Charles/Laura fic, Chapter 2 'Through Time and Seasons'
Through Time & Seasons, by Missbevcrusher
Pairing: Laura Brown and Charles Lattimer
Rated [M]
In case you need the links to the previous parts... prologue, chapter 1.
Thanks go out to bytesofspencer for the amazing beta. Girl you have no idea how helpful you are. It's not easy for a French Canadian gal from a small coastal village in the heart of Acadia to write about 19th century Missouri.
Standard Disclaimer: Charles Lattimer, Laura Brown, and the wonderful story that is 'For All Time' are property of their respective owners. I am simply writing what I would have loved to see at the end of the movie, and then some.
Chapter 2 ~ When Dawn Disheartens
Mrs. Clark was an early riser. The earliest of the bunch, she always got up before the rooster’s first call.
It was still dark outside when she went about emptying the ashes from the stove. Task completed, there was still paper and kindling to be set as well as dampers and flues to be adjusted.
This being a day of rest, most of the chores had been done the day prior. As was a popular saying, ‘you could feed your cattle twice as much on Saturday and they would last until Monday.
Mrs. Clark looked toward her daughter’s bedroom door, listened but could not make out any sounds just yet.
Laura would usually rise shortly after her, would not dally around her responsibilities.
Despite her usual grumblings about her daughter’s business at the Gazette, Mrs. Clark was proud of the way Laura ran her home. Though most of the heavy outside work was left to Walt, her daughter still tended to the garden, cooked, and cleaned. All while raising a little one.
Laura had always been somewhat stubborn, was out to prove that she could do it all-run the home as efficiently as she had before her husband passed as well as taking on the role of provider.
This did not fit into a mould Mrs. Clark was comfortable with, but she secretly admired her daughter’s tenacity.
Oh she would never say so aloud, still hoped for the day when Laura might find a husband to take over the providing and see her return to a more traditional role.
To her chagrin however, Mrs. Clark had to admit that things did not look promising. Not that Laura lacked in charm or beauty, she was lovely. Just most men did not look too kindly upon a woman who did not know her place. A hassle is what most would call Laura’s progressive ways.
Not only that, but there were few pickings in the field of available men after a certain age.
And then there had been Mr. Lattimer.
Mrs. Clark was not privy to the details, but she knew something had happened between he and Laura.
There was sorrow in her daughters eyes, and for this, she felt partly responsible.
…
The sound of hooves, slow and steady, suddenly resounded through the open window.
From a chair by the door, Mrs. Clark set the needlework in the sewing basket, looked outside.
With the grunt that had become her trademark, the older woman got up, stepped out onto the porch. The door creaked loudly and clanged shut as she wrapped her shawl more securely around her shoulders.
Mr. Lattimer was somewhat of an oddity to her. She could not grasp his way of thinking, felt he was a bad influence on her daughter. His approval of women owning businesses had caught her off-guard, made her wonder what sort of patch he’d sprang up from.
In her eyes, a woman’s place was in the home.
Suitability of nature was what she called it-something Laura seemed intent on resisting.
But despite their clash of opinions, Mrs. Clark loved her daughter, was fiercely protective of her.
This man was an anarchist and no good could come of him hanging around.
Look at him…
He seemed rather out of his element on a horse-something that only added to Mrs. Clark’s reticence.
“Good morning, Mrs. Clark.”
Her reply was direct. “If you’re looking for my daughter she’s not here.”
“Do you expect her back soon?”
“I have no idea.”
Resigned, he tipped his hat and said, “Sorry to have bothered you, Ma’am.” To his steed, he made a clicking sound, then, “Come on.”
Mrs. Clark watched as the horse made an about turn and started a slow retreat.
As glad as she was to see him leave, something gnawed away at her, told her that letting him go would be a mistake.
The past few years as a widow had been hard on Laura. That spark she used to have absent up until a few days ago. Whether or not she approved of Mr. Lattimer, Mrs. Clark was glad to see this newfound light in her daughter’s eyes. It had been too long.
Against her better judgement, she relented, called out for Laura’s sake. “Mr. Lattimer.”
“Whoa.” Charles pulled on the reins and made the horse turn around.
Mrs. Clark regarded him for a moment, then, “She’s out back.”
With that, she made her way back inside the house.
Focusing on her needlework was impossible. Therefore, Mrs. Clark put her unfinished quilt back in her sewing basket and turned her attention toward lunch.
Despite her age, agile hands made easy work of peeling the potatoes. In less than fifteen minutes, they were diced, rinsed, and ready to boil. But before she could get to the task of preparing the rest of the meal, curiosity got the best of her, made her look outside.
