For all Time: A Gothic Fairytale 2/?
Title: For All Time: A Gothic Fairytale
Author: darkfaery1
Chapter: 2/?
Series: TDS/TCR
Genre: Gothic AU
Pairings: Jon/'Stephen,' Jon/Amy, Jon/Paul, 'Stephen'/Amy, 'Stephen'/Paul
Chapter rating: PG-13
Content: slash and het sex, Gothic violence, language, angst, slavery, evil!Jon.
Beta/Cheerleader: insanekht
Word count: 3200
Chapter summary: Stephen and Amy Colbert's honeymoon goes from bad to worse.
Author's note: 'Stephen' and Amy are aged down in this story. Stephen is 25; Amy is 21. Paul and Jon's house is named Wildfell House after an obscure Gothic novel I adore, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, by Anne Brontë. All buildings during this period had a name (but often not an address) to make mail delivery possible.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not intended to portray the life or defame the character of any actual person. Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual person is purely coincidental. No money is being made from this work of fiction. It is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material. Any mention of any copyrighted material is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976.
Chapter One
Gloucester, Virginia, 1830…
"You're a pig." Paul threw a pair of old breeches at Jon, who was still abed at eleven o'clock in the morning. Jon's life was such a dull, empty affair that he was usually better off staying in his canopied bed with its faded bed curtains, watching the dozens of clocks on his walls ticking away silently; a constant reminder that time truly had no meaning for either of them.
Jon tucked his clothes underneath his head, solely to irritate Paul. "And you are a fishwife. Where's my breakfast?"
"I already made breakfast three hours ago. There was an extra johnnycake, but I gave it to Bella." At the sound of her name, the big, brown Chessie padded into the room and jumped onto Jon's bed. She lapped his cheek with her slimy tongue before Jon pushed her great head away. Jon imagined that the dog looked slightly offended, then she jumped off the bed and settled at the feet of her master.
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Why don't you go to the tavern and get something to eat? You can pick up a bag of rice while you're in town." Paul reached in his pocket and threw a handful of coins on the bed. "Try not to drink it all."
Jon snatched up the coins and counted them. Paul was always somewhat generous when he doled out Jon's allowance, but it was humiliating having to depend on Paul for virtually everything. He had been so powerful once and Paul would have done anything his captain asked of him. But Jon had never anticipated that the curse would have lasted so long.
He hadn't bothered to invest his money as Paul had done, trusting that whoever was in charge of this curse would send him a rich, beautiful maiden whom he could trick into falling in love with him. Then the spell would be broken, he could toss said maid aside, but not her money, and live out the rest of his existence as a wealthy mortal. But about twenty years ago, it occurred to Jon that breaking this curse wouldn't be so easy. He was broke, he had no prospects, and as difficult as it was to admit to himself, he was also supremely unlovable.
He washed and dressed, then gazed at himself in the mirror. He gave his reflection a rakish smile. At least he was handsome; that had to count for something. The closely trimmed goatee he sported was not the current fashion, but Jon thought it made him look devilish. Women--and men--had always been attracted to that part of him. There was no reason to believe that this maiden (if she indeed existed) wouldn't be similarly attracted.
Jon went into the barn, saddled the horse Paul had given him, a gentle mare named Rosie, and made the seven-mile ride into Gloucester. He rode for mere minutes before Wildfell House was swallowed up by gnarled oaks, walnut trees, and pine. The ground was covered with dead leaves, pine cones, and acorns; the sun couldn't penetrate the treetops to make anything grow on the forest floor.
The woods ended abruptly when Jon reached the town limits. Colonial red brick buildings dotted the landscape, from the one-room debtor's prison to the two-storey tavern next to the grand Gloucester Courthouse. Though a few pints of ale and a game of billiards would raise his spirits later, Jon was in the mood for the finer fare he'd find at the Ware River Inn.
The hostler regarded Jon with suspicion and fear, just as he had for the last fifty years. Jon suspected that the old man had figured out that father and son, who looked so eerily alike, were, in fact, the same man.
