fateandfortune | Dark Portents [for Rogue]

Dark Portents [for Rogue]

The rain was pounding down, and Meri refused to go any faster than a walk, not that Steve blamed her in the slightest; even the paved roads were getting treacherous, water slicking the stone and mud in unexpected places making it even more dangerous for a misplaced hoof to slip in. He dismounted the horse and led her the last mile up the hill, where the innkeeper had told him he might be able to find shelter at the local manor. Unfortunately, due to the poor traveling conditions, the inn was already completely full, but he'd been told the lady of the manor often took in travelers for a fee, and he should have no problem securing a place to stay.

It seemed a little odd to Steve, how forthcoming the innkeeper had been about the manor taking in guests; wouldn't it be bad business to let others know about the affair? But then, there was no room at the inn anyway, so why not explain it - the innkeeper wouldn't be getting his business at the moment one way or the other.

Passing through the wrought iron gates to the property, Steve saw that, like many of the old-world estates he'd seen during the War, it had the name spelled out in Gothic lettering: Ravencroft. Despite what the South had fought for, Steve was glad to see, after so much devastation, that some of the old estates and towns had gotten by unscathed - architecturally, at least. He was sure there was no one, Union or Confederate, who had gotten by entirely unchanged by the battles. But at least there were still places where one could remember that it hadn't always been just blood and death.

Reaching the manor proper, Steve tied Meri's reins to a hitching post nearby, gave her nose a rub to let her know he'd return for her, one way or another, and headed to the door. It had an ornate silver knocker, and he firmly knocked several times, pulling the brim of his hat down a little more snugly over his head, trying to keep the rain out of his eyes a little more. It was no use; it was coming at a downpour, and he was already thoroughly soaked.

It didn't look like it would be letting up any time soon, either, which disheartened Steve; he'd really hoped to be able to make it to Houston within the week, but every second not spent riding meant a considerable delay.

There was a brilliant flash of lightning from behind him, with thunder almost simultaneously, and Meri startled, rearing up and whinnying, making Steve turn to ensure she didn't hurt herself.

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Being southern, Marie couldn't stand to have tea without sugar, though she always took her coffee black. It was something her husband had teased her over endlessly, along with her absolute love of chocolate, and as always, each and every reminder of him made her ache. It was almost a blessing, really, that he had never set foot in this house - there were no memories of him within those walls to haunt her.

The storm seemed to be getting worse, which wasn't the best sign since it had already been going strong for hours. "It's hard to say," she told him, her own voice calm and accepting. She'd lived in the south her entire life, after all. "Sometimes they only last a day or two, but if it's a bad one, it could be weeks." Sighing, she took a sip of her tea. "You're welcome to stay here until it's safe to continue on your travels."

Steve's shoulders sagged. He was used to Nor'easter storms, but while they could be fierce, they usually blew through in a few days, at most. Weeks was not something he'd been expecting from this, and he worried about his timetable, as well as his obligations back home.

Thinking it through, he realized with a storm, there would also be no post. He couldn't even write to Bucky to tell him he'd been delayed.

Taking another sip of tea, Steve bit his lip, glancing back again at the shuttered windows. "I do appreciate that madam-- Marie," he corrected himself. "I'm not questioning your hospitality, for you've already proved it is beyond reproach. I'm meant to be getting to Texas. The man I'm meeting is busy and prone to moving frequently. I was assured he would be there for at least another month - but a delay like this..." He glanced down into his teacup, spotting a few loose leaves that had settled to the bottom. He wondered what a tea leaf reader would see in the strange configurations. Good, or bad omens ahead?

"Then I hope for your sake that the storm passes quickly," she said softly, sympathizing with the urgent need to accomplish something and being stuck in one place. She didn't want to pry into who he was meeting and why, but she could plainly see that it was important to him, whatever it was that he was doing.

Marie was about to say something else when there was a sudden crash from a room at the opposite side of the front hall, the breaking of glass and the clanging of shutters reminding her that she'd forgotten to secure the last of the windows in the library with the sudden arrival of her lodger.

"Blast!" was her quiet exclamation as she hurriedly set down her cup of tea, the liquid sloshing over the side and onto the saucer as she stood and rushed across the house, gloved hands lifting her skirts so she could move more quickly.

