BASICS

[Isaac Buckingham]

He had only been a resident of this place, country, side of the world for just under a fortnight and already this path had been well travelled by him. Out of all the places Trenton had to offer a young man such as himself, all the people he could meet and the buildings he could explore, the passage over the fields and hills was his favourite. Why? Very few people ventured to this area. Most bypassed it on the route to the forest beyond, a hazy dark green line on the horizon. Truth be told, so had he on his first few visits where he escaped directly to the woods. He only became aware of its existence when someone mentioned it in passing, the strong American accent, so unlike his, ringing in his ears.

He could not accustom himself to the varied tones and pitches of their voices. That, more than anything else, prevented him from becoming comfortable with the new country he had been thrown into. In more ways than one, America was another England, though it was difficult to believe that anywhere should be similar to his beloved homeland. The culture, the food, the landscapes, the people, the buildings. They all held traces of home and still somehow refreshingly different. If it was not for the distinct accent, so alien to anything he had heard before, he partially believed he could settle here, at least for a while.

The length of the stay was at the mercy of someone higher up. Should a war break out, then they would reside here until at least a year or so after the conclusion. And who knew how long that would take? A war always took longer than expected. It could not be confined to a simple schedule. Even mortal conflict was subject to time and seasons, no matter how highly important it seemed. He saw himself staying at least two years in this dreaded country before he could return to familiar shores. And by that time he would have grown used to the strange accents of the people, perhaps. Then he would have to go through the whole process of refamiliarizing himself again, this time with England, which right now seemed ridiculous.

Then again, everything seemed to have an air of the unbelievable right now. The house his father had been offered was like nothing they had ever lived in before. The fact that a dinner party was being thrown for their arrival was rather overwhelming. The number of new faces he had yet to acquaint himself with was also rather incredulous. No wonder he had strayed to one of the parts of Trenton where fewer people, if any, would linger. Raising a pair of dark blue eyes, only interrupted by a few strands of golden blond hair, he surveyed the landscape. Hilly, green and with all the promise of a bountiful harvest, the fields had the kind of atmosphere he required. Serene.

[Cecilia Fitzgerald]

She'd had to barter a wagon ride with her ribbons, but she didn't really need them in the first place; she no longer had anyone to dress her hair for. Cecilia ran her hand through her hair, feeling what was left of her curls. She looked like a boy now; well, a tiny boy in a dress. With any luck she could just slip back into town without anyone she knew seeing her quite yet. She wasn’t in the mood to answer questions. In fact she had no idea when she would be willing to speak at all. She knew she’d been foolish, but it was too late. Why did a person’s sense have to make itself known after a deed had been done?

Maybe I would be an excellent example to my sister of what not to do, Celia thought.

She had been so absorbed in sneaking that she only narrowly avoided a stone hidden in the grass. Celia did not need a twisted ankle on top of everything else. Her feet had served her well, but so had asking others for help. All she wanted now was her own bed back at her family’s home on Third Street. She was on the last leg of her journey home, at the least the physical part. The spiritual part had yet to begin. Honor thy Father and Mother had gone by the wayside. She knew her father would hate her conduct and frankly would not be surprised if for a moment he hated her. She only wished to have it over with. What would she do? What could she do? Marry suddenly? Live by her pen?

Oh, you’d starve in a week if you lived by your pen, what with the grand market for your poetry in Boston!

Her mother’s wrath she was prepared to face, but she could not stand her father’s. His was far quieter and more troubling than her mother’s, and it made her sick at heart. Her sister would probably be confused, and her brother would probably want revenge on who dishonored her. Part of her wondered if Andrew was still at the boarding house, or if he’d remained in Boston at all. Surely there were other girls who couldn’t stand the thought of a handsome fellow like him out in the world with almost nothing to live on. Maybe he’d even marry if he drew another young lady into those eyes long enough.

You thought you were going to help him. At the time you were. Do you still think you were doing right? When the rent money went to the bottle and the flagon? He was such a wonderful storyteller…

She sat down on a stump. Everything was wonderfully green. If she could only put Andrew Barnett out of her mind she could enjoy the spring. She could put him out of her mind, but she could never pretend he’d never existed.

[Isaac Buckingham]

What perhaps troubled young Isaac Buckingham most was how very different his life could have been. He could have been married by now, brought a wife across the seas and be smiling and laughing at his very good fortune. He would have been one of the happiest men alive, or so he had convinced himself by now. Nothing could convince him otherwise. His father's reassurances fell on deaf ears. His mother's reproof of Charlotte's character and behaviour was ignored and his siblings frustration that the girl had caused their older brother pain was politely ignored by him.

Rather than linger in the house that confined him, was so unfamiliar to him and contained four people that insisted in bringing up every misdemeanour and fault Charlotte Atkinson ever possessed, Isaac found himself straying out of doors practically every day now. Whether it was simply a solitary walk, making amendments to the grounds surrounding their house or exercising the horses, he found more enjoyment in it than anything else currently. With names and faces still unrecognizable and conversation scarce, fresh air was the preferred option for a young man in such low spirits.

He continued to wander along the path, eyes fixed unwaveringly on the ground, until movement in the corner of his eye attracted his attention. Well, perhaps more colour than movement. A small figure clad in a layer of non descript fabric, Isaac had no patience or knowledge on dresses, was perched on one of the stumps ahead. For a moment, he thought that American boys had a very odd custom of dressing as girls, it wouldn't have suprised him. However, as he drew closer, the person was very definately female. Curiosity sparked, he could not help but enquire why a woman would choose to walk out so far unaccompanied. He paused a few yards away from her and cautiously cleared his throat. "Are you alright, Miss?"

{{Sorry its so late!}}