it for free, you hear me?"
"Yes, Madam," MaryLynn sighs, growing weary of the older woman's nagging.
"Good. You'll help me with the chores and the schedulin' o' the girls until you leave."
MaryLynn nods eagerly, willing to do anything to earn her stay until she officially leaves the brothel. She is quiet for a moment, running her fingertips over the white beads of the leather bracelet.
"Madam?" the blonde woman says, her voice still quiet and brimming with emotion.
"Wha' is it, dearie?" Madam responds, sipping from the whiskey bottle.
"Thank you. For everything. I wouldn't be here without you."
"MaryLynn, don' start cryin' on me now. You'll make me drink even more! Here, have some whiskey. It'll chase away those tears," Madam hands the bottle over to the blonde woman, insisting she drink a little more of the hard liquor. "Jus' go and live your life. That'll be thanks enough, believe me. Now c'mon, let's get the laundry from the line."
The whiskey bottle was left behind on MaryLynn's seat once she thieved one last helping. Once the pair of women make their way over to the laundry line, the older woman warns MaryLynn of one of the other women working in the brothel. This particular woman did not take too kindly to MaryLynn over the years, especially when her room was given away to her.
"Watch out for Audrey. She'll be snifflin' abou' to get her old room back. Don' be surprised if you catch her measurin' the window frame for curtains in your bedroom."
MaryLynn nodded slowly. The raven haired, green eyed woman was a little older than she, and rougher around the edges. She was once the top prostitute in Boston until MaryLynn worked her way up the ranks. She never meant to start a rivalry, but this was how Audrey perceived the success. Snide remarks would progress for two years until finally she resorted to ignoring the blonde woman's existence altogether. MaryLynn wished that she and Audrey could just friends instead. Alas, the competition was more appetizing to the other woman than some measly friendship.
She could not do anything about this, and she had accepted that not everyone would want to accept her hand in generosity. This was the real world, after all, and not everyone was willing to give love a chance instead of hate. 'It is what it is,' thought MaryLynn. 'I can't change her, just as she cannot change me.'
Dear Connor,
I want to thank you first and foremost for your support. I couldn't have asked for anything more in a friend.
I am writing to you in need of your help. No worries, I am well, so do not think that I am in danger or ill. Do you recall an offer of yours from about two years ago? You had asked me to live with you on the homestead. I had sullenly declined the offer, for at the time I was not ready for such a big change.
At this time, I feel that I am ready to move on from my role here at the Maverick. The pregnancy and miscarriage forced me to mull over how I want to spend the rest of my life.
Should you accept, I promise to earn my stay until I acquire a home of my own. I can clean, do laundry, decently cook (and I say that lightly, I'm afraid), tend to gardens. I'm also a good listener, which I am sure you know.
I hope you accept. I do not require much to be comfortable. I can care for the manor while you are away, and even keep Achilles company (If he likes me, that is. I hope he does!). If not, I understand and will not take offense.
Please write back as soon as you receive this letter.
Thank you with all my heart.
Yours Truly,
MaryLynn Mortenson
The handwritten script had been thin and tight, the loops extending dramatically outward from the smaller letters. Before her performance at the Green Dragon, MaryLynn had sat down at her vanity desk to write Connor a letter. She allowed the ink to dry for a moment once she signed her name, plopping the quill into the ink jar that she had borrowed from Madam. Pursing her lips into an "O" shape, she blows onto the parchment to accelerate the drying of the ink. Once the ink was dry, the blonde woman felt anxious over folding the parchment. She did not feel comfortable asking for favors, especially when Connor had his own responsibilities to fret over. An alternative plan was concocted should he decline. Work at the Green Dragon. Earn a room to sleep in. Still perform with Surry.
However, she knew that Connor's words would affect her. He had that ability to either fluff her mood or shatter her mood. MaryLynn hated this sort of vulnerability. It was this kind of intimacy that she had avoided at all costs simply because of the vulnerability that came with the territory. Once the letter was folded nice and tightly, her self-esteem would be an open wound for anyone to tamper with and hurt her. The risk had to be taken if it meant happiness would follow.
Inhaling sharply through her nostrils, MaryLynn folds the parchment over and over until she obtained a neat little square. She then tied the parchment shut with a cord string, a double knot bulging in the very center.
There. It was ready.
Turning around in her seat to look out the window, MaryLynn saw that the skies were a deep navy blue. When she had first sat down to compose the letter, the sun had just begun to set. From experience, she knew that her performance at the Green Dragon was due. So what if she was late? It was not uncommon for her to show up late. This letter was more important to her, even if it sounded foolish.
The blonde woman thought it best to give the letter to one of Connor's allies. She was going to see if, after tonight's performance, Surry could locate Sam Adams and bring her to him. Sometimes the statesman would escort the young slave back home, and other times it would be Sam's wife, Elizabeth, and their eldest son accompanying her to escort him. If anyone knew of the best way to reach Connor, it was the statesman.
She could earn herself a room at the Green Dragon, but, as the thought settled into her mind over the past few days, the idea seemed too painful. Too many people knew her. Too many questions would be asked. She had to start off this transition in life with a blank slate. And being so close to the Maverick would only hurt her. Perhaps this was influenced by the increase in workload at the tavern. For the past two months, MaryLynn had put her prostitution services aside and began to sing at the Green Dragon more often to compensate for this. It was exhausting, but she had pulled through.