It was the window over the desk that had broken, one of the bottom panes laying in pieces across the gleaming wood of the open secretary portion. No, no, no. She was idiot, she told herself as she swept the glass aside and slammed the desk shut before shoving it to the side with all the strength she could muster. There were important things inside that she could not lose, and already she was feeling a slight panic that they'd been ruined.

As the desk was moved, the rain pouring through the window (now practically falling sideways) pooled along the floor, soaking into her already wet skirts. Thank goodness the window was far enough away from the shelves that the rather large collection of books was safe for now.

At the crash and sound of breaking glass, Steve was no better than Marie, his hands tightening on his cup so hard he would have been surprised it hadn't shattered - if his mind were noticing things like that at the moment. Hastily setting his own cup down, he followed on Marie's heels into what seemed to be a study. Before he even had a chance to offer his help, she'd single-handedly shoved the large desk away from the window and rain pouring inside.

Before she could get the idea in her head to try and pull the shutters with all that broken glass around, Steve moved over to the windows himself. Having stood by the fire for the last several minutes, his clothes were merely damp, but by no means dry yet, and he thought at least one of them should stay that way. The rain pelted him from nearly the chest down, and he was reminded he was only wearing his undershirt, even as he opened the window, letting in even more rain, to reach the shutter.

Marie hadn't even noticed Steve following her into the room, her focus had been so entirely on solving the problem at hand. When she turned to find him at the window, opening it to pull the shutters in, she was surprised, grateful, and irritated. She was perfectly capable of handling all of this herself, but she wasn't going to tell him off for trying to help. Yet.

Instead, she moved to his side, ignoring the rain that now drenched the bodice of her dress as well as her sleeves and gloves, to reach out for the opposite shutter. The windows were large enough that he wouldn't be able to get both in one try, and the wind was tossing them about so much that it took two tries to finally grasp the handle.

Having to struggle as he did with the windows and shutter, Steve didn't really have the breath to sigh in exasperation when he saw Marie move up beside him, getting thoroughly drenched in the rain as she helped cover the windows; but oh, how he wanted to. But there was a time and a place, and right now he kept himself focused on the task at hand, finally giving an almighty heave to pull the shutter in against the wind.

He was out of breath when he finished, more from the wind pulling air from his lungs than the actual exertion. He watched as Marie finished securing her side; she was too far along that even offering to help would have done any good, and she stood in the way of him reaching over and helping without informing her of it first.

Headstrong women. Steve shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Why did he keep running into headstrong women?

Because headstrong women were the ones who got things done in life, of course. A man should count himself lucky to have met more than one of them in a lifetime, with the way society seemed to so frown upon any female who had ideas of her own.

Marie took a moment to catch her breath, her heart racing in her chest as she leaned against the wall next to the window, before righting herself and turning to check on the desk. She lowered the table portion, her determined expression crumbling into dismay at the sight of the contents. Everything had gotten at least a little wet, and she could see the edges of papers already wilting in the damp. The deed to the property, her bank documents, military papers -- all of them were important, but none so much as the stack of letters she lifted carefully from one of the cubbies.

Touching only the edges that were already wet, she carried them over to one of the armchairs, setting the stack down before peeling her dripping gloves off to reveal thin, pale hands. "Thank you for your help, Mister Rogers," she said almost absently over her shoulder, her southern manners taking hold and automatically referring to him formally in her distraction as she began to carefully remove the letters from their small envelopes, spreading out the pages so they could dry. "If you'll allow me just a moment, I'll get those dry clothes for you."

Steve had been the recipient of knowing a minimum of three headstrong women in his life, with Marie now becoming the fourth; his mother, his surrogate sister Annie, and Peggy, who defied all definitions one could give her in relation to him. He wasn't sure if he was blessed with their presence in his life, or cursed; but they certainly made life interesting, that was a certainty.

Steve watched Marie's careful movements, and although he couldn't see her expression very clearly, he could tell that whatever the papers were, they meant a great deal. Despite the grave situation, he rolled his eyes in exasperation at her soft, dismissive words; it was clear she was hardly had him on her mind at the moment.

Leaning forward, he reached a hand out toward the papers, and her own now-bare hands; he didn't mean to touch either skin or paper, but merely offering his help as he said softly, "They'll dry better near the hearth, in the sitting room."

