Been Here Before

I know in my bones I've been here before…

"Going Home," by Mary Fahl.

He was travelling along the highway that ran from Leesburg, Virginia, to Frederick, Maryland, and had just crossed the Potomac River at Point of Rocks when he pulled over on the side of the road to consult his maps. One was a road map of Maryland that he had purchased for the journey. It had some physical features, such as mountains and rivers, but its main importance was that it showed all of the major roads that he had to follow.

The other map also showed various physical features and main roads. This map, however, was considerably older. It showed signs of having been unfolded and refolded many times in the past, with some wear showing around the edges. It also bore several markings that had been applied to it in coloured pencils of several colours. Some marks circled towns, as if indicating stopping places on a journey, while others snaked along various roads, as if tracing out not one but several different paths. Near some of the circles were small annotations that had been written in very neat, but minuscule, handwriting with a normal graphite pencil. An observer who saw the map would have been mystified by the markings, especially as it appeared as though they had been written in some strange language that the driver, interestingly enough, was able to interpret.

These were not the only differences between the two maps. The older map, unlike the road map, had been printed on a heavy paper that was backed by a heavy canvas, which, despite its age, made it far more robust than its younger counterpart. In addition, the older map had been coated with a thin layer of lacquer, which had, over the years, cracked and yellowed due to exposure to the elements that it had protected the map from. It had also enabled the pencilled in markings to be added without damaging the printed surface through erasure whenever it was decided to remove the markings after they had served their purpose. Finally, although it was just as utilitarian as the road map, the older map was, to put it simply, had a more attractive look to it. Instead of being drawn by a draughtsman, it gave the appearance of having been compiled by somebody who had a slightly artistic flair in his work. It was in many ways a survivor from an earlier era that believed that useful and utilitarian objects, such as a doorknob, a boot scraper, or a map, need not be plain in order to be useful.

The driver followed one path on the older map that had been traced in green pencil with his index finger, pausing every now and then to compare it with a similar path that had been drawn on his road map in plain pencil. Every so often he would look from his maps at the surrounding countryside before tracing his path again. He did all of this with a practiced ease that, even a casual and uninitiated observer would have recognised as belonging to someone with long practice at map reading and navigation. Finally, the driver nodded to himself in satisfaction. He replaced his maps on the seat beside him, gave the surrounding scenery one last look before he put his car into gear and drove off towards town of Frederick.

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The road now wound past Frederick but it still went over the top of Cacotin Mountain. Where in the past it had twisted and turned somewhat it now ran fairly straight, with only a few curves in it as it climbed the slopes of the mountain. At the top it passed through a fairly deep cutting, but from there he could see laid out in front of him as though it was on a map table several of Maryland's counties, with the road going back down the mountain before heading off towards Middletown and, beyond it, through Turner's Gap on South Mountain.

But Middletown was not his goal. His goal lay somewhat closer. But to find how he was going to get there, he would have to consult his maps and check out the lay of the land. And the crest of the cutting over Cacotin Mountain, on the Frederick side, was the ideal spot to do this from.

As it was all those years ago, relatively speaking, thought the driver to himself.

He pulled over to the side of the road, turned off the engine of his car and, taking both of his maps, a large, weathered pouch made of oilskin and a battered, japanned leather field glasses case, he got out of the car. Shutting the door, he walked over to the front of his car and placed the maps on the car's bonnet, weighing them down with the field glasses case and the pouch. Going to the side of the road he found several good-sized rocks that had worked themselves loose from the cutting's side, picked them up and used them to hold his maps in place on the car's bonnets. Then, picking up the field glasses case, he took a set of brass-bound, japanned field glasses out of the case and, putting them to his eyes, he began to scan the countryside in front of him with a practiced air, as though he had done this several times before. Every so often he would again look at his maps, as though he was trying to place something on them that was no longer there.

All through this performance traffic passed him by. A few curious people would crane their heads as they passed him, but when they realised that he was simply navigating (or so it seemed) they just ignored him. After all, he didn't seem too out of the ordinary and besides, cars with Virginia number plates were fairly common. But then a patrol car came over the crest and, seeing the car parked at the side of the road, decided to pull over to investigate.

The driver heard them pull up and turned his head around. On seeing that it was a patrol car he put his glasses down, checked that his maps were not going anywhere, and waited for the police officers to come to him.

The two officers got out of their car and approached the driver. Before them stood a youngish-looking, strikingly handsome, well-dressed man. He had auburn hair, cut somewhat longish but well groomed, and an equally well-groomed goatee and moustaches. He was wearing a slightly antique style fine linen shirt, one that had slightly puffed sleeves and a neck opening that buttoned up one-third of the front. The top two buttons were undone. In the pocket of his shirt he had what looked like an expensive fountain pen. He also wore dark blue flannel trousers, which were, like the shirt, of a quality that bespoke of some wealth. On his feet he wore good quality but quite serviceable black leather lace-up ankle boots. His posture had a vaguely military air to it; as though he had been accustomed to command, but was also distinctly aristocratic. To finish things off the car he stood in front of was a late model Mercedes Benz. Everything about him seemed to say to the two patrolmen that he was wealthy, but didn't feel the need to flaunt his wealth.

As they got closer, the military air about him seemed to be confirmed by the class ring on his right ring finger. But they also noticed his eyes. They were possibly some of the oldest-looking eyes either of them had ever seen, and were quite shocking to look at, especially looking out of that youngish face. The older of the two officers immediately recognised them, though. They were the eyes of someone who had seen too much at too young an age. Quite possibly a veteran, he thought as they approached the driver. But of what? He looks too young to have been in the Gulf.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" he said as the police officers drew near. His accent was that of Virginia and combined with his appearance gave him a slightly antebellum air.

"We're just stopping to see if you needed any assistance, sir," said the senior of the two policemen. "We saw your car and decided to investigate."

The driver gave a small smile. "No need to trouble yourselves, sir," he said. "I was just surveying the area and comparing it to these maps here before I decide on my next course of action." He indicated the maps in front of him.

The two patrolmen looked at each other. Although everything about him screamed Southerner to them they were, since September 11, somewhat cautious about people with field glasses and maps. "Do you mind if we take a look, sir?" said the senior patrolman.

"Not at all, sir," said the driver. He stood to one side as the two patrolmen stepped up to look at the maps.

The younger one, who was something of a history buff, saw the older map and exclaimed, "Good Lord! That's a genuine Topographical Engineers' map from before the Civil War! And it's marked!" He ran a wondering finger over it and then turned to the driver. "Where did you get it from?"