However, Madam would quarrel with the owners of the tavern over the profits. Which nights' earnings would go to the tavern and which would go to the brothel? The blonde woman felt immensely guilty, leading to the conclusion that this alternate plan would not be best. She had faith that she would locate another place of business in the city. There were much more taverns than just this particular one.
She did find singing much more preferable than sex, if one could believe it! Her body could actually relax, and the feigning of an exaggeration of her sensuality was not as draining. Sex was not exhilarating to MaryLynn after working as a prostitute all these years, and it had not been enjoyable in a long time. It was a chore, not a pleasure like it should be.
Why cheat herself of this ecstasy if there was a way out of this lifestyle? Maybe she could find a way to enjoy sex again, on her own terms. Maybe a man could do exactly as SHE demanded so that she was satisfied. Perhaps she could actually have a an actual orgasm instead of feigning the bodily explosion of sensation.
Smoothing out her hair, MaryLynn stood up from her seat at the vanity desk. Taking the folded letter and tucking it into her bodice, she prepared to leave for what may be her final performance. No one should know about this. If she never came back, then let people talk and conjure up their own fruitful stories. She did not care. What she did care for was Surry. She was going to tell him of her plan to leave. It would be hard, but it had to be done. She did not want to see his sad, dark eyes stare back at her. However, the blonde woman had to be honest to her friend and showmate.
"Alright," she sighed to herself, straightening out her black bodice to make sure that the letter did not poke out over her breasts. "Let's go."
Shortly after the final song, a particularly bittersweet melody, MaryLynn had walked over to Surry's side and leaned over to speak to him in a hushed voice.
"Surry, may I speak with you before you leave?"
"Of course, Merry," he accedes cheerfully, having never lost the habit of phonetically pronouncing her name as "merry." "Mister Adams had told me that he'd be a little late, anyway."
His ears perked up as MaryLynn looked around swiftly for any eavesdroppers. What was going on with this woman tonight?
"Actually, that works out perfectly," MaryLynn continues, her attention returning to Surry. "I must speak with him as well. I'm afraid we must speak outside, where it is more quiet. The matter is private."
"Private, you say?" Surry reiterates. "Oh my, I hope it's not anything bad."
"No, nothing bad. However, it will mean that I won't be here much longer."
"What?!" the young slave spoke louder, rising from his seat at the piano.
"Hush!" she whispers forcefully, her hands on his shoulders. "Ease yourself. Let's go outside."
Surry nods, trying to regain his tranquility as he thins out his full lips. The blonde woman's word choices were not exactly smooth; they had suggested something dire. They tried as best as possible to leave the Green Dragon nonchalantly. MaryLynn makes her exit first, while Surry follows a couple of minutes later after he closed the sliding keylid over the ivory keys. It irked him that the keylid was left open when he would arrive with Sam. "That's how the keys get dusty and discolored! This deserves more care," he would declare to himself, adoring any sort of piano he could lay his slim fingers upon.
Outside of the tavern, the pair of friends had leaned against the brick wall away from the front door. Surry tilts his head forward to capture a better look at the blonde woman's heart-shaped face. She was looking ahead into the distance, not focusing on anything in particular.
"What is happening, Merry? This is so sudden."
Nibbling on her lower lip, MaryLynn looks down at her feet. She usually spoke whatever came to mind as if no filter existed in her brain, but this time her words would have to be meaningfully chosen. Kind, short words so that the news was not overly dramatized.
"I know. It sounds sudden and I apologize for that greatly. I was not entirely sure of leaving until yesterday morning. It had been gnawing at the back of my mind for the past couple of months, but I don't think I was ready to acknowledge the need."
She laughs a silent laugh, only air escaping her parted lips in huffs. She embraced herself tightly for comfort, despite the fact that she was perspiring from the heat.
"I'm sorry for telling you abut this in such a sudden manner. You must think I'm awful."
"Not in the slightest. I'm just worried, s'all."
"A few things have happened to me personally, things I don't wish to recall right now, that have forced me to seriously re-evaluate my life. I love singing. I love performing with you and seeing you play the piano every time I step in this old tavern. Yet, I must leave Boston to start a new life. I cannot stay here. I must start over again if I wish to truly start living my life the way I wish."
Surry exhaled deeply, looking away to absorb the information. He knew that the brothel was not an easy business to participate in. He thought of the blonde woman as a class act, and that she deserved so much more, such as having a husband and a family. If this was what his friend wanted to try and obtain, then the young man was more than supportive of her decision to leave.
"Well, if there's an opportunity out there for you, then you should take it with your hands wide open. I've seen that you've been upset for quite some time."
"Am I that transparent?" MaryLynn chuckles, looking away in embarrassment.
"No. It shows in your voice when you sing. There's a melancholy tone even when you perform a cheery tune. Sorry I have not asked you about your mood. I feared making it all worse if I asked persistently."
"Don't apologize for that. I wouldn't have spoken anyway. Connor had to break into my bedroom just to talk me out of a depression."
