Prettyinpinkgal: Could it be...this story might be done by the end of this month? In other news I stumbled on the fact that "Judas Priest" was used in the '40s, but why not have it in the '20s too? I mean, it's not like having Jesse forget Winnie made any sense, or having immortal people in general does, so we can scrape by with a continuity issue, right? ...Mostly because it sounded fun and I wanted to use it just once.

Disclaimer: I don't own "Tuck Everlasting".

FOSTER EVERLASTING

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: MORNING TO NIGHT, PART II

The miles seemed to pass far too quickly. Winnie, lost in her thoughts and trembling with the knowledge that once again swept through her-Walter, a fairly young man and husband, whom she had spoken to not long ago, was dead, killed, murdered-found herself in Treegap suddenly, without knowing how she had arrived there. The sun was much higher in the sky, so it must have taken her at least an hour or so, yet it seemed as though it were only a few minutes.

She was wearing one of the modern outfits Walter, rest his soul, had insisted she take. Her hair was neatly pulled back so that it appeared more like a bob beneath her hat. Her flapper dress disconcerted her, but she told herself repeatedly, "You are not Winnie Foster right now."

Unlike the day before, she was more involved with the townspeople. The girls gushed over her dress-Walter had done well to pick that dress as part of his payment for his debt-and she replied just as airily over how nice their hair was, and where had they gotten that particular purse? It seemed girls in this era were not very different from those from her own old life.

Because some of these girls were quite the chatterboxes and she needed to blend in as well as possible, it took some time to tour the town like one who had never been there before, and as a result she only arrived near Walter's shop much later than she had originally imagined.

Some sheriffs were about, investigating. Winnie feigned shock at the sight of them there. "Oh my, what's happened here?" she cried, addressing an officer the closest to her.

He shook his head dismally. "Foul play, I suspect. Ah, but you really shouldn't trouble yourself, miss. You'd best just get along home. Young ladies don't need to be exposed to this sort of thing."

Apparently, times had not changed as much as Winnie had thought. Her eyebrow twitched just slightly at his comment, but otherwise maintained her facade.

"Oh my! No, please do tell me. Fear of the unknown is so much more frightening than the known," she whimpered, rather tempted to slap herself.

The officer, who was probably twenty years older than Winnie (age-wise, not in actual years), gulped and looked exceedingly uncomfortable by her presence, although Winnie was not entirely sure why he was so nervous about divulging what happened when most of the town probably knew by now anyway. She, fortunately or otherwise, was unaware that despite her best efforts her acting did appear slightly forced, just enough so to make it appear like she was flirting rather than attempting to dig into the mystery.

"Er," was the brilliant statement he came up with before clearing his throat one, two, three times. For better or worse, his slight attraction and deep discomfort made his tongue difficult to wield, and the story stumbled out of his mouth without a bit of restraint, despite being more aware of the young lady's femininity than ever. "Well, Walter here was most likely murdered. I doubt he could chop himself into pieces himself, and I doubted someone tripped with a knife in their hands. I mean, Walter was a pretty thickly-built guy. Oh, Judas Priest! Look how pale you've gotten! Forgive me, miss."

"I'm fine!" was her immediate response, made slightly sharp from trying to recollect herself. Her frown softened, and her big eyes blinked frantically to keep tears at bay, which only enhanced her loveliness to the officer. "Oh my" -this was quickly becoming her favorite and most exhausted saying when acting- "I do hope you catch the murderer! Have you any leads yet?"

"Not yet!" the officer replied, his voice cracking despite leaving puberty over two decades ago. "We've no idea. The misses is upstairs crying her heart out. Half-mad with grief. She witnessed the thing, you know. Probably would have been next if Walter's and Marion's screams hadn't woken up all their neighbors."

"Do you think it would do any good if I talked to her? I'd hate to be a bother, but..."

