H
HeyThereLittleBear
Guest
If there was absolutely nothing else good that could be said about Alexander Baker, it was that he was a good man. At the still-young age of twenty-eight, he was a man that had made a name for himself and a life as a man of his word and a pillar of any community he had joined. But even good men could be beaten down, and that was what Vivian saw when she looked at her husband. He was a strong man, no doubt, as even reaping the grass which had overgrown in their yard was an easy task, but strength could not be a match for what was after them.
Her eyes moved over his strong shoulders and down his arms, watching his muscles work as sweat beaded down his bare back and wet the edges of his trousers. He had the olive tone of a Spaniard, with the raven hair to match it and the most unique of eyes - eyes that had, in fact, been what she had come to love about him first. His hair - curly to the point of almost being kinky - was secured back with a simple piece of ribbon that held it at the nape of his neck, stray bits clinging to his face where it had come loose. As he finished the last of the row and turned back to face her, she could see the scars he had accrued over the years.
Just below his ribs was a scar from the blade of a Savage he’d encountered, and another that had nicked him just above the collarbone on his right side. All down towards his groin were pock marks that were from where hot coals had been tossed on him during a sparring match in his youth, one which he had lost only because his opponent had fought dirty. His scars told a story of a man that had lived an interesting life, certainly much more so than most of the men his age.
Prior to meeting his wife, he had worked in Charles Town as a sailor, wanting to break from the family business of baking breads, pies, and other treats. It was only when he came to port in Jamestown did he make acquaintance with the then Vivian Webb, a young seamstress to be. They ran away in the dead of the night to be wed in the Carolinas in the small town of Salem. Not long after they had become husband and wife, their lives welcomed the next member of whom they considered family - Alistair Crosner.
Crosner - or Cross, as he preferred - was a man that was far more mysterious than Alexander had ever been. The two men had formed a bond quickly and it had been Cross that had turned them to the truth of events. Things were not what they seemed in Salem. Strange events turned Vivian away from what they had believed to be their home, moving out further east towards the coast so that Alexander could make a living working the shipyards and so that Vivian could establish a business in what Alexander had run from all of his life.
The then trio had found what seemed to be a humble town, still getting on its feet - Roanoke. It was a beautiful place, carved out of the swamp lands to be a safe haven from the local Croatoans and from Mother Nature herself. But the Heaven there was even not what she had expected. They had only settled there for two years before Vivian watched a weight carry onto her husband’s shoulders and watched fear enter his eyes. She didn’t understand his nighttime work with Cross, didn’t pretend to understand their demonology and their transgressions against God himself, but she turned a blind eye.
Until a blind eye could no longer be turned.
Everything happened fast one night, when Alexander had come quite literally breaking the door to their cozy home in, his face covered in a fresh sheen of sweat and his skin as pale as a ghost. He’d tossed their belongings into trunks as quickly as he could and got their horses hitched to a wagon. It was less than an hour later that Cross was tossing his own belongings in, the same panic in his face as they ushered everything they owned away from the settlement.
From Roanoke they moved ever South, seeking out a new place in which they could call home. They found it in a settlement that was only just getting onto its feet, a new starting place for their lives that would be their new safe haven. The men were satisfied, and they settled into neighboring lands, building new homes on the spaces and settling into the place. And so they had come to live in Beaufort. The town had accepted them with open arms, taking in both Alex, Cross, and Vivian.
For the first time in a long while, she felt safe. She had started her business as a baker and Alex had started working on the docks, meanwhile they lived next door to Cross and continued their close relationship with him. He joined them for dinner each night and she could even swear that Alex still would slip from their bed in the dead of night to meet with Cross and discuss their ‘business,’ though she felt assured that they no longer needed to study the supernatural and ungodly anymore. Whatever happened in Roanoke had been a freak incident - and that was all she would let herself believe.
Vivian’s eyes moved from her husband to Cross’ door, though, as worry was still there in the pit of her belly. If there was anything for her to worry about, then Alex would never speak with her about it, would never even hint to her about it. He worried too much about her health and worried that her stress was what caused her womb to be barren. But Cross as another matter -- he would be more forthright with her, if she could speak with him privately. Vivian stepped down from her porch, offering Alex a tender wave and soft smile as she passed him, careful not to get grass clippings onto the hem of her light grey dress.
She crossed the yards to Cross’ door, knocking on it firmly. “Mister Cross!” She called out to him, so that he wouldn’t believe it to be the schoolchildren knocking on his door and fleeing before he could answer, “I’d like to speak with you, sir!” She followed up, glancing back at Alex to make sure that he had not followed her. No, he was too busy manicuring his yard to notice. It wasn’t unusual for Vivian to visit Cross, and Alex had the utmost faith in his friend to respect the boundaries of his marriage. After all, he had to trust the man with much more - his life.