"He broke in? Why didn't he knock first?"
"Oh no, he did. I told him to go away, and he wouldn't listen. He knew I was upset, and wouldn't leave until I was at least peacefully asleep."
"He sure is a persistent fellow."
"That's a nice way of saying it."
The pair chuckle at the thought of Connor breaking down a door with his large build. The word "no" was simply not in his vocabulary.
"So, where are you going to live?" asks Surry.
"Not too far from here. Well, not next door either. However, I will still be in Massachusetts. I'm waiting on approval first for my stay. That's where this letter comes in."
MaryLynn sticks her fingers into her bodice to fish out the neatly, tightly folded letter. Surry flushes at the cheeks, looking away. She takes note of this and says, "Oh stop. You've seen me tuck money in here before!"
Holding the letter gingerly in her hands, MaryLynn looks down at the said letter as if the words would slither away should she avert her eyes.
"Sam knows about Connor's whereabouts, and I need him to get this letter delivered to him. I know that he is a wanted man in this city, and I don't want this letter finding its way into the wrong hands. I don't want to cause trouble for him."
"Say no more," the young slave chips in with excitement. "Mister Adams would be more than happy to do this favor. Connor has risked a lot to help this city. He is fighting for people's rights, including me. A shame he doesn't receive the thanks he deserves."
"He doesn't do it for the glory, you know that."
"Now what's this I hear about glory?"
Sam Adams had arrived just in time to escort Surry home. A gentle smile greeted the blonde woman.
"Good to see you, MaryLynn. I regret missing your voice this evening."
"You haven't missed much," she tittered. "I'm happy that you are here. I have a letter for Connor, and I need your help delivering it to him in secrecy."
She hands the statesman the letter. He turns it over in his hand for a moment before tucking it away into the breast pocket. 'It's unusually warm,' he mused over the tightly folded letter, smirking. 'Now where has this been? It's awfully small.' He shook his head, chuckling as he shooed away his boyish thoughts.
"You were right to talk to me first about this," Sam approved, nodding his head. "Connor's notoriety is spiking, and information on his whereabouts or his affiliates can hurt his mission and my own, not to mention hurt you. I knew you were a bright woman. I will have this delivered tomorrow morning by a trusted messenger. I hope that's alright."
"It's more than alright," the blonde woman assures him, her palms lightly pressed together as if she were praying. "Really, as long as he receives it."
"I'm tempted to ask what this letter regards, but I shall respect your privacy."
"You devilish man!" she shouts, her hands balled at her sides. "Don't you read it!"
Sam laughs heartily at MaryLynn's reaction. Surry chuckled lightly at the woman's exaggerated facial expressions. What was it, a love letter or something? She was too old for such things. Once the laughter died down, Surry regrettably informed Sam on the blonde woman's plan to leave.
"Merry is leaving, Mister Adams," he says, folding his slim hands before him.
"You don't say," says Sam, his expression faltering from its mischievous cheer. "MaryLynn, I'm sorry to hear this. I know Surry and I will miss you."
"I'll miss you more than you know. Both of you. I won't be too far away though, if my plans work out."
"Ahh haa," drawls the statesman, his eyebrow cocking upward.
"What?" Surry innocently questions, knowing that tone of voice very well. It alluded to his master being cognizant of something unspoken.
"I have an inkling or two."
"What it is?"
"I'll explain later," the older man assures, patting Surry's shoulder as he motions for the young man to follow him home. "We must be leaving, Surry. MaryLynn, you have my word that Connor will receive this letter."
"Thank you. Again and again."
Unexpectedly, once these words were uttered in a breathy voice, her emotions thieved the reigns of her self-control as she embraced the statesman.
"Oh my," he laughs, patting the blonde woman's shoulders. It wasn't every day that Sam had received a hug from a pretty young lady.
Releasing her hold of Sam, MaryLynn embraces Surry next. The young man tightly returns the hug.
"Never, ever stop playing the piano," she whispers into his ear. "It was made just for you."
"As long as you sing, Miss MerryLynn."
Biting back the tears crowning at her eyes, she departs from the gentlemen, waving goodbye with a kiss blown in their direction. In the distance, Surry inquires about the inklings Sam had spoken of earlier.
"Do you suspect where she is going, Mister Adams?"
"If Connor is involved, then yes, I do. And quite frankly," he then lowers his voice, "he needs a woman in that old manor, if you ask me."
The Next Day
"Her body ain't lookin' so tight. That last mission had rattled her to the core. Now look at her. We need serious repairs on that hull or she won't be goin' anywhere. We need metal lining."
"The Aquila will be repaired the way she deserves, I can assure you that. Once we agree on a budget, that is."
"Connor, you squeeze every coin like an old woman! It's a ship, damn you. Repair it with all you've got!"
For the past forty minutes, Connor and Robert Faulkner argued over budgets and which repairs of the Aquila withheld more priority over others. The afternoon sun was beginning to settle down, but the heat of the rays still burned the backs of their necks. An argument did not make this experience any better, mind you.
"I have to think of the homestead first," Connor reasoned. "The financial rates here are going down, so we cannot afford the best of treatments. We will settle for what we can."
