Dying Forever (Waking Forever Book 3) (22 page)

Alison smiled reassuringly as she nodded. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

“I had been - well, behaving badly, for the better part of two hundred years when I arrived in North Vietnam.” Bryce watched Alison’s face carefully. “I had always found wars and conflicts to be the easiest way of hiding my own carnage.”

Alison’s eyes narrowed. “So, what you did could be shuffled in with the atrocities the humans were committing?”

Bryce nodded. “Exactly.”

Alison sighed. “Ironic that we’re capable of the exact same horrific acts and manage it in mass.”

Bryce cleared her throat. “It’s been like that for millennium.”

Alison shook her head and took another drink of whiskey. Somehow, she was feeling more comfortable.
“I’m getting another drink, and maybe a couple of Girl Scout cookies. Would you like more?” Bryce nodded and handed Alison her nearly empty glass. “Keep talking.” Alison instructed over her shoulder as she left the living room.

“
I’ve seen many wars throughout my lifetime. The American Revolutionary War, the American Civil War, the Russian Civil War, the two World Wars.” Bryce took the now full glass of whiskey, along with a plate of Trefoil shortbread cookies, from Alison as she sat back down on the sofa. “I’ve seen the various types of war. Infantry, naval, cavalry, trench, chemical - and the list goes on.”

“What happened in Vietnam then?” Alison could see Bryce was providing context, but was also stalling in getting to the point.

“The intimacy of the killing.” Bryce looked down at her hands as she nervously rubbed her thumb and forefinger together.

“I don’t understand.” Alison could see Bryce was distressed, and she fought the urge to take her hand and reassure her.

“To that point, what I had seen was the masses being killed by the masses. Yes, there was hand-to-hand, but still in groups and for some purpose - rightly or wrongly.” Bryce closed her eyes and swallowed. “I had clearly been sheltered without even realizing it.”

Alison couldn’t stop herself
. She reached for Bryce’s cool hand and took it in hers. Looking down Bryce managed a weak smile. “This war was savage and encouraged the savagery. Children raped, men cutting other men’s heads off, blown up bodies, civilians hunted and massacred, dogs and cattle shot for fun. And that was before the bombings that wiped out entire villages.”

Alison wiped at an errant tear as it trickled down her cheek. “You don't write about the horrors of war. You write about a kid's burnt sock lying in the road.”

Bryce turned her head to the side and looked at Alison. “Who said that?”

Alison
grinned. “Richard Price. I listen to a lot of NPR.”

Bryce nodded. “It
was
horrific. It brought into very sharp focus the entirety of my life and the pointlessness of it.” Bryce got up and turned her back to Alison as she spoke. “I couldn’t begin to tell you the things I’ve done. I was wicked, conniving, and vicious. My power was unchecked and brutal.”

Alison feared she would say the wrong thing to the clearly v
ulnerable woman in front of her, but the truth found its voice. “I believe you, and I don’t want the details. Not because I couldn’t forgive you - that’s not my place anyway - but because there’s nothing to be done about it.”

Bryce’s face was streaked with blood as she turned around, tears flowing freely from her eyes.
Forcibly stifling a gasp, Alison refused to look away. “Clearly at some point you figured out other people mattered and were as real as you; so you changed.” Pulling several tissues from the box on the coffee table, Alison took a step toward Bryce. “Here.”

Taking the tissue, Bryce wiped at her eyes, managing to remove most of the blood. “Thank you. I know this looks awful.”

Alison smiled. “No one looks good when they cry; you’ve just mastered it.”

A quick laugh escaped Bryce. “Thanks.”

Sitting back down on the sofa, Alison patted the space next to her with her hand. “Sit down. I have lots more questions.”

Chapter
10

It took several seconds for Bryce’s eyes to adjust to
the pre-dawn darkness. She lay under a coarse, thin, beige wool blanket that barely covered her torso and legs. Her neck was stiff as the nearly flat, straw filled burlap pillow offered little support for her head.

Sitting up, she threw her legs over the side of the narrow cot she had been sleeping on for
the past eight months. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and shuddered when her bare feet touched the cold wood plank floor. An icy breeze made its way through the gaps between the slats of wood lining the outside of her servant’s shack, sending a chill up Bryce’s spine that her threadbare, white linen shift did little to diminish.

Looking toward the corner of the room, she could see her mother’s cot was empty and the
small, black iron stove next to it was barely warm, as the meager allotment of coal they were given the day before had all but burnt out.

Taking the iron poker that rested in the empty coal bucket next to the stove, Bryce tried to stir some life into the stove. A faint, reddish glow began to radiate from the bed of coals and the woman held her hands in front of the open stove door to warm herself.

After several minutes, with still only moderate warmth coming from the stove, Bryce turned to the small wooden table next to her cot. Pouring water from a clay pitcher into the basin that sat on the table, she quickly stripped off her shift and braced herself for the ice cold sting of the water as she splashed her face.

Reaching for the scrap of cloth next to the basin, she we
tted it and wiped her face, the back of her neck, and underarms before pulling the shift back over her head. Her petticoat, skirt, and stockings hung along the wall on several wooden pegs. Sliding her shapely legs into the off-white wool stockings, she quickly secured the garments with a black cotton cord around each of her thighs.

The chill of the air sent shivers along Bryce’s body and she hurriedly finished dressing, some semblance of warmth finding her as she fastened the last wooden button on her brown cotton jacket. With no mirror, Bryce ran her hands along the front of her gray skirt, smoothing the co
arse cotton fabric flat, before using three metal hair clips to pin her long, thick auburn hair up.

A faint knock came from the tattered door of the shack. Unlatching the leather strap that secured the door, Bryce peered into the darkness. “You’re early.” Her voice was thin, her throat sore when she spoke
, and she wondered if she was getting a cold.

