Academicians on both the eastern and western continents argue that queen Julia Ellen more likely than not actually existed, she matriarch of Old Norecomb Farm it the center of the culture called The Old North, though no one yet dares more than a speculative guess as to exactly where the Old North was. Some even argue that there is no conclusive evidence that the Old North was situate on the western, or "American" continents. Extant literature generally believed to date from the Old North makes reference to "a Roman" civilization believed to have existed on the eastern continents, though most academicians will draw no definitive conclusions from casual references of the sort. Literature from the Old North believed to be speculation regarding civilizations which existed long before queen Julia Ellen's times make reference to an "Arthur" and to obviously fanciful voyages to the moon as examples of an historical confusion which has existed in every culture and civilization, the problem exacerbated by "dark" periods or ages between a civilization and its predecessors.

Although the civilization of the Old North was short lived, annihilating itself little more than a generation or two after it had built its first airplane, no one doubts that today's Norecomb Town, a minor provincial capital situate along the banks of the St. Lawrence, was founded by direct descendants of a people who revered Julia Ellen as their preeminent queen. The Kilenish spoken on Old Norecomb Farm in Julia Ellen's times would be understandable today anywhere along the banks of the St. Lawrence. Linguists in some of London’s most prestigious academies find similarities between High Kilenish as it's spoken today by any handmaid in the imperial palace and the Kilenish of antiquity, though proceeding further into antiquity, it's believed that "English" was spoken on both the eastern and western continents ...

Jenn Anry of Soutell Farm sat on a small knoll leafing through a book she'd borrowed from Miss Julina, Soutell's Miss Julina having shrugged her usual idle though fond amusement for another of her favorite handmaid's eccentricities. Jenn had by and large taught herself to read, Soutell Farm's Miss Julina still on occasion shrugging an amused, musing "why?" Jenn, nineteen, a common resident her family hoping for an eventual grant of permanent resident status on the lists, hadn't, she supposed, any real idea why. Reading was something to do, a moment's wondering intrigue in the midst of boredom or tedium.

"Oh honestly, miss Jenn Anne, you are such an incredibly bizarre little creature," Soutell Farm's Lady sighed on frequent occasion.

"Yes, of course, Miss Julina," Jenn answered in sighing amusement, standing at her mistress' closet waiting for a mistress lounging in sighing boredom on her bed to make up her mind.

"I intend, miss Jenn Anne, to banish you the instant I have a free moment."

"Of course you do, Miss Julina," Jenn invariably chuckled, lifting a dress from the closet's racks when Soutell Farm's Lady appeared no closer to a decision than she had ten minutes before.

"Oh Jenn, not that one. Why on earth would you think I would want that one?"

"Because I'm a bizarre little creature, I suppose."

"You're a little smart ass, miss Jenn Anne, that's what you are. I'm holding court this morning, hanging you by noon."

"Yes, of course, Miss Julina," Jenn chuckled, glancing again toward the dress she'd chosen, again toward her mistress sprawled on the bed. "Miss Julina, you're exquisitely beautiful wearing this dress. Oh Miss Julina, you can't attend your tea wearing anything else today," Jenn chuckling in idle amusement for a twenty year old mistress now squirming on her bed luxuriating in her vanity. She and Julina Soutell traded for another idle instant, however, an amused glance devoid of pretense, Jenn standing at the closet immersed in the same wonder for it, would never entirely become accustomed to it. Past mistresses had been anything from nuisances to objects of loathing hatred. Jenn might as little as a year ago have thought it all incredibly bizarre - she a commons girl gazing blatant curiosity toward a Lady and a mistress noticing that that mistress was indeed radiantly beautiful, and she caring in the least. It was for Jenn in that same instant another immersion in pleasant, wondering intrigue. A Lady mistress aimed a glance of blatant curiosity toward her, she pretty enough, she supposed, though certainly not the radiant, dazzling beauty her mistress was. And yet she was something more - and a Lady mistress glaring pouting, seething envy, Jenn admitting her form indeed some mature, hourglass ideal toward which another woman might indeed glare pouting, seething envy. And yet - Julina Soutell was a titled Lady - and glared pouting, seething envy toward a commons girl who just a year ago had stood at the gates of Soutell Farm owning nothing more than the clothing she wore. And with that, Jenn stood another timeless moment immersed in finished wonder for circumstances she might a year ago have thought impossibly bizarre. She and Julina Soutell had, any number of times over the past year, dismissed every last pretense between the two them. Jenn threatening to leave after some angry bickering between herself and her mistress, a Lady had stood before her with frantic, emotional pleading in her eyes - and Jenn had crushed a friend into her arms, buried her lips to a friend's cheeks in frantic passion, hadn't for more than a brief and fleeting moment stopped to consider that she stood in an embrace of frantic reconciliation with a titled Lady titles for a timeless little eternity absolutely meaningless to the two of them.

"All right, that one," Julina Soutell finally sighed, glaring another instant's seething envy toward Jenn's breasts, aiming a glance of boredom toward the dress Jenn held, Julina a few minutes later sighing another moment's boredom as she sat at the dressing table Jenn dividing her attention between her mistress's hair and a book laying open on the table.

"Ver -" and Jenn gazed from the book toward nothing more than mild annoyance in her Lady's eyes.

"Ver - veracita - I think," Julina shrugged.

"Veracita - old Kilenish, I think. Veracita - that probably means -"

"Yes - probably-" Soutell's Lady agreed, Jenn chuckling mischievous amusement, focusing her attention back toward her mistress's long, sand blonde hair, toying with the brush in musing wonder as she gazed toward a titled Lady exquisitely beautiful indeed. Julina Soutell, however, hadn't been a great deal of help to a nineteen year old washer girl attempting to decipher the meaning of new words in quite some time now. Jenn gazed the same curious amusement toward her exceptionally beautiful mistress wondering why. Julina Soutell, Jenn somehow perceived though never quite certain how she did so, wasn't unintelligent. She was, in fact, Jenn decided, the essence of perceptive brilliance when she wanted to be, Soutell Farm's several hundred common and retained residents attempting prevarication or deception toward their twenty year old mistress only at their grave peril. Waiting now and then at her mistress's shoulder in the residence's dining chamber during one of the teas Norecomb country's titled Gentlemen and Ladies spent their time arranging and attending, Jenn had on frequent occasion found herself gazing toward Soutell Farm's Lady in awed fascination, Soutell's Gentleman and a dozen other Gentlemen and Ladies from neighboring estates and farms seeming anything from dull to imbecilic discussing academic trivia. And still, as soon as the tea was over, Julina, to Jenn's never ending amusement, would flop down in her apartments sighing endless groans of boredom, Soutell's titled Lady not in the least concerned that a nineteen year old commons girl reading correspondence addressed to Soutell Farm's Lady paraphrased when that commons girl detected just the subtle hint of confusion in her mistress's features.

"Oh - you little smart ass - I did too understand it," Soutell's mistress might grown on occasion noticing just an edge of mischief in Jenn's features

"Of course you did."

"I understood every word."

"I haven't a doubt, Miss Julina."

"You needn't have interpreted."

"Of course not."

"I hate you."

And as usual of late, Jenn had simply chuckled easy amusement for pouting annoyance in a beautiful young Lady's features, would after relishing her mistress's pout another moment or two press a reconciling kiss to that mistress's cheeks.

"I hate you," Julina Soutell might repeat, though her pout now eminently unconvincing. She might on occasion give up entirely, might dart a flash of her eyes upward every pretense abandoned. "I hate you," she might protest even then, and break into a chuckle of mirthful amusement for the same in a waiting maid's eyes. And those were moments every bit as awakening for Jenn. She a transient girl all her life her family seldom settled in one place for any length of time, Jenn had gazed anything from shrugging apathy to angry loathing toward past Lady mistresses, preferred working at her mother's and her sister's side at the wash sheds or in the fields. And with that, Jenn realized with sudden, new clarity that she hadn't hesitated to step toward a beautiful young woman and press a reconciling kiss of gentle affection to her cheek. She might, an hour before, have lived exactly the same sort of moment with her own sister Alita in Soutell Farm's transient rooms, would never as little as a year ago have imagined she'd ever feel anything other than apathy or loathing toward a titled Lady.

Jenn stretched lazily on her little knoll a hundred yards above Soutell Farm, leafed through a few more pages of her book, gazed another idle moment toward the farm on which she and her family had resided almost a year now. Soutell wasn't greatly different than many other out country farms in this part of New York and New England, the residence a large white structure with decorative pillars surrounded by an ornate picket fence, several dozen other residences along the community lane housing free commons, retained commons and transients provided quarters in machine and agricultural sheds behind the residences. Most of Soutell's resident populace now lounged on the lawns and in various nooks among the sheds enjoying a pleasant June evening. George and Julina Soutell lounged on the residence's lawns dainty crystal glassware served them and a middle aged Gentleman and his Lady visiting, Jenn supposed, from a neighboring farm rather than from Norecomb Town its Gentlemen and Ladies of lofty and exalted rank having a vague idea at best as to exactly where Soutell Farm was or who George and Julina Soutell were.

Soutell Farm might, Jenn mused, have been queen Julia Ellen's old Norecomb Farm save that it lay on the fringes of a civilization queen Julia Ellen could never have imagined. One had, Jenn supposed, to travel among the tribal nations in the northern Canadas or along the western banks of the Mississippi did one wish to relive queen Julia Ellen's antiquity as it had been. A visitor from London might anywhere along the western continents' coasts feel himself quite at home rather than in anything resembling the wild, untamed culture which the Old North had been.

Her father, Jenn sighed, a familiar pain coursing through her heart as she gazed toward Soutell Farm from her secluded little knoll, sat among the outbuildings he and a pair of forge laborers gulping gin from tin cups, inebriated hilarity in their features and gesture obvious even from a distance. Why, Jenn sighed. Sober, her father was as honest and energetic a machinist as any, had worked his way close to the Gentleman's favor on a dozen out country farms over the years, a dozen commons managers intimating that he might expect a grant of permanent resident status in the near future. Her father had then worked his way out of favor a dozen times over the years, usually doing so in a single afternoon's or evening's foolish, drunken riot. A little over a year ago, he had worked his way into Alban Town's commons jail, had nearly climbed Alban Town's gallows.