Faulkner shook his head, stroking his salt-and-pepper beard frantically.
"Aye. I call the ship 'her' for a reason," says the experienced seaman. "If you don't give her the best of the best, then she will wreak havoc on you in retaliation. Hell hath no fury like a woman."
"This is a ship, Mister Faulkner; not an actual woman."
"Quiet, boy!"
"Excuse me, sir!"
Both Connor and Faulkner look over from their positions at the desk, parchments containing lists of needed repairs and doable budgets spread out atop. A messenger dressed in a navy blue vest and crisp white shirt dashed his way up to the pair of men who stood before the grand ship. He was out of breath, having first asked for Connor at the Davenport Manor. Achilles had instructed him that he search for Connor at the docks.
"Which 'sir'?" barks Faulkner, not favoring this interruption in the least.
"Connor."
"I am Connor," says the Native assassin, his gaze hard and suspicious. "Why do you seek me out?"
"I have a letter for you. Samuel Adams has sent me. It is not written in his hand, mind you, but a woman's."
"Oohh," chimed Faulkner, just before he started chuckling. "I presume a 'she' is getting 'repairs' after all."
Connor glared at the older man, cocking an eyebrow. He looks back at the messenger and takes the letter from his hand. Pulling apart the cord string, he unfolds the letter hastily. 'Why is this folded so small?' Connor wondered, his thoughts interchanging between Mohawk and English nowadays. His dark eyes skim over the artfully dramatic handwriting as he paced back and forth. Both the messenger and Faulkner awaited a response from the Native assassin.
"Well? Care to fill us in?" Faulkner questions with impatience.
Not a moment too soon did Connor's facial expression transition from suspicious and tight to soft and wide-eyed.
She wants to live with him. MaryLynn wants to live with him. Here.
"Cat got your tongue, boy? What is it?"
Crumbling the letter and shoving it into the breast pocket of his white coat, the Native assassin dashes down the boardwalk, past the messenger who stared in bewilderment over Connor's reaction.
"Bloody hell! What is wrong with you, boy?!" Faulkner shouts after Connor, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound.
"I will return!" was all that Connor responded with, his running form quickly disappearing amongst the collection of verdant shrubs and trees.
"Huh," exhales Faulkner, his dark eyes grazing over the list of budgets with a mischievous thought in mind. "No repair is too expensive for my lady. Damn that stingy boy. I'll do this my own way, thank you very much."
The messenger remained standing there, awkward in his stance. Faulkner looks up and snarls at the young man.
"What? This isn't a show! I have work to do, now scram!"
"Sorry, sir! Yes, sir!" sputters the messenger, taking his leave hastily.
"Damn boys," mumbles Faulkner, plucking the quill from the ink jar to check off items on the list. "They don't know shit."
Flashback, 1772
Breathless with excitement, MaryLynn returned from her fourth week of singing at the Green Dragon. The selection of folk songs (and some of her own original melodies) had thrilled the common dwellers of the tavern, a majority of them being eager males. Her clientele had skyrocketed! Dazzled by a songstress, men were even more enchanted to hear that the blonde woman was also a mistress in the sheets. Her income increased, and, despite portions of it going to the brothel and the tavern, she had more money than she could ever imagine possessing.
The best part of all of this? She had a home to return to.
Returning to the Maverick, she heard loud voices quarreling from behind the door. The tone sounded furious. Her eyebrows furrowed, MaryLynn hesitantly ascendes the small steps to reach the door, opening it. Down the narrow hallway was Madam and Audrey standing before the staircase, arguing with hands flailing in the air and eyes rolling. Audrey had been the top earning prostitute for quite some time. She still remembered Audrey from when she first moved in to the brothel. She paid the blonde girl no mind, having more important business to attend to. It wasn't until tonight that the raven haired woman had actually spoken to MaryLynn.
"Her clientele is outnumberin' yours! Your own has been falterin' and I'm losin' money here," raved Madam, trying to make it clear to one of her girls that she was not bringing in as many clients as she used to. From what the other girls had been whispering about lately, Audrey had been spending her income on luxuries rather than paying her rent or attracting more clients.
"That's because the little wench is singing over at the Green Dragon!" Audrey retaliated, her green eyes aflame. "Singing isn't part of the repertoire. And I'll do with my money as I wish, old woman."
"Why you conivin' twat, I oughta-!"
Unfortunately for MaryLynn, a loud creak in the floorboards had sounded off as she tried to quietly walk down the narrow hallway. The sound immediately alerted the bickering women to her presence. Her blue eyes were wide and anxious, her lips slightly parted.
"MaryLynn, pick up your things and take 'em to the room across from you," Madam instructed, her hands firmly placed on her round hips.
"But…But that's Audrey's room," she sputtered pathetically, wishing she had just resorted to entering from the back door.
"Precisely! She can't move in to my room!" Audrey spat, looking the blonde woman up and down with a snarl as if she were rotten meat. "Just because she sings a little tune here and there. Please, what do you think you're doing, you stupid twat?"
MaryLynn looked down at her feet. The onslaught of such mocking words was unexpected, and she did not wish to retaliate.
"I won't allow it, and that's final, Madam," said the raven haired woman, her attention refocused on the older woman.
