A/N: Hey all. First story on hope you like it. :D
Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing I tell you. Ann Rinadi wrote The Fifth of March, I wrote this add on for it.
Things Never Change
Walking along Seventh Street in the early Philadelphia sunlight on this March fifth of 1783, I find myself remembering the night thirteen years ago that changed everyone's lives. I hadn't even noticed that I had stopped walking until the tiny child clinging to my arm called to me.
"Wachel, why've we stopped?" young James Hendershaw asked in his small three-year-old voice. I looked down at little James and see someone that I haven't seen in a while, and I smile.
"No reason, James. Come along now, your mother will start to worry." As we continued walking, I couldn't help but think about today, thirteen years ago. The Boston Massacre. That day is as clear as anything in my mind, because it is the day that I lost someone I truly cared about to the hands of the jurors. My friend, Private Matthew Kilroy got out of jail on manslaughter charges and had to get his finger branded. Then he went off to England, his true home. I haven't seen him or talked to him since.
As I have been revisiting these memories, I am shocked to find that I have led James and myself to the Hendershaw house. Three stories, American feel, you can't help but think that this house belongs to people that shouldn't be crossed. But they are as kind as the Adams, another family I lived with. James let go of my hand and ran, his dark brown hair bouncing slightly as he bounded up the steps to the front door, as I follow.
"Now, James, don't make a ruckus. Little Rose is sleeping you know," I scolded lightly, just enough so that James would listen to me. I opened the door and let James walked in and up the stairs to his room like a perfect little gentleman. I laughed softly, before remembering that I had no just cause to be merry or joyous.
"In America," I scolded myself softly, "one not needs to have a just cause to be merry or joyous." And then I remembered. I remembered him. I miss him terribly...
My thoughts were interrupted by the door knocker. I walked over to the door, my dark curls bouncing lightly. I opened the door to see a man slightly taller than me at the door. His eyes were blue, like the Philadelphia sky in May. His eyes held a familiarity about them, same with his light hair.
"Does a Miss Rachel Marsh reside in this house by any chance?" the man asked, a gentlemanly, British air about him.
"Mayhap. May I inquirer as to who you are, sir?" I questioned back. I was certainly not going to tell someone I hardly knew that I was the woman he was looking for.
"I am Private Kilroy. Private Matthew Kilroy," the man stated calmly, but I could tell his patience was being tested.
"'Tis it really you Matthew?" I questioned, a state of shock coming over me as a look at this man before me, not being able to comprehend what he had stated. Before he could answer I had him in a tight hug, a hug of old friends, both pairs of blue eyes, I could tell, twinkling in merriment. "Oh, Matthew, how I missed you so!"
"I have missed you also Rachel. It has been the utmost torturous decade," Matthew said, pulling away from my bone crushing hug. "I told you I wouldn't have forgotten you," he murmured.
"Most ironic, I have just been thinking of you," I state, laughing softly. I walk out of the house and close the door behind me. Matthew chuckled at the irony. "Well, come on. We have a lot to catch up on, old chap," I laugh, putting on a fake British accent. We laugh some more as we tell each other what we have been up to these ten plus years.
"So you mean to tell me, Matthew, that not one single woman would want you to marry her?" I was aghast at this news.
"It was not that they did not want me, but that I did not want them," Matthew said. Even as he said those words, my heartbeat quickened. "Answer me this Rachel Marsh. Did I give you enough time?" My words were lost in my throat, even if they were not, I would not bring myself to say them. Matthew took my silence as a good time to do something. Do something he did. As I was still looking for something to say, I feel his gentle lips come upon mine in a sweet, gentle kiss. A kiss so much like my last one with Matthew that I have to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming. It was this kiss that sealed the promise made over ten years ago.
"Yes, Matthew Kilroy, I think 'twas enough time," I state, breaking the kiss as the sun sets. I walk home, knowing that he is watching me as I do so, a slight smile on his face. I mirror his actions by smiling softly, feeling as if nothing could get me down from this cloud I was on. Nothing. And yet, I feel as if 'tis a dream, and pinch myself again to make such I was not sleeping. No, not sleeping, I conclude. I remember these past few moments have sealed a promise I made when I was sixteen, and I laugh at the irony of it. It seems that most of life runs on irony. But I would not have it any other way, because I love my life just as 'tis. Because, now my life is complete.