#yeshallreceive

[curseconsumed]

@yeshallreceive​

“Excuse me!” 

The delivery of Bradford’s entreaty lacked the proper address -- not only because he didn’t know if this “Smith” woman was married, but also because quite frankly, he didn’t give two damns one way or the other. All he did know was she seemed to sniff around Tallmadge an awful lot, and that in and of itself made her a target worthy of interest.

Plastering on a smile that never quite reached his eyes, he held up a shawl -- one he’d gleaned in a trade with a doxy -- and offered it with faux expectance. “I believe you dropped this,” he said. “I trekked nearly halfway across camp to return it.”

This, naturally, was a lie. Mary occasionally wore a shawl, but he considered that only a minor technicality. Nearly each day, she would move across camp with a basket full of freshly laundered raiment or mending -- and always around the same precise time -- so he knew he could pass off any old garment as being dropped, should the need arise. He wasn’t a man for frivolities such as small talk, so this seemed like the easiest option for acquaintance. Needling her for useful information could always come later.

When Mary didn’t reply fast enough for his liking, Bradford draped the shawl across her basket and nodded toward her destination. “Shall I accompany you?” he offered. “I can carry that load, should you need it. I’m not otherwise detained, and you seem to be in need of a hand...or two, given the size of that basket.”

[unyieldingvalxr]

@setuaketloyalties @anoseforrottenapples @yeshallreceive​ (for any of the marys)

There’s an etching of genuine panic in the confines of Elsie’s tired, entreating sea-glass orbs. “You’re a mother. Ain’t ya?” She moves to her overstuffed saddle-bag. It’s full of hay and a few stuffed shirts, transforming it in to a make-shift cradle. 

She motions for the other woman to follow. Upon peering inside, the other woman would discover a small, swaddled babe.

“I don’t really know much about youngin’s cause I’m an only child...” Elsie starts to explain. “I figured, I’d take her ta a more experienced woman. Ya see, I found her orphaned after the siege of Fort Moultrie.” The bare-bones story still pained her to relate. 

Then turning her eyes from the squirming bundle back to the woman, she prods. “Can ya help us?”

[avictimofthejazz]

@yeshallreceive​

Becoming stranded in Long Island on his way out of York City had never been Templeton’s plan—especially since Long Island was a good many miles off of his usual route home to Pennsylvania. However, between storm damage on the roads and the Red Coats creating detours that he had to maneuver around, he ended swinging further east than usual and found himself stuck.   When he reached it, he decided the small village of Setauket would have to be his stopping place for the night. It was getting dark, another storm seemed to be blowing in and his horse was exhausted. For that matter, so was he. Still…eyeing the collection of Red Coats and the new but distinct green uniforms of the Queen’s Rangers gave him pause. He had served in the army for almost seven years and, under Hannibal’s guidance, their little group used tactics quite similar to Robert Roger’s men. They actually crossed paths on occasion, though under Rogers’s guidance, the Rangers were not nearly as…professional looking as they had become. Whomever was running them now seemed to have a flair for military decorum that Rogers never wasted time on.  

Tying his horse to a rail and making sure his items were secure gave Templeton the time he needed to survey the military figures and decide if anyone looked familiar. To his relief, nearly all the faces he saw were a good few years younger than himself. Frowning faintly, he rubbed at his horse’s blaze. Maybe that meant all of the ones here were fresh off the boat from England---a batch of wet-behind-the-ears cadets sent to a sleepy village because they were not trusted in the combat zones yet. He could not assume the same of the Queen’s Rangers though. Their unit was too elite to be wasted in a tiny village like this under normal circumstances…which raised the important question of why were they here. Directing a friendly nod toward a rather harried-looking woman walking by with a shopping basket and a small child, he assessed her quickly. Then he decided she would be a useful source of potential information. “Ma’am,” He inclined his head, rubbing at his horse’s nose again when the animal head-butted his shoulder, “I dislike bothering you but I see the King’s Men are in town. Do you know if any of the stables in your village have stalls left? It looks like it is going to rain tonight and I’d hate to leave my poor horse out in the storm. We’ve already ridden through one today and he could use a dry place to rest.”

[honorhearted]

@yeshallreceive - In which Ben and Mary are the primary contributors to AO3. (credit to top image: (x))

[honorhearted]

@yeshallreceive​ continued from (x)

Mary couldn't help from smiling, leaning over to meet Thomas, as he tottered over, dropping another armful of red apples into the basket held in her grasp before hurrying back to where Ben was, ready to be lifted him back on his shoulders to pick more.