"You won' allow it? Have you gone mad or have you forgotten that I run this goddamn business?" Madam snarled, her temper flaring over Audrey's tantrum. "Now pick up your shit and move to the other room."
"This isn't fair!" Audrey shouted, stomping her foot onto the floor.
"Oh, shut up!"
"M-my room is just fine," said MaryLynn in a meek voice, breathing deeply to avoid a panic episode.
"No buts, missy," Madam firmly declared. "You are goin' into tha' room once this lazy fool picks up her stuff and takes up your old room."
MaryLynn felt paralyzed with anxiety. Should she listen to Madam or Audrey? She did not want to cause trouble for anyone.
Audrey seethes, having been defeated in this settlement. This was the only job she had, and resigning over surrending a bigger bedroom would leave her on the street and hungry. Blast it all! She decides on some fresh air as she makes a dramatic exit with deep huffs and speedy feet. Before she passed MaryLynn, she stops in her tracks to utter words dripped in venomous revulsion. Her green eyes were dim and predatory as she looked down upon the meeker woman.
"The little orphan girl always gets what she wants. Watch your back, blondie."
As Audrey stormed out, MaryLynn bit into her lower lip to stifle any emotion.
"I never meant to trouble anyone," she whispers in a shaking voice.
"Oh, don' take tha' wench seriously. She is jus' moody over her lack of clients these days. She's been here for years."
However, MaryLynn did take the matter seriously. The raven haired woman was never particularly warm with her, but she was still living in the same building as she. She wished she could make a friend out of Audrey, but the woman would have nothing of it. She worked for herself, as well as lived for herself. Now, her time was passing, and she was slowly being forgotten in the business. MaryLynn felt empathetic towards the situation. Who would want to be forgotten like that? 'I never meant to hurt you.'
Present Day
"Oh," came a drawl at the open doorway. "You're still here."
Looking up from her seat upon the floor, MaryLynn finds Audrey leaning against the doorframe, her dark waves loose. Her eyes avoid the blonde woman's curious gaze as she pretends to inspect her fingernails for dirt.
"I haven't left yet, if that's what you are referring to," says MaryLynn quietly, folding a pair of pantaloons. "I am still sorting through my possessions, and am waiting on an answer concerning a place to stay. You'll have your room back soon enough."
A couple of sacks lay before the blonde woman, filled with the small wardrobe that was her own. She was not a big spender, really. She just needed a little color here and there, not a dozen overly embroided dresses. She was close to completing her packing as she was sorting through her undergarments and bodices.
"I see," sighs Audrey, her eyes leaving the sight of her fingernails and finally looking down at the seated woman. "I just wanted to get an idea of where to put my dresser and all. Didn't expect you to be here."
Her tone of voice had been so devoid of emotion. Was Audrey really that indifferent? MaryLynn decided to bite the bullet, as the phrase goes, and risk bringing up what had happened between them a few years ago over the switching of bedrooms. It wasn't the switching of bedrooms that had strained the women's relationship. The true culprit was the switching of statuses.
"I never meant to create a wedge between us," she says, looking directly into Audrey's eyes with a sincere gaze.
Audrey sighs aloud, her hands dropping to her sides.
"It's not you, sugar. Well, not really. Men just don't want to spend the night with a spinster like me after a while."
The raven haired woman watched as MaryLynn's blue eyes widened, the sincere gaze melting into one of vulnerability. Her lips were downturned.
"You hate me, don't you? I remember your words, and that look in your eyes those years ago. I wish we could have been friends."
"I don't hate you, you silly twat!"
Audrey did not enjoy MaryLynn's wounded gaze reaching her heart, the heart that she had so intentionally willed to harden from flesh to cold, cold metal. The blonde woman was competition, yet she never once paraded her success in Audrey's face. She did not like that MaryLynn was so damn likeable. No wonder men climbed buildings for her (especially that odd Native man)! Audrey felt useless in her role at the brothel; she felt forgotten and toyed with one too many times. Her clientele was not what it used to be, and she knew this begrudgingly well.
"You're leaving with that odd Native man, aren't you? The one that climbs the building?"
"Possibly," MaryLynn confirms, looking down at her lap as she hopes for the best. "Yes."
"Has he ever heard of a door before?"
MaryLynn looked back up, a small smile creeping up on her face over the deadpan humor.
"I just don't ask him about that anymore. He doesn't want to be seen. Still, a door would be nice."
The raven haired woman smirks morbidly.
"You got yourself a man, sugar. I envy you. You're leaving this hell hole. I'm thirty-two years old, and still without a husband. Who would want a spinster?"
"So what if you're not married? I'm twenty seven, and I don't have a husband either!"
Audrey shifts her weight onto her left foot, mulling over MaryLynn's status as a single woman. 'That'll change soon enough.'
"Give it a couple of years," she says, her thoughts coming to life.
She shifts her weight again, this time onto her right foot as she tries to use her words effectively instead of offensively.
"When you moved into my room, I don't think I really hated you. I thought that I did, believe me! But, as I get older…I realize just that: I'm getting older. The charm of youth is gone, and I just don't care for very much these days. I'm bitter inside. I wish that my life were different, you know, sugar?"
