#whenever someone thinks dutch is german I always reply with '

[sparkles-oflight]

Me, to the Spanish: they are.... Uh.... How do you say it in Spanish? How do you say "dutch"?

Spanish guy: Alemán (German)

Me: no, no, no. The other one

[lucacangettathisass]

how the light gets in (ch. 10)

SUMMARY: After your home is ransacked by a group of strange men, you and your cousin are taken in by a group of outlaws. And that’s when the trouble really starts.

PAIRINGS: John Marston x Fem!Reader, Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

check the fic tag for previous chapters!

TAGGING: @mountainhymn @kindred-hopes @sean--macguire if you would like to be added to the tag list lmk!

NOTES: hey everyone! long time no see huh? so, obviously, it's been a while since i updated, not since jan, and honestly i expected the next chapter to be out in feb, but i ended up picking up some extra shifts at work so then i was like "ok march it is!" and now it's april lmao. like many of u i've been stuck inside because of the backstreet boys reunion tour, my entire country is on lockdown because of it, so i've been able to use the time to write! and here we are! hopefully i'll be able to get the chapters out more regularly but who knows? anyway hope you all have been well! stay safe, and stay indoors if you can! love u all!

-

As you all slowly descended from the Grizzlies, you watched as the white snow slowly gave way to lush green, a sight that you hadn’t seen for months now, and you eagerly drank it up like someone being given fresh cold water after being in the desert for too long. You let out a sigh when you saw a patch of flowers, feeling like a weight has been lifted from you.

“Been a while since you’ve seen nature?” Miss Jones asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. It-it feels nice.” You smiled and watched a small bird flit from one tree to another, before flying into the horizon. “The warmth makes a nice change too.”

The other women all laughed, even Sadie cracked a smile. “Can’t argue with that one.” Miss Jackson agreed.

You looked forward, trying to see past Miss Grimshaw and the horses, but your view was greatly obstructed. You leaned over the wagon a little, keeping your hands on the sides to stay steady.

“Easy there chiquita.”

You jumped a little and looked behind you to see Mr Escuella riding leisurely beside the wagon, a smile on his lips. “Don’t want you falling overboard.”

A flush crept onto your cheeks and you timidly pulled away. “R-Right. Of course. Sorry.”

“No need to apologise.” Mr Escuella assured you, urging his horse forward so that he was beside you. “Must feel good, seeing all this after being stuck on that mountain.”

“I have missed seeing the colour green.” You admitted.

To your surprise, Mr Escuella laughed. “I can only imagine.”

Making Mr Escuella laugh made you smile, and you sat up a little straighter. “So, who’s your friend?” You reached out and gently patted the neck of Mr Escuella’s horse. The horse whinnied in an appreciative manner, encouraging you to stroke it.

“His name’s Boaz.” Mr Escuella said. “He’s a good boy.”

“A very handsome one too.” You cooed, hand going up to scratch behind one of Boaz’s ears. You furrowed your brow at the lack of reaction before you laughed lightly. “I’ve been around cats for too long.” You said softly.

“What makes you say that?” Mr Escuella sounded intrigued, and you blushed when you realized that he had heard you.

“Oh, n-nothing. It’s just...I’ve grown to expect animals to purr whenever I pet them.” You lowered your gaze, face heating up even more. “I-It’s stupid I know.”

Mr Escuella laughed again, but it didn’t sound malicious. It sounded friendly, almost fond, like he hadn’t found your admission stupid at all. “We all get used to things.” He said with a warm smile. “So, you grew up with cats?”

You nodded. “Mrs Zamolodchikova loved cats, including stray ones. There were always cats around the house so I got used to having some around. There was even a special nursery for expectant mothers and their litters.” You sighed wistfully, thinking back to the times when you would play with the cats or lounge around doing nothing at all with them in between complicated and arduous lessons. You wished you could go back to those times.

“So you’re a cat person?”

“I suppose.” You shrugged. “But only by default. I do like dogs, I just have more experience with cats. And horses of course.”

“Speaking of, your horse doesn’t seem to be too fond of Arthur.” Mr Escuella raised a brow. “I think this is the first time I’ve met a horse that Arthur couldn’t charm.”

“Oh God.” You said with a frown. “Has something happened? Did Mr Morgan say something?”

“No nothing like that.” Mr Esceulla assured you. “It’s just funny. She’s a feisty one.”

“She’s certainly spirited.” You agreed, relieved that nothing bad had happened. “It can take her a while to warm up to strangers, but once she gets used to you all I’m sure she’ll be better behaved.”

“You think you guys will be staying around that long?”

You paused, looking over at Sadie. As expected, she had been watching the interaction between you and Mr Escuella like a hawk, and she didn’t seem to be at all pleased. “We’ll see.” She said tersely.

“I’m sure Dutch won’t mind.” Mr Escuella said. “He isn’t the type to kick out two helpless women.”

“We ain’t helpless.” Sadie snarled, almost visibly bristling.

“That’s very kind of him.” You said quickly. You gently put a hand on Sadie’s knee and squeezed. “We’re immensely grateful.”

Sadie huffed.

Mr Escuella chuckled. “I’m sure.” He said teasingly, winking discreetly when Sadie looked away.

A giggle slipped past your lips and you smiled widely. “Have you been around here before Mr Escuella?”

“Can’t say I have, you?”

You shook your head. “No. It feels a little exciting, being so far east.”

Mr Escuella raised a brow. “This is your idea of excitement?” He chuckled. “Can’t wait to see how you react to everything else.”

Almost immediately you felt yourself deflate, wanting to shrink inside yourself for saying something so stupid. ‘Idiot. They all must already think you’re a child. Now look at what you’ve done.’ You looked down, wanting to avoid Mr Escuella’s gaze as your face burned with embarrassment.

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by that chiquita.”

You looked back up shyly and saw Mr Escuella looking contrite, and you immediately felt bad. “No no, it’s alright.” You said gently. “I-I know you weren’t trying to be cruel Mr Escuella.” You could tell Sadie was bristling like mad now, but you hoped that this would be enough to placate her. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking, what does chiquita mean?”

Surprisingly, Mr Escuella seemed to be relieved that you were no longer upset. “It’s Spanish, for little girl or little lady.” He looked you up and down. “In your case I would say little lady is more appropriate.”

That made your face flush even more. No one had ever called you a lady before. In fact, ‘little girl’ had often been the descriptor of choice for most.

“I’m surprised you can’t speak Spanish.” Mr Escuella said, apparently oblivious to your embarrassment.

“Y-Yes, well, I’m afraid that part of my education had been left the wayside.” You said sheepishly.

“So what languages can you speak?”

“Russian, German, French, and Italian.” You replied.

Mr Escuella let out a low whistle. “Impressive.” He said with a raised brow. “Why no Spanish?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but then suddenly realized that you didn’t really have an answer. “I...I really have no idea.” You admitted. “I never really gave it much thought, but thinking about it now, it certainly would be useful.”

“Well, you’re clearly good at picking languages up, so if you’re ever in the mood for learning Spanish, you can just ask me.” Mr Escuella smiled warmly.

It had taken you a moment to process what Mr Escuella had said, but once you did you couldn’t help but grin widely. “R-Really?” You sat up on your knees, one hand still on Boaz’s neck. The offer had taken you by surprise, but you still felt elated. “Y-You mean it?”

