Chapter IV.
It is fascinating to see the Overland house in all its glory, as simple as it was with only a single story. Its facade had three one-pane windows separated by the one batten front door, wore a large stone chimney on its right-hand side, and from where Jamie and the two others were angled, he could see the roof's steep slope down on the backside of the building.
Mrs. Overland unlatches the bolt fastened to the doorframe, opens it, and near bodily shoves Jack and Jamie past the threshold. Inside, the interior is lit up by the emerging sunlight, revealing a vastly different setting compared to Lord Sufford's house. Again with the low wood plank ceiling, added with a more cramped appearance. To the right is a wide open fireplace strikingly similar to the one in the magistrate's house, a large metal pot hanging from a hook above the ashes; towards the front of the hearth is a small dining table set for four, a few handmade chairs scattered around the room–one by the fireplace, another by a lonely picture frame (or was a portrait frame, since this was the 18th century, not the 21st?).
In the dim light filtering through the sparse windows, the area is illuminated with a slight golden glow, giving the interior a cozy touch despite its ramshackle appearance.
The fiery woman leads them by their wrists, Jack still clutching his staff like a lifeline, to an area sectioned off by a wall that is adorned with a shelf full of dinner plates and past another part of the house that looks like the kitchen, with pots hanging from the ceiling and a very antique iron stove bolted to the floor. On the other side of the compartment is a bed, small and narrow, where she then gently takes Jack and sets him on the mattress. Jack is still wheezing for breath, something Jamie hasn't seen before, and he takes a seat next to his friend, hesitantly putting a hand on his still-trembling arm in concern.
Mrs. Overland puts her hands on her hips. "You may stay with Jackson, Mr. Bennett, for the time being. Emily has her own bed with me in the parlor and I do not have any more room for you."
"That's okay," Jamie says quickly. "We can, er, share the bed."
Mrs. Overland nods firmly, and then leaves, mentioning something about getting some medicine.
Alone, Jamie leans into Jack, who appears tired and weakened. "Are you okay?"
Jack nods. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Jamie's eyes narrow. "Are you sure?" There's no use in lying to me, he doesn't say.
Jack pauses for a moment, then shakes his head. "No, I'm not." He sighs. "Honestly, this is just a clusterfuck of a mess, Jamie." Is it just him, or does Jack's huff sound a little weepy?
Trying to sympathize with his companion, Jamie rubs at Jack's thin shoulder. "I agree. Like, really? Time travel?" A disbelieving laugh bursts from his throat. Still in earth-shaking shock and awe, Jamie can't help but marvel at this miracle. Fucking time travel, he thinks, of all things! It shouldn't be possible! How did it even happen in the first place?
"It's so cool," he murmurs aloud, earning a weak chuckle from the boy next to him. "We're so far in the past that we, as a future generation, are witnessing history before our eyes!" Jamie feels exuberant, his mind filled with all sorts of possibilities regarding something so fundamentally life-changing!
"I guess." Jack mumbles half-heartedly.
Noting his sudden gloom, Jamie reels himself in like a good friend, realizing his insensitivity. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"It's nothing much, really." Jack replies weakly, waving a dismissive hand. Jamie is about to retort when the sound of footsteps approaching is heard from behind the sectioned off wall, and just as he clams up again, Mrs. Overland arrives with a small bowl and spoon in her hand.
Goddamn people keep interrupting me, Jamie mourns internally.
As Mrs. Overland sets the bowl onto the little nightstand beside the rickety bed, Jamie notices that Jack's eyes are suspiciously wet, but he doesn't mention it, instead watching Jack's mom stir the spoon in the small bowl, noticing a weird sludge within it, tinged an ugly green.
"What is that?" He asks as politely as he can, hoping he's hidden his disgust well enough.
"A special concoction of mine, Mr. Bennett." Mrs. Overland says mysteriously, smiling slightly. "Do not tell that awful Sufford woman."
"I won't." Jamie promises.