“Mister Cross?”
Her eyes moved over his strong shoulders and down his arms, watching his muscles work as sweat beaded down his bare back and wet the edges of his trousers. He had the olive tone of a Spaniard, with the raven hair to match it and the most unique of eyes - eyes that had, in fact, been what she had come to love about him first. His hair - curly to the point of almost being kinky - was secured back with a simple piece of ribbon that held it at the nape of his neck, stray bits clinging to his face where it had come loose. As he finished the last of the row and turned back to face her, she could see the scars he had accrued over the years.
Just below his ribs was a scar from the blade of a Savage he’d encountered, and another that had nicked him just above the collarbone on his right side. All down towards his groin were pock marks that were from where hot coals had been tossed on him during a sparring match in his youth, one which he had lost only because his opponent had fought dirty. His scars told a story of a man that had lived an interesting life, certainly much more so than most of the men his age.
Prior to meeting his wife, he had worked in Charles Town as a sailor, wanting to break from the family business of baking breads, pies, and other treats. It was only when he came to port in Jamestown did he make acquaintance with the then Vivian Webb, a young seamstress to be. They ran away in the dead of the night to be wed in the Carolinas in the small town of Salem. Not long after they had become husband and wife, their lives welcomed the next member of whom they considered family - Alistair Crosner.
Crosner - or Cross, as he preferred - was a man that was far more mysterious than Alexander had ever been. The two men had formed a bond quickly and it had been Cross that had turned them to the truth of events. Things were not what they seemed in Salem. Strange events turned Vivian away from what they had believed to be their home, moving out further east towards the coast so that Alexander could make a living working the shipyards and so that Vivian could establish a business in what Alexander had run from all of his life.
The then trio had found what seemed to be a humble town, still getting on its feet - Roanoke. It was a beautiful place, carved out of the swamp lands to be a safe haven from the local Croatoans and from Mother Nature herself. But the Heaven there was even not what she had expected. They had only settled there for two years before Vivian watched a weight carry onto her husband’s shoulders and watched fear enter his eyes. She didn’t understand his nighttime work with Cross, didn’t pretend to understand their demonology and their transgressions against God himself, but she turned a blind eye.
Until a blind eye could no longer be turned.
Everything happened fast one night, when Alexander had come quite literally breaking the door to their cozy home in, his face covered in a fresh sheen of sweat and his skin as pale as a ghost. He’d tossed their belongings into trunks as quickly as he could and got their horses hitched to a wagon. It was less than an hour later that Cross was tossing his own belongings in, the same panic in his face as they ushered everything they owned away from the settlement.
From Roanoke they moved ever South, seeking out a new place in which they could call home. They found it in a settlement that was only just getting onto its feet, a new starting place for their lives that would be their new safe haven. The men were satisfied, and they settled into neighboring lands, building new homes on the spaces and settling into the place. And so they had come to live in Beaufort. The town had accepted them with open arms, taking in both Alex, Cross, and Vivian.
For the first time in a long while, she felt safe. She had started her business as a baker and Alex had started working on the docks, meanwhile they lived next door to Cross and continued their close relationship with him. He joined them for dinner each night and she could even swear that Alex still would slip from their bed in the dead of night to meet with Cross and discuss their ‘business,’ though she felt assured that they no longer needed to study the supernatural and ungodly anymore. Whatever happened in Roanoke had been a freak incident - and that was all she would let herself believe.
Vivian’s eyes moved from her husband to Cross’ door, though, as worry was still there in the pit of her belly. If there was anything for her to worry about, then Alex would never speak with her about it, would never even hint to her about it. He worried too much about her health and worried that her stress was what caused her womb to be barren. But Cross as another matter -- he would be more forthright with her, if she could speak with him privately. Vivian stepped down from her porch, offering Alex a tender wave and soft smile as she passed him, careful not to get grass clippings onto the hem of her light grey dress.
She crossed the yards to Cross’ door, knocking on it firmly. “Mister Cross!” She called out to him, so that he wouldn’t believe it to be the schoolchildren knocking on his door and fleeing before he could answer, “I’d like to speak with you, sir!” She followed up, glancing back at Alex to make sure that he had not followed her. No, he was too busy manicuring his yard to notice. It wasn’t unusual for Vivian to visit Cross, and Alex had the utmost faith in his friend to respect the boundaries of his marriage. After all, he had to trust the man with much more - his life.
“Mister Cross?”