“Hardly.” A young man, nearly six feet tall
, stood at Bryce’s door. He had a thick mane of red hair that grew to just past his collar. Blowing into his bare hands to warm them, he shifted from foot to foot.

“It can’t be five yet, A
eden.” Bryce rolled her eyes at her younger brother as she walked back toward her cot. She pulled a pair of black leather shoes from under the bed and frowned as she slipped the shoes onto her feet, noticing how worn the leather was and that the soles were nearly gone.

Standing in the doorway, A
eden Whelan had his arms crossed tightly over his chest, the thin coat he wore doing very little to stay off the frigid March air. “Quarter past.”

“Damn.” Bryce had never been a morning person and the harsh Massachusetts winters did very little to rouse her out of bed.

“Watch your tongue or I’ll tell Mother.” Aeden teased.

Wrapping the same blanket she slept with around her head and shoulders, Bryce playfully pinched her brother’s arm. “Then I’ll tell her how you’ve been gettin’ on with Nora.”

Aeden’s eyes widened and even in the dim light, Bryce could see she had struck a chord. “You wouldn’t.” The man had been casually courting the house maid from an adjacent farm. He had confided in Bryce that the two had not always bothered with a chaperone when taking their evening walks.

Walking past her brother, the
remnants of snow from a storm two weeks ago crunched under Bryce’s feet. “Never can tell.”

Aeden stopped, his breath visible in the frigid air. “I love her, and I want to marry her.”

Looking closely at her brother, Bryce could see the concern on his face. His jaw was set and his brow furrowed. “You know that’s not possible until our contract is over.”

In
dentured to a small farmer near Boston, the Whelan family had fled the Connacht Province in western Ireland. The province, which was part of Galway county, had been struggling for nearly a generation to recover from the famines that ravished the country throughout the eighteenth century.

Without discussing the move with his family, Colman Whelan had announced on a Tuesday afternoon that within the week his wife and two children were leaving their small plot of land for the Colonies. The land had been handed down for over five generations, but Colman had been unable to maintain the taxes and the local authority was going to seize the two acre plot.

“We can’t pay our way.” Noleen Whelan had pointed out to her husband as they all sat around a small wooden table in their two room cottage.

“We won’t have to.” Colman smiled. “Passage will be paid when we arrive.”

“How’s that?” Aeden asked.

Frowning at his family’s questions, Colman got up and warmed his hands in front of the narrow fireplace. “The captain will contract with a local land owner for our services.”

Bryce gasped. “You can’t mean to do this. I’ve heard of people losing their entire lives in service.” She looked at her mother. “You can’t want this.”

Noleen was a
slender woman. Her light blonde hair had thinned over the years and her once vivid blue eyes were sunken and dull from years of work and worry. “I - we’ll do as your father says.”

Bryce shook her head. “I’m nearly thirty, I don’t have to do what he says.”

A sharp pain shot across Bryce’s cheek and she found herself on the floor, her father looming over her. “You’re not married. That means I’m still responsible for you.” The man’s hands were balled into fists at his sides.

Aeden
pulled Bryce to her feet, scowling at his father. “You’re an arse!”

Colman glared at his two children. “Ungrateful dossers! I’ve kept you fed and clothed and this is how you repay me.”

Aeden helped the still stunned Bryce back into her chair. “We’ve worked since we could walk, so you shut your mouth!”

Taking a step toward his father, Aeden felt a hand around his arm. His mother’s eyes plead
ing with him. “Please. Let it be.”

Aeden’s eyes darted between his mother and father. His entire life had been spent conced
ing his point of view to his father’s. Not out of respect for the man - his father was a vicious drunk - but rather for the unfaltering love he had for his mother. His mother was like most women, living with choices that were not entirely her own.

Leaning down, Aeden quickly kissed Noleen’s cheek. “For you.”
Glaring at his father, the blood rising to his face, the man practically snarled at Colman. “
Never
for him.” Looking at Bryce, Aeden put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Bryce rubbed her burning cheek and nodded. “Yes.” She looked at her father. “I’m going for
Mother and Aeden.” She stood. “
You
can go to hell.”

The Whelans had made the nearly
two month long journey across the Atlantic. Arriving in Boston in the summer of 1773, they had been quickly contracted with a farmer who owned a hundred acre plot of land northwest of the city, near Lexington.

Bryce had been assigned as a house maid and realized quickly that in spite of the circumstances, her living conditions were better than what she had in Ireland. She told herself at least they always had food and a place to sleep. Aeden and her father worked in the fields and her mother helped in the kitchen. Bryce felt fortunate the family had managed to stay together and had not been contracted to different families.

“Did you hear me?” Aeden’s voice broke into Bryce’s remembrances.

“What?” She forced her attention back to her brother.

“I said I don’t give a damn about the contract.” Aeden began walking again, his sister following close behind.

“Well
, you should. We are clearly forbidden to marry while under contract and the penalty for breaking the rules can be death.” The pair stopped at the split in the walking path. One direction lead to the main house and the other to the stables were Aeden would ready the plow horses.

“Aren’t you tired of other people’s rules?” Aeden took Bryce’s cold hand. “Don’t you want something that’s your own
?”

Bryce pulled her hand away. “You’re talking nonsense. Nothing is ours until we pay our debt.”

Aeden sighed heavily. “You mean Father’s debt.” The man looked off into the distance. The sky was beginning to take on a pinkish glow in the east. “Five years. It may as well be a hundred.”

Bryce didn’t know what to say. She wished she could comfort her brother, who seemed, as of late, increasingly restless and agitated. “I’m sorry.” It was true, but she knew
the truth was of little solace to a man who wanted his life to begin in earnest.