When the woman in brown lifts the filled spoon towards her son, he protests. "Mother, I can do it myself," he tells her, leaning away from her grasp. Mrs. Overland huffs once, but proffers the spoon to the teen, and he dutifully swallows the concoction, and based on his pinched sour-looking features, it does not taste good at all.
Wondering if it was appropriate to say it now as Jack's mom spoon feeds him, Jamie blurts, "Thank you."
"Whatever for, dear?" Mrs. Overland asks.
"For trusting me, I guess. Everyone else didn't seem to like me." For Jamie, it was certainly true, having Mrs. Overland trusts him more than anyone else in this godforsaken village. Sure, he was an unknown, but he didn't fully understand why the people he met so far were so hostile to him, calling him a foreigner like it was a bad thing.
"Not to worry. Most would take kindly to an outsider, but others are too pious to trust."
"Pious?" He'd never heard that word before.
"Religious. Devout." Jack answers his question through a mouthful of dubious medicine, before turning away at the next spoonful. "I think that's enough, Mother."
What does religion have to do with trust? Jamie wonders as Jack grimaced at the sight of the odd substance.
"All right, then." Mrs. Overland doesn't protest, setting down the mostly empty bowl onto the small nightstand. Jack wipes a hand over his mouth, before looking at his mom with a sense of deep sadness, his eyes nearly drooping in gloom. "H-How's Emily?"
Emily, Jamie realizes, his sister, right?
"Emily is well, Jack." The woman sighs, as if her son had repeatedly asked similar questions in the past several hours. "She is attending her classes at the moment and will be home later today."
Well, Jamie surmised, of course there's school, too. I wonder what it's like?
"It is early in the day, and you are sick, Jack. I will give you a few days of rest, and Mr. Bennett will stay with you, yes?"
At the prompt, Jamie nods. "Yes, ma'am. Oh, uh, you can call me Jamie, if you want."
Mrs. Overland smiled. "Jamie, then." She then moved to her son, hands on her hips once again. Jack sighed, seemingly trying not to roll his eyes, stood from his seat and pulled back the covers. Knowing he was in the way for a moment, Jamie stood as well, watching as his friend tucked himself into the bed. Jamie felt a little awkward witnessing all this, from Jack being spoon-fed by his mother and basically coddled into the uncomfortable bedding.
It reminded Jamie of Goody Sufford's earlier words, though he was sure to not take it to heart, having seen her cold personality and disgust towards him.
Jamie isn't sure what to do for the day, and ponders this as Mrs. Overland gathered the medicine, gave Jack a pat on the head and then left with a few final words: "I will be out at the market with Earl Townsend for the day, and I will return when Emily's classes are over. Understood?"
Both boys nodded, Jamie more so in confusion that anything else.
Once she was gone, Jack let out a deep breath, sitting up and burying his head in his hands. For a second, Jamie is befuddled at the sight but it quickly washes away when he spots the tremble re-emerging from his lithe frame, and his hands tighten where they are held over his face. Oh, no…
Jamie feels a pang in his heart at the sorry sight. "Jack…?"
Jack only shakes his head. Jamie shuffles closer to wrap an arm around the teen's shoulders, rubbing his back soothingly. From where his skin is exposed, Jamie can see it turning a flushed red from his no doubt intense emotions.
As Jack silently cries, Jamie runs a hand through his hair. "It's okay, Jack. It's okay."
In all his years knowing the winter spirit, Jamie has never seen him cry. Sure, he's witnessed bouts of intense anger or frustration, but never to the point of tears. Jack had expertly hidden it all behind a facade of mischievous recklessness, through false smiles and brushed off jokes that to a twelve year old Jamie never registered as concerning.
But now, at nineteen, he sees through the carefully built front that he knows has lasted for far longer than he's been alive. Yet even though Jamie is aware of this, he doesn't know everything—and it certainly wasn't his place to try and know all of it (even though a small part of hulk was curious to open the old tome that was Jack Frost—and read all those ancient pages with unspoken history hidden in the ink).
Unexpectedly, Jack reached for him, burying his face in the crook of Jamie's neck, and he felt tears start to soak his sweater. A few sniffles here and there before a stuffy voice responds:
"You stink."