Jon dismounted, then tipped his hat to the hostler with a mischievous grin. Mr. Burry, the innkeeper, greeted him reluctantly and showed him to a table close to the fire. Two tables over sat a young couple, newlyweds by the looks of them. The girl, toe-headed and pleasant-faced, was tiny and uninteresting. Her husband, on the other hand, was delectable. Raven-haired and handsome to the point of being almost beautiful, despite the spectacles he wore. Jon licked his lips; he began to contemplate an impractical plan to seduce him, until the young man turned his head to sneeze. The man's right ear was smaller than the left and stuck out a bit. Jon's ardor was slightly dampened; he hated deformity, however small the imperfection.
Mr. Burry spared his young daughter the indignity of having to wait on Jon and brought the ex-sea captain's lunch himself. The plate was piled with juicy roast beef and potatoes, accompanied by a pint of their finest ale. Jon took a grateful bite just as the couple started to argue.
"Stephen, why is it so important we reach Williamsburg tonight?"
"Because my cousin is expecting us, Amy." Stephen sneezed again, then waved a map in front of his bride. "Mr. Goodwin at the post office swears by this trail. It'll cut five miles off our journey."
"Assuming we don't get lost," Amy countered. "Mr. Burry told you to keep to the road. Besides, I think you're catching cold. Why don't we stay here for another day or so and start out early enough so we don't have to take a shortcut?"
Stephen sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. "You have no faith in me whatsoever, do you?"
Jon stopped eating and took a long pull of his ale, enjoying the impromptu entertainment.
Amy rolled her eyes. "It has nothing to do with my faith in you. Neither of us knows this country and the woods here are very thick." She sighed then turned to face Jon. "I'm terribly sorry to bother you, sir," she asked in her New England accent. "Are you familiar with this country?"
Jon nodded curtly. "Lived here all my life."
"Will you tell my husband how foolish it is to try to navigate the woods and how much safer it would be to keep to the road?"
Jon wiped his mouth on his napkin and approached their table. Stephen obliged him by pointing out the trail in question on the map. Jon kept his expression even; the trail would lead them right passed Wildfell House, if they made it through the disorienting forest. "Are you traveling on horseback?"
"No, by carriage."
Jon was having a very difficult time not laughing out loud. Only a sturdy wagon could make it through the uneven terrain. They'd break a wheel before they were a quarter of the way through it.
"It's dangerous, isn't it?" the silly girl asked.
Surely, she wasn't reading his expression? Her perceptiveness irritated him. "I think you should stop questioning your husband's judgment in front of strangers and do as your told."
The couple was so surprised by Jon's discourteous response that they just stared at him with their mouths open. Amy had a particularly hurt look on her face that bothered Jon more than it should. He turned from them and walked back to his own table, but before he sat, his attention was drawn to the large clock on the mantle. It was ticking.
And Jon could hear it.
He turned back, but the couple had just exited the dining room.
***
The trail seemed to dwindle more and more the further they drove into the woods. And now the trees were beginning to look the same. Amy sat next to him, twisting her handkerchief in her gloved hands, her face obscured by the peak of her bonnet. The silence between them was broken only by an occasional sneeze from Stephen.
Stephen blew his nose into his fine linen handkerchief and knew she was thinking the same thing he was: this trip, this marriage, was a complete disaster. From their rain-soaked reception to their cold marriage bed, not one thing had gone right in the past two weeks. Stephen looked up at the darkening sky through the canopy of treetops and saw ominous gray clouds looming above them. Rain. Of course. "Are you cold, Amy?"
"A little," she said in a small voice.
Stephen reached behind him and pulled a blanket out from amongst their luggage, then spread it over Amy's lap. She smiled gratefully. "Thank you."
"It's the very least I can do, since I'm not much good for anything else."
"Stephen," she said, touching his arm, "please don't say that. You know it doesn't matter to me." It was a lie and Stephen knew it.
He looked at his bride with a pained expression. "But it's been two weeks since our wedding night and…nothing."
"Perhaps it's my fault," Amy offered. "I'm not pretty enough."