The driver smiled. "You could say that it's been in the family for some years, officer." He indicated the maps. "One of my… family was in the Army of Northern Virginia during that conflict. These are his maps."

The other patrolman looked at the map. "I take it you're following his path?"

The stranger smiled and gave a brief nod. "You could say that, yes," he replied. "I'm following his path in General Robert E. Lee's Maryland campaign of 1862." He indicated the green line. "That's the path his unit took. I'm simply following it as best I can." He indicated the glasses. "These are his as well. I'm using them to, well, basically see as much of what he saw as possible and place it on this map here," he said, indicating the road map.

The younger one said, "What was he? An officer I presume."

The stranger nodded. "He was in General Jackson's command. I've just come through Frederick where they had been resting for a while before moving on further into Maryland. My… relative came this way for a spell before rejoining the army."

The older officer looked at the driver. "Do you mind if we see some ID, sir?" he said. The stranger shook his head. He reached behind him and took his wallet out of his back pocket. Opening it, he took out his driver's licence and handed it to the police officer, who took it, examined it and then compared the photo to the driver. The photograph appeared to match "May I have your name, sir?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the driver.

"Richard John Rawlings the Third," replied the driver. The name matched. Although he was satisfied that he was who he said he was there was still one check he had to make. "Will you just excuse me for a moment, sir?" Rawlings nodded. Leaving his partner to watch Rawlings he went back to the patrol car. Getting in, he ran Rawlings' details through a computer that was linked by radio to a large database. Not surprisingly, the computer returned a positive match, showing hardly any violations apart from a couple of parking tickets that Rawlings had paid.

Satisfied, the older officer returned to Rawlings and handed his driver's licence back.

The older officer looked at Rawlings. "Well," he said, "I suppose you don't need any help. But please be careful," he said. "Since September 11 we've been told to keep an eye out for people who look suspicious and pull over to see what they were doing."

Rawlings nodded. "Not too surprising," he said. "If it is of any help to you at all, I'll be moving on soon. I've pretty much worked out where I'm going from here. I just need to check my bearings before I move on."

"Well, I suppose we'll let you go on and do that," said the older driver. "But, before we go, do you mind if I ask you something?" Rawlings shook his head. "Are you one of those recreationist fellows? You know, who recreate the Civil War?"

Rawlings threw back his head and laughed. "I think I can safely say that I'm not, sir!" he said.

"All right, then. We'll just leave you to your own business. Good day, sir." With that, the two officers walked back to their car, got in and drove off.

Rawlings watched them leave. It seems that the details that were placed in the various databases have been accepted, he thought to himself. He then replaced his glasses in their case, removed his maps from the car bonnet, and got back into his car. He looked at the traffic flowing past where he was. The road was quite busy.

But it was also busy back then, too, he thought. Different kind of traffic, though. With that, he drove off. However, he had to turn around and come back through Frederick to reach his goal. After a while, he reached the spot where he had to turn off if he was to reach his destination.

The sign in front of the turnoff said Lawndale.

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He followed the offramp and soon found himself travelling down what appeared to be the old main road that connected Harpers Ferry and Frederick. He was approaching Lawndale from the Frederick side, following a route that was both strange and familiar to him.

Suddenly, he saw something that astounded him so much that he had to pull over to the side of the road to make sure he wasn't seeing things. He stopped the car, got out of it, and stared at the apparition on the other side of the road.

There, in all of its faded and somewhat chipped glory, was a giant concrete strawberry.

Rawlings began to shake his head as he chuckled to himself. What on earth were they thinking about when they built that monstrosity? He looked up the road, towards where a large hill, one of the foothills of Cacotin Mountain, loomed over the town he was outside of. Yep, he thought as he looked back at the strawberry, having that thing there might have made things a bit easier. He got into his car and dove off.

Before long he was approaching the centre of Lawndale. He passed by the green that sat in the middle of the town, flanked by the town hall on one side and the courthouse on the other. He also saw that there was a statue in the middle of the green, which had a very familiar profile to it. Seeing that there were some parking spaces next to the green, he pulled in and parked his car. Getting out of the car, he closed the door behind him and walked over to the statue. It looked weather-beaten and was somewhat dirty, as many statues of that kind tended to get over the ages, but the driver's keen eye picked out the various clues that told him that it was meant to be depicting a Union soldier, most likely an officer.

No, make that most definitely an officer, thought Rawlings as he noticed the cut of the coat and the worn protrusions on the shoulders where his shoulder straps, indicating his rank, had once been.

He looked at the plinth the statue stood upon. There was no inscription there, but again his keen eye let him pick out the holes where, once upon a time, there had been a plaque attached to the plinth. No doubt it had once proclaimed to the world at large what the statue commemorated, but some time ago it had been removed.

And I think I can hazard a pretty good guess just what it had commemorated, thought the stranger to himself. His eyes made out the shape of a militia buckle on the statue's sword belt.

He looked around the green. Although there were plenty of buildings, and the town had quite clearly grown from its humble beginnings as a crossroads, his trained eye could still pick out the line of the four main roads that led to the centre of town and had, in fact, once converged near this very spot. He went back to the car and dug out his two maps. Moving to the front of the car he spread them out on the bonnet and then, once again, followed the green line with his finger until he reached a circled crossroads that was marked on his map as being a small village. He then compared it with the line on his road map until he came to a similar looking junction on it. Satisfied, he nodded to himself and looked at the older map.

The circled crossroads was marked Sloane's Crossroads. Nearby was a feature that was marked Sloane Farm.

I wonder if the family's still there? Rawlings thought. He looked around the green, once again as though he was comparing what he saw with something that was visible only in his memory. Then, he faced the statue and, after making sure he wasn't being observed, straightened up and gave it what looked like a salute. It wasn't, however, one that any observers would have been familiar with as belonging to the armed forces of the United States. In fact, it strongly resembled the one used by the British Army.

"I suppose I'll be seein' you in hell, Billy," he quietly said to the statue. He brought his hand down and looked around the area once again. Seeing a diner, he first went back to his car, put his maps away and locked it. Then he crossed the road and went into the diner.

He walked up to the counter. The waitress behind it said, "Can I help you, sir?"

"Cup of coffee," he said. "Black and strong, please. Oh, and could you please tell me where I can purchase a map of the town?"

The waitress gave him a strange look. Sure talks funny, she thought. But boy, is he cute! "Not from around here, then," she said as she went about fixing him his coffee.

"No, I'm not," Rawlings replied. "I'm from a place called Mount Folly, Virginia."