Jenn turned her gaze toward the work sheds near which her mother still labored at the washtubs, the ache in her heart as she pondered a thirty one year old washer girl now the passion of a fierce, burning love. Jenn and her younger sister had cringed in terror a year ago glancing toward the terror in their mother's eyes. Three young women had then crushed themselves into each other's arms as they gazed toward the forbidding spires and turrets of the king of Alban’s Palace. They'd crept past scowling guards at the portal, crept along corridors of polished gleaming marble, crept finally along the central aisle toward the throne in order to plead for the life of a husband and father standing at the base of Alban Town's gallows. Half a hundred courtiers attired in ostentatious magnificence directed glances of leering scrutiny toward washer girls obviously from the likes of the harbor or an out country farm the young women's dresses cut to the common fashion and therefore blatantly rather than subtlety revealing. Jenn had walked at her mother's side eminently aware that she did so in bizarre competition with her mother, every bit as aware that her mother would likely prevail, her mother entrancing beauty to inexplicable extremes, she "just pretty" at best. And still, she had had advantages in the competition. She was taller than her mother, and her figure was nothing less than mature and voluptuous feminine allure to every extreme, allure toward which at least some of the gawking courtiers stared blatant, drooling scrutiny. Alban's king, however, fixed hungry, wanting eyes on Jenn's mother and a figure which could only be called delicate, exquisite beauty, a thirty one year old washer girl standing at a grown daughter's side appearing pristine innocence rather than voluptuous allure- and the king of New York and New England a lecher of notorious repute Jenn standing in trembling horror knowing her mother rather than she would be beckoned forward.

She'd thrown restraining hands to her mother's arms.

"Jenn - " her mother had whispered, terror - and yet resolve in her eyes, "it's the only way. They'll hang him, Jenn, unless -"

Jenn had stood her soul immersed in some black, horrid ice as Alban's king pushed himself from his throne, grotesque, leering arrogance in his features as he gazed blatant scrutiny toward a thirty one year old washer girl's body, a washer girl who owned little more than her body and she quite aware that a court such as Alban's considered that body property to be toyed with and disposed of at a whim. Leering, arrogant mirth in a sixty year old lecher's eyes, he'd announced to the amused mirth of his court that he must retire to chambers "in order to discuss this unfortunate washer girl's plight in private."

Jenn had thrown her hands again to her mother's arms in unrelenting restraint.

"Jenn -" her mother had whispered, "it's the only way. Please, Jenn, let me go -"

She’d crushed arresting hands to her mother's arms - and agony the like of which she'd never before felt, she’d given her mother up to a sixty year old lecher.

A half hour later, Jenn and her sister stood on Alban Town's walkways as their father stepped from the commons jail, complacent amusement in his features as he pecked a kiss to his wife's cheeks.

"See, Juli - weren't no big thing. I knew they'd let me out, just wanted to put the fright in me, that's all. They ain't gonna hang a man over some little bit a nonsense."

Jenn's mother had returned a nodding smile, perhaps just a bit more pleading vehemence in her features urging her husband to accompany her to a temperance meeting to be preached in Alban Town that same evening.

"Why, sure nuff, love. Till then, be a darling, go home with the girls and pack. Maybe - maybe up north this time, up Norecomb way, eh? Gotta be better’n here. I'll be home directly I've said my leave takin’ to some chums here in town."

Jenn had grasped her mother's hand into crushing embrace as they rode the tram toward an out country farm a few miles from the edge of Alban Town. Jenn and Alita had then hovered for an hour at their mother's side she and they packing what few possessions they owned into canvas satchels. Catches in their mother's breath obvious for an hour, Jenn and Alita had just waited until she'd finally given up, turned, flung herself into her daughters' arms, her shrieks tortured gasps from the depths of her lungs, her body trembling with convulsing violence. Jenn had stolen a glance toward a butcher knife on the table waiting to be packed, a king's grotesque, leering features stirring loathing hatred to the depths of her being, something she'd never before felt with such maniacal, frightening ferocity.

That blinding, consuming anger had at least to an extent settled into helpless despair an hour later as she and Alita sat quietly at each other's sides on the wooden bench which served as their bed, their mother laying in a fitful, tossing sleep on a cot a few steps away.

"I'll - I'll go tonight if you want, Jenn," Alita sighed. Jenn pushed herself to her feet as well, pressed a kiss of emotional passion to her younger sister's cheek, and then watched her sister disappear into the night, another half hour's ride into town, perhaps an hour searching the walkways for their father.

Jenn had fallen into a fitful sleep herself, awoke to maniacal despair in her mother's voice.

"Get off -" Jenn's mother shrieked as she stood naked at the wash basin, tearing at her body with cloth and a scrap of soap. Jenn had flung herself to her mother's side, the wild, anguished torture in her mother's eyes fading for a daughter's consoling touch. Jenn had led her mother back to the cot, rational, lucid calm in her mother's eyes only after Jenn had lowered her onto the cot, emotional intimacy finally settling into a mother's eyes for a daughter's touch speaking the burning passions of her heart.

"Mother -?" Jenn whispered, urging vehemence in her voice.

"Jenn - " helpless despair in a mother's voice.

"Mother - tell me -" Jenn whispered, deciding it necessary, throwing her hands to her mother's arms in furious embrace, holding as though for both of their lives.

"Jenn -" her mother finally whispered, "what else could I do? He took me into a little room - locked the door. He - stood there, looking at me, told me I was very beautiful. All right, I said - anything, but please - don't hang my husband. He - he took my clothes off - a couch - next to the wall -" and a thirty one year old washer girl gazed up in blind, maniacal terror - until a nineteen year old daughter had crushed her to her heart, was crushing her into an embrace of frantic, maniacal passion.

"All right, mother. It's over. Go to sleep. I'm here," and minutes later Jenn gazed toward the first edge of tranquil calm settling into her mother's features, her breath finally the soft, slow rhythm of sleep's consoling oblivion.

Sitting with her mother in quiet brooding, Jenn couldn't help but gaze again toward leering, grotesque want in an old lecher's eyes. A thirty one year old washer girl, Jenn saw with some strange, new clarity, was indeed beauty some uncanny, not quite definable perfection, her mother's beauty all the more some captivating allure for a washer girl's unassuming, quiet modesty in her features rather than a titled Lady's haughty, arrogant scorn. First arrived on an out country farm at the edge of Alban Town, a beefy mistress with leering delight in her eyes had gazed studying scrutiny toward newly acquired property, Jenn, her mother and her sister standing naked, dolls to be attired according to their new mistress' whim. As usual, Jenn and her sister had been tossed dresses which fit, their Lady mistress then turning her studying attention back to a prize to be attired with meticulous attention to detail. Life on an industrial out country farm in Alban country had then been little different than it had been anywhere else, labor at the wash tubs, longer hours strenuous labor in the fields for planting and harvest, service at the mistress' table in the residence the mistress exuding pleased satisfaction for a prized possession of rare and uncommon beauty to be displayed for Gentlemen and Lady guests. The farm's Gentleman had amused himself with Jenn's mother on frequent occasion, idling at the wash tubs in groping familiarity, a husband working in the machine sheds daring little more than pretended amusement for the Gentleman master's "harmless bit a frivolity."

"We gotta eat," Jenn's father sometimes growled later the same evening before he left to drink himself into a blind oblivion.

Jenn had, that evening a year ago in Alban country, raised angry eyes when she finally heard her father's voice along the farm's lanes raised in a drunken riot of mirthful, bawdy song. Pushing herself from the foundry shed in which her family's room was located, she'd nodded Alita through the door, then raised furious eyes to her father's.

"For God's sake - how could you - after - after -"

"Jenn - sweet Jenn - just a harmless bit a -"

"No it ain't, father. And you know it. We get banished immediate you start in again. We never lived a whole year anywhere, father," Jenn angrily tossing a document of common banishment to the ground.

"We'll go somewhere else, maybe up Norecomb country way. Jenn, you're a growd woman, Alita too. You know what life is for the common lot. Could I, I'd make you’s Ladies, but I can't -"

"Father, that has nothing to do with anything. Alita and I are happy enough who we are. Why can't you be, father? Why can't -"

"All right, Jenn, leave off -"

"No I won't. Can't you see you're hurting mother -"

"I ain't hurtin' your mother -"

"Father, they put you in jail. You hit the Gentleman. They could a hung you -"

"Did they? Did they -"

"No, but you have no idea why they didn't -"

"And you do -"

"Better than you -"

"Leave off, Jenn. I'm tellin' ya now -" an angry, drunken step toward the door.

"No I won't leave off. Listen to me -" she'd cried out in desperation.

"Jenn -"

"Father -" a demanding hand to his arm, the unholy secret on her lips, wrath enveloping her that it couldn't be spoken. "Father -" Jenn cried, grasping his arm with angry fury.

"Leave me -"

"No -"

And Jenn had gasped in startled, dazed fright for the violence with which she had been flung away. She'd fallen from the steps, her body slammed to the ground, the breath crushed from her lungs.

A senseless eternity later, she drifted back into lucidity. He was kneeling on the ground, cradling her in his arms, cries of torment and anguish wrenched in maniacal sobs from his throat.

"Jenn - sweet Jenn - my darling baby Jenn -" and she gave up, wrapped her arms about him in struggling, passionate embrace as he carried her through the door.

Their meager possessions loaded the following morning onto the back of an overland freight, Jenn's mother and sister nestled among them, her father had beckoned her into the shadows, had then flung his hands to her waist, fallen to his knees in front of her declaring that he had touched his last cup.

"You see if it's not true, sweet Jenn Anne. And immediate we've settled down again, I'm gonna be right smart under the meetin' tent a singin' and a stompin' and a praisin' the Lord what saved me from the drink -"

"All right, father," Jenn had chuckled in gentle amusement, and had gazed toward a wave of relief flooding into his eyes, hadn't the least doubt that he'd spent a night in brutal anguish supposing he'd this time certainly lost his daughter's love forever, his offense unforgivable. She'd gazed toward agonized pleading in his eyes as he knelt before her his hands crushed to her waste in desperate embrace, and she'd for a fleeting moment gazed toward a man in his mid thirties who was suddenly and again an eighteen year old boy, an unending nuisance who needed constant scolding, his promises to reform perhaps genuine though her eighteen year old boy in the end seldom anything other than an eighteen year old boy. And still, desperate pleading in his eyes as he crushed his hands to her waste, Jenn had finally given up entirely, had gazed toward a father and an eighteen year old nuisance - and had stood as passionately, as maniacally in love with him as she'd always been. And in that same yielding instant - it was little less than a lover's radiant, maniacal delight in his features he by then never supposing himself anything but an eighteen year old boy kneeling before a grown daughter of commanding, self assured temperament she become for at least the past year now his lover in every emotional sense of the word.