“Course I do.”

A rush of excitement ran through you, and you couldn’t hold back a grin. “I-Thank you Mr Escuella. You’ve been so kind, I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“You ain’t gotta repay me chiquita.” He said fondly. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something else, but stopped, looking you over. “Actually, there is one thing.”

“What is it?” You asked, curious and eager.

Mr Escuella smiled wider and leaned down so that he was at perfect eye level with you. “Just keep smiling. Do you think you can do that for me chiquita?”

It was certainly an odd request, but more than manageable. You had learned long ago how to smile when it was the last thing in the world you wanted to do. “I believe I can Mr Escuella.”

He chuckled, and sat back up. “Good.”

“Looks like we’re almost at that spot Hosea was talking about.”

You looked up at the back of Miss Grimshaw, and saw that you were all coming up to what appeared to be a well-trodden path, leading into a small patch of trees. It felt strange to see so many different types in one place, but in a welcoming and uplifting way. You smiled and sat up straighter, hoping to see more. “Thank Goodness.” You said.

“Hmm, I can’t see Arthur, Hosea and Charles.” Mr Escuella noted, looking over his shoulder. “I’m gonna hang back and wait for them, make sure they get back OK.” He looked back down at you. “Don’t forget what I said chiquita.” He grinned, and clicked his tongue, urging Boaz to turn around and go back down the path.

You couldn’t help but smile. ‘He’s so considerate and kind.’

Some giggles broke out behind you, and you turned around curiously. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing.” Miss Jones said breezily, with a twinkle in her eye that indicated very much the opposite.

(You felt your stomach churn.) 

“There’s a town not too far away right?” Miss Jones asked no one in particular

“Valentine I think Hosea said it was called.” Miss Jackson answered. “Real small cattle town.”

“I’ll take a small cattle town over those mountains any day.” Miss Gaskill said, and you couldn’t agree more.

Further ahead was a clearing atop a cliff, and it appeared to be just big enough for all of you. Miss Grimshaw pulled up at a far end of the clearing, and you watched as Mr Williamson and Mr Van Der Linde, who had both been steering wagons of their own, parked in different spots.

“Alright girls, let’s get to work.”

You and the other women all piled out of the wagon, and you noted Miss Jones groaning and Miss Jackson rolling her eyes as you did so.

“We need to start pitching tents.” Miss Grimshaw looked over at you and Sadie. “Do you two know how to do that?”

Sadie nodded. “I do, my daddy taught me.”

That seemed to please the older woman. “What about you [Name]?”

You immediately felt your cheeks flush hot. “I..I never...learned how to do that…” You looked down, feeling thoroughly embarrassed.

“Then what can you do?”

“J-Just about anything else to help!” You said quickly, looking up again, desperate to appear helpful and eager and, above all, of use. “You know how I said my momma was a maid? I would help her sometimes. I-I got good at it.”

“She’s very good.” Sadie said, coming to your aid. “She has a steady hand when sewing, knows how to treat all sorts of stains, and she can cook very well.”

You smiled at Sadie, grateful for the help.

Miss Grimshaw looked you over with an uncomfortably enigmatic gaze. “Show her how to pitch a tent.” She said finally. “The sooner she learns that the better.”

“Yes Miss Grimshaw.”

You let out a deep breath. “Y-Yes Miss Grimshaw!” You quickly followed Sadie to the wagon where the other women had already gathered, getting out what you assumed to be materials to pitch up tents.

“Did that old Russian widow teach you magic or something?” Miss Jones asked with a twinkle in her eye, much like the one from earlier, and a smirk on her lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Javier warm up to someone that quick.”

The other women giggled, and you flushed. “N-Not at all.” You said. “I-I’m sure that he just wants me to feel welcome.”

“Oh I bet he does.” Miss Jackson waggled her brows. “Or at least, welcome around him.” She burst into giggles, along with Miss Jones and Miss Gaskill.

“Alright girls that’s enough.” Miss Roberts interjected. “Don’t want to give Grimshaw an excuse to yell at us already.” She looked over at you and smiled kindly. “Don’t listen to them, they get bored easy and just wanna have something to entertain themselves with.”

You failed to see what could be so entertaining about this, but you appreciated Miss Roberts’s words nonetheless. “It’s alright.” You saw Sadie grabbing a bundle of materials and immediately went to her side to help. “So, what do we do?”

“Gotta find some good flat ground first.” Sadie inspected the surrounding area, before finding a patch that satisfied her. “Now we gotta make sure the frame is steady.”

She walked you through the steps slowly, adding clarification when you needed it. Knowing each other as long as you both had, she knew how to explain and teach things to you in a way that would make sense to you, so you were able to follow along and got the hang of it rather quickly.

“I don’t want you talkin’ to Escuella.”

You paused, turning away from the canvas to look at Sadie in surprise. “Why not? He’s very nice.”

“He’s an outlaw.” Sadie’s words were dripping with disdain and venom. “A thief and a killer.”

“And he’s been nothing but nice.” You pointed out. “He offered to teach me Spanish, that could be an invaluable skill Sadie.”

“Don’t matter, I don’t want you talking to him and that’s final.” She knotted the rope in her hands around a stake, with a bit more force than necessary in your opinion.

You sighed, kneeling beside Sadie. “That isn’t realistic and you know it.” You said in a low voice. “Besides, we need to be pragmatic about this.” You glanced around. “We’re outsiders Sadie. Everyone else knows each other, and there are already dynamics and relationships in place, so we need to form our own. The sooner we can endear ourselves to everyone here, the better.”

Sadie gritted her teeth. “These people aren’t like the rich, upper class types you’re used to.” She said pointedly. “They don’t play the same games or go by the same set of rules.”

“But they are human, and humans are social creatures.” You gently put a hand on Sadie’s arm. “If we can befriend a few of them, it’ll make life easier for us. I know you’re an expert on nature survival Sadie, but this is about social survival, and that’s entirely different.”

A silence hung between the two of you, and you let it, allowing Sadie time to think about what you had said. “Why do you always gotta be right.” She sighed heavily. “Alright. Fine. Be friendly. But not too friendly with the men. I don’t want none of them getting too close to you or being alone with you.”

“Deal.” You smiled and hugged Sadie. Truthfully, you never understood why she was so hesitant to allow men near you. After all, no man had ever expressed interest in you before, and why should they? There were always far better, more appealing options available.

“Not bad.” Miss Grimshaw appeared to be pleased and even a little impressed, especially since this was the first time you had ever put up a tent. She looked up at Sadie. “You can help Mary Beth and Tilly with setting up Arthur’s tent.” She then turned her attention to you. “And you can help Herr Strauss with his wagon. He seems to have taken a liking to you, so I doubt he’ll mind.”

“Yes Miss Grimshaw.” Despite yourself, you could feel your cheeks going a little pink at the revelation that Herr Strauss liked you. You felt relieved and happy to know that you had already formed at least one bond, and hopefully alliance, within the gang.

You and Sadie exchanged glances before going to your seperate jobs. Herr Strauss had just finished setting up a table when you approached, and he seemed to be looking for something in his wagon.

“Herr Strauss?” You said gently, not wanting to startle him too much.

