slr_europa@yahoo.com http://www.geocities.com/slr_europa/ AIM :: ropachan ******************************************* Love Through Time ~ A Serena and Darien Saga Volume III, Chapter i by Sailor Europa My eyes scrapped every inch of the compound, frantically searching each face that I passed, hoping desperately that it would be his. Screeches pierced my ears and clouds of smoke burned my aching eyes, dust being kicked up upon every inch of the ground. I tried to wave it away in vain, too preoccupied with worry and terror to give too much effort to the task. The shots that rang out moments before were like the final end to the mounting tension that had thickened the air in Atlanta as of late. The rebels and Yankee sympathizers had gathered and rallied together and now the gruff, husky voices of each and every one of them was filing into my mind as it, in turn, filtered each separate one alone, hoping for any familiarity. But none came. I fought back the tears that threatened to blur my vision, knowing that now was not the time to let my resolve weaken. If I had learned anything in the past few weeks it was that simple fact. And so I urged myself onward, hoping that I wasn't really hearing those hooves that were now thundering in from the horizon, that an even bigger mess was not arriving. My job was big enough as it was; I couldn't fathom it growing anymore. And yet, the fear rose up in my chest and I knew that, understandable or not, I wouldn't be able to stop the coming hoards. It was strange to even want to stop them. The things I had seen the past few weeks were overwhelming. The change in me has been gargantuan; the new feelings, emotions, morals, principles all foreign. I don't even know the Selena from six months ago. "Charles!" The short, stumpy man whirled around quickly at the sound of my voice, probably a bit surprised by the femininity amongst the sweaty, bulky, blood thirsty men filling in the outdoor space. His eyes grew wide as he ran back to me, grabbing me by the shoulders and not even bothering to let me continue. "Selena! What in God's name are you doing here?" His thick, Irish brood called out over the roar of the excited crowd. "You'll be trampled in no time!" I barely heard him, not even bothering to consider his concern. "I need to find Darien!" I bellowed, cupping my hands around my mouth. His eyes were crossed with confusion and I leaned in closer. "Darien!" I repeated. "Where is he? I have to speak with him!" He shook his head furiously. "Good luck, lass! He was near the platform once we began, but everything has gone awry! He could be anywhere now!" He replied. I let my shoulders sag, the commotion around me seeming to disappear as the fight was let out of me for a moment. He noticed my disappointment and gave me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, his anger about the situation surrounding us leaving him for the moment. "You really should get out of here, Selena. Should you find each other, he'd never want you to be put in harms way." I nodded, not really listening. He gave me one last pitiful, restrained smile before turning around. The crowd swallowed him up within seconds, and I was immediately on my own once more, a stranger in the midst of frantic, furious gangs of men with a taste for blood and an itchy trigger finger. I had only recently become associated with some of these rogues. The old Selena might have been put off by their harsh words and tactlessness, but even now, with the rage twisting and contorting their faces, I was not afraid. Despite my obvious handicap of being female, at this point they saw right past me, too busy with fingering revolvers and shouting obscenities to bother with a silly, lost girl. And so I push onwards, without any look of apprehension whatsoever. I hadn't the time to be nervous anyway. Things were getting even rowdier as the seconds ticked on, and the gunshots that were getting closer and closer were mere afterthoughts to me. I couldn't dwell on them; I couldn't get wrapped up in the fear or anxiety that was potentially beginning to build inside of me. I knew I'd never make my goal if I let the former Selena take over. I'd never find him if I didn't handle this maturely. The faceless mass in front of my eyes was beginning to all look the same. I couldn't distinguish any names to accompany these men, the ones I had spent quite a few hours with, feet in the mud, hands joined together. They were strangers now, as they had always been in actuality. But now I couldn't go to them for help. I was a traitor and a part of the enemy right now, in my many petticoats and shawl draped like a flag of opposition. So different from the plain clothes I had known the past weeks, caked with dirt and ripped from work; so different from the person I had come to see in myself. The previous weeks, months were a blur, like just a moment in time. The future stretched out on the horizon endlessly, and yet the past was nothing but a single memory, all made into one small