I am alive! And I am sorry for not updating in so long. I'm not sure what happened, but I think I got unmotivated (not for the first time) and stopped posting updates. Furthermore, I have started classes at my college and will probably not be able to update as often as I did during the summer. Here is another chapter and I hope you all have a wonderful day!
Chapter VII.
Mother's house wasn't too far from the woods, despite being on the other side of town; the settlement was small enough to not make it too much of a hassle. He passed by Deputy Foster's house, where the blonde man who had cursed Jamie was now slumped on the porch passed out cold. Jack didn't spare him a glance, too busy wiping tears from his cheeks.
Goddamn. He swore inwardly, Fuck you, Jamie.
Accidentally making eye contact with a woman, she frowned at the sight of his tear-stricken face, and he quickly looked away, wishing he had his cloak so he'd be able to hide his face. Right now, he didn't want anyone seeing him so weak after so long of keeping up appearances. Quickly, he strode away, keeping his eyes forward as he passed by the meetinghouse—the sight of the drab structure bringing a stab of sorrow from the humiliating incident earlier this week—where the well was being tended to by a group of men, who were pulling up the bucket with the straining rope tied to the pole that kept it all in place.
One of them glances up, as if sensing him, and catches Jack's eyes, recognition gleaming. Again, he looks away, trying to appear as calm as he was able.
"Jackson?"
Jack didn't respond, instead choosing to continue at a brisk walk, the back of his neck prickling with the knowledge people were watching him.
"OI!"
Looking up at the sudden call, Jack has to side-step a passing man and his horse, lest he be trampled to death (an exaggeration, he knew). The man stops his horse with a yank of the reins, and eyeballs Jack like he was dirt under his boot. "Watch where you are going, boy!"
"Apologies, Thomas," Jack says, bowing his head.
The man, Thomas the mill worker, scowls. "Off you get, then."
Jack obeys, glad it wasn't anything worse, and the man continues his ride down the pathway. Alone again, he feels his sinuses sting not for the first time, and wipes a hand at his eyes before any tears could fall. Resuming his walk once more, he distantly notices the houses becoming neater in rows, like parallel parked cars, but separated by small wattle fences. Some were different from the others yet all had near-identical compositions.
Soon, he reaches his mother's house, further down the dirt pathway, where the ruts in the ground aren't as deep from lesser wagon travel, though are still filled with murky water from melting snow.
His mother's house comes into view, and he is quick to approach, opening the door without knocking—
"Jackson?"
His mother stands there by the fireplace with a man next to her, poised as if they'd been talking before Jack had interrupted. Jack takes in the man's tall burly frame, long curled hair covered by a felt hat and most of his sharp features clouded by a dark beard. It is an unexpected and unwelcome sight.
"Who's this?" Jack asks, uncaring of his rudeness, having been caught off-guard. Why is he in our house? He doesn't say.
"You know him, Jackson." Says his mother, stepping to him, pausing when he takes a step back. "This is Earl Townsend; he is the blacksmith."
"Oh." Jack says stupidly, tears momentarily forgotten. "Why is he here?"
"Why, he has asked to court me!" Jack's mother tells him, a smile lighting up her soft features.
Something unkind curls in his gut. "What?"
Obliviously, the woman continues, "Well, it wasn't much of a surprise, since he's been giving me quite the wonderful gifts these past few weeks, and we've spent so much time together…"
"But what about Father?"
Mother frowns. "Your father is dead, Jack. I thought you've moved on from that?"
"I-I did," Jack stutters, even as an old pain lances through his bones. "I thought…"
Mother puts a kind hand on his shoulder. "Thought what, Jack?"
He swallows, avoiding her eye but eyeing the Townsend man. "I thought you weren't remarrying."
"Oh, Jack." Mother sighs, "My dear son. We cannot keep holding onto the past like that. It isn't healthy for anyone." Her hand pulls through his auburn hair gently. "Besides, I do not think your father would mind."
A hot anger, leftover from his and Jamie's fight, flickers to life. "I do think he minds, Mother. I did hear him say to you once that he would remain faithful to you even in Heaven."
Mother's tone becomes firm. "Jack! You should not say such things!"