A full-on belly laugh bursts from Jamie's throat at the unexpected insult, and he cradles Jack as he guffaws loudly and without any grace, whole body shaking with the force of his chortling. He can feel Jack chuckling, steadily getting louder as they descend into madness.
"I'm serious!" Jack cackles, raising his head and wiping away the tear tracks that have made their way down his cheeks. "You do! What did you sleep in? A pig pen?"
"I slept in the damn jail!" Jamie wheezes. "The hay reeked of death!"
"Oof, yeah. You definitely need a shower."
Inhaling deeply, Jamie suddenly realizes in horror: "There aren't any showers here." Jack stills at those words. "No showers," he whispers.
"No showers! No baths!" Jamie wails half-heartedly, "No shampoo or conditioner or body wash!"
"I'm pretty sure there's soap." Jack grumbles, rubbing at his forehead. "God, my head hurts."
Jamie pauses at that. "Wait, are you actually sick?"
"Yeah, I am. My mom's usually right about most things. I think." Jack flips back onto the bed, groaning. Jamie gives him his space to settle down after their hysterical laughing fit, drawing up the covers—which is actually a quilt of all things. Nice.
"Mind if I nap with you?" Jamie asks as he hesitantly lays onto his elbows beside Jack. "I did get rudely awoken this morning."
Jack waves a hand. "Sure, why not?" He lifts the covers invitingly and Jamie curls under them, keeping a respectful distance from his friend. Once they're settled, Jamie takes note of the puffy sleeves on Jack's new shirt. "What're you wearing?"
"Oh, this?" Jack picks at the loose collar, revealing a pale collarbone in the low light of the small room. "Clothes my mother took from the wardrobe. It's a shift."
"A what?"
"A shift is kind of like a nightgown." Jack explains, propping his head on his palm. "Women wear it as a nightgown and over their dresses during the day, too."
"Really?" Jamie yawns.
"Yeah, now get in here." Jack tugs at him until he's further away from falling off the edge of the bed and better covered by the thick quilt. He bounced in place a little, feeling the flattened straw underneath the sheets and the hardwood planks that support the frame. Not very comfortable, he bemuses.
"Go the fuck to sleep, Jamie."
"Alright, fine."
Jamie awakens to muffled shouting. Blearily he opens his crusted eyelids, blurry vision taking in the dim light that filtered through the window by his bed. But based on the angle of the sunlight slanting inwards it wasn't in the right place, and who was shouting this early in the morning? If it was Sophie screeching on the phone again, by god he'd give a good whack on the head for waking him up. He grabs the ratty pillow and pulls it over his ears. "Goddamn it. Shut up, Sophie!"
"Sophie isn't here, Jamie." says a voice that brings him from the edge of a really good sleep. A hand at his shoulder shakes him, and he sputters awake, using his free hand not using the pillow to swat at the unknown person. "Go 'way, Mom."
"For god's sake, Jamie, open your eyes!"
Hearing the clear masculine tone of not-his-mom's voice, Jamie's eyes snap open as he bolts upright, eyes wide and hair mussed. His eyes catch on the wall in front of him, a clapboard wood lining that he's unfamiliar with. "Am I dreaming?" He asks the mysterious voice.
"Unfortunately not."
Rubbing the crust out of his eyes, Jamie finally spots Jack beside him with an amused grin pulling at his lips. Just then, the shouting outside the little room reaches a new pitch and Jamie groans, resisting the urge to cover his ears. "Who's shouting at this hour?"
"It's evening, Jamie. And that's my mother yelling at Goody Sufford."
Jamie squints. "Her again? Wait–it's evening already?"
"Yes and yes. Sufford is trying to get you questioned again, but my mom isn't having it."
"Oh."
They listen to the god awful screeching from what Jamie assumes to be the front door, or even right outside, and it's too muffled to make out any words, though the familiar high-pitched shrieking of the Sufford lady overtook the forcibly calm tone of Mrs. Overland.