Despite your precautions, Herr Strauss jumped a little, staring at you in surprise. “Mein Gott.” He said, a hand over his heart. “You’re certainly quiet aren’t you fräulein?”

You flushed a deep red. “S-Sorry.” You said bashfully.

“Oh it’s alright.” Herr Strauss smiled kindly at you, adjusting his glasses. “Did you need anything?”

“Actually, Miss Grimshaw told me that I should help you.” You looked at his wagon. “Is there anything you need me to do?”

This seemed to surprise him, but Herr Strauss smiled. “Yes actually. I need some help taking inventory of our medicines.” He carefully pushed aside some of the crates, revealing a slightly worn leather satchel, which he reached into and pulled what appeared to be a notebook out of it. “Just go through the crates one by one and tell me what you find and I’ll make a record.”

“Of course.”

You did as you were instructed, reading out each label clearly, and waiting for Herr Strauss to finish writing before moving on. You had also decided to group all of the tonics together in groups, one for the horses, and one for humans, before further dividing them by what it was they helped with-health, stamina, or concentration-and then their effectiveness; all of which you had gleaned from reading the labels, committing it all to memory.

“You’ve already started sorting them?”

“Oh, um, yes.” You looked down, fidgeting under Herr Strauss’s curious gaze. “I-I thought it would make things easier. I can rearrange them if there’s a particular way you want them sorted.”

“Oh no no! This is perfectly fine fräulein.” Herr Strauss said approvingly, his smile and gaze warm. He went back over his notes as he inspected the bottles, double checking to make sure everything had been properly accounted for. “You’ve done a very good job, and there aren’t any discrepancies, so all in all-”

“No! Mister! Wait!”

The sudden shouts made you jump, and you looked up, heart pounding, to see Mr Duffy being dragged to a tree not too far from where you were by Mr Williamson. “Wh-what’s Mr Williamson doing?” You asked shakily.

“Looks like he’s going to tie him to that tree.” Herr Strauss replied, shaking his head. “Poor boy. Can’t imagine he’ll last long without food and drink.”

“W-Wait.” You looked back at the older Austrian, wide eyed. “You’re not-I mean, we’re not-Mr Van Der Linde wouldn’t-”

“He would, and it appears that he has.” He assured you. “I understand that this is rather shocking, but it’s how things are done here. If Dutch says he ain’t eating or drinking, then that’s that.”

“I...I see…” You looked over at Mr Duffy, feeling immense pity. “How...how long will he be...tied up?”

“For as long as Dutch says.” Herr Strauss replied. He seemed to have caught the horrified look on your face, making him sigh. He gently put a hand on your shoulder and turned you away from Mr Duffy. “Fräulein, I know that this sort of thing is particularly...unpleasant for you, being as good and kind as you are. But I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to it. Hopefully the boy will tell Dutch what he wants to hear sooner rather than later. Until then, we must follow Dutch’s orders. No food or water for the O’Driscoll.”

“Yes Herr Strauss.” You said quietly, trying very hard not to look back at Mr Duffy.

-

You helped Herr Strauss set up his own tent space and to arrange his things, and by the time you were both finished, the rest of the camp had been set up, and Mr Morgan, Mr Smith, and Mr Matthews had joined you all, and Mr Escuella with them. You couldn’t help but watch Mr Morgan as Miss Grimshaw escorted him to his tent. He moved with such easy confidence and self assuredness, that you couldn’t help but feel envious.You had no idea what it was like to feel like that, to move through the world without a single worry or care. All you ever did was worry and care.

You were quickly pulled from your thoughts when you heard Mr Van Der Linde speak. Everyone stopped what they were doing and formed a small crowd around him, listening intently, and you joined them. He was trying to raise morale, praising everyone for sticking by him, before urging everyone to pull their weight and help out. 

(You fidgeted a little at that, worried if you would be able to do that.)

Mr Pearson, now wearing a top hat, emphasized the need for food, asking for everyone to contribute something. You looked over at Sadie, who was standing with Miss Gaskill and Miss Jackson, and wondered if she would be allowed to hunt. You couldn’t see why not.

“And don’t forget, whatever you get, the camp gets a slice.” My Van Der Linde pulled out a shiny red box and placed it on top of a barrel outside his large tent.

You furrowed your brow and looked over at Herr Strauss. “What did he mean by that?”

“If you make any money then you need to put some into that box there.” He explained. “To help the camp pay for supplies and the like.”

“Oh. Like taxes?”

Herr Strauss chuckled. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Once Mr Van Der Linde was done, everyone dispersed and you rejoined the other women. “So, how long do you all usually stay in one place?”

“Depends.” Miss Jackson said. “If it’s a good spot and we lay low, then usually a good few months.”

“Let’s hope that’s the case here.” Miss Gaskill sighed. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve had enough of moving around.”

You couldn’t agree more, and you were about to say as much when something blue appeared in the corner of your eye. You turned to look and saw Mr Morgan, still wearing his big heavy coat, talking with Mr Van Der Linde and Mr Matthews. For whatever reason, your full attention was on the three men, but Mr Morgan in particular. You took in his profile, his strong jaw, the broadness of his shoulders, the firm set of his mouth. Did he ever smile? You hoped you would be able to see it.

“Stay away from him.”

You jumped, turning to see Sadie suddenly at your side, glaring at something. “W-What?”

“I said stay away from him.” It came out as an angry hiss, and when you followed her gaze you saw that it was focussed on Mr Morgan.

“But Sadie, he helped us-”

“I talked with Tilly and Mary Beth.” Sadie gave no indication that she had heard you, although you were certain that she did. “And they told me what kind of person Morgan is.”

You didn’t like the sound of that. “What...what kind of person is he?”

“Exactly the kind I expected.” She finally tore her gaze away from Mr Morgan and onto you. “He uses force and kills even when not necessary. He’s a mean and sour bastard and I don’t want you around him. I know you feel like you owe him because of what he did, but you don’t. He didn’t do it out of the goodness of his own heart. If Dutch hadn’t been there he probably would’ve put a bullet in our heads.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have Sadie.” But even as you protested, you felt a chill go down your spine. “What would he have gained from it?”

“Men like him don’t need a reason to kill.” Her tone left no room for argument, so you decided not to. Instead you let her put her arm around you and lead you away to the area where the two of you, along with Miss Jones, Miss Jackson, and Miss Gaskill would sleep.

But you were able to sneak one last look back at Mr Morgan, watching as he smoked his cigarette, haloed in the light of the setting sun.

[ask-de-writer]

LOST TIME (part 2 of 3) A fantasy of Flocking Bay.

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

LOST TIME

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

5556 words

© 2020 by Glen Ten-Eyck

written 2003 by Glen Ten-Eyck

All rights reserved.

Reproduction  in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the  express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.

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Users  of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may  reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in  my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical  compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge  for their images.

All sorts of Fan Activity, fiction, art, cosplay, music or anything else is ACTIVELY encouraged!

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Morton Hewitt did not last. He bought the house for back taxes in 1944. He lived there for a week. He painted the hardwood floors and then hanged himself in the garage the next day.

Byron Thomas bought the house from Hewitt’s estate. He was a grave digger for Trinity Graveyard. He updated the plumbing and lived there quietly for several years. Apparently he liked his work a little too well. He buried two people who were not yet dead. One of them lived. He was adjudged sane at his trial and hanged for his crime.

