13.
Brooklyn, New York
September 19th, 1942
On a Sunday afternoon, Bucky and Isabel make their way down to the waterfront markets in Brooklyn Heights, stopping by Steve's apartment to pick him up on the way. The market is situated right on the pier under Brooklyn Bridge with a beautiful view of Manhattan across the river. It's bustling with visitors, many with their arms loaded with shopping bags or with hands dealing with misbehaving children.
The market sells a variety of things – clothing, trinkets, books, and produce among them, but Isabel and Bucky are on a strict budget, aiming to buy as much fresh produce and groceries as possible for under four dollars. Normally the family has a little more leeway with money, but earlier in the week they'd shelled out the cash for a new sofa set to replace the moth-ridden one that stood in the lounge room beforehand. Steve has a list as well that Sarah's written, but the list is short and simple because he's only got a budget of two dollars and the Barnes siblings know not to try to offer him any money. Sarah's wage has never been much, but it's gotten them by.
Isabel had invited Danny to come for the day out and meet her brother and friend, but he'd turned down the offer. She hadn't told the boys that he'd actually said he refused to visit such "destitute affairs", a comment that hadn't sat well with her. Danny was well aware that she didn't come from the wealthiest family in the neighbourhood and markets like these served as a sole source of obtaining affordable produce and clothing from local sellers. Instead, she'd told Bucky and Steve he had prior family commitments, just another thing that doesn't bode well with her - having to lie to her family for Danny.
Isabel chooses not to think about Danny living it up somewhere in rich Manhattan, instead taking the time to appreciate her brother's company, something she's sorely missed during his time at basic. The three stroll through the market stalls, quickly checking off the items on their lists and their arms getting more loaded.
After close to an hour, they reach the other end of the stalls, and a tent-like structure covered in tacky velvet purple curtains in the far distance of the market catches Steve's attention, a large sign bearing "Soothsayer" over the top and small pamphlets stapled to the curtain by the entrance.
"Soothsayer?" Steve reads aloud the sign above the tent, just as the purple curtain opens and a young woman steps out, looking surprised. "Like a fortune-teller?"
"I guess so," Isabel says from beside him as she deposits the last of their change back into her purse, a brown paper bag nestled under one arm. "Don't they do tarot and palm readings and see through crystal balls?"
"I think so," Steve says, contemplating, before leading the way over to the purple monstrosity. "Let's go check it out."
"Oh, please," Bucky laughs, following behind them. "You don't really believe in all that chicken shit, do you? It's just a money-making scheme, is all it is."
"Like the shooting galley that you won both me and Connie teddies on?" Isabel frowns at her brother, before reading the scattering of pamphlets and finally finding one with the pricing listed. "It's free," she smirks at them and ducks inside the open curtain doorway. Steve gives Bucky a why the hell not shrug and enters too. Bucky rolls his eyes and files in behind them, closing the curtain behind himself.
Inside the curtain tent seems just as tacky as the outside. The edging has a scattering of bookcases with worn books filling the shelves, and a mismatch of furniture that houses hundreds of lit wax candles. In the middle of the tent sits a middle-aged woman, her black hair hiding underneath a colourful scarf wrapped elegantly around her head. Rings and bracelets hang off her fingers and wrists, each one housing its own colourful gem, and beautiful stone necklaces adorn her chest over the top of baggy, Mediterranean-style clothing. In front of her is a small round table with picture cards laid out in patterns.
"Welcome," says the fortune-teller, beckoning for the three to take a seat at the cushioned seats around her round table. They all put their groceries down on the ground beside their chairs. "What can I do for you?"
"Is it true you can see the future?" Isabel asks.
"I can understand a few of nature's infinite secrets," the woman smirks as though it's an inside joke.
"Uh, okay. How does it work?" Isabel is perched precariously in her seat, soaking up the soothsayer's every word with excitement.
"I find palm reading to be the easiest." The soothsayer reaches out to her hand. "Who wants a reading?"
Isabel eagerly thrusts her hand toward the fortune-teller, who takes it gently. Her eyes close as she runs her fingers along the lines of Isabel's palm.
"You are quite hard to read," the fortune-teller says, looking up into Isabel's eyes.
"I'm sorry?" Isabel tries, earning a small smile from the woman.
"You're a nurse," the soothsayer says. She sounds sure of her prediction, but Isabel still answers "yes" as though it were a question, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "You have been made for healing. You are soft, gentle and kind. You are a healer. It will send you many places and in turn, you will see and learn many things. You will know the very best of the world, and the very worst."
The fortune teller is silent, allowing Isabel to digest this information. "True love follows you, but you won't realise you have found it until you are situated in a place of evil and sorrow. It will be a light in the darkness for you. Hold onto it."
Isabel shifts uncomfortably. "Do you know who I will love?"
"That is for you to find out. You will know in time." The fortune-teller shifts in her seat, her eyes still closed. "You will find love, and you will lose others. Some things you lose will return to you, others will not. Remember to appreciate everything around you. One day, it may be gone."
As if snapping out of a daze, the woman sits upright and releases Isabel's hand. "That is all I have for you for today. Anyone else?"
"Well that was pleasant," Isabel mumbles sarcastically.
She gets up to switch seats with Steve, who gives his hand to the woman immediately.