Jamie then remembers what had happened before he'd gone to sleep: meeting Jack's mother and comforting her son when he'd cried. Looking at Jack, he eyes the overly cheerful expression on his face as he tunes into the argument outside. "Are you okay?" Jamie asks gently, and watches as the teen's demeanor flickers just the slightest, before schooling itself back together when he turns to him.
"I'm fine, Jamie." And the look in his brown eyes clearly dared him to fight him on those words, so Jamie, once again, shuts up.
There's the sudden slamming of the door, rushed footsteps, and Mrs. Overland pops in through the doorless threshold. "Oh," she visibly startles, "you are awake! Come! Before Goody Sufford sees you!" She grabs his arm roughly and hauls him up with surprising strength and guides him to another section of the house he hadn't known before.
Jack follows with his staff in hand, leaning on it nearly as heavily as he'd been when they first were reunited in this world. On his face is a shit-eating grin that sends alarm bells ringing in Jamie's head. Mrs. Overland brings him to an even smaller room compared to the bedroom he'd slept in earlier, that housed a large wood basin that could easily fit two people that had a tiny board resting on the edges like a makeshift table. On that makeshift table is a lumpy bar of soap, and a rather ragged-looking towel hanging off the side.
"What's this?" Jamie asks with a good amount of suspicion.
"You are in need of a bath, young man." Mrs. Overland explains promptly. "I assume my son will assist you, as he has told me you do not know how to properly bathe, although I am sure that is not true, knowing your tricks." She ends the sentence with a raised eyebrow at her son, who merely smirks.
Shooting a betrayed look at Jack, Jamie splutters, "I do know how to bathe!"
"Well, Jackson described you as being well-adjusted to a method called 'showers'." Mrs. Overland told him somewhat jokingly.
Jamie's jaw drops. The audacity! "I know how to bathe in a basin, ma'am." He tries not to snap, feeling a bit embarrassed. He ignores Jack's snicker from behind him.
"Of course," Mrs. Overland says flatly, completely unconvinced with either of their attitudes. She waves a hand at a pile of clothes he'd overlooked earlier, "Well, there is a fresh batch of clothes for you when you are finished, and Jackson—put on the blasted quilt so you don't catch another cold!"
Jack only grumbles, momentarily fetching the thick quilt from the small room and returning with it wrapped around his thin shoulders. "Ma, I'm fine unlike Sufford claims." He retorted with an eye roll.
"No you are not, young man. And don't listen to that hag; you only fell in when resting on the ice like a blathering idiot."
"Mother!" Jack squawks. "I was just testing the ice, and we hadn't even put on our skates!"
"And you will not do it again!" Mrs. Overland counters, heading to the open threshold that leads to the kitchen. "I will be outside with Goody Sufford."
Then he and Jack were alone, with the filled basin in between them. When the door finally closed, Jamie groaned. "Let's just get this over with." He froze for a second, side-eyeing Jack. "You're not weirded out by this, right?"
"Nope!" Jack told him, grinning. He looks around as if there's someone eavesdropping on them and then steps closer to whisper in Jamie's ear. "I used to shower under waterfalls."
Jamie jerks back in shock. "What?"
"Yep. Until the Guardians gave me a place to stay at the Workshop." He shrugged. "I'm not weirded out by this, like, at all." He took a step back to lean his staff against the wall, took the chair that had been hidden in the corner, sat facing the back of it, and gestured to Jamie. "Clothes off."
Jamie raises his eyebrows at Jack's nonchalant attitude, feeling as if he was a poor deer that got side swept by a car on the highway. "O-kay, then."
Before he can get rid of his clothes, Jamie removed the one important thing he'd completely forgotten about: his phone. Checking the status of his phone gave proof that it was evening, the clock on the lock screen reading 4:14 PM, a full 24 hours or more of being trapped this strange land, and, Jamie observed, the battery was even lower than he'd last seen it, only at 25%.
Just like before, none of his messages had gone through and hadn't received any new ones from concerned family members. As usual, with no cell towers or satellites, there were no bars, with the exception of the device being on Roaming Mode.