"No one would ever think you're a bother, miss!" he cried. "Go ahead and take yourself inside. I'm sure a fresh face is exactly what she needs. Too many relatives and friends are about, and the fact that they're all so close to her is hurting her even more. That's what her sister told me, anyway. She's trying to force everyone out now. She's considerate, that one. Personally, if I saw my significant other murdered so gruesomely in front of me, well, I'd want all the comfort I can get, even if that is unmanly, but then again I never professed to understand women-"

"Thank you very much, sir," Winnie said with a quick bob as she darted up the steps, nearly getting run over by a herd of compassionate relatives and acquaintances, although a few who had a greater pride than heart or who were more distantly related to Marion and Walter cried, "Why, I've never been handled so rudely in my life! That's gratitute for you."

One particularly obnoxious girl, who had come with her father and mother, said, "Now where will I get my best dresses?" Winnie nearly took off her nice gloves in order to claw that priss's face, but luckily her mother quenched the urge by boxing her daughter's ears herself, making her start wailing delightfully.

"Who're you?" one woman said to Winnie, evidentally the sister the officer had mentioned before. "You're not Marion's friend."

"I'm not. The officer over there told me what happened, and I was wondering if I might speak to your sister a little bit."

The sister's frown deepened. "Oh, he did, did he?" Winnie stood awkwardly, unsure whether to continue using her airy front or to behave like a rational person, while the woman surveyed her.

"You're not about to start strange stories and rumors about her to your friends, will you?" the sister finally said.

"Oh, no, ma'am! I hardly know anyone here."

"I believe it. I knew I hadn't seen you before. I'm Beatrice. It might help if you take some tea up to her now. The doctor gave her some pills to take to help her sleep. They should be right on the tray. Say, what's your opinion on all this?"

"No one would have to suffer this way," Winnie answered truthfully. "It was a wicked, unforgivable thing. With any luck, the murderer will be caught soon. He'd better be hanged...No, someone should do the same thing to him as he did to Walter."

Beatrice's stony face softened to a weary smile. "Yes, you'll do. The others simply babbled on and sobbed like idiots. We all want to cry, but we can't, not yet. Only Marion has that right. The rest of us shouldn't show our misery so openly when there's a murderer in our midst. You answered with conviction and heart, though, and I applaud you for that. Now come on, get that tea. I'll be checking the pot roast."

Moments later, Winnie was upstairs knocking on the door to what Beatrice had told her was the master bedroom.

She heard no reply, and with impressive agility for one who had never been required to carry a tray in her life, she balanced the set in one hand while she used the other to open the door. Then a new problem presented itself: The room was completely dark. Not one ounce of sunshine was permitted into the room, and Winnie almost felt as if she would fall of the earth if she entered it.

"Who are you?"

Winnie turned and squinted, barely making out the outline of a bed. As she opened the door a little wider, some more light from the hallway allowed her to see a woman lying in bed.

"Marion? I'm Wi-Wendy. I'm visiting from out of town, and I heard about what happened...Here, I brought your tea and your medicine." She held it up almost questioningly.

"Lay it somewhere. I'll get to it later."

Winnie eyed the nightstand by her bed, refusing to even blink for fear that she would lose it in the darkness. Once the tray was safely down, she turned the gas light on-someone still used those? Winnie had supposed everyone used electricity these days-just a little to see the widow's face.

Not surprisingly, her face was worn and grave and her eyes absently staring at the ceiling. Her cheeks showed evidence of having been soaked in tears not long ago, but they were free of fresh drops for the moment, no doubt because the poor dear had cried herself out. Winnie felt a lump rise in her throat, and her lips trembled, but Beatrice's stern lecture regarding crying reminded her to stay strong and brave.

Slowly, she reached over and laid her own hand on the woman's. "What can I do to help?" she asked.

"Kill him. Kill him, kill him, kill him..." she started saying in a sing-song voice, her head rolling from side to side on the pillow.

Winnie sat there, still holding the hand, unsure of what to do. She had planned to extricate information from Marion, as well as be of some service to her, but the widow seemed to be on the brink of going mad. Her fear and previous hysteria had no doubt prevented her from giving the killer's identity to the police, despite apparently witnessing the entire bloody thing. If someone questioned her again, what if she fell into insanity? The woman had suffered enough already. Yes, Winnie decided, she needed to find some other way of finding out the identity of the sick lunatic who was capable of such monstrosity-especially when it was intended to be but a message to someone else.