Stephen regarded her critically, then shook his head. He liked her better than any other girl he knew, but still he directed his building frustration toward her. "Perhaps it is your fault!" he snapped unreasonably. "Perhaps you're not as pure as you claim to be! I saw you making eyes at your cousin at our wedding."
Amy slapped her husband across the face. "I did no such thing! I am a virgin, just as I told you and I'll probably stay one all my life if I continue being married to you!"
Stephen stared at his young wife, more surprised than injured. Amy put her hand over her mouth and reached out with the other to stroke his reddened cheek.
"Oh, Stephen, we were friends once," Amy said with tears in her eyes. "What's happened between us?"
"We got married," Stephen replied bitterly. Their respective families had them paired from childhood. His mother was a rich widow; Amy's father had made a fortune in Boston's lucrative shipping trade. The two families had been neighbors for years, so it was only natural that they should want to merge. Of course, they never bothered to consult the happy couple before planning their wedding.
"Why don't we return to Boston and get an annulment?" Amy said gently. "We deserve to be happy, don't we?"
"How can I be happy, shaming myself by admitting I couldn't perform my husbandly duties? You're right, we were friends once. Why can't we be friends again and pretend to be happily married?"
Just then, the carriage rolled over a particularly large and twisted root of an ancient oak tree, cracking the wall of one of the rear wheels. They drove another ten yards before the wheel broke.
Stephen handed Amy the reins and jumped out, examining the wheel. Panic overwhelmed him. He didn't know the first thing about repairing a wheel; that's what wheelwrights were for. Once again, Stephen fell far short of what a capable man and husband should be. He closed his eyes and swore an oath under his breath.
"Is it bad?" Amy asked quietly.
Stephen nodded. He decisively put on his hat, then he pulled the top of the carriage over as far as it would go to provide Amy as much protection from the elements as possible. "Stay here. I'm going to ride back into town to get some help."
"You're leaving me here?" she said anxiously.
"Please, Amy," Stephen begged. "For once, can't you just trust me?"
Amy sunk back into her seat and nodded. "Of course, I can, Stephen. Please be careful."
Stephen unhitched the horse and clumsily climbed onto its bare back. He had never ridden without a fine saddle beneath him, but it couldn't be helped. He rode off at a canter, but had not traveled an eighth of a mile before the lack of a saddle forced him to dismount and gingerly rub his sore groin.
He only let the reins drop for a moment, but the traitorous horse took that moment to run away, presumably back to the Gloucester stable from which Stephen had hired it. He followed the horse's trail for an hour or so until he realized he was walking in circles. Then it began to rain. It was only then that he remembered, in his haste to save the day, he'd forgotten his greatcoat.
Stephen walked for hours, frequently overcome by fits of sneezing and, now, coughing, but he was still trapped in the cloying forest, no closer to finding help than he was when he left Amy in the carriage. When it first started to rain, he hardly felt the drops for the treetops, but the light rain became a torrential downpour. Soon he was soaked to the bone and his spectacles were so fogged over he couldn't see a foot in front of him. Exhausted and shivering so violently he could hardly walk anymore, he settled in the hollow of a dying oak and waited for the rain to stop.
***
As the sun set and the rain and wind came, Amy went to dig in her luggage for petticoats in which to wrap herself for added warmth, when she found Stephen's greatcoat. "Oh no," she said in a disheartened whisper. With Stephen catching cold already, he'd probably wind up with pneumonia in this weather. She lit a lantern and hung it from a hook inside the carriage, praying that Stephen had found his way back to town. In her heart, though, she feared that her husband had gotten lost; it would probably be days before either of them saw another human face in the deserted forest. She placed a pot outside the carriage to collect the rainwater; at least she wouldn't die of thirst.
Amy tried to sleep, but every time the nearby branches rustled or a wolf howled in the distance, she started. There wasn't a moment of this so-called honeymoon that was worth recalling as a distraction, so all she could do was sit and wait.
At first she thought she had imagined the sound, but she looked outside the carriage and saw a rider coming upon her quickly. "Stephen!"
The rider reined his horse next to the carriage and removed his hat.
"You!" Amy recoiled. It was that horrid man from the inn.