Mark Altman bought the house next. He was a reclusive sort and lived there for a quite a number of years before it was discovered that he’d had some visitors who had never left. He died in prison while awaiting trial. There was an interesting hand written note attached to the autopsy report which stated that the coroner had ruled out both suicide and homicide but refused to pronounce the death natural.

Dora Greene got the place next. She was Mark’s sister. Like Mark, she lived there quietly for years. One day she walked into town and set fire to the school, killing five and maiming six more. She spent her last years in a lunatic asylum, setting three more fires and killing two more people. She herself died in her last fire.

While she was in the asylum, one Tony Fisk, age twelve, urged on by several other urchins, had thrown some stones at the windows of the Vekin place. He had missed. Becoming angry, he took careful aim and they all watched the flight of the stone. In the young malefactor’s words, “It went away without falling.”

It would not have been worthy of a news story, except for the fact that each of the children who had watched the stone had gone severely and permanently cross-eyed. In a small town like Flocking Bay, that many kids going cross-eyed at once could not be hidden.

George Abbot bought the house and rented it at a very low price to a Michael Farley. The two had been feuding, down-state, and the house was supposed to have been a peace offering. Farley stayed only a few weeks. He went out and dynamited Abbot’s automobile. Farley was quite mad and lived out his life in an asylum for the criminally insane. The county coroner ruled Abbot’s death to be suicide. After all, he had known the history of the house and had knowingly rented that house to an enemy.

Cornelius Baker took the house next. He upgraded the kitchen and installed modern wiring. He lived there quietly and apparently got on well for about five years. He was a long-haul truck driver. Bodies followed him about the country. Finally, he was caught with one in his truck. He drove his truck into a bridge abutment at over ninety miles per hour rather than be taken alive.

Now, I had the place. I mentally withdrew my blessing. He had not been a good man at all.

Lois saw that I was finished with the file and making good inroads on my sandwich. She asked, “Did you sleep there, last night?”

“Yes, I did. Most restful sleep I have had in years.”

“What is your full name?”

“Vandervekken,” I replied, getting out my driver’s license. I was used to this. “No first name or middle initial. Just Vandervekken.”

“How old are you?”

“I don’t know, at least seventy.”

“You don’t know how old you are? Seventy? You look like you’re in your early twenties,” she said incredulously. “I told you that things connected with the Vekin place get interesting.”

“I got a head-wound during the war. Traumatic amnesia.”

“Viet Nam wasn’t that long ago. It would only make you in your fifties.”

“Not Viet Nam, Lois. WW II. Apparently, I was helping the French Underground.” I handed her the military fingerprint record. Her eyes widened as she realized that I was serious. “The amnesia’s been permanent, so far. I have language skills . . . too many. I’m a fluent, accentless polyglot. I even speak Basque. I know how to do an amazing number of things . . . no trace of name or personal past. No ID either.”

“Couldn’t they trace you by these fingerprints or something?”

“They tried. I was found among the bodies of a wiped-out unit of the French Underground during the German withdrawal from Paris in 1944. Someone from another unit was able to say that I was an American volunteer with a name that he could neither remember nor pronounce ... something sort of Dutch. That inspired my current name. I got back with a temporary ID and that military fingerprint record, which I still carry.”

“That’s sad, and eerie, too. What’s it feel like?”

“I’ve thought about that a lot. I think the best way to describe it is like a house that’s furnished but nobody is home. Empty. Alone.”

“So, how does that relate to your choice of name? You must know what having only one name does to our systems for indexing things and people.”

“True. I want to stand out, in case somebody recognizes who I am. As for Vandervekken, he was the Flying Dutchman, who swore that he would take his ship around the Cape of Good Hope, against a gale, if it took until Judgment Day. That was in the Seventeenth Century and he is still sailing. His ghost is seen as a Dutch East India Co. galleon with all sails set, sailing into the teeth of a gale. He can’t get home either.”

“I see,” Lois said, adding to her notes. “What brought you to Flocking Bay?”

“I was just passing through. I like small towns, so I avoid the main highways and big cities whenever I can. I liked the atmosphere of Flocking Bay enough to inquire about the possibility of settling here.”

“Look, we both know that small towns are dying. You could have had your pick from any of a dozen houses. Why the Vekin place?”

“I was shown fourteen places, actually. I know that it seems a bit forbidding at first, but it felt good. Like a warm glove on a cool morning. Have you ever actually been there?”

She shuddered, “No, and before you, I have never heard of anyone who said that the Vekin place felt good ... You say that you are a writer. What have you written?”

“Charles said it very well, ’Pseudonyms are great for privacy.’ My own writing aside, I do translations but you won’t find my name on most of them. Archaeologists like to take credit for their finds. I mentioned that I’m a polyglot? I sight read ancient languages as well as modern.”

I extended my hand to Lois and invited, “Would you like to come and see for yourself this house of dark history? I promise that you will find it worth your while. In all of those stories, not once was the interior of Vekin House described. Do come.”

“I have to return the file and get my camera,” she responded gamely.

“I shall await you in my auto, in front of the Voice,” I answered. As I walked her back across the street, I had the pleasure of seeing her stare at Lilitu.

“If that’s what I think its, I’ll ride with you anywhere!” she called over her shoulder as she entered the Voice’s office. True to her word, she emerged in a few minutes with a camera. Not one of those tiny little cameras that have become fashionable, but a business-like press camera. I opened the car door and gave her a hand up.

As I got into the driver’s seat, she asked, wonder in her voice, “Is this really a Packard V-12 Touring Car?”

We pulled away with the almost uncannily quiet, vibration-free ride that the car was famous for. I replied, “You bet she is. Lois, meet Lilitu. Lilitu, meet Lois. After the war, there were still quite a few of them to be had, and I liked both the ride and the durability, so I hunted one down and had it fixed up like new. I’ve kept her that way ever since. She’s only had two owners in over two-million miles. The first owner only put on about sixty-thousand of them.”

“You drive a lot,” she stated.

“I was looking for something ... I think that Flocking Bay has it. My turn for a few questions , if you don’t mind.”

“Fire away. If I don’t like the question, I won’t answer it.”

“What did you do before you took up the Voice?”

“The same thing that I still do. The stock and futures markets. I’m good at it. I got out of college with a degree in the sociology of medieval witchcraft. I got a job as a waitress on the strength of my looks. I put my first fifty dollars in tips into a risky stock that kited way up. On a hunch, I dumped it three days after I bought it. It nosedived shortly after I sold out. After commissions, I had three hundred and fifty dollars. I rolled it over the same way. The rest is history. So far, my hunches have always worked for me.”

“What brought you to Flocking Bay?”

“Like you, I was passing through. I was on my way to Lakeside Resort about three years ago. I got a hunch that I should stay, so I did. The Voice was failing. When a small town loses its paper, the end is in sight. I didn’t want the end to come, so I bought the paper. Here I am.”

“And here we are,” I said with a flourish as I pulled up in front of the house. We both stared. The yard was neatly trimmed, though the bushes and trees still retained a slightly forbidding aspect. Going up the path to the front door, I noticed that the flagstones had been leveled, the weeds removed and the joints and refilled with fresh sand. The iron fence and balustrades had been cleaned of rust.

“You’ve been busy,” was Lois’s comment.