"But it can be different," the blonde woman interjected, her voice more confident.
"Dreamers. So naïve. You have a chance at a nice life, sugar. Enjoy it."
Audrey makes her departure before the conversation became more personal. Before she takes her leave, she says one last thing after biting into the inside of her cheek.
"I mean it, enjoy it…and don't fuck it up."
MaryLynn smiles widely. As rough around the edges as Audrey was, she was actually trying to be friendly. She couldn't have been more happy in this moment to reconcile with Audrey.
"I'll see you around, MaryLynn," says the raven haired woman in a lazy drawl, offering a partial smile.
"You too. Take care, Audrey."
There was still something alive in the raven haired woman, even if it was just a small spark. MaryLynn watched her disappear from the doorframe, her smile never faltering from her flushed face. She had hoped that Audrey would find something better in life one day. And then, she realized how truly lucky she was to have the chance to start a new life on her own terms. She whispered her gratitude to God every minute she could spare for the blessing.
Eventually, as the sun ventured its way down for slumber, her clothing and undergarments were all packed into two burlap sacks. She could not afford leather suitcases, for the leather became high in price these days. It simply did not fit in her budget. MaryLynn had tucked some stalks of lavender between folded clothing so as to cover up the dingy smell of the sacks. It certainly wasn't as strong as imported parfum, but it had done a decent job in masking any unpleasant smells.
All was packed except for her trinkets, which she carefully placed in a medium sized mahogany chest. For the third time this day, MaryLynn had opened the lid, peeking inside at what she deemed to be her treasures. Inside were her dried berries for feigning a flush of the lips and cheeks; her old looking glass; pressed flowers for decoration; the crafted trinkets that Connor had made for her; and, finally, a rolled up "Wanted" poster of a young Connor from 1773.
Not too long after sealing the lid of the chest, a frantic, rapid tapping could be heard at her window. Her eyes alert, she whipped herself around and stood up straight. A large shadow anxiously continued to tap at her window, demanding attention.
"Connor?" she mumbled to herself.
Rushing to the window, the blonde woman opens the panes to find a heavily breathing Connor. 'What, is the sky falling? What has him so spooked?'
"Connor, what are you…" she trailed off, figuring a better inquiry to ask. "Did you receive my letter?"
"Yes," he huffs, his breathing beginning to ease down as MaryLynn permits him entry. "I journeyed here...huff...as soon as I could."
"You know, you could have written a letter in response. You didn't have to come all the way here."
"Does it matter? Huff...I read your letter...huff...I had to see you."
"Wait. That means…"MaryLynn did not finish her sentence, for her thoughts began to dance wildly over the possibility that came with Connor's impromptu visit.
"Yes," he exhales, his palms open at his sides. "My answer is, 'yes.' You can come to the homestead and live with me. I will take you there tom-"
"Now? You will?" shouts MaryLynn, her teeth bearing in a wide smile as her eyes narrow with glee. "Oh Connor, I will do everything I can-!"
"I'm sorry to interrupt you," he stops her mid-sentence, finally attaining a steady rhythm of breathing, "but please listen to me. We cannot leave at this moment. I'm here to discuss my plan with you and Madam for keeping you out of the sight of the red coats. If they associate you with me, you will be in danger. I do not say this to alarm you, but I must be honest with you. If the British forces know of you, they will find you. However, this will not happen while I am around."
Connor's stern tone of voice had dampened her excitement. He spoke of the truth, and she did not even think of the possibility of red coats deeming her an affiliate of Connor and the Patriots. It was a scary thought, being discovered and interrogated for answers. The Native assassin did not mean to frighten her, but he could not blind her from what dangers lay beneath the surface of this city. Deciding to soften his tone, Connor clears his throat before speaking.
"Please bring Madam here. She should be present to listen to my briefing of the plans for escorting you to the homestead safely."
"I will fetch her right away. Connor?"
His eyebrows rise with question, although the lip of his hood had casted a shadow to conceal this facial expression.
"Thank you," she says in a soft voice, her hands pressing over her heart.
The Native assassin's lips thin out, trying to conceal his bashfulness. He picks at his leather gloves for a moment before silently scolding himself for retaining this bad habit. He nods his head twice, folding his large hands before him.
"You…You will be happy," he struggles to speak, his mouth dry. "I give you my word."
Smiling broadly, the blonde woman runs off to fetch Madam. A few minutes later, Madam was brought to the bedroom. MaryLynn insisted that she listen to Connor's plan, offering her a seat on the bed. Connor pulls up a nearby chair, turns it around, and sits with his arms resting on the back of the chair.
"Wha' is goin' on? Can you jus' tell me?" Madam impatiently demands.
"Madam, please. He will tell you in a moment. Go on, Connor."
"Thank you. Madam, I wanted you to be present for my briefing on how I plan to escort MaryLynn safely to the homestead. As I have told her, we must trek undetected so as not to lead British forces into thinking of her as an affiliate of myself or Patriot forces. If this occurs, she will be in danger. I do not intend for this to happen, and it will not happen."
He carefully selected his words, purposely using the term "British" instead of "Templar" when referring to the dangers of being detected. Neither of these women was affiliated with the Assassin Order, and therefore should not be informed of what occurred behind metaphorically closed doors.