"Virginian, eh?" she said. She finished fixing his coffee and placed it in front of him. "That'll be two bucks eighty," she said.

Rawlings handed her a five. "Keep the change," he said.

"Thanks!" said the waitress. As she broke the note she missed seeing how Rawlings slowly sipped his coffee and then closed his eyes in appreciation, as though he hadn't had a cup in a long time. "That's the real bean, sure enough," he whispered to himself.

"So, where's this 'Mount Folly', then?" asked the waitress.

"It's on the York River, a few miles from Williamsburg," Rawlings said. "My family home."

"What is it, a plantation of some kind?" asked the waitress.

"It is," Rawlings replied. He put down the coffee. "And I would be obliged if you can tell me where I can find a map of this locality."

The waitress felt somewhat offended, but said, "There's a bookstore on the next street over," she said. "They should have some maps there. Or you could try the newsagent on the corner opposite us, on the other side of the green."

"Much obliged, ma'am," said Rawlings. He sipped his coffee. Behind him, the diner's door opened, and two young women walked in. The taller of the pair had an attractive, heart-shaped face and wore no makeup save for bright, fire-engine red lipstick. She had straight, black hair that was cut above shoulder length and worn in an asymetterical fashion, exposing one ear that had three earrings in it. She wore a red shirt over a charcoal grey t-shirt, black jeans and a pair of light grey boots. When she spoke it was with a somewhat sultry voice that concealed within it more than a hint of sarcasm.

Her companion had long, auburn hair that reached just over her shoulders. Her face was one that a perceptive observer would have said was quite attractive. However, a pair of glasses that had thick, black frames holding large lenses largely hid it. She, too, wore no makeup. She was dressed in a green jacket, a burnt orange t-shirt, baggy black shorts that reached to mid-thigh and wore on her feet a pair of black Doc Martin boots that had seen a lot of use. He voice, by contrast, was a semi-monotone. It was more openly sarcastic than her friend's, but carried in it the seeds of a rather pleasant alto speaking voice. Both she and the taller woman were in the middle of a discussion.

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"So, once again we're stuck in Lawndale for the summer holidays," said Jane Lane as she and her best friend and partner-in-crime Daria Morgendorffer walked into the diner. "We could have gone to Daytona with all of the other college students."

"No we couldn't," replied Daria. "For a start we couldn't afford the air fares. And somehow I doubt that even you would have been willing to risk travelling in that mobile junkpile of mine that masquerades as a car that distance."

"It could have been fun to try," replied Jane as they walked over to a corner booth.

"Jane, you have the strangest definition of fun that I have ever encountered," replied Daria as they sat down. "Besides, you know perfectly well I don't do 'fun'."

"Well, think of all the cute guys we could have met," said Jane. Her eyes wandered across to the counter and lit upon the driver. "Speaking of which, take a look over there at the counter," she continued in a quieter voice. "Now he looks seriously cute!"

Daria turned around and looked over to where Jane was looking. "Hmmm," she said. "Isn't he a bit old for you? Although I must admit, your taste in guys does seem to be improving."

Jane gave her best friend a wicked grin. "Why, Daria!" she said. "Don't tell me that…"

Daria glared at Jane. "Remember I still have that bridesmaid's dress, Jane," she said. She looked over at the counter again. "Besides, it looks as though someone else has her eyes on him." Sure enough the waitress behind the counter was, once again, flirting with the man seated at the counter.

"So, what brings you to Lawndale?" she asked.

The man's soft, aristocratic Virginia accent caused both Daria and Jane to raise their eyebrows. "I'm tracking the path of a… family member who took part in General Lee's 1862 campaign," he said. "His unit was in this area for a while." He again sipped his coffee, obviously savouring every drop, something that struck both Daria and Jane as odd. "I hope to be able to do some research in this area. Would you happen to know if there is a historical society of some kind in the area?"

The waitress shook her head. "Not to my knowledge," she said. She looked at the driver. "You a historian or something?" she asked.

"Or something," replied the stranger. He again sipped his coffee.

Jane looked at Daria. "From the looks that waitress is giving Rhett Butler there, it looks as though we might have to go over to get anything," she said.

"Fine," said Daria. "You go. I'll just sit here for a while."

Jane smirked. "In that case I'll bring him over. Besides, you heard what he said. Who knows: you might get a story out of it," she said as she got up out of her seat.

"Jane!" hissed Daria. It was too late, however. Jane was already heading over to the stool next to the stranger.

Jane sat down and, looking at the waitress, cheerfully said, "Hey! How about a little service here?"

The waitress gave Jane a very sharp look, but said, "What would you like to order?"

"A pot of coffee, thanks. You can bring it over to our table there," she said, pointing at where Daria sat. "Also a couple of menus." She turned to face the stranger. "So, you're following an ancestor here," she said.

The stranger turned and gave her an amused look. "You could say that, yes," he said.

"Well it just so happens that my compadre over there happens to be both a history and literature and writing major at Raft University in Boston. I'm sure she would be able to help you out." She cocked her head. "Care to join us?" she said. "We don't bite. Much."

The stranger raised an amused eyebrow, but said, "It will be my pleasure." He picked up his coffee and both he and Jane walked over to the booth where a by now thoroughly mortified Daria sat, head in her hands.

"I don't believe you, Lane," she said as Jane sat next to her. She lifted her head and shot her best friend a sour look. "First your brother…"

The stranger looked from one young woman to the other. Confusion was written all over his face. "What..?" he said.

"Private joke," Jane replied. "My amiga here isn't exactly a social butterfly."

"Ah," said the stranger. He looked from Jane to Daria, bemusement writ plain on his face. "Well, in any case," he said, "I do believe that introductions may be in order." He held out his hand. "Richard John Rawlings, of Mount Folly, Virginia."

Daria shot a glance at Jane. "Daria Morgendorffer," she said, and took Rawling's proffered hand. Much to her amazement, he stood and gave a slight bow over it, something that caused her to blush profusely. This of course, gave Jane no end of amusement. Daria glared at her best friend as she hurriedly retrieved her hand

"Jane Lane," she said, extending her hand. "Formerly of Lawndale, Maryland, as is my friend here. Currently of Boston, Massachusetts." Rawlings raised an amused eyebrow at Jane's statement, but saying nothing, simply took her hand and bowed over it.

"And you are still of Lawndale, Maryland, Miss Morgendorffer?" asked Rawlings. This caused Daria to blush even harder.

She gave her by now chuckling friend a death glare and said, "No. I'm currently studying at Raft University in Boston, when I'm not being humiliated by my so-called 'best friend'." She looked at Rawlings, who had raised his eyebrows at that information. "And it's just 'Daria', please. You make me sound like some old maid."