They'd climbed together onto the back of an overland freight, had settled into each other's arms. Jenn had gazed toward her mother settled into Alita's arms - and her mother's eyes radiant, unfeigned delight, her mother by then perfectly content to settle into her grown daughters’ arms she her own daughters’ daughter, and she sighing in relieved delight that a father and a grown daughter settling into the back of an overland freight were still lovers in every emotional sense of the word. Jenn had settled into her father's arms in the back of an overland freight allowing herself ultimate truths - recognizing them with sudden new clarity. Her father and her mother, she never for an instant doubted, were as honestly and as passionately in love with each other as they had always been. And yet for the past year living on an industrial farm at the edge of Alban Town, Jenn and her father had lived their lives in one corner of a room in the shops, her mother and her sister Alita in another corner - and a father become his eldest daughter's emotional lover whispering every last intimacy to a daughter who could never deny herself passionately - and romantically in love with her own father.

"We - haven't - Juli and me - ever since we come to Alban Town, " Jenn's father had whispered he settling into a daughter's arms, she always his "sweet Jenn," his daughter, and yet he in another odd instant an eighteen year old boy who would sometimes cower in fright for a scolding from a young woman become his lover in every emotional sense of the word, he finally and always a father and yet he an eighteen year old boy never hesitating to speak the depths of his heart to a young woman become his lover in every emotional sense of the word. And for a moment and a finishing, timeless eternity, Jenn had raised her eyes admitting every last intimacy. She was madly, passionately in love with her father - and with an eighteen year old boy the most beautiful who had ever lived he sitting in sudden, sheepish reserve not quite certain why he’d just whispered such ultimate intimacies - until they’d met each other’s eyes one finishing instant absolutely nothing hidden between them. Jenn hadn’t, even in that instant, the least doubt that their love for each other was all of the sincere, emotional fury it had always been. And yet - she’d years ago, she just become a woman, fallen passionately, maniacally in love with her father, had at twelve years of age stood forever in dazed, swooning entrancement gazing toward a man the most impossibly beautiful who had ever lived. She sat in his arms in the back of an overland freight she now absolutely ancient, young women four or five years her junior already married in country across New York and New England, some expecting their second child - and she yet again realizing why attention paid her by the occasional suitor over the years had been little more than passing amusement, young men gazing, she often confided to her sister Alita, "toward my breasts and my ass but never seeing me." She was, resting in her father’s arms in the back of an overland freight, desperately, passionately in love with only one man, his love for her, she hadn’t the least doubt, pounding emotion from the honest depths of his heart. And still - he’d knelt just minutes before his hands crushed to her waist with pleading strength, maniacal relief and delight in his eyes for nothing more than relenting amusement in the eyes of the young woman become the emotional love of his life. He’d for one brief and fleeting moment, however, crushed his hands to her waist helplessly unable to notice the obvious, the young woman standing before him tall, hourglass feminine allure to every mature extreme - and she as she had for at least the past year now standing in nothing less than a mature swooning abandon, he given her willing, ecstatic permission to notice her, for as long as he wanted to - and he for at least the past year eminently aware that the young woman to whose waist he’d crushed his hands stood in nothing less than a mature, wanting abandon. She and he were father and daughter, never for an instant sought refuge in pretense or denial. Behave, she’d even whispered to herself, had struggled for reasoning calm - and had still for a finishing instant and a timeless eternity given up entirely, had buried her eyes to his own speaking the ultimate, hiding absolutely nothing. She was desperately in love with him, he her father yet he an eighteen year old boy the most impossibly beautiful who had ever lived, he for that one brief and fleeting instant gazing toward a young woman he saw as mature feminine allure to every impossibly perfect extreme - he and she for an instant yet that an impossible, timeless eternity fallen together into a dazed swirl of helpless, abandoned imagining - and awakening, burying their eyes to each other’s in supreme, knowing intimacy, knowing that they’d yet again as they had for a year now found themselves immersed together in something which just couldn’t be denied. Behave, Jenn had even then urged herself, never for an instant denying the thing her fault entirely. She’d danced for him for years now, had, seeing the least edge of sensual warmth in his eyes, danced for him in nothing less than writhing, enticing abandon just to see a moment’s sheepish reserve in his eyes, he never entirely allowing himself to forget

that she was his daughter.

And still, he’d for brief and fleeting moments noticed the obvious, had allowed himself brief and fleeting moments of unguarded warmth for at least the past year- until he’d stood with sheepish reserve in his features yet again realizing what one single, unguarded moment could be. She’d stood with him in the shadows his hands crushed to her waist he never for an instant having contemplated anything intentional - until he’d met her eyes a finishing instant, realized that he had indeed crushed his hands to her waist with nothing less than capturing, unrelenting strength, had yet again seen that in her eyes which she no longer made the least effort to hide. Behave, she’d urged herself - and had stood as quickly in mature, finished abandon, had as he’d crushed his hands to her waste danced for him, subtly, perhaps. And still, she’d leaned into his embrace giving herself up to a stance which was little less than blatant and enticing, she hiding nothing, she burying her eyes to his own - as she stood her body engulfed in mature, primal want. And as quickly, it was all something a world more for her, some dazed, maddening ecstasy. He’d intended nothing, hadn’t ever allowed himself to entirely forget that he crushed his hands to his daughter’s waste, and yet - he crushed his hands to her waste she hiding nothing, she finally standing her breasts heaving in a breathless fury for want become maddening - and the thing for her dazed, finished ecstasy he unable to hide want for her all of the primal, finished fury her own had become.

She’d buried her eyes to his quite as she had for the past year now, one word coursing blinding paths through her mind. Yes, she’d told him - and hadn’t for a single instant sought refuge in pretense or denial, he her father. And yet - she was his, the instant he wanted her. She’d long since given up entirely, he her father and yet he an eighteen year old boy become a lover in every emotional sense of the word, she and he sometimes stopping for brief and amusing moments of pondering lucidity, readily admitting their quarrels little different than those of any other two lovers, she and he in secluded shadows realizing that their last argument had been culminating, bitter fury. And as quickly - they’d fallen into each other’s eyes knowing the moment that which it had been any number of times for at least the past year now, she and he lovers who even after an argument of culminating, violent fury had found themselves fallen into each other’s eyes their love for each other all of the furious passion it had always been - and the moment something even more. She’d never hidden a thing from him, hadn’t for the past year hidden the ultimate. He’d knelt before her his hands crushed to her waist in pleading fury, gasping, radiant joy in his features for nothing more than relenting amusement in hers. He was still her eighteen year boy with whom she was violently in love, an eighteen year old boy who for at least the past year now cowered in trembling fright knowing some juvenile mischief on his part had earned him an angry scolding from a grown daughter become his lover in so many ways. She was at other times a lover into whose consoling arms he could bury himself without the least hesitation, she mature, self assured confidence to whom he could speak the intimate secrets of his heart. And finally, he was an eighteen year old boy allowing himself nothing less than moments of vain delight. She was simply the most perfectly alluring young woman who had ever lived, she tall, mature, hour glass allure, the feminine ideal - and she hiding nothing, she sighing little more than amusement or annoyance toward men gazing shuddering, drooling scrutiny toward her - and she perhaps an hour later gazing toward the one man with whom she was violently, passionately in love. She’d for at least the past year now hidden absolutely nothing, had spoken the ultimate, had standing at the likes of a secluded fence rail in the farm’s yards seen a brief and fleeting moment’s notice in his eyes, he simply noticing that which was obvious, she mature, hour glass feminine perfection to every extreme - and she leaning, brushing an insect or something of the sort from her legs he for another brief and fleeting moment gazing little more than idle fascination - until he’d stood at the likes of a fence rail in the yards flinging his eyes off into the distance. He’d gazed for little more than brief and fleeting moments toward a young woman leaning in search of a bothersome insect her doing so seeming an exotic and maddening dance of writhing, feminine allure to every possible extreme - had flung his eyes off into the distance the moment sudden, confused turmoil. He’d stood at a secluded fence in the yards the thing yet again something he’d never before known in quite the same way - his want a pounding, maddening fury which was nothing less than painful. He’d stood at a secluded fence rails in the yards in confused turmoil - for nothing more than another moment. She stood at his side, had drawn an arm around his waist. There as likely as not, he finally realized, had never been a bothersome insect to begin with.

"I’m - I’m sorry," she might even whisper from time to time. "I’ve promised a hundred times to behave, haven’t I? And - I never do."

He stood allowing himself a moment’s amusement, stood from time to time allowing himself little less than a moment’s vain pleasure. She was violently in love with him, and stood with him at a secluded fence rail in the yards the moment for her abandoned, unfeigned ecstasy. They hadn’t, for at least a year now, pretended a thing, took no refuge whatsoever in denial. They were father and daughter - and yet he stole another glance from time to time toward a mature young woman, she almost as tall as he, she poised, self assured confidence he stopping only for brief and fleeting moments every few days - and yet again admitting finished intimacies. He’d fallen every bit as violently and passionately in love with her as she so obviously had with him. He passed days at a time he an eighteen year old boy forever immersed in a pleasant little delight she feminine beauty and allure to every perfect extreme, and she gazing nothing less than painful longing toward her eighteen year old boy who she saw as maddening, she promising herself that she must behave and she with an idle glance from him dancing in little less than enticing abandon.