thought, one word. I could hardly remember when my metamorphosis began, but even now it was hardly complete. It was a small look, a fortuitous encounter that changed my life. He made me who I am. And now I wanted to see him again, for so many reasons. If only to warn him or make sure he was all right. I couldn't leave, despite the warnings from Charles; I was staying put until I saw him. See that carefree smile on his face, feel the warmth from his lips as he gently kissed my cheek, the firm squeeze on my hand. It seemed like ages since I last had it..... The thought of going without it was impossible. I couldn't even imagine how I survived before this. I was just existing, my mind closed, the possibilities limited. How stubborn I had been to change my mind, see the way things should be, _had_ to be. I was on a one-way road, and there was no turning around..... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ weeks earlier.... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Papa...." It was a tawny April afternoon, and I had been unwillingly forced into accompanying my father through the then bustling streets of Atlanta, in search of a carpenter willing to rebuild the stable we had just lost in a brush fire. My other two sisters, Lila and Virginia, both younger, had gotten the privilege of staying in the house helping with the meager amounts of food preparation. The superior looks on their faces when I was seated in the carriage was enough to make me want to scratch their eyes out, besides the fact that I wouldn't be back for hours and would probably ruin the silk lace on my new dress. "Hmmmm?" My fathers caring face glanced down at me in question and I gave him puzzled eyes. "When was the last time you wrote Jonathan?" I chided him, purposely catching him off-guard. He clucked his tongue in response as he stroked his whiskers, deep in thought. We paused, a still vigil amidst all the hustle taking place around us, and he finally answered after a few moments. "Probably about 2 months. Why do you ask?" "We haven't received a reply in quite a while...." I trailed off, trying to lead into my darkest fears about my older brother, fighting off in the North, defending the Confederacy our whole family took such pride in. I wasn't sure I could ask outright whether he thought it was possible he might not be coming back. It was too hard of a concept to encourage. "Don't you be worrying about your brother, Selena. He's a Parker, he'll survive." Papa added a short, self-satisfied chuckle filled with pride for his kin at the end. "Probably skin a few Yanks while he's at it, too." I smiled, believing every word that spewed out of this bear of a man I came from. Papa had never lied to me before, and I wasn't about to start thinking that he had any reason to now. And the alternative to his words was too absolutely frightening to consider. It wasn't long before we arrived in front of Matthew Princeton's shop, a local wood worker who had done quite a few repairs on the slave's homes and stables years before. Papa had hoped that the war and Matthew's past history with the family would prove lucrative for us. A break in price would have been greatly appreciated. I wandered about the store room as soon as Matthew gave me a friendly smile and a warm greeting, his not so subtle roving of the eye making me uncomfortable. I clasped my hands delicately in front of me and grazed over each painting and picture frame, my dress making slight racking noises through the masculine chatter coming from the other side of the room. I paused a few feet from the door, glancing curiously out the window to my right as soon as I saw the rugged, ripped form of a man approach the entrance. The dark piercing eyes were familiar to my mind, and I could vaguely feel the tingly adrenaline rush come over me, a reminder of past fights and harsh words coming from a confused, innocent youth. It had been years since I had seen this man, but the absence had not squelched the hatred and loathing from so long ago. I had vowed then that Darien Jacobs would never hold anything but those emotions from me. The door swung open, a rusty squeak of the hinges announcing his arrival to the room. Both my father and Matthew Princeton nodded, acknowledging his presence and nothing more. And with a double take in my direction, and a few moments of quiet thought over my identity, a smug, tight smile slid over her handsome face and he dipped his head to me. I stared mutely in his direction, not even bothering to give him anything more than a blank expression in response. With the new person in the room, my father's conversation with Matthew Princeton hurried quite quickly, ending with the polite tip of a positive nature from Mr. Princeton's head, making me think that the meeting had gone well. Perhaps if I had been paying attention, I might have known for sure. We exited the store quickly, my father's polished, eloquent nature was gone in the blink of an eye. Cursing, foul words came angrily