"Amy, isn't it? Your wheel appears to be broken," he said with a smirk.
"This is all your fault!" Amy cried.
The man shrugged with disinterest. "I didn't tell your husband to take this trail."
"No, but you knew what would happen if we did and you said nothing," she countered angrily. "Did you pass Stephen on the road?"
The man shook his head, then placed his soaked hat on his head and prepared to ride off. "Good night, lady, keep dry."
Amy certainly didn't want this man's help, but she didn't have much choice. "Wait!"
His horse trotted forward a few feet before he stopped. He pulled his pocket watch out and, quite oddly, put it to his ear. After a moment, he slowly snapped the watch closed and put it back in his pocket. When he returned to the carriage, he had a much more contrite expression on his face. "I'll take you to my home and then my friend and I can search for your husband."
Amy regarded him suspiciously, but there was something in his blue eyes beyond the spite and the bluster. She couldn't identify it, but she sensed she could trust him to keep his word in this matter. "I don't even know your name, sir."
"Stewart. Jon Stewart.
***
"Paul!" Jon called from the foyer. "We have a visitor." Just as Jon suspected, as soon as he walked into the house with the girl, his ears were assaulted by the ticking of the hundred clocks that covered the walls of the foyer and parlor. Paul could hear the din, too, judging by his incredulous expression as he and that stupid dog of his lumbered down the stairs.
"Jon, the clocks," he said lamely.
Jon shot him a nasty look and brought the girl forward. "Forgive my friend," he said, "but we so rarely have visitors. Paul, this is Mrs. Amy--?"
"Colbert," she said as she curtsied.
"And this is my friend, Paul Dinello. He's the master of this house."
Paul mumbled a greeting and continued to stare at her.
Amy took several steps towards Paul until Bella let out a low growl. Paul scolded the dog with a word, then Bella padded up to her and sniffed her. Amy stroked her large head gently; Bella responded by wagging her tail madly. "I'm pleased to meet you, sir," she said politely, "and I hate to impose on your hospitality so soon after making your acquaintance, but I fear my husband is lost in the forest."
"I told her we would find him for her," Jon explained.
"Of course," Paul said, looking fairly puzzled, "but not before I get you some hot tea and something to eat."
Amy took off her coat and bonnet, hanging them on the coat tree by the door. "I know my way around a kitchen, Mr. Dinello. Please, just find my husband."
Paul nodded and put on his coat, calling Bella to his side. "We'll be back soon. Make yourself at home."
*
"Do you think she's the one, Jon?" Paul asked as soon as they mounted their horses.
"Dear god, I hope not," Jon replied wryly. "I specifically ordered a brunette."
"But you heard the clocks as well as I did," Paul reminded him.
Jon rolled his eyes. "I know, Paul. It was a joke."
"But how can she be a maiden, she's married?"
"They're newlyweds. Perhaps he couldn't muster the required enthusiasm for the task. From the little I know of the girl, I can completely understand his reluctance." Jon gave his old friend a sly grin. "The husband, Stephen, is quite a prize. Perhaps I'll have a taste of that one first to make the other meal more palatable."
Paul rode up close to Jon and angrily grabbed him by his shirtfront. "You'll behave yourself, for once in your life, or I'll pound you into a tree trunk!"
***
Stephen imagined he saw a light in the distance, but he was half-delirious from the cold and wet, so he didn't immediately associate it with a human presence. He watched the light come closer, but found he couldn't move to meet it. Suddenly a figure appeared, a young man with cherubic features, a curly mane, and a halo of light encircling his head. Next to him was a more familiar face: one with cruel eyes and a devil's beard. There was a panting hound by his side, but Stephen couldn't tell whether it belonged to God or Satan.
"I don't care if you take me to Heaven or Hell," Stephen croaked, "as long as I'm warm and dry."
The angel, who said his name was Paul, wrapped him in a blanket, then helped him onto a horse. Paul climbed into the saddle behind him and placed a strong arm around his waist. Stephen looked over at the devil and saw jealousy and frustration in his eyes. Stephen gave him a triumphant smile, then slipped into an uneasy sleep.