“That’s just it,” I replied, puzzled. “I didn’t do it. I thought that stocking the fridge and setting out a snack last night was something that the real-estate agent arranged. Sort of a welcome wagon. This is beyond the call of duty.” Opening the front door, I felt that comfortable, welcoming feeling that had caused me to buy the house in the first place. Impulsively, I said, “Hello, house, you certainly look nice today.”

Lois looked at me quizzically and asked, “Do you talk to everything, or is this special?”

I thought for a moment before answering, “Actually I only talk to things that have personality enough to warrant a name, like Lilitu, my car, or Drachen, my typewriter.”

“Typewriter? You do like antiques, don't you? What are you going to call the house, then?”

“I’m not sure,” I answered. “Something good ... What does the place feel like to you?”

“The place actually looks and feels . . . well . . .” Lois groped for the right word, “I’d have to say . . . happy. Not what I expected, at all. It feels like what you see when a pup that loves its master is greeting him. No wonder you slept well, if it feels as good to you as it does to me . . .” She sort of trailed off. “I wouldn’t normally say this, but I’m getting a hunch about this place . . .” she trailed off again.

“I guess that the house was just waiting for the right kind of person,” I responded. “It was pretty rough on everyone else. I’m glad that you like it too.”

“Look at these floors,” she mused, “They were beautiful before Hewitt painted them over. You can still make out some traces of the parquetry patterns. If he hadn’t already hanged himself, I’d help you to do it.”

<==Previous    Next==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

[arigatouiris]

revenge is a fool’s game // arthur morgan — [07]

pairing: arthur morgan x female!reader

word count: 2274

warnings: strong violence, mentions of period and blood; emotional distress, mentions of torture, rape and sexual abuse, explicit sexual references, a whole lotta angst, cowboy stuff;

notes: so sorry about the late update! life has not been too kind. Sighh. Hope you like this chapter, somethin’ important happens fosho~

not following a taglist for this, i can’t seem to keep track of people who ask so just check on my masterlist~

masterlist in bio~

Chapter Seven: Love Ain’t No Easy Ball Game

○

“Arthur, come here,” Dutch said, gesturing to him.

Arthur blinked before going over to him, wondering what the deal was. There was a peculiar tone Dutch used whenever he had something in his mind, a peculiar tone that he used just now. Arthur knew enough to know that Dutch was planning something.

“What’s up, Dutch?” The twenty-one year old sighed.

His eyes quickly drifted to Riley, who was feeding the horses. John was helping her, and sometimes Arthur wondered if John was simply making a guess or if he knew Riley was a woman. Arthur didn’t know if Riley was even her real name and because she was so secretive, he often believed it wasn’t who she was at all. He watched as she fed the horses with a soft smile on her face, and he wondered how she would look like underneath all that disguising. Some part of his heart went out to her, curious as to what brought her down that path she was on.

“Are ya’ listenin’, boy?” Dutch slapped the back of Arthur’s head, causing his eyes to widen.

“Jesus, Dutch! Yeah, yeah! Something about a bank.”

“No. I wasn’t even talking’ ‘bout no bank!” Dutch turned to where Arthur was looking and saw only Riley on the other side. “What’chu starin’ at Riley for?”

Arthur’s face turned beet red before he coughed a couple of times.

“Whatever, listen. There’s this scammer in Peach Farms, near Blackwater. His name’s somethin’ German, bring him to the camp. I’ve written to him already, and all ya’ gotta do is go over there and be a transport. Make sure no one’s followin’,”

Arthur rolled his eyes before thinking, Finally, a job worth doing. Nodding, he turned around to leave as Dutch said something that made him press his lips together.

“Take Riley with you. The boy needs to get out more.”

Letting out another sigh, Arthur walked over to where Riley was before patting her back twice. Immediately, Arthur recoiled in horror before bowing down lowly and apologizing. Riley glared at him before getting up, pushing the man backwards a bit, and sending him a nasty glare. She cocked her eyebrow at him, asking him what he wanted through gesture alone.

“Dutch is sendin’ us on a mission.” Arthur said, looking everywhere except at Riley.

Riley rolled her eyes before turning on her heel and walking to her tent to get her belongings. Arthur stared at her from the back and looked down to his boot. He felt like an idiot all of a sudden, not sure if he had to treat her like a woman now that he knew her truth, or if he had to play along since he had decided to keep her secret.

When the two of them mounted their horses and were a bit away from camp, Riley turned to Arthur before snapping.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I may be an outlaw, but I ain’t no manhandler. I shouldn’ta come at ya’ like—”

“Come at me like what?” She snapped once more.

Arthur groaned, “I… I patted yer back without—”

“Arthur,” He could hear her take in a breath before continuing, “You chose to keep this a secret for the time being. So please, for the love of God, play along.”

“Is yer name really Riley?” His question caught her off guard, but she chose not to answer.

“Where are we goin’ anyway? Is it another stupid town where I might need to beat someone up?”

“You won’t need to use them scrawny hands to beat anyone up when I’m with you,” She shot him another glare, causing him to chuckle, “We need to bring in someone Dutch wants to see. All we have to do now is to make sure we ain’t followed. It’s a town called Peach Farms—”

Arthur’s eyes widened all of a sudden, as if he suddenly realized something. His abrupt pause alerted Riley as well.

“What is it?”

“Peach Farms is where Eliza’s at.” Arthur muttered, before scratching the back of his head.

“Who?”

“Someone.”

“Right.”

Arthur turned to Riley before frowning, “What’s the matter with you? Why’re you so grumpy?”

“Why’re you so perky?”

“Perky?” Arthur backtracked a bit, “Who’re you callin’ perky? Should I warn you that I know somethin’—”

“Resorting to blackmail? I shouldn’t expect anything less from an outlaw like you.”

Arthur was stunned by her words. He turned back to his route, chose not to respond. Riley believed she went a bit far by insulting him the way she did, but with the way things were moving, she had no choice. She didn’t want to befriend Arthur just because he knew her secret. She wanted to maintain that distance so it’d be easier for her to leave. She didn’t want to make him an additional burden.

“I’m sorry. I just ain’t feelin’ right today.” She said, going against what her mind was telling her.

“That’s alright,” Arthur said, looking ahead. “Peach Farm’s a few hours from here. Hope you’ve got the ride in ya.”

Riley smirked, “Care for a race to find out?”

Arthur chuckled, “You don’t wanna race me, ma’am.”

“Try me.” Riley whispered, causing a shiver to go down Arthur’s spine. He turned to look at her ride off ahead of him, and he had to blink a couple of times to come back to where he was.

He really couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen that Riley was a woman.

○

After a few hours, Arthur understood that they were a few miles away from Peach Farms now. He remembered the route from having come here almost a year ago, when he had met Eliza. She was a sweet girl, too young to be eighteen. Arthur felt nothing short of regret in taking her when he kept Mary in mind, but wouldn’t ever deny that Eliza was a sweet girl.

“So Eliza’s a flame o’ yours?” Riley asked, now looking at Arthur.

Their horses were walking side by side now. Arthur took a breath before choosing to reply. There was no harm in telling her this, he thought.

“Yeah, well. She… She’s a nice girl, that one. But, it ain’t love or anythin’ like that.” Arthur said, thinking of Mary.