from his mouth and I once more was puzzled. I was almost positive Mr. Princeton had consented to help with the rebuilding of the stable. "Papa?" I asked quietly and his eyes shot towards me hastily, and I caught a few remaining glimpses of anger, only to have them dissipate as quickly as they came. My back tightened and I began to change the subject without bothering to think about it. "Wasn't that Darien Jacobs that entered Mr. Princeton's?" I asked, knowing fully well that it was indeed Darien. I had wanted to draw Papa away from the rage he was seething under, but I noticed my error immediately. I had struck upon the heart of this emotion, and his face became furiously purple at the mention of the man from the past. "Yes, and why he thinks anyone is going to take his business is quite beyond my comprehension." He muttered, sputtering over his words. I blinked incredulously. "Damn Yank...." My eyes widened in shock and horror, the thought of any southerner, born and raised in Atlanta as Darien was, could be what my father was accusing. "What? Papa, what are you saying?" I asked, hoping for any kind of clarity on the situation. Once more, we stopped among the patrons out in the street and he turned to face me, his face twisted in frustration and anger. "The whole damn Jacobs household is full of North sympathizers!" He bit out, flailing about wildly. I gasped, shaking my head. Papa nodded an affirmative, a grim look on his face. "Why they even freed their help months ago." "No...." I felt betrayed suddenly; all the war seemed like such a waste when even one Georgian was a turncoat, even if it was a waste of good flesh like Darien's family. They were still true blue Southerners, and had an obligation to their Confederacy. I couldn't begin to understand their logic. "I always thought those Jacob's were a bit crazy, but this confirms it...." He shook his head in defeat and resignation. "And I can tell you right now that any Southern man or woman worth his salt won't give him the time of day...." As if to punctuate my fathers words, the door to the wood shop slammed shut, and a taught, thin lipped Darien Jacobs stalked out onto the street, his confident demeanor from before diminished, right along with his slim chances of doing business in this town anytime soon. His quick stride reached us within seconds, but he brushed past us without a sideways glance and I followed his form with my head, my mind suddenly curious about this man I used to know fairly well, whether I had gotten along with him not even a consideration at the moment. I couldn't shake a fear, a fear of the future at the thought of someone turning traitor to the South. Who knew what atrocities could occur as a result of this war, when one was so willing to turn their back on their own people. ***** It was a good five days before my anger arose to the boiling point again. I was a hot headed youth, outspoken for my age and even more outspoken for my gender. I had thought of Darien and his wrongful family often after the event at the store, and it bothered me to no end however I didn't mention my befuddlement to anyone just yet. I wasn't even sure how to handle it myself, let alone how to explain it to another. But exactly five days after the fortuitous meeting in town, I had another encounter with my past. This one proved to be more startling and even more upsetting as I threw my caution to the wind during a routine trip to the fields, the slaves still hard at work. For the umpteenth time that week I shook my head at my conversation with my father, amazed at the audacity the Jacobs had for relieving their help and sending them packing, at the sight of my families own clan of slaves. And it was ironically at that point that I noticed another figure, standing tall and as white as the snow among the tan skin of the stooped over slaves. Clad in his best suit was Darien, chatting secretively with Jake, the biggest, loudest slave on our lot, who regularly lorded over each hired hand with an authority most blacks didn't possess. The others worked, oblivious to the conversation occurring right next to them and I felt my breath catch in my throat, the anger and rage bubbling within my body at the very sight. At the remembrance of my fathers harsh words on his family, I knew immediately that it was not under a consented visitation that he was here. It wouldn't have been hard to slip into the fields undetected, and Darien had done just that. I watched, my face contorting in anger with each shake of the two men's hands, each knowing smile exchanged. The blatant disrespect was blinding and I couldn't fight the feelings overcoming me, filling my every limb Ducking among the shade of our orchard not 50 feet to my right, I peered, unbeknownst to the men, watching in part fascination and part horror. I struggled to read the words that passed between them, but could only watch in ignorance as the two carried their conversation through an unknown language I couldn't decipher. Within a few moments, my heart leapt to my throat as an obvious good-bye was exchanged, and the taller, more eloquent man set out jauntily in my direction, shielding his eyes at the noonday sun, the glare impairing his vision, and making it possible for me to blind side him. So without giving the danger another thought, I hiked up my skirt and attacked him from the side. