Jeanne Gardner didn't fit in with London or her uncle's zealous and prude household, but the prospect across the sea in the New World with new challenges awaited her in Jamestown. She was born to English and Scottish, knowing no two people were alik...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was mid-morning when Jeanne and Verity had made their way to the graveyard outside the town walls, both women morning over the fact that they had failed to save the young Nathan Bailey's life. Jeanne had picked from wildflowers early that same morning to place at his grave.
"You think he would have liked them?" Verity asked, her arms crossed as she stared down at the fresh dirt mound. "Men are always so odd when it comes to flowers. Too feminine."
Jeanne smirked. The Scot was kneeling by the grave marker, arranging the flowers to make them more presentable. "Two beautiful women doting over his grave with gifts." She glanced up at her friend. "He would have loved it." As she stood, she wiped her hands down her skirts, brushing off any dirt that had been staining the fabric. "My uncle isn't happy with Redwick, but with Bailey's death, we have no witnesses or proof that the Marshall was planning a coupe."
"The slimy git." Verity spat, making Jeanne laugh. While that one moment had been humorous, they continued to stand beside one another, staring down at the dirt that buried the body of the young, misled Militia.
"The boys dead, Verity." Meredith Rutter spoke, approaching the two women and interrupting their grieving. "The cause of it is...the cause of all our ills...is them in charge..." He rambled on, unaware of the harsh glare that Jeanne was sending him. Jeanne blamed Redwick for it, as her uncle tried to end the matter peacefully. Jeanne believed that had she been more aware, more prepared, she could have shot the rifle from the Marshall's grip before he could shoot his man in the back as he had. "Just leave it be. Huh? and um...I'm ready for my breakfast." He begged her to return to the tavern with him.
"Come on..." Jeanne sighed, putting an arm around her friend in comfort as she led her back towards the town gates. The Scot noticed Farlow approaching them, only for the man to pause and toss his cane down by Verity's feet.
"Pick it up," Farlow ordered, glancing between his cane and the Irish woman, staring at him like a pompous fool. "You see it there. It pleases me that you should pick it up."
"Farlow..." Jeanne warned as her grip around her friend's middle tightened in a protective manner. Choosing to ignore Jeanne, Verity bent down and picked up the well-crafted wood, holding it out to Farlow by the handle.
"Obedience delayed is as insolent as defiance," Farlow seethes, not impressed with how long it took the woman to adhere to his order. "I will let it pass...this time." He strutted past the two women, Verity offering him a curtsy as he went. But to Jeanne, it wasn't good enough. Jeanne sought after the Secretary, stalking him down with fevered steps as she left her friend behind, unaware of the chaos her Irish friend was planning.
"Farlow!" Jeanne screeched, quickly catching up with the man as she began to walk beside him. He offered her a morning greeting as if he hadn't acted an entitled ass to her friend. "Don't 'good morning' me, why were you so rude?"