"MaryLynn, if you and I trek during the night, it will be a risk. Patrols have become strict during these hours due to sightings of rebels sneaking out to attend meetings. I cannot risk you being seen with me especially, for my reputation seems to be spreading. So, as the sun rises tomorrow morning, Sam and his wife will escort you to the outskirts of the frontier. This gathering will appear to be a family merely walking to Lexington to spend the day. There would be no suspicion whatsoever. Be ready to leave here by six o' clock.
Once you reach the outskirts of the frontier, where Lexington comes into view, I will be there waiting for you. Sam Adams and his wife will hand you over to me, and then you and I will continue from there. The trip itself will not be too long. We should arrive at the manor sometime in the evening. Your belongings will be sent out tonight so as to make tomorrow's trip light. I have a wagon driver waiting outside for just that. I will see to it that your belongings arrive safely, and they will be waiting for you at the manor. We must be as inconspicuous as possible. Does this plan agree with you both?"
"Sounds safe enough," Madam spoke up first. "I know Samuel, he is reliable. Should anythin' go wrong, I know where he lives."
"Madam!" chided MaryLynn. "Please!"
"Sam is trustworthy. You can rely on him just as I have relied on him for numerous occasions. Unfortunately, I cannot stay much longer. Are your belongings packed, MaryLynn?"
The blonde woman nods, squeezing Madam's hand without realizing her action.
"Good. I will start loading up the wagon."
"I'll help you, lad."
"No, it is fine. You don't need to strain yourself."
"Strain myself? Lad, I'm not tha' old yet! Now get that one sack while I get the other."
And with that said, Madam pushes herself off of the bed and stomps her way to the burlap sacks, lifting one up over her shoulder. Connor was wise not to argue with the Scottish woman or her will as she left the bedroom. MaryLynn shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "Just let her be." Connor looks around the bedroom, noticing that there was no pile of clothing left behind for the morning.
"If there is anything that you need for tonight and tomorrow morning, perhaps you should retrieve it now."
"I already have what I need. I'm fine."
"No clothes? Nightwear?"
MaryLynn shakes her head "no," leaning back onto her elbows.
"These clothes are clean to wear again, and I usually sleep in the nude during the hot season. Too damn hot to wear anything," she giggles, thinking she sounded reasonable before seeing a flush of red burst onto Connor's cheeks.
He begins to pick at the leather of his worn out gloves, looking away from the blonde woman as he tries to will away the heat in his face.
"Connor, don't fret. It's nothing you haven't seen before! Don't you sleep in the nude?"
"That is my business, not yours," he replies in one quick breath.
'Still a virgin?' MaryLynn muses over his behavior. 'Or just highly conservative? I wish that I could ask him without making the poor man so flustered. So odd.'
"I-I-I will take the last sack to the wagon. Meet me outside when you are ready."
Connor rushes to lift up the final sack over his shoulder, making his way out of the bedroom. MaryLynn remained leaning on her elbows upon the bed, left with her thoughts. Once the sacks were gone, she looked over to the chest that was settled atop her vanity desk (or what would soon be Audrey's vanity desk). A wave of sadness coiled around her heart as she realized that this room began to look barren.
She truly was leaving this life behind her.
The time came to leave yet another home. Tomorrow night, she would be living in a strange place that she would eventually have to call "home." She did not fool herself into security, in thinking that this home would be her permanent home. However, would anyone blame her for dreaming? For hoping?
Pushing herself upward and off of the bed, MaryLynn sluggishly strolls over to the chest, lifting it up into her arms. It was not too heavy, but it was not exactly a feather either. With her chest of treasures cradled in her arms, MaryLynn walks out through the bedroom door and into the hallway.
She stares down the hallway, at the numerous bedroom doors, all closed and brimming with unique stories of the girls of past and present; the red velvet drapes that hung upon the walls; the portraits of serene landscapes of wild flowers that may or may not exist; the staircase that would descend to the door where her life would begin anew.
Her grip on the chest became tighter, squishing against her bosom.
This was a happy occasion, yet to leave behind what she was all too familiar with had plagued her with sadness. She felt guilty. Why be so sad? She was leaving an occupation where her body was for sale. However, she met people here that were sparks of light in dreary times. She was not rejected, or even accused of something she did not commit. She was leaving for herself, to better her life. The roles were old, and she grew out of them. She had to leave it all behind for a better life.
And yet, there was an empty feeling birthing within her bosom. Another home is gone, another family left behind. She told herself before that this was nothing new. Nothing had ever been permanent in her life, so why mourn a change or two? However, one thought had always haunted her mind and her heart every time she ran away: "Will they remember me?"
She loved Madam. She loved Surry and Samuel. On some level, she loved even Audrey. Will they still love her when she was gone? She wanted to remembered, to be loved. She wanted to be loved by Madam most of all. The Scottish woman had shown her what a true mother should have been, as tough as she was at times. Her own mother was neither ready nor capable of the role, but this middle aged Scottish woman with full curves and curled red hair had been the mother that she wished she had a as child. It was never too late. God had given her a mother after all. It was not a coincidence that MaryLynn was found by this woman as she curled up beside a pile of crates. It was not a coincidence that this woman, weary and bitter over her own life, saw this young girl shivering, her eyes wide and begging for love. Madam melted and became the mother she never thought she could be. She did not give birth to MaryLynn, but she was as close to a daughter as any other girl that worked in her business.