She couldn’t help the smile tugging on the corners of her mouth as she heard the way Thomas giggled and squealed with delight as he was playfully brought up, set atop of Ben’s shoulders, to the height his father never could allow him in all their years together.

That was the part she disliked the most, the part she wished she could prevent herself from doing: comparing the two of them, Ben to Abraham. Ben was not her husband, and she was certain he wouldn’t want to be, but whenever he visited, checked up on them, paying Thomas special attention, Ben’s playful nature reminded her of Abe’s, of the only gesture her husband had ever done that had been one out of love and not selfishness.

“How many more do you think we’ll need?” She was asking both of them even though she already knew the answer. They had more than enough apples for her to make an apple pie now.

--

Despite the unwanted memories, meeting with Mary and Thomas Woodhull never failed to thaw out the chilled, ever-present iciness within his heart. The war had tainted all goodness for Ben -- tainted the ability for him to feel deserving of any and all happiness -- and yet somehow, every time he could see that Abraham’s family was safe and secure and thriving, he allowed himself to feel a modicum of warmth again. Though the problem with the thaw, he knew, was that eventually, he may very well drown...

Thomas interrupted his thoughts in that moment, toddling over with his arms outstretched. “Back for more, are you?” he asked, chuckling. “If you’re not careful, we might end up harvesting the entire orchard.”

Eyes twinkling, he lifted the boy up -- though rather than balance him on his shoulders, as he had before, Ben lightly tossed Thomas into the air, earning himself a squeal of delight. It wasn’t a scream of pain or agony, but sheer joy. As much as it instilled in him an unshakable warmth, Ben wasn’t quite sure he could get used to that.

After a few more playful tosses, he finally placed Thomas onto his shoulders and helped the boy pick an armful of apples from the lowly branches. 

“How many more do you think we’ll need?”

Mary’s voice carried over to them then, and Ben turned toward her with a lopsided smile. “I guess that depends,” he said. “Do you intend to let me have one of these pies, or am I just going to have to sit back and enjoy through sight alone? Because if the answer is yes -- to the first question -- I think we’ve got just about enough. But if the answer is no, I’m going to keep picking out of spite.”

Ben also wasn’t used to making quips again. Typically, his day revolved around busywork -- he needed to keep busy -- and taciturn conversation. He tended to say as little as possible, and did whatever was necessary in a brisk and efficient fashion. The war had made him closed-off and anxious, yet back here in Setauket, breathing in the familiarity and hearing the sounds of the ocean, and seeing Thomas’ bright, sunny smiles...he somehow felt like a shadow of his old self again.

Suddenly, a look of self-consciousness dipped across his face, and Ben frowned, setting Thomas back into the grass. “I may not know my way around a kitchen, but I could help if...if you needed me to?”

[honorhearted]

@yeshallreceive​

Ben hadn’t been to the town watering hole since he’d been about four-and-ten. Sitting there next to Thomas, he chuckled as the boy kept reaching eagerly for the pole, nearly thwarting his attempts at baiting the hook.

“Not just yet,” he admonished, but without any true chastisement. "And don’t forget to thank our lovely assistant for her help." Here, he spared Mary a lopsided smile, watching her as she tended to the basket of goods she’d prepared for their outing.

In truth, Ben was oddly bashful around her now, wanting to please, but also unsure of just how to behave now that their relationship had delved into the physical. He had never courted a woman before. He supposed this wasn't exactly courting, so much as seeking comfort amidst a bleak, otherwise hellish situation, but Ben had never been one to control the whims of his heart. They roamed wild and free, indulgent and passionate.

Thomas cried out then, pointing toward the once placid water as another ripple appeared. “Fish!” he exclaimed, pointing more emphatically.

“I’m hurrying,” Ben assured him, grinning as the boy tugged on his elbow. “You can’t rush an artist, you know.” Not that he was exactly gifted at fishing. That was more of Caleb’s forte. Ben and Abraham had usually accompanied him for the sake of getting away from their daily chores, not because they necessarily enjoyed sitting about being idle. But here in this moment, Ben could see the joy in being still for once -- for getting to be calm and inert and appreciative of the gifts he’d been given.

With the rod finally prepped, Ben lifted Thomas into his lap and helped the boy hold onto the pole, his hands covering the child's plump, tiny fists as he instructed, "Lean it back a bit...that's right. Very good."