She stood with him in secluded shadows, hadn’t this time, she realized with sudden, awakening clarity, danced in the least, had simply gazed relenting warmth for frenzied pleading in his eyes, he kneeling his hands crushed to her waist he certain he’d lost her love forever - and he an eighteen year old boy gasping relieved delight she still so obviously and passionately in love with him. And as quickly, it was all something a world more. She buried her eyes to his own - even after she and he had both awoken, she and he never for an instant denying themselves father and daughter, never for an instant doubting their love for each other all of the honest, emotional passion it had always been. And as quickly - he crushed his hands to her waist, wanted her, wanted her every bit as maniacally as she’d for so long wanted him to. He’d led her into the shadows never for an instant bent on anything intentional. He crushed his hands to her waist, buried his eyes to her own - and gave up entirely. It was for Jenn nothing but dazed, swirling ecstasy, her every want and fantasy come true, he finally burying his eyes to hers admitting everything, and his want for it just new, shuddering ferocity. And - she’d answered, hidden absolutely nothing. She’d finally danced for him, perhaps just a subtle tilt of her body - and the moment for her dazed, blinding ecstasy her sweet eighteen year old boy slamming her body to his own, their love to be frantic, thrashing violence, her every secret want and dream come true.

He gasped in primal, frenzied abandon, tore his hands to her shoulders, to the straps of her dress - and stopped, awakening anguish and despair in his eyes.

She flung her eyes to his - and wrenched maniacal hands onto his arms.

"Don't you dare," she whispered in gasping fury, "don't you dare blame yourself."

"Jenn- I shouldn't a -"

She'd knelt at his side in searching confusion - and had in another instant just given herself up to a sudden mood of amused mirth.

"Father," she whispered, "I haven't kept my promise for a year now, haven't behaved one day to the next. And - I just can't help it," she'd chuckled, had decided that for the moment was enough. They rested in each other's arms a finishing moment denying nothing, she and he father and daughter never for an instant doubting their love for each other the frenzied emotional passion it had always been. And yet they rested in each other's arms lovers who for the past year had spoken the secrets of their hearts to each other, lovers who with a glance saw that in the other's eyes which couldn't be hidden from a lover. And they'd seen for the past year now the ultimate in each other's eyes, had stood at the likes of a secluded fence rail in the yards knowing an idle, unguarded moment had yet again been more than enough, he and she never even in that moment taking the least refuge in pretense or denial, he and she father and daughter. And still - she could turn toward him any time she wanted to, crush her hands to his waste, bury her eyes to his telling him she'd finally given up entirely. They'd both hesitate one last moment - and would slam themselves on into the frenzied, abandoned love - the love for which they couldn't any longer deny their bodies ached.

"Jenn -" he whispered again as she and he knelt in each others arms, and he repeating the only words he could. "Jenn - I shouldn't a -"

She buried her eyes to her father's - her father who was a good and decent man.

"Of course not, father," Jenn gasped her voice amused mirth.

She crushed her hands onto her father's arms a final moment - and knelt at the side of an eighteen year old boy who was maddening, agonizing beauty. Behave, she demanded of herself with urging vehemence.

"Jenn - the freight - we better go -"

They had, a year ago, recovered from the abandoned fury of the thing, had climbed together onto the back of an overland freight. She'd crushed herself back into her father's arms, had gazed toward frantic relief in her mother's eyes.

She'd settled into another long moment's brooding turmoil as she and her family yet again set off along hostile, out country roads in search of refuge and perhaps a home. She glanced a final moment's bitter anger over her shoulder.

A young Gentleman on an out country farm in Alban country had worn smirking delight in his features as he'd gazed drooling intrigue toward a commons girl whose form was mature, voluptuous allure to some inexplicable perfection.

"Oh God -" a young Gentleman had drooled, had then turned toward a common laborer not quite the same species as himself. "Tell me -? You fuck her, don't you? Who could possibly resist -"

Her father, a common laborer striking a titled Gentlemen, had stood at the base of Alban Town's gallows a clerk in Alban Town's court shrugging, scribbling a line in a property ledger. Jenn had then stood in Alban Town's court crushing her mother into her arms, turning frantic eyes toward the throne and drooling hunger in the eyes of a sixty year old lecher. Please - me, not my mother, Jenn had cried in frantic desperation, and had stood in agony a lecher drooling toward a pristine innocent shuddering in terror in a daughter's arms, pleading then for that daughter to let her go, to abandon her to a drooling lecher.

Jenn had buried herself frantically into her father's arms as they fled Alban Town in the back of an overland freight. She'd gazed again toward a mother resting in her sister's arms, a mother who sighed nothing more than joyful relief she and her family fleeing Alban Town together, a mother gazing radiant delight toward a husband and a daughter still so obviously and frantically in love with one another.

And Jenn had finally that day a year ago allowed herself the crush of brutal, finished reality. She’d cringed in fright that in a moment of maniacal anger she'd almost spoken an unholy truth which if revealed to her father would have left her mother cringing in shame and despair, no matter how faultless her mother’s conduct had been.

Jenn lolled another few minutes on her secluded little knoll above Soutell Farm sighing in brooding frustration though that not yet despair. Her father had kept his promise for almost six months this time. Even the occasional evenings of intoxicated mischief over the past six months hadn't been the trauma and disaster a great many such evenings had been in the past.

"Now Mr. Henri," Soutell Farm's marshal chided once a week or so escorting Jenn's father back to their rooms, "you be a sleepin' it off and don't be raisin' no more ruckus tonight. You's a good worker daylight, Mr. Henri, but Mr. George and Miss Julina ain't never gonna be givin' you’s permanent on the lists you keep up raisin' the devil."

"Chesten, you know I don't mean no harm."

"I know you don't mean no harm, Henri. And that's the pity a it. You turns a knowin' wrench in the shops, tosses a load a hay nothin' less'n impressive. Mr. George even said so once, and I truly believe he'd be conducive to givin' you a place on the lists come another couple months. Think a what that'd mean to miss Juli and the young ladies, Henri. But one bad night can sour it all, and you don't wanna let that happen, do you, Henri?"

Soutell's marshal, Jenn chuckled in gentle mirth, had during community dances on Soutell and on neighboring farms displayed as much awkward hesitation as any unmarried man might approaching a tall young woman of nineteen years idling beside the fence rails, a young woman not the dazzling beauty her mother was, and still - not unattractive. Mr. Chesten, Jenn supposed, in his early forties though not in the least unattractive himself, had stepped forward suspecting that a nineteen year old woman still unattached herself must be feeling at least the beginnings of desperation, would readily agree to a dance with him.

"I must thank you, Mr. Chesten," Jenn invariably began, allowing Soutell's marshal a touch of genuine familiarity as they danced, honesty, however, in her eyes. "I must thank you for being so kind to my father. He never means bad."

"I know he don't, miss Jenn. I done marshalin' a few years in town, seen as bad as they come fore I retired back to the farm."

"Is that why you haven't married, Mr. Chesten? Oh - do forgive me if -"

"Not at all, miss Jenn. You're right, though. Professional marshalin' don't leave you with much time for naught else. Marshalin' on Soutell's naught but the title most times, pitchin' hay long side everyone else, shootin' wolves needin' shot the rest of the time, maybe someone drinkin' too much -" apology settling into his eyes a quick moment later. A subtle little twist in her step, however, perhaps just the hint of sultry mischief in her smile, and Jenn was reasonably certain that Soutell's marshal, at least for the past few moments, had forgotten that her father even existed

"Dance with him, Alita -" Jenn whispered a bit later in the evening as she leaned at her sister's ear, Jenn feeling nothing more than an instant's discomfort urging her seventeen year old sister to provide Soutell's marshal another few moment's distracting entertainment, feeling no discomfort whatsoever, she realized in sighing amusement as she watched an outrageous little flirt stride across the yards in seductive display just to be certain that several dozen young men from Soutell and neighboring farms stood seduced. By the time Alita stood within marshal Chesten's notice, and insect, likely a nonexistent one, Jenn little doubted, had alighted on her leg, a dress which fell several inches further above her knees than any most other young women dared pushed momentarily into even greater revealing disarray searching for a nonexistent insect, marshal Chesten, of course, requesting the next dance as though helplessly attracted to some compelling, magnetic allure. "Why - with me -?" Alita, Jenn almost chuckled aloud in open, mirthful laughter, exquisite, her sultry coquettish demurring leaving marshal Chesten all but standing in a dazed stupor.

Raising her eyes again from her little knoll above Soutell Farm, Jenn glanced toward the wash tubs, Alita some assistance to their mother, Jenn chuckled, until the usual assortment of unattached young men had found some reason to saunter toward the tubs, Alita's labor at them then an exquisite little ballet in which very little work was accomplished. Jenn felt little genuine concern for her sister's licentious antics, however, Alita an eminently sensible girl who knew when enough was enough, Alita quite satisfied when some handsome young man her current amorous target stood in a dazed stupor whenever she rounded a corner. And Alita, Jenn sighed in mournful brooding, was well acquainted with transient life, that an even greater horror for a mother with a baby to care for.

Twice now, since Alita's twelfth birthday, Jenn had happened on her sister standing in some isolated corner by herself her features silent anguish. Oh no, Jenn had whispered, her heart aching as she realized some handsome young man who'd worked up the courage to declare for an itinerant washer girl had lost his nerve at the last moment, Alita perhaps determining that his intentions had never been honorable to begin with. Jenn had walked to Alita's side, had waited until she knew Alita was ready, had then crushed her sister to her heart in close, consoling embrace.

"Oh God, Jenn, if I didn't have you -"

"You always will, baby sister."

"If only we could get on permanent somewhere, Jenn -" that, of course, Jenn sighed on her little knoll above Soutell Farm, perceived a problem by young fools who would never know what a treasure they had abandoned, Alita at seventeen knowing the profound intimacies of her heart, Alita never one to give her heart away on a whim no matter how outrageous a coquette she might be.

Toying with the book Julina Soutell had leant her another few distracted moments, Jenn finally pushed herself to her feet, academic vagaries another few moment's idle distraction as she strolled along a quiet, wooded path sloping down toward Soutell Farm. The world today in a great many ways, Jenn decided, wasn't really all that different than it had been when Julia Ellen had lived. Julia Ellen's descendants fleeing the Old North had hoped that the wars which had left the civilization of the Old North in ruins might finally have been those which rendered war obsolete. Alban's king and court today might at any given time be contemplating war with any of several dozen other kings on the western continents a half dozen of whom might be at war with migrating tribal nations along their frontiers half of these at any given time at war with imperial armies from London. Norecomb Town's and a dozen or so other vice roys in towns across New York and New England pledged to Alban's king were, according to rumor, postponing various manner of feud among themselves in contemplation of war against Alban's king, a war which might have to be postponed if the Syrilesse now devesting country across the Canadas decide on further southern migration, no one in New York and New England as yet quite certain what an imperial army and navy marching and sailing from place to place intended. One or two tribes of the Syrilesse nations had crossed the St. Lawrence every summer for the past twenty years now, had devastated an entire country or two before either Alban's king or an imperial army from London had noticed.