"My apologies, Daria," replied Rawlings. "It's just that my upbringing tends to come into play in a situation like this. By the way, congratulations on attending Raft. It's a fine school" He turned to Jane. "And are you also studying at Raft University, Miss Lane? Or would you prefer it if I called you 'Jane?'"

Jane smiled at Rawlings. "You may call me 'Jane,'" she said. "And no, I'm not at Raft: I'm at Boston Fine Arts College. BFAC for short." She shot him an assessing look. "And I'd say that you are not studying anywhere, at least by your clothes."

Rawlings again raised his eyebrows. "What causes you to say that, Jane?" he asked.

"Well, the fact that you're not exactly dressed as a poor student," Jane said. "Unlike us."

Rawlings smiled. "Touché, Jane," he said. "I did all of my studying some years ago. At the Virginia Military Institute, in fact." Both Daria and Jane looked at his right hand, Sure enough; there was a class ring. Rawlings continued, "Although I have been considering some further studies."

"Oh? Where at?" asked Jane. Daria said nothing.

"I haven't made up my mind yet," he said. "But before I do anything in that direction I have to get my own little self-appointed task out of the way."

"Yes, we overheard you telling the peroxided one over there about your family research," said Jane. "And speaking of the peroxided one, where is she with the coffee and menus?"

As if summoned, the waitress arrived and put a tray down on the table. It bore a coffee pot and two mugs. "Here's your coffee," she said, "and here are your menus," she added, putting a pair of menus on the table. "Call me when you're ready to order." She walked off.

Jane snorted. "Well, it looks as though somebody's got their knickers in a twist!" she said. She grinned at Rawlings. "I wonder why?"

Rawlings leaned forward. "I should offer you my thanks, Jane," he said. "I was wondering how best to extricate myself from that situation." He looked at Daria. "Jane tells me you're studying writing and history at Raft. I take you're something of a history buff?"

"You could say that," Daria replied. "I'm also taking Journalism as another major. Just in case the writing bit doesn't come off as I hope."

"I see," said Rawlings.

"Do you mind if I ask what you do for a living?" Jane said. "You don't seem too badly off, or at least your clothes tell me that you aren't."

Rawlings smiled. "You could say that I'm one of the 'idle rich'," he said. "At the very least I'm well-off."

"So, where's Mount Folly? I must admit it's not a name that immediately springs to mind," said Jane.

"Mount Folly's my family home," Rawlings said. "It's on the York River, in Charles City County not all that far from Williamsburg."

That information impressed both girls. "Well, Ah declahre!" said Jane in an affected accent that made her sound like Vivian Leigh in Gone With The Wind. She turned to Daria. "It seems we have a sprig of the Southern aristocracy here, Miss Daria!" Rawlings rolled his eyes in bemusement at that.

Jane turned to Rawlings. "I take it Mount Folly is a plantation?" she asked.

"It is, indeed," Rawlings said. "However, it tends to bear more of a resemblance to, say Monticello or Mount Vernon than Tara." He leaned back. "My family's been in that part of Virginia since the late 1600s, although we purchased Mount Folly in 1752. I suppose it is safe for me to say that Mount Folly isn't the only such property my family owns," he continued dryly. "Plus my family has long had connections with the military, going all the way back to the Revolution, and even to the French and Indian War."

"Well that explains the VMI connection," said Daria. "I take it you attended school at some fancy academy in Virginia?"

"No, I actually attended a fancy preparatory college in the North," Rawlings said. "I attended VMI to further my education, and then had an eight-year hitch in the US Army before leaving as a captain." I don't have to say that that was a brevet rank, he thought. They might not understand. He indicated the coffee. "Do you mind if I may…?"

Jane shook her head. "I don't mind,' she said. She looked over at Daria and smirked. "I think I can say that my friend doesn't mind either."

Daria again blushed. "I hate you," she said to Jane. Rawlings gave them a puzzled look, then shrugged and reached for the coffee pot.

As Rawlings poured himself a fresh cup, both Daria and Jane noticed the puckered line of scar tissue that ran across the back of his left hand, which he used to steady his mug. "That looks pretty nasty," said Jane, indicating his left hand. "What happened?"

Rawlings put down the pot and looked at his hand. "Oh," he said. "Old injury. Nothing to really worry about." He sipped his coffee, giving every appearance of savouring every drop, something that puzzled both Daria and Jane.

"Excuse me," said Daria, " but it looks like you haven't had any coffee for quite some time, if you're enjoying diner coffee so much."

Rawlings opened his eyes. "Going without something for a while tends to make you appreciate even coffee like this," he said.

"Must have been some place, if you didn't have coffee," Jane said.

"It was," said Rawlings. He put his mug down and, reaching into a trouser pocket, pulled out an expensive looking antique gold fob watch. He opened the lid and looked at the dial. "Coming up to lunch time," he said. "Would you like to order here, or is there someplace else you would prefer to dine at?"

Both girls looked at the watch. "Was that your ancestor's as well?" asked Jane.

"You could say that," Rawlings said. He closed the watch and replaced it in its pocket. "If you'll permit me," he said, "I'll settle the bill here and then we can go and find someplace to eat." He leaned forward. "I have to own to being a little bit uncomfortable here," he whispered, indicating the waitress with a subtle movement of his head.

Jane nodded. "No need to explain," she said. "And we'll help pay for the coffee."

Rawlings shook his head. "No, I insist," he said. He got up and headed for the counter.

Once he had gone, Daria leaned over and hissed, "Jane, are you nuts?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we only just met this guy! We don't know anything about him except what he's told us! For all we know he could be some psychotic serial killer!" Daria hissed.

"Well, if he is a psychotic serial killer," Jane said, "he's a damned cute one. Besides, how many serial killers do you know who insist on paying for their victims' coffee?"

Daria shook her head. "You and your hormones, Lane," she muttered.

Jane shot her a grin. "Hey!" she said. "Just because you won't…"

"Finish that statement Lane, and I swear I will put you into that bridesmaid dress today," Daria growled. Jane said nothing but simply smirked.

Rawlings returned. "We'll just finish the coffee and then head over to where I'm parked," he said. Noticing the look that crossed Daria's face when he said that, he asked, "Is something the matter?"

Jane said, "Nothing really, but my colleague here would like you to know that she carries two cans of pepper spray on her at all times. Never knows when it'll come in handy." Daria said nothing but blushed even deeper. She glared at Jane.