“Why not?”

“What?”

Riley chuckled, “Why ain’t it love?”

Arthur groaned, “It can’t happen to many other when you love someone else, can it?”

“You can’t say for sure, you know?”

Arthur laughed bitterly, “So yer sayin’ you can love more than one person?”

“Possibly.”

“Possibly,” Arthur repeated, scoffing. “It’s time I got over Mary anyway. That’s what the world keeps tellin’ me.”

“Who’s Mary now?”

Arthur and Riley chuckled at her tone.

“Mary’s… Mary is… Mary was, I suppose, Mary…” Arthur struggled.

“She’s still in yer head, Arthur. Clearly. How long has it been?”

He took a second to think about it, “Close to two years—”

“Two years?” Riley said, surprised.

Arthur looked at her and blinked. He wasn’t sure what that response meant.

“Arthur, don’t beat yerself up. There’s only so much you can do. Maybe, you can meet Eliza once more while we’re there and you can talk to ‘er and see if you can like her. Sometimes, we can settle for those that love us because when we feel love, we can love too.”

Arthur took her words in like a sponge. When they reached Peach Farms, Arthur’s stomach was hurting a bit as they went to hitch their horses. Riley went back to being quiet now, but Arthur had figured out a faster way of communicating with her when she was running her disguise. He had no choice but to put past the fact that she was a woman when she was playing a man.

He leaned down to her ear and whispered, “He’s called Strauss. Dutch gave me his card ‘ere.”

Riley put her ears next to his and whispered back, “You don’t have to whisper me to, you know.”

Arthur pulled himself back and felt his heart rate accelerate a bit. Her breath hit his ear and Arthur tried hard to not show that it had an affect on him. Clearing his throat harshly, he waited for Riley to say something.

“Let’s split up. You go to Eliza. I’ll find Strauss.” She whispered, and Arthur sighed.

He grabbed her arm and gave her a look. She smiled at him and nodded once. She placed her hand on his before slowly pulling away.

Arthur sighed before turning on his heel and following his memory. He knew where Eliza’s house was, and from where he was standing at the moment, it wasn’t too far off. Arthur walked to her small house before standing in front of the door, not so eager to knock. He began to think it was a bad idea, whether it wasn’t fair to Mary, whether it was right or wrong.

Sometimes, we can settle for those that love us because when we feel love, we can love too.

Perhaps, it was her voice that caused him to remain standing there. When the door opened and he saw Eliza’s face, Arthur felt nothing but a strange calmness. He knew he didn’t love the woman in front of him, but Riley’s words made him believe that maybe, he could learn to.

“Eliza?” Arthur asked, taking his hat off.

The woman in front of him looked simple. Soft blonde hair and full lips, her eyes were brown and her skin a soft pink.

“Arthur…” She said, her eyes wide.

“I’m sure you ain’t glad to see me.”

“N-No. It ain’t like that. Come on in.” Eliza said, letting him come inside.

Arthur stepped inside and noticed how normal the house looked. Eliza worked as a waitress in the only local saloon, and made her living off that. However, there was a smell in the house that wasn’t quite there before. Arthur couldn’t tell what it was, but he was sure he had smelled it before.

“I was just passin’ by—”

“Arthur, I really didn’t mind you not knowin’ this,” Eliza interrupted him.

Arthur noticed her twiddling her thumbs and standing in front of him, clueless. He blinked before tilting his head a bit, wondering what this could be.

“Didn’t want me knowin’ what?”

“Didn’t want you knowin’ about Issac. I didn’t mind, I’ve always wanted someone to take care of. Keep me away from this loneliness… After I lost my brother, things have been so hard on me, I was makin’ a living but had no one to share it with—”

“Eliza, you ain’t making no sense. Who’s Issac?” Arthur asked, frowning.

She suddenly looked afraid. He stepped in front of her and placed a calm hand on her shoulder.

“After you left a year ago, I… I had a baby, Arthur. It’s… It’s yours.”

Arthur’s eyes widened and he recoiled away from her. Eliza sighed before shaking her head, rushing into another room in the house. He stood there for a long moment before Eliza brought out a baby, just a few months old, and Arthur's heart almost stopped beating.

“That’s… “ He didn’t know what he had to do.

“You don’t have to stay.” Eliza said, worried.

Arthur shook his head before brushing a hand through his hair. He breathed heavily before looking at the baby once more, his eyes filling with tears at the thought of being a father. There was no way he could leave her alone after this, there was no way he could go back to Dutch. But, he knew he had to. And so did she.

“I’ll do my bit, Liza. I will.” He sounded exasperated.

“Arthur—”

“I can’t… I can’t stay here, but I’ll… I’ll visit. I’ll do my bit. You don’t have to worry about that. I ain’t someone who’ll just leave. I... “ He thought of wanting the same thing with Mary, “I’ll visit.”

Eliza came forward and handed him the baby, but Arthur wasn’t too sure if he could carry him at the moment.

“I have to go right now, Liza. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur—”

“You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for, Liza. Not to me. Not to anyone.” His voice broke at the end, but he meant it.

Rushing out, Arthur stilled near his horse. In the distance, he saw a man approaching him. He wore glasses and he looked old and wrinkled, and Dutch’s description fit him perfectly. For some reason, Arthur felt like he was staring at death right then.

“Are you Arthur Morgan?” He had a funny accent.

“What’s it to you?”

“My name is Leopold Strauss. Dutch must have told you about me. Your kid friend sent me here. He had some business to take care of in the saloon.”

“Business?”

Arthur rushed to the saloon and left Strauss standing by his horse. Once inside the saloon, his eyes widened and his heart fell to his feet.

There in the distance, near the counter, Riley stood. Her back was facing him, and in front of her was a man in a chair, bleeding all over, and in Riley’s hands was a knife with blood in it. He looked around and saw four other men, shot to the ground. He took the scene in and then looked at her.

“Riley? What the heck—”

“Let’s go.” She said, throwing the knife down and walking out.

It was right then that Arthur discovered something about her. Arthur's eyes widened when he realized why she was in disguise. Not because she's done something, not because she's running, but because she's chasing. And to do the chasing, a disguise like that seemed appropriate.

[thearrangment-phff]

XIX. So Many Questions

December 2017

Telling her family that she was going to marry Harry had to be in most awkward position Isabella had been in since she had her first real encounter with an English boy at the Kent boarding school she was sent to. She was still learning English and it wasn't too good. Didn't help that at that moment she had a strong mixed accent of French and German that to took a while for others to understand.

When Harry had announced that they were marrying the area went quiet for a second, only to immediately break out in whispers and small talk. They spoke different languages, none English, so Harry was let out of the loop. He watched as her family argued and couldn't make out a single word they were saying. The mad expressions and rasied voices told him enough.

Jean spoke Luxembourgish to his son Henri and daughter Marie Astrid. The Liechtenstein family spoke German. Isabella's Nassau cousins spoke a mixture of French and German. Amedeo swore in Dutch only because no one else in Isabella's family knew Dutch. Isabella herself only knew because Amedeo's older siblings Joachim and Maria Laura had attempted to teach her when they were in Kent but failed. The Luxembourg cousins spoke a mixture of French and Luxembourgish which confused Harry even more.  