That would require spending many days in Treegap. She needed to observe people and their actions, and, having luckily never been one to fall for false smiles, she hoped she would be successful.

For now, though, she would focus on helping Marion recover from her ordeal.

"Marion, let's have some tea together, shall we? Look, I brought a cup for me, too."

Marion stopped her song and stared unfocusedly at Winnie. "I don't want my pills yet."

"That's just fine. I'll set them right here for you when you want them a little later. Does that sound all right?"

"Fine. You knew Walt, didn't you?"

This sudden question made Winnie jump slightly, nearly dropping the teapot. "What makes you say that?"

"That's our dress. I don't like it. Too improper. But I'm old-fashioned. That's why I told Walter to work on the women's clothes as well as then men's, and I'd take care of the household and help out with manning the register."

"I don't like this dress all that much either, it's not my style. But don't let the other girls in town know it; they seemed to adore it and might think I'm just rude." Winnie grinned broadly, much broader than she felt like, but she hoped that any little effort would make Marion's spirits rise.

"When did you buy it?"

Winnie paused. "Yesterday morning. I was with your friend James."

She waited for some sort of relapse. The words "yesterday" and "James" seemed taboo, and yet only a few minutes into her conversation with Marion, she'd already uttered them.

To her surprise, Marion only became a little more alert. "Yes, I remember. Walter danced me around the room, telling me how he only needed to pay off his debt by giving a friend of Jim's some outfits. He said that now that we didn't need to worry about the finances as much, we should go away on vacation..." Her voice trailed away, and tears streamed down quietly from her lost gaze. "Wendy, what am I going to do without Walter? How could anyone...? And what did he want with Jim?"

Torn between wanting to comfort and wanting information, she bit the bullet. Sliding just a little closer, she said, "What did that awful man want with James?"

"He said he wanted...He said he wanted to play with one who cheated. I don't know what he means by that. Jim would never, ever cheat at cards, would he? He was clever, and that's how he beat my dear, loving husband all the time, God rest his soul!"

"No, he is honorable," Winnie said absently. "One who cheated". One who cheated death?

In came Beatrice, just as they were finally getting somewhere. Winnie refrained from showing her disappointment, however.

"Food's ready," Beatrice said almost cooingly to her sister. "I'm glad you didn't take your pills. It would have taken a train to wake you up!"

"I want Walter," Marion said tearfully, almost like a child.

"I know, dear, but...Well, the reverend will perform the ceremony in two days' time, and we need you to be well enough for that."

Marion's pupils seemed to shrink terribly before Winnie's eyes. "Re...reverend...Ceremony...?"

"Yes, dear, the funeral. Walter wouldn't like to see you wasting away."

"W-Walter...Walter, get away from him! Reverend! Reverend!"

Marion burst into hysterics and Beatrice quickly told Winnie, "I'll make her have her pills now. It'd be best if you get going now! Thank you!"

Winnie stood up jerkily and shakily. "Y-yes, thank you! I-I'll see you some o-other time, Marion!"

Nearly knocking over the tea tray in her hurry out, Winnie again repeated her adieus before fairly flying out of the room, and then the house. She did not stop running until she was several blocks away, in the quiet edge of town where there was virtually no one to be seen. There, she wrapped her arms around a lamppost and breathed in wrasping gasps of air.

She thought of the pleasant gentleman in the cemetary, commenting on the essence of death.

It couldn't be...Marion couldn't mean that the reverand had butchered her husband so hatefully...? Surely she was just afraid of the prospect of her husband being dead, and she was shocked at the word "reverand" because it meant a burial, right?

"Miss Foster, are you all right?"

"Yes, I'll be fine in just a moment, thank you," Winnie replied shakily, her eyes closed as the cold sweat dripped off her brow.

"Well, I can't let you get to that moment then, can I?"

In broad daylight, a hand whipped out from the nearby alley and dragged her in before she could grasp the situation. It was there that Winnie was knocked unconscious.