An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“Jack! Dinner time! Come get washed up.” Abigail called over her shoulder as she draped the fresh laundry over the clothesline. She turned, looking toward the fire, the sun just dipping below the horizon.
“Jack? Come on now, you gotta get washed for supper.” She glanced around the camp, spotting Tilly near the fire.
“Tilly, you seen Jack anywhere?” Panic crept into her voice.
Tilly stood up, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands, she glanced around, her eyes sweeping the camp.
“Not since earlier this afternoon.” Tilly placed her cup near the fire. “He’s around here somewhere, I’ll help ya look.”
Abigail thanked her and began to weave through the tents, her voice cracking as she called out Jack’s name.
Tilly’s calls carried through the trees near where John had stationed himself for watch.
“Jack! C’mon now, this ain’t a game. You’re scarin’ your poor mother. Come out now! Jack?”
Tilly stopped as the brush behind her rustled, she spun around, relief flooding over her as she expected to see Jack coming through the trees. Her heart sank as John pushed through the trees, worry painted on his face.
“Jack’s missin’?” He knit his brows together, his hands grasping gently at Tilly’s shoulders.
She looked up at him and nodded quietly. His eyes darted toward camp and just as quickly as he had appeared he vanished into the darkness toward camp.