To be continued…
Author: darkfaery1
Chapter: 2/?
Series: TDS/TCR
Genre: Gothic AU
Pairings: Jon/'Stephen,' Jon/Amy, Jon/Paul, 'Stephen'/Amy, 'Stephen'/Paul
Chapter rating: PG-13
Content: slash and het sex, Gothic violence, language, angst, slavery, evil!Jon.
Beta/Cheerleader: insanekht
Word count: 3200
Chapter summary: Stephen and Amy Colbert's honeymoon goes from bad to worse.
Author's note: 'Stephen' and Amy are aged down in this story. Stephen is 25; Amy is 21. Paul and Jon's house is named Wildfell House after an obscure Gothic novel I adore, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, by Anne Brontë. All buildings during this period had a name (but often not an address) to make mail delivery possible.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not intended to portray the life or defame the character of any actual person. Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual person is purely coincidental. No money is being made from this work of fiction. It is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material. Any mention of any copyrighted material is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976.
Chapter One
Gloucester, Virginia, 1830…
"You're a pig." Paul threw a pair of old breeches at Jon, who was still abed at eleven o'clock in the morning. Jon's life was such a dull, empty affair that he was usually better off staying in his canopied bed with its faded bed curtains, watching the dozens of clocks on his walls ticking away silently; a constant reminder that time truly had no meaning for either of them.
Jon tucked his clothes underneath his head, solely to irritate Paul. "And you are a fishwife. Where's my breakfast?"
"I already made breakfast three hours ago. There was an extra johnnycake, but I gave it to Bella." At the sound of her name, the big, brown Chessie padded into the room and jumped onto Jon's bed. She lapped his cheek with her slimy tongue before Jon pushed her great head away. Jon imagined that the dog looked slightly offended, then she jumped off the bed and settled at the feet of her master.
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Why don't you go to the tavern and get something to eat? You can pick up a bag of rice while you're in town." Paul reached in his pocket and threw a handful of coins on the bed. "Try not to drink it all."
Jon snatched up the coins and counted them. Paul was always somewhat generous when he doled out Jon's allowance, but it was humiliating having to depend on Paul for virtually everything. He had been so powerful once and Paul would have done anything his captain asked of him. But Jon had never anticipated that the curse would have lasted so long.
He hadn't bothered to invest his money as Paul had done, trusting that whoever was in charge of this curse would send him a rich, beautiful maiden whom he could trick into falling in love with him. Then the spell would be broken, he could toss said maid aside, but not her money, and live out the rest of his existence as a wealthy mortal. But about twenty years ago, it occurred to Jon that breaking this curse wouldn't be so easy. He was broke, he had no prospects, and as difficult as it was to admit to himself, he was also supremely unlovable.
He washed and dressed, then gazed at himself in the mirror. He gave his reflection a rakish smile. At least he was handsome; that had to count for something. The closely trimmed goatee he sported was not the current fashion, but Jon thought it made him look devilish. Women--and men--had always been attracted to that part of him. There was no reason to believe that this maiden (if she indeed existed) wouldn't be similarly attracted.
Jon went into the barn, saddled the horse Paul had given him, a gentle mare named Rosie, and made the seven-mile ride into Gloucester. He rode for mere minutes before Wildfell House was swallowed up by gnarled oaks, walnut trees, and pine. The ground was covered with dead leaves, pine cones, and acorns; the sun couldn't penetrate the treetops to make anything grow on the forest floor.
The woods ended abruptly when Jon reached the town limits. Colonial red brick buildings dotted the landscape, from the one-room debtor's prison to the two-storey tavern next to the grand Gloucester Courthouse. Though a few pints of ale and a game of billiards would raise his spirits later, Jon was in the mood for the finer fare he'd find at the Ware River Inn.
The hostler regarded Jon with suspicion and fear, just as he had for the last fifty years. Jon suspected that the old man had figured out that father and son, who looked so eerily alike, were, in fact, the same man.