The area out back was deserted. With a frown, Mrs. Clark made her way to another window, from which she could get a better view.
They were not there either-but his horse still was.
This did not sit well with the traditional woman, but at the same time, she trusted Laura had good enough sense about her.
It was Mr. Lattimer she was unsure about. Unaccustomed to his ways, the older woman did not know what to make of him.
Concerned, Mrs. Clark went outside. The clothes that hung near the garden were the perfect excuse to be there-not that she would have shied away from being inquisitive without one.
As she grasped the fluttering fabrics to check if they were dry, Mrs. Clark looked around… still nothing.
Just as she was about to head back inside, a faint whimpering sound flew on the breeze.
What in tarnation happened?
Laura was running by the river-bank, clearly upset. The closer she got to the house, the more she slowed, tried to get her emotions under control.
Her stare directed towards the ground, she had yet to notice her mother standing there. When she finally did, she froze.
Mrs. Clark took in her soaked dress, her dishevelled hair and she knew…
If anyone else would have seen Laura at that particular moment, they could have easily deduced that she had been taken advantage of.
But Mrs. Clark could read the subtleties in her daughter’s eyes, immediately recognized heartbreak.
Brushing a strand of hair from her face, Laura resumed her walk, tried her best to look dignified. No words were said. She merely headed toward the house, disappeared behind the corner.
Mrs. Clark just stood there for a few moments, regret filling her. Then, she too made her way back inside, where she would make no mention of what had just happened.
…
She and Laura had not spoken of that day since, not that these matters were usually discussed openly.
But Mrs. Clark could see behind her daughter’s brave front. The night prior she had overheard her faint whimpers.
It broke her heart to see Laura with such heartache, but what could she do?
The stove now nice and hot, it was time to start a kettle of water.
~~~
The hues of early morning were faint, barely pierced through the simple cotton curtains hanging in the window.
From beneath the covers, Laura stirred, took a long extended breath. As she rolled from her side to her back, she rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand. Sleep had eluded her most of the night and she was tired.
Through the painted wall panels, Laura could make out the sounds of a waking household.
Fingers grasped heavy quilts, flung them aside. Slowly, she swung her legs down the edge of the bed and knelt on the floor. As was her wont, Laura said a quiet morning prayer before getting up.
It took less than a minute for the bed to be made, the linens and blankets crisp, the pillows neatly arranged.
In the corner of her bedroom, was a narrow, wooden armoire. Inside, hung her modest wardrobe-a few dresses with either the standard blouse sleeve or the now fashionable puffed sleeve. The colors varied in a subdued array of milky creams, delicate blues, browns and buttercup yellow. The dark blue dress from the day prior had required a good washing and was now hanging out to dry.
Seeing it was a Sunday, Laura would wear her nicest dress, the yellow one. She removed it from the armoire, laid it out on the bed before retrieving a fresh set of undergarments from her small commode.
The muffled voice of her mother resounded through the wall. “Get up, child.” Of course, she was talking to Mary, who had a tendency to dawdle in the mornings. “You’re going to be late for church.”
Mrs. Clark had a way about her when she spoke. Stern would have been a good way to describe it-a stark contrast from her soft spoken daughter.
There came soft knocking. “Laura? I’ve got some water all ready for you.”
Barefoot, she headed for the door, opened it, and took the offered porcelain pitcher. “Thank you, Mama. I’ll be right out.”
Carefully, she went about pouring the warm liquid in the delicate wash bowl on her vanity.
Once she was freshened up, Laura folded her nightshirt, put it away. Then, she slipped into her pantalettes and chemise before adding the additional layer of a petticoat.
The buttercup dress, though her finest, was a far cry from the opulent gowns worn by upper-class city dames. Not that she had ever been to the city, but she had seen the elegant dresses in catalogues many times.
Made of cotton, Laura’s Sunday attire was not that dissimilar from her everyday dresses. The soft embroideries on the white blouse’s collar were what made it most special.
Once she had donned the blouse and the buttercup skirt, Laura put on her lady’s jacket. This one was the same color of yellow, with sleeves that silhouetted slightly.
Delicate fingers did each of the five buttons that lined the front, closing the garment so that it fitted her slender waist perfectly.
Turning her attention to her hair, she gave it a few brushstrokes and gathered it in her usual bun. With a few final touches to the small tendrils that framed her face, Laura contemplated her reflection and sighed.
She prayed this day would be an improvement on the last. Hopefully, Charles would board the train today, would leave and let her be.
How was she supposed to get over the hurt if he kept showing up? Granted he had saved her life and she was grateful to no end, but the prospect of seeing him again distressed her nonetheless.