"We'll thrash the rascals good and proper if they come back this summer," Soutell's young Gentleman sat proclaiming in martial ferocity as Jenn wandered through the white picket fence and onto the residence's lawns.

"That we will, Mr. George," proclaimed young house retainers hoping to accompany Soutell Farm's Gentleman to the king's eagerly awaited call to arms, an older steward sighing in regret for his years.

"What say you, Jenn Anne?" a handsome young Gentleman continued in jovial ease. "What say you come along for the ride this summer?"

"Oh, Mr. George, I'd just be in the way. Any of the other girls would be of more use to you than me," though Jenn stood another moment in musing intrigue for the adventure she supposed camp life must be. And a week or two's such this summer, she supposed, would certainly gain her family Mr. George's notice and favor, and possibly permanent resident status on Soutell Farm.

"I do think you would enjoy a bit of camp life, miss Jenn Anne," Soutell's Gentleman continued, crystal goblet in hand as he wandered toward the corner of the lawn on which Jenn stood.

"Do you, Mr. George?"

"Why certainly I do. It's hard work, but I'm certain you're not one to mind that. Yes, Jenn Anne, I do think you're just the girl for my camp," just the edge of blatant scrutiny in his eyes, Jenn decided in easy amusement.

"Why - Mr. George, if you insist -" subtle though intentional intrigue in Jenn's eyes, just the hint of posturing display in her stance until she was certain that a handsome young Gentleman stood immersed in at least the beginnings of an intense little warmth. Even if just pretty, Jenn could admit that her figure revealed by a dress falling just above her knees and fit as any young commons girl her age might have fitted it, was hour glass allure to every mature extreme. And her father was right. They had to eat, Jenn argued in silent vehemence for a nagging little moment of turmoil coursing through the corners of her mind. Suffering a moment's sensual mischief directed toward her by a young Gentleman was easy enough. Gentlemen in town and on farms in which she had lived in the past had expected a great deal more from the likes of transient girls given refuge.

Just a fact of life, Jenn sighed, gazing another idle moment toward Soutell's Gentleman now engaged in polite, proprietous conversation with a middle aged Gentleman and Lady visiting from a neighboring farm. George Soutell, Jenn felt reasonably certain, wasn't yet the debased, unprincipled lecher Alban's king had proven himself to be, commons girls objects to be used on a whim. Twenty five, dashing and handsome indeed, Jenn noticed again in idle amusement, George Soutell was certainly no worse than the past half dozen Gentlemen on whose farms she and her family had sought refuge, they groping her behind their Lady's backs ever since she'd turned twelve years of age. George Soutell wasn't, Jenn supposed, anything close to a saint. Miss Julina herself had intimated as much any number of times, Soutell's Gentleman seated at gaming tables in Norecomb Town's Starr Club all hours of the night squandering his and his Lady's inheritances away, Soutell's Lady sighing annoyance for it all hours of the night. By and large, however, George Soutell seemed more or less that which most other Gentlemen in Norecomb country were - the essence of innocuous mediocrity. Several years ago, shortly after the death of George Soutell's father, Norecomb Town's vice roy lolling in boredom on Albert House's throne had mumbled a "who-?" and had then with a flick of his finger indicated no objection to the natural order of succession on Soutell Farm. A clerk lolling in boredom had scribbled in his ledger. Norecomb's vice roy and the greater part of the privy court would today be hard pressed to attach a face to a name, Soutell Farm and country's only distinction the fact that they lay along a king's highway just thirteen miles south of Norecomb Town it's only distinction its antiquity, academics from across civilization debating the possibility that queen Julia Ellen's descendants fleeing the Old North's destruction had established the beginnings of modern civilization on or near the site of a small provincial town in New York and New England, archeologists from London occasionally digging beneath some cellar in Norecomb Town, though most Londoners, the emperor and empress included, had no idea where Norecomb Town was, had little idea as to where New York and New England was, had the vague impression that the western continents lay somewhere to the west on the other side of the Atlantic ocean, Caesar, Napoleon, George Washington or someone having ruled a "Rome" or an "America" said to have existed in the furthest reaches of antiquity on the western continents. George Soutell, Jenn mused in idle amusement, might stand exuding an air of suave, Gentlemanly intrigue gazing a moment's sensual mischief toward a transient girl. George Soutell, however, was Soutell Farm quite to the extent that several hundred of his dependent residents were, likely to attract the attention of Norecomb's vice roy and the privy court only in the event of some indecorous scandal a twenty five year old Gentleman if possessed of any measure of reason would be anxious to avoid.

"Mother," George Soutell sighed toward another personage a twenty five year old Gentleman addressed in a tone of voice edged with submissive reserve, "I'll be gone for a day, two at most," George slumping into the back of his pony carriage as his driver reigned it forward, sighing annoyance in the elder Miss Soutell's features for a son who might spend a few minutes in Norecomb Town attending to matters of business concern, who might then spend a week seated at the Starr Club's gaming tables.

"His father's son," the elder Miss Soutell sighed, similar annoyance in the younger Miss Soutell's features.

"He'll end quite as his father did," Julina Soutell continued in brooding annoyance later that evening as she lolled in her rooms, pressed a peck of her lips to the cheeks of a four year old daughter and a three year old son, dispatching them away into their nurse's care. "George will end quite the same dissipated disaster, no one in Norecomb Town aware that he ever existed," Julina groaned as Jenn undressed her. "I should have listened to my family. Charles Den Norval would have jumped for me. The vice roy of Misny Town's son noticed me on more than one occasion during balls in Norecomb. I wasn't, by any means, unpopular in a dozen residences along Albert Lane, might reside today within sight of Albert House had I listened to my father."

"Why didn't you?" Jenn asked, pondering her mistress' beautiful sand bland hair hanging in long, delicate waves, entwining the hairbrush about them, yanking it with relish.

"Ow - will you stop that - I'm going to hang you."

"Of course you are," Jenn chuckled. "Well - why didn't you listen to your father?"

"I was fourteen," Soutell's Lady sighed on. "And George was so handsome, dashing. What did I care he hadn't a brain in his head. Soutell was never anything but Soutell, but who thinks of that when they're fourteen. Now I'll live the rest of my life on Soutell."

Oh your poor dear, Jenn groaned, another satisfying tug of the hair brush.

"Ow - damn it -"

"Miss Julina, it can't be helped. You have such beautiful hair, but it simply must be adequately teased. And besides, you know what they say, a little pain is good for the soul."

"Oh - you're such a little smart ass. I hate you, Jenn Anne."

"Yes, of course," Jenn chuckled again, chiding herself, however, for her cruelty as she gazed toward brooding concern in her mistress' features, Jenn's ministrations to her hair gentle caresses another long moment. Julina, Jenn realized, was still very much in love with her husband, even if the past five years had seen the mutual dissipation of love's blinding, romantic ardor.

"I suppose I will just have to accustom myself to his absences," Julina continued with a musing sigh. "George was ill two years ago, and I had to look after things myself for a month. I made an absolute disaster of it, however, but what on earth do I know about merchanters' scales and the price of corn. And I swear, there is not one honest merchanter in Norecomb Town, they squirming in delight, I'm certain, as soon as they noticed me walking through the door. George has refused to allow me access to the ledgers ever since, says that we would have been bankrupt had he lingered in his sick bed another week, and I don't doubt it for an instant. But I can't understand how Norecomb Town demands so more of his time now than it ever used to. It's only a two hours ride into town, less than that if he takes the motor. Yet he's gone for days, sometimes a week. Even - even the Starr Club can't possibly amuse him for that long."

Placing a consoling hand to her mistress' shoulder, Jenn toyed gently with the hairbrush.

"Perhaps it can. Most of the common lot are the same here on Soutell, sit out back in the shops over cards and die all night long," though Jenn couldn't help but recall a moment of keen, sensual mischief in George Soutell's eyes, and that directed toward a nineteen year old washer girl. Norecomb's titled Ladies and court beauties living in splendid opulence along Albert Lane would return a handsome young Gentleman's glances of sensual mischief with very little reticence, scandal on the lanes of Norecomb Town concealed without a great deal of difficulty. But why, Jenn asked herself, glancing in quiet musing toward a twenty year old mistress undeniably an exquisite beauty. And Julina Soutell was by no means the worst of mistresses. Some in Alban country had seemed the essence of sadistic depravity, common residents whipped for little more than the sport or entertainment of it. As many mistresses here in Norecomb country, Jenn supposed, were the same. Julina Soutell, however, was little more than a spoiled debutante sighing boredom in the midst of the modest luxury of her rooms in Soutell Farm's residence, hosting or attending teas her seeming reason to be. And she was still in love with George, that love spoken clearly in her eyes earlier this evening when she had watched his carriage leave. George Soutell, Jenn suspected, toyed with Norecomb's court beauties to no greater extent than he toyed with Soutell Farm's washer girls. The Starr Club's gaming tables, Jenn decided, were probably his principal vice.

"I suspect you're right," Julina sighed. "Even that, though, can sometimes be a very trying annoyance. Soutell Farm's ledgers have faired little better under George's care over the past few years than they faired under mine. George's mother has cut him off entirely, her own accounts entrusted to an advocate in town instructed to ignore George's pleas no matter how desperate or pathetic. I sometimes wish we were bankrupt completely. We were very close to it last summer, George sitting at home the gaming tables forgotten until things improved. Oh - but it's all such an unending nuisance. I should certainly have been happier had I been born into the work sheds."

"Oh would you -" Jenn sighed, an energetic tug of the hair brush.

"Damn it -" Julina cried out, snatching the hair brush from Jenn's hand, hurling it away. "You are doing that on purpose."

"I was not, Miss Julina. I've told you -"

"I'm going to hang you anyway -"

"Yes, of course. Can I go now?"

"No," pouting insistence in a twenty year old mistress' features, pouting annoyance in Jenn's as she tossed herself onto a chair, toyed with the knobs on the radio.