Now it's Jack's turn to frown. "What? I cannot say that Father was faithful to you my whole life, that he would die for you? And then you're suddenly courting a man I do not know? After all these years of promising to remain true to Father?"
Said man appears from where he'd been watching them, putting a large hand on Mother's shoulder, making Jack desperately want to slap him off of her. "Be kind to your mother, young man," snaps the tall man. "Choose your words wisely."
Hating this and hating Jamie's hurtful words, Jack scoffs. "You have no say over me, Townsend."
"Jack!" Mother scolds as Townsend scowls. Jack feels a moment of guilt, but brushes it aside when the man stepped toward him, an accusing finger pointing at him. "Watch your tone, boy."
It seemed things weren't going so great for Jack today, after fighting with Jamie and giving a poor first impression with Mother's boyfriend. Not wanting to further ruin his impression on Townsend, and most certainly wanting some time to himself, he made to turn to the door, but his mother's hand on his arm stopped him. Jack resisted the urge to shrug her off.
"Where are you going, son?" She can't help but ask.
"I'll just be out, Mother. Chores, perhaps." Jack tells her.
"And where is your friend, Jameie?" At her prompting, Jack spies the sudden odd gleam in Townsend's cool eyes at the sound of the older teen's name.
"I don't know." He answers truthfully. Honestly, after ditching Jamie in the forest, Jack had no desire to search for him or help him find his way back. He can go rot, for all I care.
"Well," Mother sighs, knowing it was no use to pull answers from her stubborn son, "let us know if you find him, aye? I don't want a foreigner wandering lost here."
"Yes, Mother." He unlatches the door and opens it. "I'll be off, then."
"Of course."
Jack doesn't look back as he closes the door behind him, ignoring Townsend's voice as he begins to speak once he'd left. Tired, angry, and frustrated, Jack held no qualms about the man talking behind his back.
The log shed wasn't far from the house, being conveniently situated near most of the occupied homes for easy access when the time came to chop wood and fuel the fireplace. First, he took the ax laying on the side of his mother's house, hoisting it in his hands to test the weight. It wasn't too heavy, but not too light either. It was very unlike the modern axes he'd been used to before all this mess, appearing more primitive in its structure but just as strong and unbreakable as modern ones.
The shed, once he arrives, is small but big enough for him to stand at his full height of 5 feet and 10 inches. He sets aside his beloved staff that he'd brought with him. Lifting an uncut log from the untouched pile of wood, he places it on the stump of a dead tree, followed by taking the ax and raising it high in the air. His calloused hands evened up with his memorized grip on the ax's handle.
And down the blade went, cutting the log clean in two.
Even being sickly, Jack tells himself, smiling thinly, I still have that muscle memory.
Even after three hundred years, he still had the strength to even lift an ax, his spirit body had been frozen in time and remained unchanging over the centuries. Though now completely mortal and returned to his sickly state (enough to have to use his staff as a crutch instead of a weapon), he still retained his own strength.
Somehow it reminds him of Jamie, and the memory of Jamie's hurtful words flashes through his mind, sending a mixed bag of emotions flowing through his body: anger, sorrow, grief. Anger at the older teen for his insult, sorrow for the age-old pain resurfacing in the light of his meager Belief system, and grief for loss of a friend—surely their friendship is over? They'd never fought like that—sure, there'd been rough patches during Jamie's teen years, but it all seemed to make it better in the end, further reinforcing the power of their relationship as a Guardian and his Believer. But this fight seemed to be the real deal, unfortunately.
Another pang went through his heart: the Guardians. Simultaneously, he'd been so stressed with keeping up appearances and hiding Jamie through this time period that he partly forgot about his other friends, the Guardians. And when he'd finally remembered, he had taken the time to himself to try and communicate with Manny, alone of course without any prying eyes, but just like all the other times in Jack's life, there had been no response. Staying awake past midnight didn't do much in his attempts to locate Sandy with his dreamsand and gave him headaches in the morning. Searching the forests didn't bring him any closer to stubborn Bunny, and it wasn't close enough to Christmas to really try and contact North and North was a very busy man, and he especially didn't favor knocking out his own teeth (or God forbid someone else's) in hopes for Tooth to find them.