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing here?" I barked out, my voice and very presence catching him completely off guard. He blinked into the sun as his eyes adjusted to the new shade that had appeared in front of him. A few moments of recognition later, that same smug grin appeared, hidden behind an innocent mask of indifference. "Just paying a friendly visit...." He replied evenly, my view of his deceptive eyes blocked by his hand reverting the sun from his eye line. I thrust my hands on my hips and just continued to stare narrowly at him. He gave me a friendly smile. "I don't think you have any business paying "friendly" visits to our help while they're working. Or anytime, for that matter." I bit out, his even and calm temperament doing nothing to quell the furious emotions inside me. "What could you possibly have to talk about?" I asked, but started again before he even had the chance to reply. "I think it'd just be best if you stayed as far away from my family as you can possibly get. We don't like to be associated with traitors." I managed to finish my thought evenly, folding my arms as if to add weight to my words. Fully expecting a gentleman's reply in return, I was shocked when his eyes turned dark and serious, the murky orbs glaring evilly at me as he lowered his hand, too distracted to bother to shield his eyes any longer. "I may be a traitor to you and most of these close minded southerners that think so much of themselves and nothing of others, but I will always remain true to the human spirit." He stepped a few feet closer, his eyes never looking away from my own as his breathing became audible to my ears, his sincerity evident in his gaze. "I have done nothing to your family or your property. I was being honest when I said I was merely paying a friendly visit. I don't believe you have the right or the authority to accuse me of such things when you know nothing about me." "I know you're a turncoat to the Confederacy, and that's all I need to know. No Southern man, born under the hot Atlanta sun could, in his right mind, turn a deaf ear to his motherland." I spit out, choking on the words I uttered about the very man in front of me. He sneered and gave me a disgusted look. "I'd rather be a turncoat to the Southern Way, than a spoiled, rotten peach like yourself who hasn't worked a day in her life, let alone experienced earning her own keep." In a wild fit he thrust his arm backward, gesturing to the tens of slaves who continued to toil endlessly, whipped into an oblivious stupor by the high, beating sun. "Try working among the cotton fields, day after day, for an uncaring, unforgiving master, for a meager wage that hardly pays for the pain and scarring they suffer. Try being treated like less than an equal, less than a person!" He lowered his hands to his sides, his vigilant glare holding steady, despite my obvious resistance. "You and your family need to wake up and get your head out of the sand. The naturally selfish personalities constant in your line will get you nowhere, except poor, tired and despised." My eyes grew huge at his words, and I drew in a shaky, furious breath, soaking in his words, absorbing the phrases of pain and humiliation. The fights and arguments from our childhood had not dissolved like they should have, the years away from each other's hating glares had not stamped out the burning feelings that had consumed us for so long. After what seemed like forever, I drew back and my slap rung out, long and shrill, like the crack of a whip on a lazy back. I relished the sight of his neck swiveling in submission, his eyes shutting in shock and surprise. I stood for seconds once the sound ended, and his face returned to it's original position, his eyes a mixture of pain and anguish and utter confusion, all held together with amounts of rage. For moments on end our eye line held, the tension and intensity crackling between, keeping the air thick and heavy, making it hard to breath. Fire and passion hung far above our heads, waiting like an anvil to drop, weighty and solid, taking us off guard. My chest heaved in and out at the sharp breaths I took in and my heart began to throb under the pressure. The glare was piercing, as if he was trying to read my mind. My body fell unknowingly into a sense of vulnerability under the pressure, my arms shaking, my mind whirling. The adrenaline was awe inspiring, rushing through my veins at record speeds. The anger made my head light; I felt heady and confident. And then he kissed me. **************************************** slr_europa@yahoo.com http://www.geocities.com/slr_europa/ AIM :: ropachan