Jon dismounted, then tipped his hat to the hostler with a mischievous grin. Mr. Burry, the innkeeper, greeted him reluctantly and showed him to a table close to the fire. Two tables over sat a young couple, newlyweds by the looks of them. The girl, toe-headed and pleasant-faced, was tiny and uninteresting. Her husband, on the other hand, was delectable. Raven-haired and handsome to the point of being almost beautiful, despite the spectacles he wore. Jon licked his lips; he began to contemplate an impractical plan to seduce him, until the young man turned his head to sneeze. The man's right ear was smaller than the left and stuck out a bit. Jon's ardor was slightly dampened; he hated deformity, however small the imperfection.
Mr. Burry spared his young daughter the indignity of having to wait on Jon and brought the ex-sea captain's lunch himself. The plate was piled with juicy roast beef and potatoes, accompanied by a pint of their finest ale. Jon took a grateful bite just as the couple started to argue.
"Stephen, why is it so important we reach Williamsburg tonight?"
"Because my cousin is expecting us, Amy." Stephen sneezed again, then waved a map in front of his bride. "Mr. Goodwin at the post office swears by this trail. It'll cut five miles off our journey."
"Assuming we don't get lost," Amy countered. "Mr. Burry told you to keep to the road. Besides, I think you're catching cold. Why don't we stay here for another day or so and start out early enough so we don't have to take a shortcut?"
Stephen sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. "You have no faith in me whatsoever, do you?"
Jon stopped eating and took a long pull of his ale, enjoying the impromptu entertainment.
Amy rolled her eyes. "It has nothing to do with my faith in you. Neither of us knows this country and the woods here are very thick." She sighed then turned to face Jon. "I'm terribly sorry to bother you, sir," she asked in her New England accent. "Are you familiar with this country?"
Jon nodded curtly. "Lived here all my life."
"Will you tell my husband how foolish it is to try to navigate the woods and how much safer it would be to keep to the road?"
Jon wiped his mouth on his napkin and approached their table. Stephen obliged him by pointing out the trail in question on the map. Jon kept his expression even; the trail would lead them right passed Wildfell House, if they made it through the disorienting forest. "Are you traveling on horseback?"
"No, by carriage."
Jon was having a very difficult time not laughing out loud. Only a sturdy wagon could make it through the uneven terrain. They'd break a wheel before they were a quarter of the way through it.
"It's dangerous, isn't it?" the silly girl asked.
Surely, she wasn't reading his expression? Her perceptiveness irritated him. "I think you should stop questioning your husband's judgment in front of strangers and do as your told."
The couple was so surprised by Jon's discourteous response that they just stared at him with their mouths open. Amy had a particularly hurt look on her face that bothered Jon more than it should. He turned from them and walked back to his own table, but before he sat, his attention was drawn to the large clock on the mantle. It was ticking.
And Jon could hear it.
He turned back, but the couple had just exited the dining room.
***
The trail seemed to dwindle more and more the further they drove into the woods. And now the trees were beginning to look the same. Amy sat next to him, twisting her handkerchief in her gloved hands, her face obscured by the peak of her bonnet. The silence between them was broken only by an occasional sneeze from Stephen.
Stephen blew his nose into his fine linen handkerchief and knew she was thinking the same thing he was: this trip, this marriage, was a complete disaster. From their rain-soaked reception to their cold marriage bed, not one thing had gone right in the past two weeks. Stephen looked up at the darkening sky through the canopy of treetops and saw ominous gray clouds looming above them. Rain. Of course. "Are you cold, Amy?"
"A little," she said in a small voice.
Stephen reached behind him and pulled a blanket out from amongst their luggage, then spread it over Amy's lap. She smiled gratefully. "Thank you."
"It's the very least I can do, since I'm not much good for anything else."
"Stephen," she said, touching his arm, "please don't say that. You know it doesn't matter to me." It was a lie and Stephen knew it.
He looked at his bride with a pained expression. "But it's been two weeks since our wedding night and…nothing."
"Perhaps it's my fault," Amy offered. "I'm not pretty enough."