With a flick of his wrist, Ben helped Thomas cast the line, and then he looked over to Mary with a chuckle. "Are you sure you don't want me to prep you a line, as well? If you're afraid of being outshone by my scintillating talent, then I understand, but Thomas and I could use a good laugh."

Thomas bounced in his lap in response, excitedly peering down at the water as he waited for something to nibble at their line.

[avictimofthejazz]

Mary pursed her lips in discontentment at the man presently crouched behind the bushes; it was almost a laughable cliche. "Sir, I really don't want to have to call the police." She had pepper spray in her purse if worse came to worse, but at the very least, Thomas was clever enough to know danger when he saw it; he'd run to the nearest shop and tell them what happened. (from Mary to Murphy ?? @yeshallreceive )

@yeshallreceive

Stakeouts had never been Murphy’s favorite part of this job….but the ones where he had to actually leave his car were worse then the ones where he got to stay inside it and drink really bad coffee. The absolute pits where the ones were he had to physically follow someone… especially someone as inconsistent in his patterns as Mikey Fitzgilbert. Incidentally, Murphy decided grimly, that was a terrible name for someone who might be stealing computer software plans from his company and selling them. If a man was going to be a criminal, he would be wise to operate under a boring name. No one casually recalled a ‘John Smith’ or a ‘Frank Jones’…but Mikey Fitzgilbert? People remembered names like that. The computer nerd had opted to start his day off at a café, spending almost two hours drinking coffee and completing puzzles in the paper. Then Murph got to follow him casually through the grocery store (the detective had no idea someone could agonize over apples for almost fifteen minutes until this job), wait outside the library while he returned books, and park near the man’s apartment once he went home for lunch. Just when Murph thought the man might say put for the rest of the afternoon, Mikey emerged again and headed for the park. The casual observer would assume the bread bag in his hand contained food for the ducks. Murphy hoped it held the missing plans. Mikey took a wandering route over the park’s paved trails, leaving Murph little place to hide except in the trees and foliage along the sides. It had been going well….until this red-head startled him so bad he almost tipped over and through the bush he had taken cover behind. Casting a worried glance toward Mikey, he swore when he saw the engineer pull a stale piece of bread from the bag and start crumpling it up for a few mallards swimming near-by

Turning his annoyed glance toward the woman, he stayed low. “You don’t need to call the police, ma’am,” he hissed, “I’m a licensed private investigator and I’m working.”  He cautiously reached into his jacket pocket for his license, and pushed it through the bush enough that she could read it. “Now why don’t you take your kid and go to the playground or something? It might be getting a little busy on this trail in a few minutes, if you get what I’m saying.” He pulled his hand back and put his license away. “I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

[honorhearted]

"We need to talk" (you pick!!)

@yeshallreceive

38. Your muse has had a fight with their family.

The tension in the air was palpable. Ben sat there at the Woodhull's dining room table, awkwardly glancing between Mary and Richard as they pored over their first course -- or rather, played with it and barely ate. Ben was starving, but he felt it impolite to dig in while Richard was glaring at Mary with such fierce, unadulterated disdain, and Mary, herself was spinning her spoon round and around in her soup.

Trying not to sigh -- the least attention he drew to himself, the better -- Ben carefully set down his spoon and lowered his eyes. That was when Richard slammed his fist onto the table.

"Have I not been a good provider for you?" he seethed at Mary. "Have I not taken the utmost care of you and Thomas after Abraham's death?" He chuckled then, the sound dark and grating. "Of course I have. I'm a damn good provider, and yet you have the audacity to not only spit upon my hospitality, but invite the direct cause of Abraham's death into my home?" Yet again, Richard slammed his fist onto the table, causing everyone present to flinch.

Ben exhaled, his stomach giving an agonizing flip-flop. "Judge Woodhull, if I may..."

"No, you most certainly may not!" Richard spat. "If you are to continue eating this meal prepared by my kitchen, then I expect you to do so on the floor like the dog you are!" Infuriated, he marched over to Ben's side of the table, then struck the bowl of soup, causing it to go clattering to the floor in a wave of broth, meat and vegetables.

Ben flinched, yet he did not resist. "I can leave," he evenly replied. "I didn't realize there were such hard feelings about my visit."

"No, of course you didn't," Richard hissed. "Despite your position in the war, you certainly failed to figure out what was important! Abraham was your friend! You were supposed to protect him!"

Paling, Ben rose from his seat and set down his napkin, his heart in his throat as he turned to Mary. "Thank you again for inviting me today, Mrs. Woodhull. I had a lovely time."