"I don't want to listen to the radio," Julina declared and pouted. "Read to me," and sighing annoyed amusement, Jenn reached for the book she'd intended to reach for in the first place, her toying with the radio a necessary faint for a predictable mistress who would have protested engrossed interest in the radio had Jenn glanced toward the book.

""Julia Ellen,'" Jenn read in musing wonder, "'sat queen over a community of a hundred souls, old Norecomb Farm the center of a civilization which could all but be surveyed at a glance from the gates of Norecomb Farm. And still, modern canon and civil law derives almost entirely -"

"What must it have been like?"

Jenn raised her eyes again in annoyed amusement, hadn't ever read more than a line or two at a time in her mistress' company.

"Norecomb Farm? Not so different than today in some ways, I suspect."

"Oh? How can you say that? Norecomb is a town today, a huge one, ten thousand people."

"Not as huge as towns built by the ancients, even here in the west. Some of them were every bit as large as is London today."

"Oh?" Julina raising her eyes to a washer girl. "Yes, of course. I knew that."

"I haven't the least doubt."

"I hate you."

"Anyway," Jenn sighed and chuckled for her mistress' glaring pout, "I really don't think it is very different today than it was in Julia Ellen's times. We lived on Wilden Farm in the western Pennsylvanias a few years ago. Now it isn't even there any more, almost five hundred people with nowhere to go. We packed, set off south for the Virginias and the Carolines and the Hilan's attacked, burning everything in sight. And how many farms right here in New York and New England fail every year? And who really cares or knows if they do except commons and transients with nowhere to go?"

"Oh, this is so depressing. Turn the radio on. I've had enough of your books."

Chuckling easy amusement, Jenn tuned the radio to Norecomb Town and lively folk music, pushed herself to the chair in which her mistress lolled.

"I'm going now."

"No."

"I'll wake you in the morning," Jenn chuckled as she pressed a kiss to her mistress' cheek, leaving her pouting in boredom. Idling down the stairs and then through the residence's door, Jenn stepped with unhurried ease along Soutell's lanes a few dozen other residents idling along the boardwalks, cottagers from out country carrying purchases from the mercantile to a pony cart, children playing on the lawns of several other residences. Her mood idle amusement, Jenn wondered why Julina Soutell loved her as deeply as she very obviously did. Recognizing in Soutell Farm's Lady an innocuous temper without overwhelming passions of any sort, Jenn had found service as Julina's maid in waiting boring or amusing, though never really annoying, certainly not the outright humiliating travails such service had been on any number of other out country farms in the past. The mistress of a large industrial farm in Alban country noticing her figure to be mature and rare feminine allure had attired Jenn in a costume little more than a facade, Gentlemen to whom Jenn had then carried tea or liquor unabashedly leering toward property on display. Julina Soutell cared little for ostentatious display of the sort, would, Jenn supposed, have been quite content to pass her evenings sitting at hearth with her family in Soutell residence. George Soutell, however, wasn't. And so Jenn had a year ago found a mistress lolling in boredom, hadn't gone out of her way to ingratiate herself with that mistress, had, she supposed, just sat providing a lonely twenty year old woman a measure of the mature, intelligent emotional intimacy that woman's husband had never really provided. Jenn had done so with abandoned honesty, prepared for dismissal at a moment's notice, never daring to suspect that her family's grant of refuge on Soutell Farm at wage would lead to permanent resident status despite her father's promises.

"Oh, I hate you so, miss Jenn Anne," Julina had began declaring with regularity shortly after Jenn had become her favorite maid in waiting.

"But it's the truth and you know it, Miss Julina."

"I do not. Go away. Tell Nance she is once more my maid," and shrugging amusement, Jenn had just waited until morning. "I most certainly did not dismiss you, miss Jenn Anne. You're such a bizarre little creature. Sit down. No - not the radio. Read to me -"

A few months later approaching Julina's rooms in the residence, Jenn had flung herself into the corridor's shadows, shuddering with despondent fright as she realized her father was the topic of conversation between Soutell's Gentleman and Lady.

"Who is that impertinent fellow in the wool house?" George Soutell had asked. "I want him dismissed at once. I won't have drunken -"

"Oh - George, no - " pleading vehemence in Julina Soutell's voice, and something piercing into the depths of Jenn's heart for it.

"What -?" astonished confusion in George Soutell's voice.

"He has a daughter, George, Jenn Anne, and I've made her my waiting maid, and - oh George, I'm madly, violently in love with her. I simply can't exist without her. George, I adore her. She’s - she’s so different than Nance ever was. She - talks to me, says whatever she wants to, is absolutely impertinent at times, but - George - she's absolutely essential to me."

"Oh -? Well - in that case -" shrugging amusement in George Soutell's voice as he set off for Norecomb Town and the Starr Club's gaming tables, Julina's features white from lingering fright as Jenn entered the room.

"My word, Jenn Anne," Julina mused some time later finally recovered from her fright, "you finally seem to have learned how to use a hair brush without torturing me."

Jenn had broken into a soft chuckle, couldn't that evening even after Julina had given her a dozen excuses for a brutal tug of the brush bring herself to do so, her work over her mistress' hair a gentle, affectionate caress.

"You're usually highly inept, Jenn Anne, absolutely brutal. I intend to dismiss you at my first opportunity."

"Because you hate me?"

"Yes. Exactly. Go away - send Nance to me in the morning," and Soutell's mistress had opened wide, wondering eyes a moment later to Jenn's hovering in intimate proximity. "Why - what impertinence -" faltering confusion, however, in Julina's voice, Jenn gazing unabashed fascination toward a young woman just a year older than herself rather than a Lady and a mistress, Jenn leaning, touching her lips to Julina's cheek in long, affectionate kiss. "Oh - will you go away -" though it was finally chuckling defeat in Julina's features, adoring warmth in her eyes - and pouting annoyance only when Jenn had insisted that she must leave for the evening.

Jenn had left that evening immersed in a pleasant wonder, Julina Soutell in some ways no different from any other Lady mistress, Soutell's Lady perfectly at ease with her role in life, and still - Julina even from her lofty position on title seeming uniquely able to dismiss place and position entirely, her demeanor at times outright familiarity toward a transient girl not even on the permanent lists. Jenn stood in the yards pondering the day she and her family had first set eyes on Soutell Farm. They'd wandered prior to that up and down the east coast in search of refuge and wage, farm marshals meeting a family of transients at the gates. "Sorry, they's naught for you’s here today," sometimes an edge of sympathy in their voices as they cautiously and carefully watched the transients away.

"Couldn't I least speak my piece to the Gentleman," Jenn's father had pled at the gates of Soutell residence a year ago. "We been months now on the transient tramp and down to our last couple coppers."

Chesten Longtree's features and demeanor had spoken just that same edge of sympathy. They'd spoken a moment later, however, courage, Jenn had suspected and decided, Soutell's marshal sighing, shrugging, nodding a family of transients toward the residence - and Soutell's marshal aiming just another moments glance of amused mischief toward a transient girl of mature feminine allure who'd edged toying eyes toward his.

Canvas satchel's slung over their shoulders, Jenn and her family had approached the white picket fence surrounding the residence, a young Gentleman and his Lady seated on the lawns crystal goblets in hand, wistful vexation in the young Gentleman's features as though he wished he were somewhere else at the moment. An exceptionally beautiful young Lady sat in another chair a pair of children playing at her feet. The Gentleman and his Lady, Jenn had decided, were ignoring each other.

"Sir," Jenn's father had commenced, his presentation endlessly refined and rehearsed, "my name is Henri Anry son to Thom Anry, and I do machinin' what's been said to be more than passable though I lost my letters a recommendin' in a flood. This here beside me is my lady Julia called Juli and my daughter Jennifer called Jenn Anne and my daughter Alita which prefers her name long, and they's all experienced washin' fine and course fabric and Jenn Anne's been waitin' maid to Ladies and can read and write her letters."

"Sir," George Soutell had answered, his speech, Jenn suspected, just as well rehearsed a litany of oft repeated, standard formula, "I sincerely regret that we don't at the moment require..."

Jenn, leaning in despair and exhaustion in Alita's arms the speeches little more than familiar, half heard noise, had raised her eyes in idle, wistful study toward the farm's Lady, two young children unconcerned innocence in their features playing at her feet. The Lady, Jenn realized a quick moment later and with something of a start, had actually noticed her and her family, studying intelligence in her eyes rather than the affected sympathy or ill-concealed disdain displayed by most other mistresses toward her family.

"George," she began in musing tones, "the guestroom in the woolhouse is vacant at the moment, isn't it?"

"Why -? Is it? Well -" Soutell's young Gentleman stealing a glance toward Soutell's marshal nodding amusement. "Why - yes, I suppose it is -" a young Gentleman no speech prepared for this contingency shrugged, turning his attention back to the carriage along the farm lane toward which a stable boy was leading a pony. The farm's mistress, saintly benevolence in her features, Jenn had decided that day a year ago, turned back to her family.

"Oh, it's the least we can do," Julina Soutell pronounced. "What is life unless it is to emulate our Lord's example of charity and concern for our fellow creatures. Chesten, please, show these people to the guestroom in the woolhouse."

"She's - she's a saint -?" Jenn had asked as Soutell's marshal escorted her and her family to their new home.

"At - times," Soutell's marshal had chuckled with ill-concealed mirth, "particular at times when one a the young Gentlemen sittin' on the lawns aside a Mr. and Miss is Mr. Lowry, pastor a Cole Parish."

She and her family, Jenn still sometimes chuckled with easy amusement, had arrived on Soutell Farm a year ago at an opportune moment. Julina Soutell's saintly demeanor even if not entirely affected had still by and large been a performance for a young high church cleric he performing for a bishop of Norecomb insisting that young Gentlemen clerics charged with pastoral work do some, the bishop of Norecomb country the only personage in the play of events of genuinely saintly character. And still, Jenn decided, Julina Soutell, idle, spoiled, sighing away her life in boredom, wasn't in the least a bad person. And even hers wasn't a life without some very real pain. Jenn had any number of times over the past year strolled to her quiet little knoll a quarter mile from Soutell Farm only to find Julina Soutell already standing there, silent anguish in her features as she gazed toward the north, toward Norecomb Town and a husband whose over night sojourn had once more prolonged itself into a week's absence.