Stephen regarded her critically, then shook his head. He liked her better than any other girl he knew, but still he directed his building frustration toward her. "Perhaps it is your fault!" he snapped unreasonably. "Perhaps you're not as pure as you claim to be! I saw you making eyes at your cousin at our wedding."
Amy slapped her husband across the face. "I did no such thing! I am a virgin, just as I told you and I'll probably stay one all my life if I continue being married to you!"
Stephen stared at his young wife, more surprised than injured. Amy put her hand over her mouth and reached out with the other to stroke his reddened cheek.
"Oh, Stephen, we were friends once," Amy said with tears in her eyes. "What's happened between us?"
"We got married," Stephen replied bitterly. Their respective families had them paired from childhood. His mother was a rich widow; Amy's father had made a fortune in Boston's lucrative shipping trade. The two families had been neighbors for years, so it was only natural that they should want to merge. Of course, they never bothered to consult the happy couple before planning their wedding.
"Why don't we return to Boston and get an annulment?" Amy said gently. "We deserve to be happy, don't we?"
"How can I be happy, shaming myself by admitting I couldn't perform my husbandly duties? You're right, we were friends once. Why can't we be friends again and pretend to be happily married?"
Just then, the carriage rolled over a particularly large and twisted root of an ancient oak tree, cracking the wall of one of the rear wheels. They drove another ten yards before the wheel broke.
Stephen handed Amy the reins and jumped out, examining the wheel. Panic overwhelmed him. He didn't know the first thing about repairing a wheel; that's what wheelwrights were for. Once again, Stephen fell far short of what a capable man and husband should be. He closed his eyes and swore an oath under his breath.
"Is it bad?" Amy asked quietly.
Stephen nodded. He decisively put on his hat, then he pulled the top of the carriage over as far as it would go to provide Amy as much protection from the elements as possible. "Stay here. I'm going to ride back into town to get some help."
"You're leaving me here?" she said anxiously.
"Please, Amy," Stephen begged. "For once, can't you just trust me?"
Amy sunk back into her seat and nodded. "Of course, I can, Stephen. Please be careful."
Stephen unhitched the horse and clumsily climbed onto its bare back. He had never ridden without a fine saddle beneath him, but it couldn't be helped. He rode off at a canter, but had not traveled an eighth of a mile before the lack of a saddle forced him to dismount and gingerly rub his sore groin.
He only let the reins drop for a moment, but the traitorous horse took that moment to run away, presumably back to the Gloucester stable from which Stephen had hired it. He followed the horse's trail for an hour or so until he realized he was walking in circles. Then it began to rain. It was only then that he remembered, in his haste to save the day, he'd forgotten his greatcoat.
Stephen walked for hours, frequently overcome by fits of sneezing and, now, coughing, but he was still trapped in the cloying forest, no closer to finding help than he was when he left Amy in the carriage. When it first started to rain, he hardly felt the drops for the treetops, but the light rain became a torrential downpour. Soon he was soaked to the bone and his spectacles were so fogged over he couldn't see a foot in front of him. Exhausted and shivering so violently he could hardly walk anymore, he settled in the hollow of a dying oak and waited for the rain to stop.
***
As the sun set and the rain and wind came, Amy went to dig in her luggage for petticoats in which to wrap herself for added warmth, when she found Stephen's greatcoat. "Oh no," she said in a disheartened whisper. With Stephen catching cold already, he'd probably wind up with pneumonia in this weather. She lit a lantern and hung it from a hook inside the carriage, praying that Stephen had found his way back to town. In her heart, though, she feared that her husband had gotten lost; it would probably be days before either of them saw another human face in the deserted forest. She placed a pot outside the carriage to collect the rainwater; at least she wouldn't die of thirst.
Amy tried to sleep, but every time the nearby branches rustled or a wolf howled in the distance, she started. There wasn't a moment of this so-called honeymoon that was worth recalling as a distraction, so all she could do was sit and wait.
At first she thought she had imagined the sound, but she looked outside the carriage and saw a rider coming upon her quickly. "Stephen!"
The rider reined his horse next to the carriage and removed his hat.
"You!" Amy recoiled. It was that horrid man from the inn.
