I'm so glad you guys are enjoying the story! Your flattering reviews keep my ideas flowing so thank you!
( I'm getting the hang of this website!)
Ahem, a lot going in this chapt. so i don't blame you if you are confused...and people waiting for Connor to butt in, wait just a little longer please!
I promise you, he is almost here!
Tiffany, Lieutenant John Pierre, and Jacque are my OC's. Happy Readings!
"A…scout? Me?" I rambled stupidly. A worried look crossed Washington's face.
"Is…something wrong?" He said. I looked at him and forced a relaxed smile, trying to reassure him that I was alright.
"No, of course not…I'm…fine." I laughed half-cheerfully.
"You seem rather-." He was cut off by one of the Frenchman sprinting towards us, half panting. He stood straight at attention at the sight of General Washington, and in between breaths announced that Lieutenant John Pierre had arrived. I quietly groaned at this. He must have been the man Washington wanted to see, because he quickly thanked him and said that he would be right on his way back. He spun around on his heels to face me again, the glowing smile still plastered onto his face.
"I enjoyed our little talk, Miss Tiffany. I plan to come back, two weeks from now for more important matters; will you be available for another chat?" He chirped pleasantly. I thought this over, and he peered at me patiently.
"I might be…no promises." I snarled. No one had ever mentioned me EVER being some kind of scout. What did scouts even do? This upset me.
"I see." Washington murmured. He suddenly, very quickly, but unbelievably gently, lifted my right hand to his mouth and gently pressed his lips, against my hand. I flinched in shock. What in the world was he doing? Is this behavior normal? I thought. People only use their lips to eat, drink, sing, speak, and smile. Not whatever HE was doing. After bidding me farewell, I stood nearly dazed. I have been growing up in Boston longer than I have back home in the rice fields, in the sunny country side. But I've never seen such an act so strange. I glared at my palms, like a confused kitten.
/
"Oi! You!" The Frenchman suddenly burst out. I gasped as I realized I wasn't alone. He pointed a chubby finger at me, "John Pierre wants to talk to you after his meeting." He growled.
"He can wait!" I hissed. He pinched my ear and dragged me back despite my protests and violent shoves. He lugged me inside of Pierre's tent then tossed onto the ground.
"Rester sur place!" He barked. I am merely a puppet. Some child's toy that can be thrown around and torn into pieces. He stormed out of the tent into the hot summer heat, only for Jacque to come back minutes later. Each time the entrance to the tent flew open the bright crisp trees were revealed, and a strange feeling of desire to breathe the fresh air filled me.
"Ah, Tiffany, you've returned." He handed me a canteen and ordered me to drink before I dehydrate again. I sat on the ground and stared up at him.
"How was your talk with General Washington?" He commented. Your Lieutenant John Pierre's scout! The echoes in my head annoyed me greatly.
"Fine." I replied simply. The word scout simply confused me. And once again suddenly reminded me of how desperate I was to escape. More desperate than usual…my mind tried excruciatingly hard to remember what happened before heatstroke got the best of me. I remembered crashing into a man selling apples, I laughed, and I remember pushing aside sailors carrying crates of who-knows-what inside of them, and their cries of fury as I ran away. So desperate…but why? In fact, I was so incredibly desperate that I was stupid enough to attempt my escape during the middle of a scorching summer day…
I was always forced to wear a soldiers garb but Pierre has never allowed me to carry around a musket, just a penknife and a large arrowhead I had found, he never let me march onto the battlefield though I begged and demanded him to let me. I wanted to try out the rush of adrenaline the soldiers described on the battlefield, rather than sitting here plotting my next wild goose chase. Sacred images of my "master" flashed in my head. The man I hated so intensely it seemed impossible to despise one single human being so much.
"I'm worried about you." Jacque said suddenly, capturing my faded attention. "If Pierre goes too far, one more time…" He warned.
I knew what he meant, he and I were the only ones who feared his presence. I was awaiting the pain tonight, too, whenever Pierre returned, pain makes itself comfortable. Last time had resulted in a broken arm… Jacque, the only man I trusted, was the only man who cared about me. I was sure of this, maybe with the exception of Washington, but whenever the French soldiers heard shrill shrieks of pain and agony in the middle of the night, they always knew it was coming from me, the only woman around. If continental soldiers were present, the Frenchmen calmed them and tried to convince them it was something else…they told them that I had nightmares from the bloody wounds and dying men they sometimes brought back.
"Don't worry about me, tonight, Jacque. I've gotten quite used to his man-handling." I chuckled. He sighed in frustration.
"I'm serious, Tiffany. He could end up killing you one day." I shrugged.
"Really? I'll make sure I get fancied up when the time comes." I muttered sarcastically, reduced to playing with a stick.
"Fine. Fine! I give up! Go and joke about death, I'll be outside!" He growled. I dropped the stick and watched him leave in shock. I felt hurt. I had only wanted him to not worry about me, why was he so upset? Hours past, and Jacque did not come back. I stood up and peeked outside of the tent only to be roughly shoved back inside by the guards outside. More hours past and the tent was getting cooler. There was chatter in both English and French outside; there was an occasional shuffling noise, and a few shouts. I had looked outside about nine times and tossed back. So instead of entertaining myself with the stick, I merely went back to remembering the cause of my frantic escape.
Snippets of my thoughts slowly eased themselves back into my thoughts. I remembered reminding myself as I ran that if I had gotten far enough into my forgotten plan and discovered, they would execute me. But night fell eventually, and the only noises were the crunching and crackling from the campfire and the men rambling about their families. Pierre's tent was farther away from the rest, probably to drown out any kind of sobbing. I sighed cringing at the sound of my bones cracking the night he had gone much too far. And once the noises outside died down and the tent became unforgivingly cold, the all-too-familiar harsh voice of Pierre met my ears.
"Vous pouvez être rejeté." He announced to the guards outside. I stared down at the ground and dragged my stick around in smooth circles. Pierre's presence was followed by the cool breeze being let in from the outside. I did not bother looking at him, only paying attention to the tips of his polished shoes and the dirt circles I had traced.
"So what is this about me being involved in spy work?" I questioned immediatly. I met his gaze to see his mouth hanging open in surprise.
"Who told-."
"General Washington. It seems you speak very fondly of me." I informed, half-amused, in an attempt to hide my fear. "I have never been involved in this kind of work, it's enough you drag me into their war, and just have me sit here for you to play with but now you tell the others I am a spy?"
No sound escaped my mouth as he swiftly smacked me across the face.
"Don't you dare speak to me like that!" He hissed. "They allow you to stay because they think you are my scout, what other reason do you think they would let me bring a woman into this warzone?" I scoffed at this and was smacked again, fighting away a tear in my eye. Right, that's because you use me just to ease your troubles and stress. Like a toy. I thought.
"Be grateful! We have taught you the languages we speak, we have fed you and clothed you, taught you how to survive, and you repay us by running away."
"I repay you in my blood." I growled. He cocked an eyebrow at me, and I pushed away my sleeve revealing a series of long scars that were once bloody gashes. All of them, because of him. A hard fist swung across my cheek and Pierre hooked my chin with his finger and brought my gaze up to his.
"Don't talk back, I have cared for you since the day we brought you back, and I have thought of your beauty every time I see your face. Be grateful…" He warned. I grinned.
"You think I'm pretty?" I smirked haughtily. Smack.
Rester sur place=Stay put!
Vous pouvez être rejeté= You may be dismissed.
I used a tiny but of google translate so forgive me if they are unaccurate translations.