Jenn idled into her family's room nestled in a back corner of the wool house. Her father sat at table eating, a guilty, evasive nod of notice toward Jenn, relief settling into his features when it appeared that a grown daughter of strong and commanding temperament wasn't up to a chiding confrontation this evening.

Collapsing onto cushions atop packing crates arranged into a makeshift couch, entwining her ankles about Alita's in toying, affectionate embrace, Jenn gazed with mirthful amusement toward curious fascination in her sister's features.

"What's that one?" Alita asked, one of Jenn's books on the cushions, Alita's finger to a word.

"A - N - D," Jenn chuckled. "And"

"Oh," the same awed fascination in Alita's features as she shot a glance of admiration toward her older sister, idle boredom in Alita's eyes as she toyed with the pages. "Well, I probably shouldn't even be lookin' at it anyway."

"Why not?"

"It's Gentleman and Lady's things and those what wait on them."

"Perhaps," Jenn chuckled again, a glance toward her father. "Not always, though. Machinists gotta read, and father reads better than most Gentlemen. Machinists manuals which are a mystery to them are child's play for father."

He sat at the table, Jenn noticed with pleased satisfaction, beaming with ill-concealed pride.

"Speakin' a such," he began, "me and Chesten got the other tractor goin' today."

"Why, that's wonderful, father," encouraging warmth in Jenn's smile.

"Big job, crank shaft, cracked piston, head shot, and Chesten admittin' they'd a just hired the job out to foundry machinists outa Norecomb Town a year back. I said 'no need, Chesten. I done two a these tractors already, one in Alban country, nuther in Boston.' So Chesten's agog eyes as I throwd the switch thinkin' ain't no way, but I know’d it'd fire right up. So I throwd the switch and sure nuff out belches a big black cloud a smoke and tractors hummin' away like a Boston clock. 'Mr. Henri,' says Chesten, 'you's gettin' half a what we saved doin' this here job our own selves,' and Chesten winks sly like sayin, 'Mr. George's gonna take notice a this for sure. Fifty weight silver in his pocket for the card tables at Starr Club and I'm gonna make sure he knows who saved him that fifty weight. If he don't take you on permanent now he's a fool.' Then Chesten says we gotta celebrate, a bottle proper store bought with Norecomb tax stamps and all -" sheepish hesitation in his features.

"Maybe -" Jenn chuckled in relenting amusement, "maybe in the circumstances a transgression of the sort can be overlooked. And I'm proud of you, father. I'd never have had the least doubt," that the truth, Jenn realized as she settled herself at the table, her father sitting in glowing pride as she covered his hand with her own. Sober, he was a talented machinist, his an agile intelligence she’d inherited. He took her hand into his own, gratitude in his eyes for encouraging approval in hers. Nor was anything concealed from a wife and mother siting a few steps away darning socks, unpretended joy in a mother's eyes she having long since recognized in her daughter a perceptive, confident brilliance she could never entirely comprehend, she having long since resigned her husband's emotional well-being into her daughter's care.

"Chesten were downright adamant too," a father grasping his daughter's hand in pleading intimacy continued. "'Ain't no matter any more your not havin' recommendin' letters, Henri,' Chesten says. 'You's been here a year and proved yourself and Mr. George's gonna put you and yours on the lists else I'll be pesterin' him sunup to sundown.' And Chesten knows there weren't no recommendin' letters in the first place -" though he once more fell into intimate silence for Jenn's hand crushed to his own in frantic, emotional embrace, the pleading in his eyes now replaced by unfeigned, abandoned gratitude.

"There's a dance," Alita announced, her mood carefree, buoyant ease. "On Winth, Saturday coming."

"Oh?" idle amusement in Jenn's features for a sister preferring topics of amorous concern.

"Thom was here today, said to me, 'I do hope you are planning to attend, miss Alita.' 'Why sir,' I says, 'I haven't given the matter the least thought.'"

"Of course you haven't."

"Anyway," Alita chuckled, "I'm engaged for at least the first two rounds."

"This is getting serious, then?"

"Perhaps," a musing chuckle. "Thom is first herdsman on Winth. He's been most anxious to assure me he and his family's been on permanent lists on common title for generations now. His grandfather was Winth Farm's commons manager, and Thom's intimated that his Gentleman's intimated that Thom can expect to be common manager his self in his own time, and I don't doubt it. Half a Winth is already courtin' his favor. He's just a bit conceited."

"Oh?"

"My sister Jenn, I says to him, is maid in waitin' to Miss Julina, does all her corrospondin' and speaks Lady's words as good as any Lady. That toned down Mr. Thom's high airs. Still, he's not in the least objectionable. If he did declare himself to me, I spose I'd have to consider him."

"What about Alden on Heul and Roberd in town, and -"

"I'm still considerin'," Alita chuckled, gentle amusement in Jenn's features pondering her sister's. Alita had to a far more obvious extent inherited something of their mother's delicate, captivating beauty. Alita even at seventeen, Jenn supposed, still had plenty of time to consider.

Their mother standing some time later at the wash basin and the iron pot the family owned, Jenn pushed herself to her side.

"Leave it. I'll do it later. Go eat," Jenn insisted.

Sighing, capitulating immediately with a gentle kiss to Jenn's cheeks, her mother settled onto a chair at the table, rapt attention in her features for a husband's idle banter, gentle amusement for a younger daughter's amorous adventures. As soon as that husband and daughter had settled onto their cots for the night, however, Jenn took a thirty one year old woman into commanding embrace, settled with her onto their makeshift couch. Her mother, Jenn supposed, was now her emotional daughter in every sense of the word, not, Jenn further supposed, all that unusual a situation, a mother finding herself emotionally dependent on a grown daughter. And still, Jenn couldn't help but sense the full extent of the truth in the strength of her mother's embrace, a mother who over the past year had resigned every last intimacy of her soul into her daughter's hands, the thing finished and complete before either of them had been fully away that it sooner or later had to be so. Even the appearance of their embrace, Jenn decided in searching amusement, spoke the nature of their intimacy, her mother resting her head on her shoulder in search of consoling warmth.

"He wasn't - very drunk, was he, Jenn?" a glance upward in search of a daughter's trusted counsel.

"No, he wasn't, mother. And I suppose it can be overlooked in this instance. Chesten told me just the other day that he'd all but given up on that tractor. 'Mr. Henri is a machinist, though, so I spect he'd know better.' I suspect Chesten wasn't really hoping for the best. Anyway, everyone was happy, father particularly so. It's only when father tries to drink away problems and trouble that he just brings on more of the same."

"I'll never really understand why he started drinking so much in the first place. Oh Jenn, you should have seen him when I first met him. He was every thirteen year old girl's dream. He'd apprenticed for three years in little Boston's machine shops, machinists years older green with envy when he repaired something which had baffled them for months."

"And people the same everywhere."

"Your father knew, of course, what was going on, did everything he could to placate them. The Gentleman, however, chose to believe the lies, and Henri had no idea how to convince the Gentleman that they were lies, couldn't at eighteen understand why they were lying so in the first place. He started drinking when the same thing happened on a machine farm, and that Gentleman of course knew the first Gentleman. It was farm to farm, and finally country to country."

"Perhaps it will end here, mother," a glance of gentle amusement toward the cot on which Alita slept. "Our darling, I suspect, will end here. Half of Norecomb country is now in pursuit, Alita of an age and temperament to encourage it, she remarkably - adept doing so."

"She's little more than a nuisance at the wash tubs."

"I'll help you tomorrow," Jenn chuckled. "Perhaps Mr. George will be back by then and Miss Julina can get along without me."

"What on earth is he about leaving her alone so often. She's such a beautiful young Lady."

"Mr. George is a Gentleman," Jenn shrugged, "not the worst of them, home and hearth just not enough for him. I can't imagine why either. Miss Julina dotes on him, and upstairs in the residence is shine and crystal the common lot can't even imagine."

"And still he spends half his time in Norecomb Town -?"

"At the Starr Club, whatever that is. Miss Julina isn't quite certain either, calls it an institution as ancient as any other in Norecomb Town, sacred to Norecomb's Gentlemen. Women, even Ladies, aren't allowed. A great amount of money is said to change hands at the Starr Club's gaming tables. I suspect that is Mr. George's primary vice."

"I've never thought terribly bad of him," and Jenn rested another long moment holding her mother in close, intimate warmth, that subtle hint of a tremble in her mother's arms still at times all too obvious.

George Soutell had as often as other Gentlemen on farms on which they had lived stood gazing in rapt, spellbound fascination toward "a Helen of Troy" in the guise of a washer girl. He'd idled toward the wash tubs with all manner of inane, insipid comment, his intention probably sensual mischief the extent of which was left in question. George Soutell, however, even if never striking Jenn as the essence of perceptive brilliance, had still perceived Jenn's mother for what she was, an unassuming, uncomplicated creature, a woman of almost unbelievable beauty and allure who hadn't made the least effort to draw attention her herself. George Soutell, Jenn chuckled, had by and large deported himself honorably. Devouring her mother in a dazed stupor, realizing, however, that further attentions could only be inflicted with brutish indifference to her own feelings, George Soutell sighed, offered a final inane comment on such as the weather, and went his way.

Other Gentlemen over the past few years, however, hadn't. Jenn had, carrying cups along a residence's corridors in Alban country, rounded a corner to find a visiting Gentleman of prominent rank manhandling her mother toward a bedchamber's door, her mother's pleading cries and terrified struggles answered with leering laughter. "Now miss Juli, you know you want to." Jenn had stepped face to face with a titled Gentleman, fury in her eyes. "She's my mother," Jenn had growled. "And -" haughty indifference in the Gentleman's features, a crack in his composure as a tall commons girl blatant, unabashed threat in her eyes stepped face to face in intimidating proximity. "She's my mother," Jenn had growled again, abandoned now to any measure necessary no matter the consequences. "Your patron will be informed of this impertinence," the Gentleman had whimpered as he backed away in defeat.

Jenn's mother had that day in Alban country fallen into her daughter's arms in swooning relief, had raised adoring eyes to a daughter become nothing less than maternal warmth and safety for her. Prior to that time, a washer girl had lived her life in constant sorrow and turmoil - and concealing it all from her husband. How many other commons had climbed a gallows in Alban country protesting a titled Gentleman's behavior with violence. "I'll put a bullet through his brains if I even catch him - if I ever know for certain -" a husband had growled suspecting several Gentleman's behavior toward his wife something more than "a harmless bit a frivolity."