"Amy, isn't it? Your wheel appears to be broken," he said with a smirk.
"This is all your fault!" Amy cried.
The man shrugged with disinterest. "I didn't tell your husband to take this trail."
"No, but you knew what would happen if we did and you said nothing," she countered angrily. "Did you pass Stephen on the road?"
The man shook his head, then placed his soaked hat on his head and prepared to ride off. "Good night, lady, keep dry."
Amy certainly didn't want this man's help, but she didn't have much choice. "Wait!"
His horse trotted forward a few feet before he stopped. He pulled his pocket watch out and, quite oddly, put it to his ear. After a moment, he slowly snapped the watch closed and put it back in his pocket. When he returned to the carriage, he had a much more contrite expression on his face. "I'll take you to my home and then my friend and I can search for your husband."
Amy regarded him suspiciously, but there was something in his blue eyes beyond the spite and the bluster. She couldn't identify it, but she sensed she could trust him to keep his word in this matter. "I don't even know your name, sir."
"Stewart. Jon Stewart.
***
"Paul!" Jon called from the foyer. "We have a visitor." Just as Jon suspected, as soon as he walked into the house with the girl, his ears were assaulted by the ticking of the hundred clocks that covered the walls of the foyer and parlor. Paul could hear the din, too, judging by his incredulous expression as he and that stupid dog of his lumbered down the stairs.
"Jon, the clocks," he said lamely.
Jon shot him a nasty look and brought the girl forward. "Forgive my friend," he said, "but we so rarely have visitors. Paul, this is Mrs. Amy--?"
"Colbert," she said as she curtsied.
"And this is my friend, Paul Dinello. He's the master of this house."
Paul mumbled a greeting and continued to stare at her.
Amy took several steps towards Paul until Bella let out a low growl. Paul scolded the dog with a word, then Bella padded up to her and sniffed her. Amy stroked her large head gently; Bella responded by wagging her tail madly. "I'm pleased to meet you, sir," she said politely, "and I hate to impose on your hospitality so soon after making your acquaintance, but I fear my husband is lost in the forest."
"I told her we would find him for her," Jon explained.
"Of course," Paul said, looking fairly puzzled, "but not before I get you some hot tea and something to eat."
Amy took off her coat and bonnet, hanging them on the coat tree by the door. "I know my way around a kitchen, Mr. Dinello. Please, just find my husband."
Paul nodded and put on his coat, calling Bella to his side. "We'll be back soon. Make yourself at home."
*
"Do you think she's the one, Jon?" Paul asked as soon as they mounted their horses.
"Dear god, I hope not," Jon replied wryly. "I specifically ordered a brunette."
"But you heard the clocks as well as I did," Paul reminded him.
Jon rolled his eyes. "I know, Paul. It was a joke."
"But how can she be a maiden, she's married?"
"They're newlyweds. Perhaps he couldn't muster the required enthusiasm for the task. From the little I know of the girl, I can completely understand his reluctance." Jon gave his old friend a sly grin. "The husband, Stephen, is quite a prize. Perhaps I'll have a taste of that one first to make the other meal more palatable."
Paul rode up close to Jon and angrily grabbed him by his shirtfront. "You'll behave yourself, for once in your life, or I'll pound you into a tree trunk!"
***
Stephen imagined he saw a light in the distance, but he was half-delirious from the cold and wet, so he didn't immediately associate it with a human presence. He watched the light come closer, but found he couldn't move to meet it. Suddenly a figure appeared, a young man with cherubic features, a curly mane, and a halo of light encircling his head. Next to him was a more familiar face: one with cruel eyes and a devil's beard. There was a panting hound by his side, but Stephen couldn't tell whether it belonged to God or Satan.
"I don't care if you take me to Heaven or Hell," Stephen croaked, "as long as I'm warm and dry."
The angel, who said his name was Paul, wrapped him in a blanket, then helped him onto a horse. Paul climbed into the saddle behind him and placed a strong arm around his waist. Stephen looked over at the devil and saw jealousy and frustration in his eyes. Stephen gave him a triumphant smile, then slipped into an uneasy sleep.
To be continued…