He’s married, she thought. And he had waited until she had fallen head over heels before telling her.
Truth be told, Laura felt foolish. Not only that, but she was embarrassed at herself for having so willingly given in to her attraction toward him. Kissing him the way she had, having laid there beneath him in the grass… it wasn’t what would be considered proper behaviour.
Never had she done such a thing before-allowed things to go so far, so soon.
Her courtship with Mary’s father had followed specific steps, had been what would be termed appropriate.
But her feelings for Charles had blossomed very quickly, had built to a moment of unguarded passion by the river.
Though they would not have gone much farther than they had, Laura had wanted him. It had been a long time since this delicate, most intimate side of her had manifested itself. A yearning so strong had engulfed her then, nearly driven her mad.
Her heart had dared to hope for love, for a life with him, had believed in those things.
It had been a vulnerable position, putting herself out there like she had. But in his eyes she had seen nothing but purity and goodness, she had trusted him.
Intent on pushing thoughts of Charles to the wayside, Laura took a deep breath, then set forth on retrieving her shoes, her gloves, and her hat.
The hat was her best, matched her dress almost to a tee. It had a semi-wide brim with a delicate white ribbon that fell down the back.
Ready, Laura left her bedroom, went to make sure Mary was getting ready for church before joining her mother in the kitchen.
~~~
Turnip walked at a comfortable pace, his hooves rhythmically thumping against the worn trail. Wheels crunched pebbles and dirt, traversed dips and lumps in the ground.
Laura relaxed against the movement, swayed with the buggy as she held the reins. Her mother sat beside her, Mary on the seat just behind.
The weeklong trend of nice weather was holding up, the sun was shining, and the birds chirping.
Up ahead was a little white church, the heart of Somerville, where people congregated for service.
Most everyone was already there, either getting off their buggies or making their way inside.
Turnip turned toward the fence, slowed and finally stopped when Laura pulled the reins.
“Whoa.”
Careful not to dirty her dress, Laura stepped down then proceeded to help her mother off the buggy.
Mary’s descent was not as graceful. She practically jumped off, her feet kicking up small swirls of dust as they landed.
The three of them then made their way inside the church, sought their customary pew, completely oblivious to the fact that there would be a newcomer to Sunday service.
~~~
Instead of taking the buggy with the Davis family, Charles had decided to walk that morning. Thanks to the suit he’d been given, he didn’t stand out as much anymore. Although that did not mean he was exempt from attention. There were stares, smiles and waves directed his way from all sides. He understood the people’s gratitude, but it made him slightly uncomfortable nonetheless.
As Charles walked toward the church, he tried to remember the last time he had attended a Sunday service.
Religion in the 21st century did not occupy as much space as it did here. Not that people lacked faith in his time of origin, some still practiced quite religiously. But it was not the same, not really.
Here, now, people put a lot of importance on worship, and faithful attendance of church. To simply not attend was viewed as unacceptable, a definite social faux pas. If he was to blend into this community, he would have to get used to its pace and way of life.
Until he learned the ropes, Charles would pay attention to the goings on around him, would take his cues from the townsfolk.
He had always been fascinated with this time period, loved the idea of it. But there was much he did not know. There were realities here that were foreign to his previous modernized existence, realities which he would have to get used to.
Settling into this new life, Charles admitted, would be much easier with Laura. Oh how he missed her, missed the soothing sound of her voice, that loud bubbly laugh of hers. He had been taken aback the first time he had heard it. So different was it from the reserved way she usually held herself. It had painted her in a new light, had made him fall for her even more.
She would be here today and this brought a surge of warmth to his heart, made it beat a little faster.
As much as he yearned to talk to her, Charles knew better than to get his hopes up.
The road to forgiveness would undoubtedly be a long one, and as much as he dreaded to admit it, the intended destination might very well be unattainable.
Doing his best to rid himself of his melancholy, Charles climbed the steps to the church, removed his hat and smoothed out his salt and pepper hair.
Aside from the occasional shuffling of feet and odd cough here and there, all was quiet inside.
Intent on blending in with the background, Charles opted for a spot at the very end of the last row.
He noted all the women and little girls wore hats. They came in all sorts of subdued colors, from blues and browns, to beiges and yellows. The girls’ bonnets were rather plain, while the women’s were decorated with delicate ribbon-again not as opulent as the ornate feathers worn by high society dames.
Discretely, Charles scanned the room for a sign of Laura.
All it took was the deep brown hair with its soft tendrils and that gentle partial profile for Charles to recognize her. And when he did, his heart practically flipped in his chest.