In desperation and with an increasing lack of options, Jack had turned to any books related to fairy tales, but they were few and far between. Not only were fantasies rare in books, the leather- bound tomes of knowledge were equally rare due to their pricey value, allowing only the higher class to purchase them for their needs. His mum had books of her own, a few that–if seen–would certainly elicit some furrowed brows, but very little were of such things like Morpheus or even holidays like Christmas. (Jack knew it wasn't until Thaddeus Burgess arrived in the underdeveloped town that Christmas became a more commonly celebrated event.)
And then there was the Moon. Manny. The Man in the Moon. MiM. That big rock in the inky sky that never spoke a word since he and Jamie arrived here. Or ever at all.
Unfortunately, the first few nights of their stay in the far past, Jack hadn't the time to talk to Manny, too tired and sick with mortality to focus on important things. Well, he supposes as he sets another log on the petrified tree stump, was meeting his long-dead family considered important? He had been quite distracted by the onslaught of deja vu that had consumed his mind when his mother had awoken him and he had looked into eyes that he had once nearly forgotten.
Anyway, the Moon; the stupid god in the sky who ghosted a poor newborn spirit all for playing his own cultivated long game of chess. It had been a week since his arrival here and in two days it would be the full moon. Instead of waiting for Sandy, he'd wait for Manny. Despite the deity's many flaws, Jack would always wait for him to rise and bring out all the little things that go bump in the night (except Pitch).
Jack can wait two days. After over three centuries of waiting, two days was a piece of cake.
And finally, he'd cut all the logs and was covered in sweat. Panting, he wipes an arm over his brow and tucks the ax's blade back into the stump of dead wood. Now with all the exercise and some thorough thinking, Jack felt a little better; not so frustrated and morose.
In the midst of catching his breath, Jack stared out to the rows of houses that conform one after another with plain exposed planks that hold no decorations, silent and still.
As his eyes rove the muddy lane, he latches onto something that catches his eye. A figure, approaching from a distance, headed straight for him. Frowning, Jack stands straighter, and the figure becomes distinguishable: a tall man wearing a long dark overcoat and a tall wide-brimmed hat, and within a few feet apart Jack is able to discern his identity.
A hand emerges from under the black coat. "Mr. Overland."
Jack politely takes the hand and shakes it firmly. "Lord Sufford. What brings you here?"
"Is your mother near?" Asks the magistrate. "I must speak with her."
Unease pooled in Jack's gut. "Yes," he answers, "She is at the house."
Together, they return to the Overland property, with Jack hanging back as Lord Sufford knocks smartly on the batten door. Not a moment later, as if waiting behind the wood, it opened and Mrs. Overland stood at the threshold, frowning. "Lord Sufford."
"Widow Overland." Sufford responds. "You are the caretaker of a Mr. James Bennett, aye?"
"Yes," she says, nodding. Behind her, Townsend loomed. Jack tries not to scowl.
"We have brought him in for more questioning. Lords Tilden, Pratchett and I have set up a grouping at the meetinghouse. As you are his guardian, you are required to attend."
Strangely enough, the first thing that goes through Jack's mind at the news is that Jamie had been caught. Caught doing what, he didn't know. Was it at the request of Sufford's wife? Had she finally gotten her way? The unease pulling at him enlarges.
Just then, Earl Townsend appears, stepping beside Mother who smiles at him with lovesick eyes. "I will escort her there, if you do not mind, Lord Sufford."
Seeing their not-so-subtle display of affection that sends bile rising at the back of Jack's throat, Sufford grins in delight. "Of course, of course. We must make haste." Turning to Jack, he notices him like he had forgotten he was there. Something in his eyes flashes unkindly. "And you must come along, as well."
Jack nods. "Aye, sir."
All four of them depart the small property with Sufford in the lead, Townsend and Mother in the middle, and Jack shuffling along behind the couple. Unseen by prying eyes, Jack watches as Townsend places a hand on his mother's shoulder and whispers in her ear, he pretends to mime throwing up, gagging dramatically–mood thoroughly ruined.
Thanks for reading! More will be coming soon!