Juli had recognized in her older daughter all of her husband's uncanny intelligence, all of his passions, had recognized something more in Jenn, however, some subtle understanding of human nature and some ability to respond to the baser aspects of it without provoking disastrous consequences. Juli had in Alban country collapsed into her daughter's arms in finished, filial abandon, nothing less than awe and adoration in a mother's eyes for a daughter of commanding and determined poise entirely beyond that mother's comprehension. But it just didn't matter. Jenn was her protectress, perfectly at ease as such, and fanatically devoted to a mother that mother perfectly, blissfully happy to settle herself into her daughter's arms in filial abandon.

"Yes, it's true -" they'd declared to each other in intimate amusement by the time Jenn had turned nineteen. And yet a fact was just a fact. Of far greater importance to both was the burning passion of their love for each other.

"Jenn, you're nineteen," a mother sighed now and again. "It's time - way past time, for that mater, that - you begin thinking about your future," that mother, however, never quite able to conceal some subtle fright from her eyes for the thought of her older daughter leaving her.

"Maybe - maybe soon," Jenn answered in musing thought, declaring that nineteen wasn't really all that old, would in another age and in a different world have been considered quite young. "If he cares about me," Jenn had stated whenever some young man began paying her serious attention, "he'll wait just a bit longer.":

Both Jenn and her mother had then found themselves face to face with a horror in whose presence common girls were utterly helpless, the king of Alban's word law in all of New York and New England, he answerable only to an emperor in London that emperor not quite certain where New York and New England was.

"Jenn -" a mother had pled, trembling in fright as they stood amidst ancient, crystal opulence in the throne room, a husband and father standing at the base of Alban Town's gallows. Jenn had finally lowered restraining hands from her mother's arms, had abandoned her mother to Alban's king knives ripping into her heart as she did so.

"Jenn -" her mother whispered as she and her daughter sat in each other's arms on Soutell Farm, "Jenn - don't think about it. It was a year ago. It's over. You said so yourself."

"I know, mother. But - I hate him. He could have just let father go. Why -"

"Because - he's a bad man, Jenn, even if he is a king."

It really was just as simple as that, Jenn realized with a settling twinge of bitter amusement, shuddering when she considered how much worse it could have been. Very few people across New York and New England doubted Alban's king the unabashed lecher he was reputed to be, mirth, arrogant scorn returned for accusing stares on the part of titled and commons alike. Jenn had discovered only after she and her family had left Alban Town that rumors of a far more insidious nature were based on brutal, perverse fact. Crushing her mother into her arms, she yet again saw little more than confusion in her mother's features for intimations on the part of a house marshal fled from Alban Palace and encountered along out country highways. Her mother, Jenn realized, had glanced without understanding toward ropes and chains in a chamber just beyond that into which she'd been led by Alban's king. Jenn had glanced another long moment toward her mother seeing her as she'd never before had reason to allow herself. She'd glanced toward a woman who was indeed some indescribable beauty, her form youthful, she appearing nothing less than pristine innocence - and a lecher without principle or need of restraint groaning in abandoned, animal want as he raped her, was sated and satisfied, however, doing so. A young house marshal fleeing Alban Town for Norecomb country had noticed dawning comprehension in Jenn's eyes as she and he in conspiratorial whispers discussed the fate of commons girls from out country farms across Alban country who never suspected service in the king of Alban's palace would end in brutal, unspeakable horror.

"Speak it - I need to know," Jenn had pled toward a young man over a campfire along the roads.

"The miss," he'd finally begun in finished, conspiratorial intimacy as he'd glanced toward Jenn's mother, "is - beyond describin'. I believe you when you say she's your mother but - I'd a swore I saw a fourteen year old girl, but - like none I ever saw before, and that's probably what saved her. The old bastard - got it up right quick, probably first time in years. But it don't usually work like that, takes more, and takes more in ways I don't think should right be spoke -"

"You're going to Norecomb country?" Jenn had asked at the edge of an out country road, the implications of her question obvious. Norecomb's and a half dozen other vice roys in country across the north were in constant revolt against Alban's king, the north a magnate for anyone else at odds with that king. "I want Alban dead too," Jenn had declared, unfeigned ferocity in her eyes, concluding, conspiratorial gravity in the features of a former house marshal.

"I never thought all the rumors were true no more'n most, thought 'em something outa books bout Rome or the Mericas or such. Did Alban Palace say to me go and get such and such, I never figured it were my job askin' questions, even when it were such and such's daughter I were to get - till one day I brung a sweet little girl from the harbor tremblin' like a kitten, and I says, miss, don't take on so. Your papa's just gotta pay his taxes or some such and they'll let you go. Don't know why I just had to poke about inta what they just call 'the back rooms' in the palace, maybe suspicions I had turnin' little girls over to the bosses, the smirk in they’s eyes they didn't care if I know or not. But - the back rooms - ropes, chains, whips with broken glass beads - and a sweet little girl never knowin' nuthin bout beefs her papa mighta had with king and palace - and there just weren't nuthin' I could do by then. They'd gone at the little girl a day and a night - for the sport a it - the old bastard sittin' there watchin’ - watchin’ her hangin’ from a rope - dyin’ - the old bastard gettin his jollies off-"

Jenn crushed her mother again into her arms on Soutell Farm.

"No, he's not a good man," Jenn repeated. "And the rest of New York and New England agrees with you, mother, the north in particular," and Jenn settled again into a mood of musing amusement. "Mr. George was on about the Syrilesse again, bubbling with enthusiasm for a summer campaign, wants me to be his camp maid this summer. There's rumor, however, that Norecomb and the rest of the north might march against Alban instead of for him, and I don't think Mr. George overly concerns himself with politics, would be quite content to march south instead of north. If Norecomb marches against Alban, I'll beg for a place in camp."

"We've lived on Soutell for almost a year now."

"Yes," Jenn agreed in the same tone of brooding quiet. Wars, particularly civil conflagrations of the sort which might be expected between Alban's king and his passionately antagonistic vice roys in the north, were always disastrous for transient families, even those well removed from the scene of battle. Neither side trusted their proffered allegiance. A family settled ten years on an out country farm might be harried down the road by second generation residents they as often as not displaced in turn if the war stirred particularly belligerent passions among a country's titled class. Jenn and her family had but a year ago trudged along roads in the Virginias and the Carolines in search of refuge for wage only to be met by the populace of entire countries wandering in desperation along the roads.

"That's what happened after Charles Albert," Jenn sighed.

"Oh?" her mother asked, the same wonder in her eyes for a literate daughter of a keen, perceptive intelligence a mother could never quite comprehend. "Is that what Miss Julina's books say."

"In a way," Jenn mused. "By and large, they're numbers, cold and dispassionate facts. I think too many people forgot that there were other people behind the numbers. An entire country dies. A plague kills another. But who really knows about it other than people wandering along the roads with nowhere to go. And not long after Charles Albert there just wasn't anywhere for too many people to go. So when a few people got somewhere, they stayed there, and kings and vice roys said that's enough and closed the gates. They've never really been opened again, at least not the way they might have been. But - as you say, mother, we've lived on Soutell almost a year now, and Mr. George is not given to - philosophical or political passions of any emotional depth. He thinks me the perfect choice for a camp maid," Jenn chuckled. "Perhaps we'll be able to stay on Soutell Farm even if the rest of the west blows itself up entirely all over again."

"Oh, I do hope so, Jenn. I couldn't face such as the south again," that a nightmarish trek for which Jenn still shuddered herself. They'd fallen in with a dozen other refugee families wandering the roads, had wandered north into the Pennsylvanias when informed by other refugees that country to the south was burning. They'd watched families collapse in exhaustion, had finally watched mothers and fathers bury children at the side of the road. Wandering north into Syril country, they'd dashed frantically into the depths of vast, uncharted forests when airplanes had appeared overhead spewing sheets of fire along the road in the path of wandering refugees. Jenn's family given a moment's refuge by an elderly Lady declaring Syril's vice roy "a heartless old fool money his only god," they'd staggered on glancing with studying caution toward countless other out country farms, boys amusing themselves with hunting rifles. A fourteen year old mother nursing an infant had died near one farm. A father buried his child at the edge of the road several days later. Only when they'd wandered north along the eastern shore of Ontario did they notice hints of civility on people's faces, sometimes sincere expressions of regret stating "there's naught for you’s here today." The leader of a sizable band of highwaymen, Jenn had chuckled even at the time, had seemed the essence of polite gentility offering her father employment, a Gentleman's dignified propriety in speech and demeanor addressing her mother, she eventually to be the highwayman's "maid Marion."

"Maid - who ?" Jenn's mother had asked.

"Another of Miss Julinas's books," Jenn chuckled, holding her mother's hands in gentle caress, they a washer girls and all that detracted from beauty otherwise some almost impossible feminine perfection. Why, Jenn asked herself in brooding quiet, must a washer girl's beauty be nothing more than a nuisance to her? Why, as often as not, must it be a dangerous nuisance in the world as it was today?

Jenn settled finally into little more the musing amusement as she once more stood in a forest encampment beside a dashing young scoundrel obviously born a Gentleman.

"A long story " he'd chuckled in easy mirth. "Yes, Robin Hood’s, I suppose. Your - mother -?"

"My mother," Jenn had chuckled for wide amaze in yet another young man's eyes aiming a final glance of dazed, breathless appreciation toward her mother, his features genteel amusement as he turned back to Jenn.

"Anyway, consider my proposition. We make easy with naught but the vice roy of Norecomb's gold and silver, and Norecomb as it is, I could easily double my camp and still be unable to take advantage of all the opportunities which present themselves along the highways and byways. I tell uncle Harry the same, at least once a week, infuriates the old geezer, the call great fun, the highlight of my week. But - yes, I suppose if Harry and the others do march on Alban, I couldn't even call myself a gentleman did I not forget old slights and march with him. 'You will, my boy, won't you?' something in his voice which tells me he and the others are indeed getting their nerve up. 'After all, my boy - Alban? You and I can certainly come to at least some temporary accord in order to settle with that perverse, depraved monster. March with me, my boy, and we'll just forget all that talk me drawing and quartering you and your men. Never meant it seriously ...."