Bathed in the morning sunlight, he had never seen her looking as beautiful or radiant.
Laura sat between her mother and her daughter, several rows ahead on the opposite side of the church-the three of them still unaware of his presence.
In a way, he was thankful they had yet to notice him, for he dreaded seeing hurt in Laura’s eyes, longed for the moment he might get to explain.
When the service got underway, the man who had wished nothing more than to stay inconspicuous could hide no more. Thanks were given for the lives that had been spared the day prior, prompting many of the parishioners to look his way.
It was then that Laura’s eyes finally fell on him, a stunned expression finding light and immediately receding as she looked down at the hands clasped on her lap.
Her mind was in turmoil, assaulted by question after unrelenting question.
What is he still doing here?
Why isn’t he home with his wife?
He can’t possibly think that I would ever… would he?
Laura could not bear to look at him again, so afraid was she of betraying her heartbreak.
For the rest of the service, Laura stared ahead numbly, bowed her head and listened to the prayers without really thinking about the words.
Charles didn’t fare much better. All he could think about was how ill at ease Laura had looked when she had spotted him.
Once the service was over, he did not linger in the church. Instead, he stood and headed outside where he quickly became the center attraction.
When weather permitted, people always gathered in the churchyard. Sundays was the only day people truly indulged in relaxed socializing. Many families brought their lunch here, ate on blankets, and enjoyed the sunshine.
Seemed everyone wanted to talk the newcomer in town.
Charles’ mind was a blur. He tried his best to retain names and faces, but his focus was elsewhere-basically on the woman who now sat way over by the trees lining the open grassy area.
Whenever he would glance in her direction, Laura would be looking elsewhere, most often engrossed in conversation with other women from the community. It was obvious she was avoiding him.
Mrs. Clark, on the other hand, was doing the complete opposite. Her stern stare was almost always present, made him feel six inches shorter.
If looks could kill…
As the circle of curious folk around him finally started to dwindle, Charles thought it best to make a quiet retreat.
He had barely made it ten paces when he heard, “Hey mister, you’re not staying around?”
A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he turned, knowing full well who had spoken. “Hi kid.”
Mary walked up to him, lemon candy in hand. “We have plenty of leftovers. Want some?”
Charles cast a quick glance toward Laura. From the way she still avoided looking his way, he suspected the invitation was not hers but rather Mary’s. “Thanks, but not today.”
“Aren’t you hungry?”
He chuckled softly. “No, I’m fine.”
Mary shrugged. “So are you gonna draw more cartoons for mama’s paper?”
With a smile, Charles scratched his head. “You’re full of questions today, aren’t you?”
The girl laughed then, her little face lighting up. “Well are ya?”
Charles lowered his gaze, shook his head apologetically. “Uh, I’m not exactly-”
“Mama.”
When he looked up, Charles felt his pulse quicken. His throat suddenly dry, he swallowed.
Laura was heading toward them, her expression unreadable. When she reached her daughter, she put her hands on the girl’s shoulders protectively. “Mary, would you go help your grandma pack up the leftovers? We’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”
“Okay.” With a wave, she started running toward her grandmother. “Bye, Mister Lattimer.”
Charles waved back, a sad smile etching his features. His eyes locking with Laura’s he took a breath, managed a barely audible, “Hi.”
Laura seemed unsure of what to say. At first, she just stood there, her eyes darted upwards as she figured out how to begin. Finally, “Not that I don’t appreciate what you did for us yesterday… I really do…” Clearly fighting to keep her emotions from showing, she said, “But what are you still doing here?”
“Laura, I really need to-”
“Mrs. Brown.” She corrected.
Charles put his hands up in defeat and nodded. “Okay… I guess that’s only fair. Look, I really need to talk to you.”
“And what would be the point of that, Mister Lattimer?” Despite her effort to counter them, tears were starting to pool in her eyes.
“There are things that you should know.” He whispered.
Laura shook her head. “Whatever they are, they won’t change anything.” She took a step back, her voice cracking slightly as she added. “So please, don’t waste your time.” With that, she spun around, walked away, trying her best to look composed.
Regretfully, Charles watched her leave, the dull ache in his soul as overwhelming as ever.
Laura…
That's it for chapter 2. Now, I swear I'm not intentionally being cruel by dragging this out. I just can't see Laura just falling into his arms cause he saved them from an explosion. You know, cause she's mad as hell LOL. Plus in those days, hooking up with a married man was like a super no no, much more so than today. So thank you for your patience and I promise if you keep reading you will eventually be rewarded.
continue to chapter 3