Isabella was talking to the two Liechtenstein Princesses, Marie Astrid and Maria Annunciata, in German explaining what happened. Marie Astrid was more concerned with the ring than anything else. Josef had begun a conversation with their Nassau cousins, switching to French to better communicate with them.  

Since there was no English, Harry was forced to remain in the background not knowing what people were saying. That was the hardest part. Not knowing what they were saying. It was then that he knew he had to follow through with his plans to learn another language. He would learn French. Maybe a little bit of German if he could master French fast enough. It would solve the language barrier between he and Isabella's family and maybe he wouldn't feel so unimportant amongst the large group of people.

Amongst the small chaos, Jean had walked up to Harry with an occasional limp because he left his cane near his chair. The distance was short but Harry didn't want the aging man to push himself so he closed the gap between them by walking to him.

"Don't let them scare you. A big family like this have more blessings than anything else," assured Jean.

"What about your thoughts?"

"My thoughts shouldn't matter in this union between my granddaughter and yourself. Though I wouldn't mind gaining another great-grandchild, I already have 10 and another on the way."

"Someone is pregnant?"

"Yes. Belle's brother Christoph and his wife Adelaide are expecting their second child. My hope is it's a girl, but a boy will bring blessings all the same. Perhaps you and Belle could give me number twelve by next Christmas," smiled Jean.

"I haven't even talked to her brothers. I'm marrying their sister and I haven't even sat down and talked to them," panicked Harry as his eyes went to Isabella's uncles Guillaume and Jean talking with Isabella's siblings.

"Those boys have a gentle soul. As long as you love their sister, they would never object to such a happy union," declared Jean.

Harry didn't have anything to say to that, but what could he say? Jean thought they were real. Harry's grandmother had only 5 great-grandchildren and Jean had double than her. He expected Harry and Isabella to marry and have children. All of Jean's children married and had children of their own with a minimum of four kids.

If his state of panic wasn't already high, the thought of children once again, made things worse. Those children would become so real one day. Isabella expressed her want for kids, and Harry had been saying for years that he would love to have children as well.  

They had almost half a year to get to know each other, and though they had, the feelings between them were simply friendly. It was more likely going to stay that way for years to come.  

"Should I have sat down with them?" Asked Harry.

"When I married my wife Josephine Charlotte, I sat down with her parents more than I intended. Same as you with Isabella's parents. I knew her brothers very well, but I never sat down with them and talked about marrying their sister," said Jean.

"How did you and your wife meet?"

Jean gave Harry a smile at the faint memories of his wife flashed in his mind, "We crossed paths for years as we were both children of monarchs. Our marriage was politically motivated. I won't lie about that, but it was a loving match. By marrying a Belgium princess, I elevated the standing of the Luxembourg Grand Ducal Court as my own father, Prince Felix of Bourbon-Parma, had when he married my mother," explained Jean.

"How did you father elevate Luxembourg?"

"Before my father, my mother was styled Her Grand Ducal Highness, which is below Her Royal Highness. My father had a stronger bloodline with that of Spain, Portugal, and Orleans, and though the Duchy of Parma no longer existed it was his wife Infanta Maria Antonia of Portugal who helped given her children dynastic marriages. My parents were first cousins."

"I didn't know that."

"Yes, well, first cousin marriages are now frowned upon. My grandmothers were sisters as the children of the brief King Miguel of Portugal. When my parents married it became complicated. My mother was going to be the monarch, and my father her consort. Though he wasn't angry that the House of Bourbon-Parma wouldn't rule the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg," smiled Jean.

"My grandparents went through a similar thing when they married. In the end, my grandfather gave up his titles, citizenship, and everything for love," added Harry.

"My parents' marriage was set us by their mothers. Not an arranged marriage, but not one completely of love before the wedding day. A marriage of convenience if you would call it that. My father neither relinquished his titles or adopted my mothers. They simply merged. Had your grandfather not had strong German ties perhaps that would have been a similar response," claimed Jean.

"Do you believe my marriage will be one of convenience?"

"So many questions," smiled Jean. "Of course, your marriage is one of convenience. Every marries because it suits them one way or the other. A marriage between you and Belle is more beneficial for you."

"Wait-" before Harry could continue Jean had begun to walk away from him.

Jean was probably one of the few who liked Harry in Isabella's family. When Jean had returned to his chair with the cane in his hands, Harry was once again left alone as Isabella's family continued talking. After several minutes of Isabella walking around, talking with her family, and showing around the ring Harry finally joined her.

There was little to say since no one bothered to speak English, even with Harry's obvious presence. He recognized some French when Isabella was talking to come of her younger cousins who were as tall as Harry. He knew that the girl's name was Charlotte and he could never forget that name because it was also his niece's name.

Harry stood next to Isabella as she continued her conversation. Once she was done talking her younger relatives left the two of them alone. Isabella grabbed onto his hand leading them into a part of the area that wasn't being occupied. She had grabbed onto his left hand and placed it on her hip while she grabbed the other and put it on her neck.

As Isabella looked up at Harry he noticed the know bright smile on her face which was a change from the panic mode just an hour or two earlier.

"Did they take things well?" Asked Harry.

"A lot! Not all but more than I was expecting. Even if they didn't want to show they were against our marriage, they all congratulated me."

"Please tell me your brothers don't hate me," begged Harry as Isabella let out a nervous laugh. "God your family hates me so much."

Isabella moved Harry's hand away from her neck and shoulder area to her hip as she, in turn, put her arms around Harry's waist, "They don't hate you. They just don't know you too well. They've never really gotten to know you or your family that’s all."

"On another topic for right now, why is Joachim still here?" Asked Harry as Isabella pinched his side. "What was that for?!"

"Don't be mean to Joachim. He's taking Wenceslas and Constantin back with him to Belgium and they're going to hang out with his brother Amedeo. He recently had a baby girl with his wife Elisabetta and I think they would love some adult company. I'm not sure if Christoph, Adelaide, and Josef are going but it would a big surprise if they're not," answered Isabella before getting a little off topic.

"When we marry is that going to be our life?"

"What do you mean?" Replied Isabella.

"Going from country to country to celebrate Christmas and birthdays," clarified Harry.

"Of course, it is. That's the whole point of marrying me, isn't it? My connections. We will attend weddings, birthday celebrations, and christenings. That's always been my life and now it will be yours too. They're my family so of course I would try and go to everything I can. I'm blessed with such an amazing, large family, and I would never take them for granted. I want to be able to be with them whenever I can," stated Isabella.

Though he also had a loving family it was then Harry confirmed that he and Isabella had grown up in different worlds despite being so similar. Her family was spread across several countries and spoke several languages. Harry's family really only spoke English and they all lived in England. All the comparisons of their two lives were more prominent than ever in Harry's mind.

Harry's parents divorced. Isabella's parents had been married for almost 40 years. Harry only had one brother. Isabella had two sisters and three brothers. He spent his life surrounded by press and shielded as best as his family could from the world. While he spent his formattable years partying then finally going into the Royal Army, Isabella spent hers going to a great university then working for the United Nations. 

Even when his mother died, Harry maintained a close relationship with his mother's family though nothing could compare to the bond Isabella had with her maternal family. He only met a handful of her Archduke and Duchess family at her birthday celebrations and they seemed close as ever, he couldn't even imagine meeting the rest.  

"I just want your family to like me," confessed Harry.