Marie didn't notice when he moved closed, didn't realize how close he was until his hand came into her field of vision and she heard that soft voice that did nothing to deter the way she jerked back, her hands automatically going to her skirt where she could hide them in the folds of fabric. She took a deep, shaking breath before getting hold of herself and nodding.

"You're right, of course," she said with a nod, trying to brush aside her odd reaction as if it were nothing strange at all. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd greatly appreciate..." But she let the words trail off, because asking him for even more help than he'd already provided? No, she couldn't do that.

Biting her lower lip, she reached forward again to carefully pick up the damp pieces of paper, their folded lines so worn that some of them looked close to falling apart, despite not being more than a few years old. "They're letters from my husband," she explained quietly, in case he should look and catch some of the writing. "From during the war." From when he'd been between battles, and when he'd been dying in the hospital and she'd been unable to get to him. He'd written pages and pages of all the things he'd meant to say, the things he'd wanted her to know and carry with her in the years ahead. She'd read them so many times that she practically had them memorized, but they were one of the few connections she still had to the man she'd loved with her whole heart. She couldn't let anything happen to them.

"I'm sorry," was all Steve could think to say, no matter how trite it sounded. "If I can help--" his hands hovered anxiously in front of him, wanting to help, but not wanting to intrude without her permission. He felt rather useless at the moment though, and could tell she was upset. "Please," finally implored softly, and sincerely, "let me help."

Marie was quiet for a moment, her eyes fixed on the pages in her hands before she moved her gaze to the desk. "There are other papers in the desk," she finally said softly, looking up at him with a hesitant expression. "Important things I can't risk ruining. Could you please bring them to the sitting room so they can dry as well?"

She'd considered asking him to help with the letters, but... they were just too precious to her. She couldn't let anyone else handle them, but she could greatly use his help with salvaging the rest of her things.

Steve nodded quickly, giving a soft response of, "Of course," before moving over to the desk and carefully gathering up the papers, ranging from mildly damp to sodden. He didn't see any smudges to the ink, for which he was thankful for Marie's sake.

He followed Marie into the sitting room, carefully laying the papers out along the hearth, pressing them flat, as close to the grate as he dared without getting close enough that a stray ember might pop and alight on them. They were too wet to catch fire, but they might smolder a bit if it happened, and damage some of the writing.

She did much the same, carefully spreading out the letters on every surface she could find that was within reach of the warmth of the fire. Some of the ink was beginning to blur, but it looked like they wouldn't be too badly damaged in the end. She knew every word by heart, but she couldn't bear to lose them.

"Thank you," she murmured finally, straightening up and wiping her damp hands on her damp skirt. It was, of course, completely ineffective and more of a nervous gesture than anything else. "Well, now that you've been completely soaked through again, why don't I show you to a room and find that change of clothing?"

Steve glanced down at his undershirt - now practically transparent and plastered to his chest, and his sodden pants. He quirked a smile at her. "That would be much appreciated, thank you so much." He went over and gathered his pack, which felt about fifteen pounds heavier after being thoroughly drenched all this time. Everything inside must be wet as well; he'd have to lay it all out and let things dry overnight, and hopefully by morning he wouldn't have to borrow more clothes from Marie.

Marie nodded and gave her guest a smile, waiting for him to retrieve his pack before leading the way back out to the foyer. It was quite dark in the house now, thanks to the storm outside and the shuttered windows, so she paused to light a few of the candles on the waiting candelabra on a side table before continuing up the grand staircase to the second floor. Many of the doors in the hall were closed. It was seemingly random which one she chose to open, but really it was room she'd been working to clean just that morning.

A sheet was draped over the bed and small chest of drawers, and she set the candelabra down on a side table before quickly removing the sheets to reveal dark wood and a bare mattress. "I'll fetch some linens as well," she assured him, "and wood for a fire." The room wasn't lavishly decorated, but it did at least have a fireplace, which spoke to the wealth that had been poured into the building's design. He would certainly need the extra warmth that evening, with the chilled evenings rolling in with the storm.