Rawlings' brow furrowed in puzzlement, then cleared in sudden realisation. "Oh!" he said. He gave a sheepish gin. "I suppose that did sound rather suspicious," he said. "But really, I just want to go over to my car and get my maps." Seeing Daria and Jane's puzzled looks, he said "I have my… relative's maps from when he was in General Jackson's command in General Lee's Maryland campaign in 1862 in the car," he said. "Which reminds me: do either of you know where I can get a fairly good map of the area? I'd like to buy one."

"Good map of Lawndale?" said Jane. She snorted in laughter. "Good luck in trying to find one! But I suppose 'Books By The Ton' may have one."

"The waitress suggested that I could get one from a newsagent," Rawlings said. "But I suppose a bookshop would be better. Where is this 'Books By The Ton'?"

"Over in Cranberry Commons," Jane said. "The big shopping mall near the giant strawberry. You may have noticed that when you came into town."

Rawlings laughed. "I most certainly did!" he said. "But now that I think on't, it does resemble a badly-sculpted cranberry."

"Well, you've just seen Lawndale's biggest tourist attraction," said Jane.

"Do any of you know if there's any sort of historical society here?" Rawlings asked. "If there is, it might make my mission here easier."

Jane turned to Daria. "I think you'd be the one best equipped to handle that question," she said. "There's one in the library, isn't there?"

Daria nodded. "Also some kind of archive of historical records," she said. "But I think the county records are kept in Frederick."

Rawlings sighed. "I was afraid you would say that," he said. "I passed through Frederick on my way here. Last time I was there it wasn't so big, or crowded." He missed the look that Daria and Jane exchanged between themselves at that statement. "Looks like I'll have to find a hotel or similar and set up base there."

Jane came to a sudden decision. "Well, I have some spare rooms at my house," she said. "Unless all of my family has suddenly decided to return all at once." She turned an annoyed look on Daria. "What?" she said.

Daria said nothing. She was concerned about her friend taking this complete stranger into Casa Lane, even if Trent, he older brother and Jesse, the rhythm guitarist in Trent's band Mystik Spiral were present. This stranger had a lean, but fit look to him. She was well aware that Jane sometimes had poor impulse control, and to her mind this looked like another of those times when that, combined with what she jokingly termed Jane's hormones, could lead her best friend into trouble. And if something happened to you, Jane, because of that, Daria thought, I'd never forgive myself for stopping you when I could.

To Daria's relief, Rawlings shook his head. "Although that is a kind offer, Jane," he said, "I really can't allow you to make it. You've only recently met me. Lunch, though, is another matter. You've helped me somewhat already, and I feel it only right that I thank you both for that by buying you lunch. No, I insist," he said.

Jane turned to Daria. "Well, amiga," she said. "He does seem insistent on buying lunch. Where shall we go?"

"Cranberry Commons," Daria answered. "There are some eateries there. Plus, he can also buy his map at 'Books By The Ton'." It's also public enough so that he can't try anything, she thought.

"Then Cranberry Commons it is!" Jane said. "Shall we go now?" she asked. "I think that waitress is giving us the hairy eyeball. Wonder why?" Daria said nothing but slid out of her seat and waited for Jane to slide out. Rawlings had already gotten out of his seat and was waiting for them to get ready. Once they were up, they walked out of the diner, with Rawlings holding the door open for the pair of them.

The waitress followed them out with envious eyes. Some girls have all the luck, she thought. She shrugged. Who'd have thought somebody that hot would go for a freaky art chick, let alone the Misery Chick herself?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Cranberry Commons hadn't changed all that much, and 'Books By The Ton' was still in its accustomed spot. Rawlings quickly purchased his map and then took Daria and Jane to the food court. However, Rawlings wasn't too fond of the fast food on sale there (and even commented on the quality of the 'southern fried chicken' one famous chain sold). So he went to look for a somewhat better quality servery.

Walking along one of the main thoroughfares of the huge shopping mall, his eyes lit upon a sign advertising an eatery that was so outrageous he started to chuckle. Both Daria and Jane gave him strange looks, until he directed their attention to the sign above the entry to the eatery.

The sign read: Le Petomane's New Orleans Cajun Eatery.

"Now, either the person who decided to call it that doesn't know what it means," said Rawlings, "or they have a pretty good idea about what Cajun food can do to you."

"I take it you know both what it means and what Cajun food can do to you?" asked Jane. She was chuckling as well, while Daria simply gave one of her Mona Lisa smiles.

"Indeed I do," Rawlings said. "I've eaten in New Orleans on a couple of occasions. And I'm tempted to see if they do know what Cajun food's supposed to be like." He indicated the eatery. "Ladies?" he said.

By now, both Daria and Jane were used to Rawlings' mannerisms. Unlike Charles Ruttheimer the Third (known to all and sundry at Lawndale High as "Upchuck") Rawlings did not come across as either smarmy or sleazy. The best thing about him, from Daria and Jane's perspective, was that if he did make an accidental remark, he immediately caught himself and apologised for it. Everything about him was completely free of artifice, unlike Upchuck's sallies. It was simply how he was: a courteous Virginia aristocrat with just a hint of the antebellum about him. Courtliness was as natural to him as breathing.

Much to her surprise, Daria found herself easing up around Rawlings. Leaving aside his antebellum good looks, he was easily the most interesting man she had ever encountered. He was definitely one of the most intelligent she had ever met, something that pleasantly surprised her. Who'd have thought I'd meet someone like him in this dump? she thought to herself.

So they decided to join him on his expedition to see if Le Petomane's lived up to its claim.

They weren't disappointed. Rawlings pronounced it good eating. "Not quite up to what you could expect from the French Quarter," he said, "but definitely better than that slop they serve at those fast food chains." And again, ignoring their protests, he insisted on paying for their meals.

Later, over coffee at another outlet, the three of them poured over his maps.

They had both been impressed by his maps: Daria because of what they were, and Jane because of the level of artistry that had gone into making them. She especially loved how the draughtsman who had created them had actually made the mountains and hills look like mountains and hills. "Why can't we do the same today?" she had asked. "Make something not only useful, but attractive?"

"You can't tell how high the mountains are, though," Daria had said. "At least on modern military maps they put contours."

"Yes, but at least the farmed areas look like farmed areas," Jane had responded. "And they've even named who lives in what farm." She looked at Rawlings. "Where are we on this one?" she asked, indicating the older map.

Rawlings put his finger on a crossroads that had been circled in green pencil. "Best I can work out is that this is where Lawndale would be placed," he said.