"You're sick often, aren't you?" The woman asks immediately. Bucky snorts and mutters about understatements. "But you are also a fighter. It's a pity you don't think about things before you rush headfirst into them. One day, it may be your downfall."
Steve gives the woman an awed look, ignoring the smug 'told you so' smirk coming from both Isabel and Bucky.
"The war has come to America, and you will want to fight in it. You will get your wish. It won't be in the way you're expecting, but you will have your chance. You will be expected to exhibit two very different personalities; remember to distinguish them from each other. They will not be the same person."
Steve nearly falls out of his chair, Isabel looks disbelieving and terrified, and in the corner, Bucky stiffens at the woman's words. He remembers his father's comforting hand on his shoulder as he said America would not be involved in the war, that Bucky wouldn't go. That obviously hadn't turned out to be true, and surely if Bucky is going to war, Steve will too? The worrying part is about the unusual circumstances.
Bucky jolts when Steve nudges his shoulder to get his attention. "Give her your hand to read, Buck," Steve says, seeming extremely chipper at the news he's just been granted.
Bucky looks extremely sceptical and like he wants to bolt, but he gives his hand anyway, which the fortune-teller takes gently. "Give me a good fortune, ma'am."
"I don't make fortunes, I only see them. And I prefer to call them outcomes."
"Then see a good outcome for me."
The woman stares long and hard at the lines of his skin, running a single finger over them slowly. "Your future is extremely complicated. So are your friends', but yours more so. All of your lifelines are split, indicating you will live in two distinct times. That your lives will change drastically at some point. But yours… Yours is split multiple times."
"What does that mean?"
The fortune teller thinks for a moment. "I don't know. I've never seen anything of the like before." Bucky frowns, looking down at his hand. "You are similar to your friend, but you will go to war for a longer period of time than him."
"What if I don't go? What if I don't show up at the docks the day I'm called to service?"
"Well I assume you'd be found, penalised, and sent anyway. That much is a given from the rules, child." She pauses to sigh. "You must know that the future is not always set in stone. The littlest thing can change the course of history. But generally, fate will find a way to keep you on your destined course. What I see for you, that is what will happen, most likely. Not a lot you can do will change it."
Bucky huffs in frustration, pushing his bangs back off his forehead.
The soothsayer seems as though she might wrap up Bucky's reading, looking hesitant, but as though she wants to say more. "What is it?" Bucky pushes.
The soothsayer takes a deep, steadying breathe. She opens her eyes and looks at Bucky solemnly. "On February 1st, 1945, you will have the option to board a train. You need to be on it. It leaves at 10.43am sharp, so don't be late. Get on it and follow it to the end of the line."
"I need to get on a train? Why?"
The soothsayer grows extremely serious. "It is imperative. Be on that train, James."
"Wait," Bucky breathes. "How do you know my name?"
"I know things, James Buchanan Barnes. Although, your friends call you Bucky, right? Was it because of your front teeth when you were little? I see you've grown into them now. Or was it because as a child, "Buchanan" was too hard for you sister to pronounce, so it became "Bucky"?"
Bucky's mouth makes a small 'o' in disbelief as he stares, wide-eyed at the lady. "Both."
"I see you still like to go by that nickname, don't like anyone calling you James. Strange. Your mother, though, she calls you James sometimes and you allow it."
"Well she named me. She can call me whatever she likes," Bucky says, chuckling despite what he's being told.
"I see," the fortune-teller says, before letting go of Bucky's hand. "I think that's enough for today."
"Agreed," Bucky says.
The three quickly gather up their groceries and leave the tent, looking a little shell-shocked. Bucky the most, his eyebrows raised in surprise and his mouth a fine line.
After the three young adults file out of the tent, the fortune-teller leans her elbows on the round table and lets her head hang in her hands. It had been against her better judgement to continue the readings for them, considering the darkness and torment awaiting them. As a fortune teller, she isn't supposed to harm her clients. She's supposed to guide them, give them information that will lead them to a peaceful existence. Their readings though... What she had seen had not been peaceful, and bending the truth to make it so had been impossible.
She'd seen odd flashes of images that made no sense, of things she couldn't even name. Flashes of a metal arm and a metal chair, a brightly coloured shield, the three of them walking through dense forest with rifles raised, and then again on wide grassy plains in an unknown country. She'd seen flashes of large planes and odd-looking cars, creatures she couldn't fathom in her wildest imagination, as well as a different version of New York City with fluorescent lights and moving pictures on every street corner, and people wearing the oddest of clothing.
She shakes the images away, trying to forget them. They're causing her to develop a headache the more she thinks of them and tries to make sense of them. She sighs, removing the scarf from her head and running a hand over her dark hair.
If she could, she would make bargains with beings to alter their course. But she can't, because she has no way to bargain. Instead, she had told young Bucky that he had to be on the train that would secure his fate, and had told the Rogers boy he would be going to war. She curses that she could not lie, could not send them on another path, that she is the one who will be known for sending James Barnes and Steve Rogers to their respective "deaths". But even if there had been another path for him to take, fate surely would not give.
She curses that the fate of Steve Rogers, James Barnes and Isabel Barnes are set in stone, and there's nothing she can do.
A/N: An interesting turn of events, the poor psychic knows exactly what is going to happen to the Isabel, Bucky and Steve. I was prompted to write this chapter both by a scene in Outlander and by one of the first acts of Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra, which I read for a university assignment.
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