Chapter 4

Wendy would never have thought not moving would be so tiring. Or painful.

The wagon creaked to a stop, the tomboy's "whoa!" heard by the two women in the wagon. Wendy shot a hand out, bracing herself as one final jolt rocked her back and forth. She had never traveled by wagon before, or on anything with wheels. She had always thought, looking on such devices as she trudged through mud and dirt, they were magical, comfortable conveyances.

No.

For one, it was boring. Walking, you had the changing view, the challenge of not stepping in a hole and breaking a leg, tripping over a rock, and other interesting hazards. Riding ... well, they had tried, briefly, to get some sewing done. Fabric for a handful of outfits for her had been bought, at a fair price, too, but it had proved to be impossible to keep the needle still enough for the work needed. It would have to wait until evening, in the poor firelight.

Her current outfit was looking more and more like a long term fashion statement.

"We're here!"

The tomboy's cry came as the wagon rocked from those in front dismounting. Wendy looked over at Polly. The older teen leaned back, stretching her back muscles. Wendy could hear the cracking.

"That's not very lady like."

The two swung around to see Samantha's scruffy head sticking in through the back flap of the wagon. Polly just gave a disgusted laugh at her sister.

"So, like you, then."

"Oh, I didn't say I had a problem with it!" Her eyes swung around to Wendy. The witch wasn't sure what to make of this girl yet. Her first thought, to basically ignore her, or treat her like a kid, most likely was not the best idea. "Dad and I have the whole camp routine down, so you can probably help sis. Either that, or gather wood."

"I'll help Polly."

"She needs it."

The face vanished. The long curly haired beauty just sighed to Wendy.

"It's so good to have ... well, a real female with us now. And to think, she used to actually be a girl."

"People change." Wendy climbed out of the back of the wagon. No one was there to help, which miffed her a bit. Sure, she didn't NEED help, but Polly ... As Wendy's feet hit the ground, Jack was there to raise a hand to help the pregnant woman. His eyes ignored Wendy. Oh, this was going to change. He was hers, and he would treat his Mistress with respect.

Wendy blinked.

Wait ... what was she doing? She looked at Jack again. He ... he wasn't a possession. She shook her head, trying to clear it. Something...

Polly's warm hand took hers. Losing her train of thought, Wendy looked up at the woman.

"Come on. The sooner we get the fire and dinner going, the more we can work on your dress in sunlight."

They weren't in a town. It took her a moment to understand that. The wagon was now in a small clearing, a circle of pine and oak trees surrounding them. Behind the wagon she could see the ruts leading back, she assumed, to the road they had been following. It was obvious this campground was in regular use, although maybe not THAT regular. The other ruts weren't that recent.

Great. Back to sleeping like some poor farmer. It might be a grand adventure to those who lived in the city, as these three had, but for her it was just life. Well, at least she had enjoyed one night in a bed under warm blankets.

Gary came around the wagon. He looked ... well, at home. Here, surrounded by nature, his stance seemed different. More confident. Shoulders straight, head high. The village had seemed, somehow, unnatural for him. He nodded to Wendy, smile just on the line between playful and mocking. His eyes showed which side he intended it to fall on, her dark cheeks warming a bit in response.

"The trip wasn't too bumpy, I hope."

"It was," Polly interrupted, reaching back into the wagon. "I'm in a delicate condition, I'll have you know."

Gary's eyes seemed to harden for a moment. Wendy found herself subtly moving between the two, hand going to a posterior that, really, didn't hurt.

"I'm the one not used to this. My bum hurts."

He laughed, eyes returning to her, flicking down to examine her butt encased in his old pants before returning to her face. The gaze he shot his eldest daughter now had none of its previous ire.

"I suppose there would be outrage if I offered any suggestions on how to ease that pain."

"Not from me," Polly scoffed. "Far be it for me to stand in the way of you being slapped by our guest." A longbow, unstrung, appeared in her hands. She tossed it towards him, followed by a leather bag and a bundle of straight sticks. Gary caught them easily, grinning. "Here. Go make some arrows, so you can make yourself useful."

"Thank you, my lady. And you, too, Lady Wendy." He bowed to her, turned, and vanished. Wendy suddenly had a wicker basket thrust into her hands.

"Here. Let's go get the fire started."

Jack broke through the tree line and approached the fire circle with his first load of wood. It was mostly kindling, naturally. He had found a good supply, surprisingly dry in the lee of a large rock. Larger branches and such would most likely be wetter from the day before, at least on the top half, but there was nothing to be done for it. Fire would dry them out. As he walked, he did a quick scan of the others. Sam was watering and tending the horses, having unharnessed the two and led them away a bit. Why his eye had first gone to her, he couldn't have said. The darker of the two brown beasts butted his head into her chest, drawing a laugh that was like music. Jack wondered if she could sing...

Gary sat on a log, fletching some arrows. Jack spent an extra moment watching those long hands wrapping the twine, or whatever he was using, around the feathers on the end of the shaft. There was a twinge in his fingers. Had Jack done that before? He tried to think. He ... had no memory of making arrows, but he now knew that meant nothing. He might have to try his hand at it at some point, see if his hands remembered things his mind had forgotten.