"What?"

"I want your family to like me," repeated Harry.

"They do like you. Even if they don't, we are still getting married, and they will have to deal with your tall ginger ass at every family event until death does us part. Though if I die first you might still be invited because of our kids," smiled Isabella.

"Our kids. I think about them more and more. What would you name them?"

"Charles after both are fathers. Albert for another boy. I like the names Felix and Robert though I don't know if they would be first names. Mary Astrid for a girl to honor my mother and great-grandmother. Josephine-Charlotte for a second born to honor my grandmother as well. Maybe an Eleanor or Elisabeth. What about you?"

"I haven't really thought about it since I met you. I think Charles to honor both of our fathers would be nice. I don't know how I feel about Albert. Felix and Robert may be too much of your family than mine. Mary Astrid would be a nice name for our daughter," smiled Harry.

"We may be happy," laughed Isabella as Harry nodded

[kaylak99]

Mentor Report

Someone who has been one of the most helpful people and who I can call a great friend in my journey to study abroad is none other than the coordinator for all study abroad students at my college, Michelle Weber! She is wonderful in answering every single tiny question I ask her, and I can tell she’s passionate about traveling and seeing the world. She was more than happy to answer some more questions of mine and now I want to share those responses. 

I have been learning different aspects about Germany that will be very useful when it’s time for me to move there for school. I’ve been reading this German guide called “Back Roads Germany” by Eyewitness Travel and what they are telling seems to be matching up with what Michelle has experienced, as well as myself. One point to make that is true is the fact that many, and I mean a lot of Germans know impeccable English. They speak it as if it was their own language. From the people I’ve talked to, the books I have read, and my own experience, Germans speak clear and polished English which is relieving knowing that I speak almost none of the German language. From the MSA book I’ve been reading, it covers stereotypes and the difference between that and generalizations. One German stereotype that I found to be true is “Germans are direct”. Michelle can attest to this as well. From talking with a handful of German people, they don’t like to dance around any question or fact. They are considered to be low context which means they want little to no confusion on what they are trying to tell you. While the MSA guide states the comparison of polychromic time to monochromic time, it is apparent that Germans want to be punctual with time and don’t want to waste others time. On the topic of public transportation however, similar to all public transit in the world, it isn’t extremely punctual in Germany. Their large construction sites also aren’t accurate on completing the structure(s) on time, usually moving the completion date months back. This is two examples that I know contradicts with the sense that all of Germany enjoys being on time. 

In my chat with Michelle, I asked her what the largest difference between the U.S. and Germany was? She responded with the contrast of friendliness. “US culture is generally more friendly than most cultures (think saying hi to people on a walk in the park, at the grocery store, etc.)”. (Michelle) According to her, German people simply don’t say “hi” to you when you’re a stranger to them. In one of my past posts, I’ve talked about how I had reverse culture shock coming from Montana to Illinois and how no one in IL greets you. In MT however, we would stop and have short conversations getting to know someone when we saw them at our job or out on a hike. Completely different backgrounds. I can say I am used to both but do prefer the more open talk side. 

Another question I asked was what was the most similar part about these two cultures? Her answer was the promptness within both cultures. “I have spent a lot of time in Spanish speaking countries where time is just a suggestion, but German culture, while they enjoy fun, enjoy getting to the point and doing things in an efficient manner”.  I also value allotting time for activities but have been raised that a job must be done first before there’s free time to do other things. 

Question #4 is what was the most important thing I should know about the German language? Michelle responded with what I also agree with, that Germans are aware that English is the most used language in the world and thus have learned it to be able to communicate effectively. She also said it is beneficial to at least know common words and phrases as would be helpful in any other language. Lastly, Michelle said Berlin is an extremely diverse city where many different cultures mix and it’s actually more difficult to learn the German language in the city compared to if I were in a smaller town outside of Berlin. 

The next question is what surprised you the most about German culture? The size of the spaces in Germany are what shocked Michelle compared to the U.S. She said because of our much larger geographic area, we are able to build impressive houses and obtain many acres of land. In Germany, the houses are small and compact and from my own knowledge, stores have furniture special for these spaces in order to maximize them and make them appear to look bigger than what they are. Except, Michelle also added that Berlin is distinctly different from Heidelberg and Bavaria simply because of the landscape that surrounds those towns. Overall, I was not surprised by her response about the size dissimilarities. My European friends for years always mention how big everything is in the U.S., even the grocery store parking lots are gigantic to them!

Next up, how does the German culture typically view Americans? Apparently, Germans from watching American films and listening to their friends think that Americans are overly nice which overlaps into recognized as being fake and not a genuine type of friend. Michelle even provided a fun link about how Americans are perceived. I must say that I actually value more of my foreign friendships compared to my American ones. Not to say I don’t have strong relationships with any of my American friends, but I do tend to notice that my Dutch and German friends actually put in more time and effort to sustain our friendship instead of whenever it’s convenient for them. I do have some amazing friends in the U.S. just to clarify one more time. 

What is one thing you wish you knew before you left? “I wish I knew more about German culture! I think it's easy to get bogged down with thinking of their past and things like Oktoberfest and schnitzel, but there is so much more to their culture and their way of life that I think is valuable to look into before going there to really get the most of the experience”. (Michelle) Honestly, couldn’t have said it better myself. I understand that taking the time to understand how the German culture operates and how to communicate with people from opposite sides of the world with all different backgrounds is quite crucial to have a more positive experience and less of a chance to create an issue or sense of arrogance. 

Are there any cultural taboos? Oh yes. Michelle from speaking to one of her German friends and said that people should not ask a German person if their ancestors or grandparents were Nazis. For me, this was a “duh” moment, but many people have asked Michelle’s German friend that question, which boggles my mind. I know Germans will be direct and Americans are somewhat direct, but no way would I ever ask that. “We learn about the holocaust extensively in history class and most of us are sensitive to it and do not want to hear jokes etc... As a culture and a country we are so uncomfortable talking about it and hate that that is what Germany is known for so as someone visiting, it is okay if you want to have a conversation or learn more about it by talking to someone but don’t bring it up as the first thing you talk about and don’t make jokes about it ever”. (Michelle’s German friend) Believe me, I will avoid asking those types of questions. Those questions can be offensive and arrogant and while I’m learning about German culture, I don’t need to know little, unimportant details like that. 

Last but not least, I asked what was the most important thing I should know about German culture? The answer was be respectful and not too open. German relationships take more than a day to become best friends unlike the U.S. That is one note that shouldn’t be overlooked. Also, Germans are more private and don’t typically answer your greeting when they have no idea who you are. I promise to not get offended when a stranger doesn’t answer my happy “hello’s”. It’s a different culture and I’m excited to personally learn about Germany when I study abroad. 

That concludes the interview with Michelle Weber, and I have reflected on the answers she’s given me. I certainly wasn’t too comfortable asking about the cultural taboo as I don’t like to be invasive in conversation. Except, Michelle was very generous in asking her German friend which was a wonderful source to get the most accurate reply. I trust everything I’ve been told and feel more prepared just from my interaction with Michelle. It is making me more excited and ready to go off on my journey and soak up every new experience. I’m still optimistic that my trip won’t be altered due to the unfortunate global events occurring at this time. But it will all come with time. Stay safe and healthy!