In a few months, MaryLynn knew that she would be fine and settled in. Well, not perfectly fine, but fine nonetheless. The faces of her loved ones will not evoke as much guilt then. She will not doubt herself as much for choosing herself over others for once in her life. Hopefully.
All that was left for her to ask was, "What happens to me now? Will this new home be the one for me?"
Another family. Another home. What was this new home like? Was it safe? Was it warm? What would her next role in life be? She was afraid of the unknown, and became melancholy over leaving behind the only family that had ever accepted her.
Connor awaited her appearance outside so patiently. 'Damn that man. He never complains.'
The sacks settled into the wagon were heavy, not just with belongings but with memories. The memories would stay with her no matter how far she ventured. She wanted Madam to come along and live with her, to be the mother and the free woman that she wanted her to be. To leave the business, however, would leave these poor girls with no roof over their heads. She could never ask Madam to do that. Besides, she had to learn how to protect herself. She had to learn how to pick herself up from the ground should she fall.
Finding herself standing outside of the front door, MaryLynn hands Connor the chest, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Guard that chest with your life," she insists, her fists balled at her sides and her nose scrunched up to appear brave. "I have special trinkets in there."
"I promise you," Connor partially smiles, knowing that his dear friend was putting up a front.
He knew that she was scared.
"All will be well, MaryLynn," says Connor in a hushed, deep voice. "Don't be afraid. I will not leave your side tomorrow."
Her fists unclenched slowly, her features relaxing. Lashes fluttering shut, her arms wrap around her waist for comfort as quiet tears escaped her desperate need for control. 'Damn it, why can I not hold it all in? Why must I cry in front of them?' Madam was used to the blonde woman crying at random moments. As long as she was not bleeding or in danger, the older woman knew to allow MaryLynn to ride the wave of emotion until she was weary.
Connor, however, became anxious. He shifts the chest under his left arm, leaving his right arm unoccupied. 'What's wrong? Why is she crying? I don't know what to do. I don't know what she wants. Why is she still crying? What do I say?' His thoughts were rapid, colliding with another. His lips would part for words, only to shut when no words could be conjured. His dark eyes darted in every direction, his anxiety elevating over his helplessness. He could easily kill a target, swiftly maneuver fields without detection, and keep a level head in bloody battles. Taking care of a crying woman was not something he was trained for.
"M-MaryLynn?" the Native assassin mustered to say.
Before Connor knew it, the blonde woman rushed forward into his torso, burying her face into his military shirt. Physical contact. She wants comfort.
His unoccupied arm wrapped around her shoulders, his hand resting on her upper arm as she released her tears, her fears.
"I'm scared," she confesses, her voice muffled by his shirt.
He could feel the hot reverberations of her breath through his shirt. The heat made him shiver, unsure of whether or not he enjoyed the sensation. Listening closely, Connor was able to understand her muffled voice.
"Why are you scared?" he quietly asks.
"I don't know where I'm going. I don't know this place that I'm going to. I don't know if I'll be happy."
A dry sob rattles her body before she continues, collecting a bundle of Connor's shirt into her fist.
"I'm leaving another home. I'm always asking myself, 'Where am I going now?'"
"You don't have to ask that question anymore," Connor attempts to ease her troubles, cognizant of MaryLynn never having lived in a true home before. "You will be happy in this home, because you are with me. I will make it your home."
Author's Note: I cannot begin to tell you how many ideas I swapped and tossed away for this chapter. I kept changing my mind over certain scenes. Don't get my wrong, it is better to have many ideas to choose from than no ideas at all!
I chose the song, "Another Suitcase In Another Hall" from the musical EVITA because the overall tone beautifully communicated a strong yet scared woman not sure of where she was going to live and how she would survive. Yes, Eva sings about ending love affairs, but I got the sense that she was also talking about never having a real home, a real family. I thought this suited MaryLynn perfectly in this chapter, so I provided the lyrics. I'm thinking of making a public playlist of all the songs I use to write this story. What do you think? ;)
Connor's afraid of crying women. Enough said. The reviews I received from the last update were so amazing and filled my heart with so much joy. I love you and your thoughts, your encouragements. It means a lot and I can never say thank you too many times!
PLEASE READ: I wanted to make a shout out to one of my reviewers who made this absolutely beautiful fan art of Connor and MaryLynn meeting for the first time. I had no clue about this until viciousflo sent me a message and showed me her gorgeous artwork of these characters. I almost cried at work when I saw the email and fan art, ha ha! Bless you, viciousflo, and I hope you received my email thanking you from the bottom of my heart! It was a pleasant surprise, and you are beyond talented. Please visit her deviantart page! Her username is the same as the one I provided. The piece itself is called, "First Meeting with MaryLynn."
If you or anyone you know has made fan art of this story, please alert me. I'd love to see it, and I can showcase the work here when I post updates. Have a lovely week, everyone!
~take care