Approaching the fire, he saw Polly already had a small flame going with some tinder they had brought in the wagon. Wendy just sat there, looking useless. He saw a small flint and steel set on ground near Polly's hand. What, Wendy hadn't called him over so she could use him to conjure a flame? Hadn't used him like...

The stab of pain in his head forced an inaudible grunt from him. Disgusted at himself, at the whole situation, he dropped the wood a foot from Wendy. She almost jumped, giving him some satisfaction. Turning, feeling both girl's eyes on him, he went back for more.

"I've been making meals for those two for almost as long as I can remember."

Polly looked over at Wendy, knife in her hand deftly peeling a carrot as she regarded the dark skinned girl. Wendy's hands seemed as familiar around a knife, snipping the ends off of long curly green beans before cutting them in pieces. Seeing her nod for Polly to go on, she looked back down at her own handiwork.

"Mom ... well, she worked. Did washing, watched children, whatever other families were willing to pay for. Dad, as a soldier, didn't bring in much. Not as much as Mom thought we needed. She, well, wanted us to have it all. And was willing to do what it took. My first memories are of of being in the kitchen, helping her make the evening meal so she could have more time to get some sewing in. When ... well, when we lost her, I was able to step in everywhere except Dad's bed, and he had no problem finding others for that job."

There was a bit of hurt in her voice. That girlish fantasy, of becoming her mother in all ways, was still there. She wasn't proud of it, nor the hurt every time her father was with another woman. After all, the very idea of sharing your father's bed was so wrong...

"My mother sort of, well, forced me to help." Wendy's voice definitely held some resentment. She didn't meet Polly's gaze. "She was a lazy woman. Big, slovenly. As soon as I could use a knife she had me taking over, making food for them and my brothers. Dad didn't care, as frankly my cooking was actually edible. I slaved over the stove, while she ... was elsewhere." Picking up the next bean, Wendy proceeded to snap the end off instead of using the knife. The sound was like a small bone breaking. Polly paused, putting the knife and carrot in her lap.

"Did you..."

"I just didn't come home one day."

Polly nodded. Picking up the carrot again, she began cutting it into the pot.

Gary looked up from his plate, smiling. Wendy was regarding him warily, food as yet untouched. His smile turned into a grin.

"It's very good. Especially the beans."

Wendy looked down into her food, smiling as she began to eat. He caught Polly looking first at her, then over the fire at him. Gary shrugged.

"Hey, it is good. I'm not going to lie to the girl about something as important as my evening meal."

"Yeah, it is good," Sam added, mouth full. She chewed for a moment, then swallowed. "Needs meat, though."

"That's not my problem," Polly said. Gary grinned.

"Too true." He looked past them into the darkening woods. "I don't think there's much game to be found around here, but I set a couple small snares. We may have rabbit for tomorrow's breakfast, with enough left for dinner. In a day or two we'll set up camp and I'll go hunting."

"Can I come with you?" Sam spoke again with her mouth full.

"We still don't have a bow for you. We'll see." Hoping that settled that for now, he dug back into the stew. It did need meat...

The voice coming from Sam was soft, yet strong. Jack leaned forward, entranced. The song was an old one, known at least to him if not Wendy. He knew he had heard it around evening fires like this, from traveling bards. Maybe it was even one of his mother's songs from childhood. Who could say. From then on, though, the song in his mind would belong to Sam. Her voice held the melody perfectly, needing no music, her body seeming to rock and sway as if lost in the song. Again, and again, he found his eyes drawn to her lips. They seemed to glisten in the firelight.

He would walk along side the wagon forever, if this awaited him each night.

Jack moved slowly among the trees. He needn't travel too far, most likely, before stopping to do his nightly duty. They would be gone in the morning, so it mattered not which tree or bush he watered. So long as he had some privacy, all was good.

And, it was good to be alone for a bit. He wasn't a solitary person ... at least, he didn't think so. Maybe he was. Which ever, for all he (mostly) enjoyed the company of the others, this was nice too. Just him, the night, the tree before him...

"Jack."

Wendy's voice came from behind. He debated, hands in the act of unbuttoning his fly and releasing his member. She spoke his name again, a harder edge showing itself in her voice. Releasing the fastener, he turned.

She was still in that tied off, oversized shirt and large man's pants. Sam looked good in trousers. Wendy, not so much. The distant fire seemed to highlight her red hair from behind, putting much of the rest of her in shadow, expression hidden. He waited.

"Jack ... come here."

He considered the matter. What she had done last night was unthinkable. He was not sure, exactly, WHAT it had been, but it seemed as close to rape as he could imagine. A woman who is unconscious as she is defiled is no less defiled. Jack wanted nothing to do with this creature. Figuring inaction was safe, he stood his ground.

"Come. Here."

Jack's mind exploded in pain. It was like needles, jabbing from every side. He winced, raising a foot to stagger forward.

The pain stopped.

Stunned, he froze, foot still in the air. The pain returned. His foot fell to the ground in the direction of Wendy ... and the pain vanished again.

Oh. Fuck.

With gritted teeth, pain gone but the memory still burning through his nerves, Jack slowly walked towards her. He tried not to think. Thinking the thoughts he knew wanted to race through his mind would bring back the pain. Slowly the details of her face formed out of the darkness.