Daria and Jane looked at where he had placed his finger. "Figures!" said Daria. "Figures that Lawndale used to be known as Sloane's Crossroads."

"I take it you know the family?" Rawlings asked.

"Well, the son, Tom Sloane, first went out with me, and then went out with Daria in high school," Jane replied. "So you could say we know the Sloanes."

"I… see," Rawlings said. "So the family is still in the area." It was clear to Daria and Jane that their mention of their romantic entanglements with Tom Sloane in high school had made him uneasy.

Jane immediately moved to put Rawlings at ease. "It's no big deal," she said. "Standard teenage highschool stuff."

"Ah," said Rawlings. "I see." He looked at the map. "I wonder if the Sloane house is still where this map says it is."

"Let's see if it is," said Jane. A quick look at the map of Lawndale soon showed that the Sloane mansion was not in the same location as the old Sloane farm.

"I wonder if they have any records of the Army of Northern Virginia having been in this area?" mused Rawlings. At this, both Daria and Jane got uncomfortable over the prospect of having to deal with Tom Sloane. Although they had all parted on amicable terms, there was still some unease over their last year in high school.

"I don't know," said Daria. "They might have deposited them at the local historical society."

"You say that they're located in the local library building?" asked Rawlings.

"Yes, they are," said Daria. "The library's located here." She indicated the location on the map.

"Right," said Rawlings. "I suppose I had better get myself established in a hotel somewhere." He looked at the two young women sitting opposite him. "I can run you both back into the centre of town or, if you like, drop you off wherever it is you're staying."

Daria hesitated for a moment. Although she had found herself relaxing around Rawlings, she still felt a reluctance to let him know where she was staying with her family.

Jane, on the other hand, felt no reluctance. "Hell, you could drop us both off at my place," she said. "That is, if it's no trouble for you."

"No trouble at all," Rawlings said. "Shall I fix up the bill, then."

Both Daria and Jane firmly shook their heads. "You've been generous enough," Daria said. "This time, we insist on paying for our share of the coffee." And despite Rawlings' protests, Daria got up and went over to pay for the coffee, leaving Jane alone with Rawlings.

Jane leaned over. "If you can't find a room in a motel," she said, "the offer of a room at my place still stands." She scribbled down her phone number on a napkin and handed it to Rawlings. "Here's my number," she said. "Call me if you need a room."

Rawlings looked at it and, folding it up, placed it in his shirt pocket. "Thanks for the offer, Jane," he said. "I doubt I'll need it, though." He looked up to see that Daria had finished paying for the coffee and had come back over to the table. "Shall we depart, then?" he said.

They all headed out of the mall and went to where Rawlings had parked. Daria got in the back seat while Jane got in on the passenger's side so as to be able to direct Rawlings to Casa Lane. After a while Rawlings pulled up in front of 111 Howard Drive.

As Jane and Daria got out, Rawlings said, "Do you mind if I ask just what is that in the front yard?" He indicated the abstract sculpture.

"Abstract sculpture," Jane said. "Don't ask what it's about: I just put it together."

"Right," said Rawlings. "Well, thank you for your help. I muchly appreciate it. I may see you around?" he asked

"You might," Jane said. Rawlings nodded and then drove off. Both Daria and Jane watched until his car disappeared round the corner. Then Daria turned to her best friend and put her hands on her hips.

"Jane," she said, "sometimes I don't believe you. Am I wrong, or were you trying to set yourself up with a complete stranger who we know next to nothing about?"

Jane shrugged. "He seems cute." She looked at her best friend. "And don't tell me you found him repulsive, either," she said. "At least it didn't look that way to me."

Daria blushed, but didn't look away. "At least I didn't let him find out where I'm staying while I'm in Lawndale," she replied. "Which, now that I think about it, is probably a good thing."

"What, you afraid that he might sneak up on you at night?" asked Jane. She started walking up the footpath to her house, Daria following alongside her.

"No. More like either my parents invite him in and try their best to set me up with him, or, worse, Quinn finds out about him and makes a big dive in his direction," said Daria. "And, despite our differences in the past, I don't want her repeating what happened with her tutor. I never saw her so… hurt when that David Sorenson let her down hard."

Jane cocked her head to one side as she considered what Daria had just said. "That bad, huh?" she said. Daria said nothing. After a while, Jane said, "Besides, I don't think that Quinn would be in any emotional danger from our Virginian aristocrat."

"What do you mean?" asked Daria. By now, they had reached the front door. Jane unlocked it, opened the door and led the way in.

"I'd say that he probably knows how to let a girl down easy," said Jane. Then she grinned. "And even you would have to admit that he was a damn sight smoother than Upchuck used to be." They halted in the living room.

Daria thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah," she said. "Where Upchuck was all contrived, our 'Virginia aristocrat', as you call him, is much more natural. His mannerisms are just the way he is. In fact, he probably… no, his behaviour is as natural as breathing is to him."

Jane nodded. "Anyway, on a different matter: You ready for a bad movie marathon at Casa Lane?"

Daria shook her head. "Not tonight, unfortunately. The 'rents have decided that it's time for me and Quinn to spend some 'quality bonding time' with them and one another, now that Quinn's on the verge of leaving home for college."

"Bummer," said Jane. "So when do you think you'll be free?"

"The way things are going, probably right before we have to go back to Boston," said Daria.

"I told you we should have gone to Daytona!" said Jane.

"On what?" retorted Daria. "Unless I can come up with some kind of convincing excuse not to be in the company of my family I'm afraid I'll be spending an indeterminate time in familial hell. Especially when Grandma Barksdale, Grandma Morgendorffer and my aunts are going to be visiting as well."

"Now that's a real bummer!" said Jane. "I take it you're going to hole up in your old room until the nuclear carpet bombing has died down, whereupon you emerge from your shelter as the only sapient being left in your family home?"

"Either that, or I go and hide in the garage. But that's what I think my father's going to do," said Daria.

"Hmmm," Jane said. "You know, I've just thought of something."

"Great," said Daria. "Do I start running and screaming in the general direction of 'away' now, or do I wait until I hear what you're thinking?"

"Funny girl," said Jane. "Actually, I was thinking about what I said about our Southern gentry's little project in the diner."

"Oh, so he's our 'Southern gentry'?" said Daria. Jane ignored the remark.

"I said that you might get a story out of it," Jane said. "Well, how about we actually find out just what role the Lawndale area may have played in the Civil War?"

"Probably not much," said Daria. "But then, I do suppose that some elements of the Confederate Army may have come out here foraging…" Daria got that somewhat abstracted look that told Jane that her partner-in-crime was seriously considering what she had said.