Steve couldn't help but look around the house with wide-eyed amazement as he followed behind his hostess. Of course, looking at the estate from the outside had told him it was for a wealthy family, but he'd never actually been inside a house like this. He'd been lucky to live in one of the immigrant slums growing up, instead of out on the street, but he'd certainly never imagined stepping into a place such as this.

Entering the room, Steve took a quick measure of the place, still in awe. But after a long day's ride, and having to weather the storm, he was beginning to feel the wear on his body. He nodded to Marie. "I appreciate it. I'm beginning to feel as though I could sleep on the floor with no trouble. But a tidy bed and dry clothes are well worth a little wait."

Marie gave him a smile and a nod, quickly lighting the small oil lamp on the bedside table so she could take the candelabra with her. "I'll return shortly," she informed him before leaving the room, moving quickly down the hall to the cupboard where the clean linens and spare pillows were kept. It was near her own room since she was the only full-time resident of the estate, and she slipped inside to retrieve a stack of Remy's clothing, everything Steve might need for that night and the next day, all of it clean and in good condition.

It was easiest to pick up her own pale of firewood to carry back down the hall, and it was quite a balancing act with the pile of fabric in her arms. Returning to her guest, she breezed into the room with purpose, setting the clothing and linens down on the edge of the bed so she could first see to the fire. It wouldn't do for him to catch a chill.

"This should see you through for the time being," she told him as she knelt beside the fireplace and moved the grating aside.

While she was gone, Steve began the rather onerous task of pulling out his wet belongings from the napsack. As he'd suspected, everything but what was in the very middle had been drenched. One pair of pants seemed to be only somewhat damp, so he laid those over a chair by the bed for morning. His correspondence with Dr. Erskine, however, had been stored along the outside of the pack near the top, so that he could easily reach it should he need a reminder of dates and places.

"Dammit," he swore under his breath, holding the paper gingerly, trying not to make the ink run any more than it had already. He could still read it where it had soaked into the paper, but it was faint. He'd have to write it out again before it became illegible.

Glancing over as Marie reappeared with his provisions, he bit his lip for a moment. "I can do that," he told her. "Actually... might I borrow something to write with?" He moved the paper minutely, unable to keep from staring as a drop of inky water fell from the corner. "It seems some of my own correspondence has been damaged, and I need some of this information for my travels. I'm... so sorry for the inconvenience."

Marie took a glance at the condition of the paper before quickly shaking her head. "It's no inconvenience at all," she assured him, moving back to the pile of linens and pulling out a thick drying cloth and laying it on the chest of drawers. "Here, set it atop this and keep it level so it doesn't drip and smear further. I have some things in my room down the hall, I'll be just a moment."

She didn't wait to see if he followed her instructions, gathering her skirt in one hand so she could move faster down the dark hall, following memory alone since she'd left the candles behind. It was easy to locate the ink, pen, and paper, all of them settled in the small desk she had put in the corner of the room. Usually, she would write anything needed downstairs in the library, but every so often she preferred to stay upstairs. She was grateful for that tendency now.

Barely two minutes had passed before she returned to her guest, slightly out of breath but with supplies in hand. "Here you are."

With relief, Steve did as instructed, placing the paper gingerly on the drying cloth. He hovered for a moment, debating if he should try to blot some of the water off, but quickly decided against it, not wanting to smear it any further.

Moving over to the linens she'd brought, he'd just started to shake them out when Marie returned. "Oh, thank you so much. I do apologize, again." Shoulders slumping a little, he gave her a small smile. "Tonight has not gone well for us, has it?"

Returning the smile with one of her own, she shrugged slightly. "It could have been much worse." He might not have made it there at all, and instead been stuck out in the storm.

She set the supplies down beside the letter he needed to copy before reaching for the linens. "You see to that, and I'll prepare the bed for you. No arguing."

Steve opened his mouth - then sucked in a breath and shut it. It was Marie's - well, everything, her house, her linens and bed, even if she was allowing him to use them - if she wanted to do the work, he knew better than to argue when a lady said not to. Especially in that fashion.

Kneeling by the chest, Steve quickly copied down the dates and times he needed, before they became completely illegible, before starting to copy as much of the actual letters as he could. There were several spots he had to guess at, but he was fairly confident he was getting the gist of them, if nothing else, and wasn't missing any vital information.

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Dark Portents [for Rogue]

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