Handing it to Jack, he begins to undo his shoelaces and removes his shoes, followed by his belt and sweater.
Slowly he begins to strip, keeping his eyes away from Jack quietly inspecting his phone— or was it his reflection again?—who Jamie hopes is giving him some semblance of privacy. Eventually, after attempting his best to not overthink everything, he'd stripped himself naked, resisting the urge to cover himself. He clears his throat to get Jack's attention back, who looks only at his chest and no lower, which is relieving to Jamie.
"Alright," he says, "get in."
The water is lukewarm when he dips his toes in, carefully sinking into the basin in order to not spill any water on the wood plank floor. Once he's eased himself fully into the wood basin, which ouch–sitting buck naked on solid raw wood is not fun–Jack had settled himself to his knees, soap in hand. Jamie mutters a quiet thanks as he takes the lumpy piece of wax and starts smearing it over his skin.
In the peaceful quiet, Jamie can't help but ask, "Why did you tell your mom that I didn't know how to bathe?"
Jack doesn't even hesitate to reply. "Because, at this time, she has very different views about bathing, and considering this is pre-industrial…"
"Yeah, I get that, but it was kind of embarrassing."
Jack ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I-I just–Okay, you got me. I am sorry for that. I just… didn't know what else to do."
"So all you could think of was to embarrass me?"
"I wasn't thinking, alright?" Jack snapped back, "I've been trying to cope with all this time travel shit. It's not an excuse, it's just… hard. I thought it was funny."
Jamie still doesn't feel mollified, but acquiesced anyway, continuing slathering his extremities. You have a weird sense of what 'funny' means. "Fine. Just–don't do it again."
"Got it."
The rest of Jamie's bathing time is spent in somewhat awkward silence. When Jamie finishes cleaning himself, Jack helps him out of the basin, respectfully turning away from his friend's nude body while he dries himself with the raggedy towel Mrs. Overland had provided him.
The bathing is the easy part, Jamie realizes when Jack presents him with the new clothes Mrs. Overland had given him to borrow. The tunic is a little difficult to put on, with the added strings on the front to keep the collar secure, but the pants are harder, being the accursed breeches Jamie had seen on the men from the search party. Jack helps him figure them out, using a string to tie what he said were the 'garters' that kept the pants tight at the hem, and a real leather belt that cinched at his waist. Along with this assembly came stockings–a pair of thin-fabric socks that looked like tights that reached under the hem of the breeches and itched at his skin. The last thing he was introduced to was a pair of shoes that looked like they belonged to a pilgrim, which technically speaking, this village was full of them.
With this new introduction to an outdated–but seemingly new to him–fashion, it made him take notice of Jack's clothes, having switched out from the thin nightgown: a similar puffy tunic with a brown vest thrown over it, and near-identical breeches that covered his thin legs. Jamie realizes that even with brown or white hair, the outfit he wears now would be suitable as both human or spirit. He wondered, at that thought, what Jack had worn as a newborn spirit; if he had an outfit like Lord Sufford's or Deputy Richard's? That line of thinking nearly sent him down a spiral of his wild imagination, wondering what and how Jack might've been as a spirit with such a new worldview, being birthed by the moon?
"Jamie?"
Blinking, he registers that he'd been standing in one place for too long. "What? Sorry, I was lost in thought. What is it?"
"Oh, nothing; I just wondered where'd you gone."
Jamie laughs lightly. "Just thinking."
Jack smiles for a moment, before it drops. "Hey, I am sorry for humiliating you earlier. I didn't mean anything bad by it, though sometimes my humor can be a little mean."
Jamie hasn't really forgotten it, having been caught off-guard by the younger boy's surprisingly near-cruel humor, but he would put it aside for now. "It's okay, I guess. I forgive you."
Jack looks relieved, based on the relaxing of his tense shoulders. "Thanks, kiddo."
Jamie groans. "I thought I told you to stop calling me that!"
"Old habits." Jack says, grinning gently. "You're still my kiddo."
"And you're still my old man."
"Oi!"