"It'll get you out of Schloss Morgendorffer for much of the holidays," said Jane. "Means that you'll be able to hang out at my place for some relative peace and quiet while you're composing your story."

"I note that you said relative 'peace and quiet'," Daria said. "But then, Mystik Spiral's playing would be relative peace and quiet when compared to the Battling Barksdales. Not to mention the Morgendorffer Mayhem that Grandma Morgendorffer will be adding." She frowned. "But there could be one minor drawback, though."

"Oh? What's that," said Jane.

"We just might get Quinn coming over to Casa Lane, just to escape the war zone at Schloss Morgendorffer," said Daria. "But that mightn't be a bad thing. She's grown somewhat as a person over the past two years."

"Well, that does happen to people," said Jane. "So what's she doing? Something involving fashion, no doubt."

"Funny you should say that," Daria said as she sat down on the couch. Jane cleared an armchair and sat down in that. "You remember hearing about the big exhibit from the Victoria and Albert Museum that was in Washington?"

"Yeah," said Jane. "Pity we couldn't go at the time. And when we get down here we find it's moved up to Boston." She leaned back into the chair, which creaked alarmingly. "Now, you know that I'm into fashion as much as, well, you. But having a look at costumes that are works of art in themselves, well, I think you know what I mean."

"Yeah. Well, Quinn managed to go with Stacy Rowe," Daria said.

"You're joking," Jane said.

"No I'm not. Amy took them. Anyway, Quinn got to talking with some of the curators at the exhibit," Daria said. "Next thing, they've managed to get a working lunch with the senior curator for the exhibit."

"Waitaminute. Your ex-fashionista sister got a working lunch with some of the V and A people?" Jane asked. "Next thing you'll be telling me… no way!"

"She managed to get as a part of her senior year studies some courses in materials conservation, specialising in clothing, at Middletown College," Daria said. "I suspect it was the letter she got from the senior curator of the travelling exhibition that convinced the school supervisors to let her do that."

"No doubt Li was stoked over that!" snorted Jane. "More glory for Lawwwndale High! Not to mention its administrator."

"She was. But the upshot is that Quinn's final grades have improved so much that she's now considering going to study clothing conservation and history at Boston University," Daria said. "Seems she's decided against going to Pepperhill now that she seems to have found her vocation."

"Well, I'll be stripped naked, waxed and painted pink!" said Jane. "Who'd have thought it!"

"Thanks for the strong visuals, Jane," said Daria.

"So Boopsie is coming to Boston?" Jane said.

"Seems like it," Daria said. She glanced at her watch. "And speaking of going, I had better be doing that myself," she said. "Another home-cooked meal of pre-made lasagna awaits." She got up.

Jane got up too. "Hey! Think about what I said." Daria gave her a strange look. "You know! About telling your folks you're doing some research for a story!"

Daria gave a small smile. "I just might," she said. "I'd better go. I'll call you tomorrow."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Well, this is damned inconvenient!"

Richard John Rawlings sat down in his car. Much to his chagrin all of the motels, hotels and other places of accommodation in the Lawndale area were all booked out. And he didn't really want to head into Franklin to see if there was a room available there.

Who'd have thought that a conference in this part of the world about unidentified flying objects, whatever those are, would be so big! Rawlings thought. He sighed and reached into his pocket.

He encountered a folded-up napkin. Brow furrowed in puzzlement, he took it out and unfolded it. There, before his eyes, written in ballpoint pen, were the words Jane Lane, 111 Howard Drive, Lawndale and a telephone number.

Rawlings suddenly remembered Jane. Unconventional dresser, but smart and with a good-looking face shaped like a heart, he thought. That's right: she offered me a room. I wonder if the offer is still open? Only one way to find out. He took his mobile phone, opened it and dialled in Jane's number.

At the Lane residence, Jane was just getting ready to go and have a shower when the phone rang. "Trent! Phone!" she yelled out. The phone continued to ring. "Trent?" Dammit, she thought. Must be asleep in the basement. Wrapping a towel around her, she raced out into the living room and picked up the phone. "Yello," she said.

A familiar voice came out of the earpiece. "Is this the Lane residence?" it said, in the soft, honey-smooth tones of the Virginia aristocracy.

Jane grinned. "It is," she said. "What can I do for you, Mister Rawlings?" she continued in a faux Southern drawl.

On the other end, Rawlings rolled his eyes in bemusement. "I was wondering if your kind offer of a room was still available?" he said. "It turns out that all of the rooms in this town are booked solid."

Jane's grin grew wider. "Well, of course my offer is still open," she said. "Sure I can put you up here at Casa Lane. You do have the address?"

Rawlings smiled. "You were kind enough to write it on the napkin you gave me," he said. '111 Howard Drive', correct?"

"Indeedy it is!" Jane said. "Interesting that all of the rooms in town are booked solid!" she said.

"Some damned Unidentified Flying Object convention, whatever those are," Rawlings said.

"What, the convention, or the Unidentified Flying Objects?" Jane said.

"The latter."

"Well, there's some who consider it all a government plot to hide contact with the aliens," Jane said. "Of course, that's what my species wants you all to think while we slowly take over the world."

Rawlings was silent for a moment. Then, he said, "Jane, what in the world are you talking about?"

Jane's eyebrows rose. He hasn't heard about UFOs? she thought. "Private joke," she said. "I do that with Daria all the time."

"Ah," said Rawlings. "Well, if it isn't inconvenient for you, I would like to take up that offer of a room. I will pay for lodging and board." It was clear that he would not take no for an answer on the subject of payment.

"I'd say that there was no need to," Jane said, "but hey! It could well come in handy. Where are you at present?" she asked.

"On the other side of Lawndale, I believe," he said. "To get to your place I just go to where that ugly concrete cranberry is and just follow the route you gave me?"

"That'll do. "I should alert Trent that you're coming over," Jane said.

"Trent?"

"My brother the narcoleptic," Jane said. "Just honk when you pull in. That should wake him up. I might still be in the shower when you arrive, so he should be able to let you in."

Unbeknownst to Jane, Rawlings had just turned a shade of light pink. "Well, I had best be on my way," he said. "I'll see you when I get there."

"All right. 'Bye," said Jane and she hung up. So he needs a room, Jane thought. I suppose I had better put off that shower until I get him settled in. She went upstairs to change back into her street clothes and wait for Rawlings to arrive. Soon afterwards she heard a car pull up in the driveway. As she got up and headed for the door, she heard the car's horn beep a couple of times. Smiling she opened the door and went over to the car.

Surprised, Rawlings shut off the engine and got out. "I thought you said that you'd be, uh, still in the shower when I got here," he said.

Jane's eyebrows rose in surprise. Well, seems someone gets a little hot and flustered over that sort of remark, she thought. "No," she said. "I decided that I'd help you get set up in one of the rooms before showering. I might have had to clear out some of the junk in order to get you a room."

Rawlings raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Junk?" he asked.

"Well, you've landed amongst a family of artists of various kinds," Jane said. "My father's a photographer, my mother's a potter, my second sister is an arts and crafts person who's somewhere in Latin America, Trent's a musician in a town garage band. The other two…" She tipped her head back in thought. "Well, I suppose I could say that Wind's an artist in failed marriages, while Summer… well, she does try to raise her children."

Rawlings was amused at her litany of the Lane family's eccentricities. "And you?" he asked.

"I'm a painter and sculptor," Jane said. But I do dabble in other art forms on occasion. Ask Daria, next time you see her."

"If I do, I'll be certain to ask her," Rawlings said. He walked over to the trunk of his Mercedes. Opening it, he took out a leather and canvas valise that had seen a lot of use over the years. However, it was also equally clear that it had been well looked after.

Rawlings put it down and closed the lid of the trunk. "Just let me get my maps and field glasses and I'm all set," he said.

Jane reached over and picked up his valise, raising her eyebrows at its weight. "I'll just bring it inside," she said. Despite Rawlings' protests, she struggled but finally managed to get it over the threshold of the Lane house.

Rawlings shook his head in bemusement. I wonder if she's aware she's acting like the owner of a coaching house? he thought to himself. He reached in and took out his maps and field glasses, closed the door and, using the electronic key, locked it and activated the car alarm. Putting the field glasses case's strap around his neck, he walked into the Lane house.

He stopped in amazement. The room was decorated with all kinds of artworks, from paintings through to photographs and pottery. Some pots bore a marked Latin American influence, while others were in styles that Rawlings had never dreamed existed.

He looked at an abstract painting. "Is this one of yours?" he asked.

"School project," she said.

"Art school?"

Jane shook her head. "No," she said. "High school art project."

Rawlings was amazed. This is a high school project? he thought to himself. Although he wasn't quite an aficionado of modern abstract art, he had seen enough works of modern masters to recognise not only their influences, but also the talent that Jane possessed. "You must be doing quite well at college," he said.

Jane chuckled. "I'm doing reasonably well," she said. "But going to BFAC has taught me just how little I know." She gave the painting that Rawlings was looking at a contemptuous glance. "That's just so… naïve, I suppose." She said. "Definitely the work of a highschooler."

"If you say so," Rawlings said. He walked over to where Jane had placed his valise. Picking it up, he unbuckled the top and folded it back, revealing an internal compartment in the lid. Reaching into it, he opened an internal compartment, took out a square leather map case and placed his maps in it. Then, he replaced the top and buckled it up.

Jane was astonished at that. "I didn't know it had those!" she said. "That's really, really clever!" She looked at Rawlings. "Where'd you get it from?"

Rawlings hesitated for a moment, and then said "There was a merchant in Wilmington, North Carolina, who had these. He brought them in from England." Among other things. "It's a British Army officer's valise."

Jane looked at it. On it there were some faded letters. She tried to read them, but they were too faded for her to be able to read them. "Well, she said, "I suppose we'd better get you set up in a room." She headed for the stairs. "I think I'll put you in Penny's room."

Rawlings slung his map case over one shoulder, picked up his valise and followed her. "Sure she won't mind?" he said.

Jane looked over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs. "Nah," she said. "Last I heard she was in Nicaragua. Helping the comrades, I suppose."

"Doing what?"

Jane shook her head. "Trust me, you don't want to know," she said. The reached the top of the stairs and walked down the hallway until they reached a door with a photograph of a Latin American artwork on it. Opening the door Jane said, "Here's your room. Hope you like it." She stepped aside to let Rawlings in.

Rawlings took three steps in and stopped. The room was decorated with fabrics and artworks from Latin America. In the corner was a sleeping platform that had on it a bright cover that he recognised as coming from Mexico.

He put down his valise and, turning around, took in the room. Reminds me of Mexico, he thought to himself.

"Room OK?" asked Jane.

Rawlings nodded. "It'll do," he said. He walked over to the sleeping platform, put his valise down on it and began to unpack. "We haven't agreed on what I'll be paying you for my stay here," he said as he unpacked.

Jane shrugged. "Well," she said, "we could go down to Food Lord and get some supplies in. We really only have enough food for Trent and myself for the next fortnight. Or we could order in."

Rawlings paused for a moment in his unpacking. Jane saw that he had laid out his gear in what looked like a very military manner. He then bent over, picked up his toiletries container and moved to lay them out on the surface of a dresser, one of the few pieces of normal furniture in the room. "We go and lay in some provisions," he said. "I'll pay for them as part of my rental arrangements."

Jane nodded. "Let me know when you're ready," she said. "I'll be in the living room." She went out of the room, leaving Rawlings to finish putting his gear away. After a while, Rawlings came down the stairs and found Jane sitting in front of the television.

From out of the speakers came what Rawlings thought at first was a news report. "Today, Lawndale, Maryland is playing host to one of the largest gathering of UFO enthusiasts ever held," said the newsreader. "Sick, Sad World reporter Mary Tate filed this exclusive report on UFOCon 2004."

Jane looked up as Rawlings came over. Picking up the remote, she pointed it at the TV and switched it off. "Settled in, then?" she asked.

Rawlings nodded. He began to say, "I suppose we had better go and…" when all of a sudden, the house shook to the sound of a power chord. As the house stopped shaking, Rawlins looked around and asked, "What in tarnation is that?"

Jane got up and smirked. "Oh, that's just Trent, my brother," she said. "He's probably in the basement practising on his guitar." Another outburst of sound shook the house again.

"Does he do this often?" Rawlings asked.

"Not too often," Jane said. "He only does this when he's at home and awake. Which is not most of the time anyway."

Rawlings could see that Jane was rather blasé about the whole thing. He briefly reconsidered his acceptance of Jane's offer of a room, and then shook his head as if clearing it. "Shall we go and get our provisions?" he said, heading for the door.

"Ok," said Jane. They got out of the doorway before the strains of what, to Rawlings' ears sounded like a song started emerging from the basement. He unlocked the Mercedes, opened the passenger-side door for Jane, who got in, closed it, hurried around to the drivers' side door, got in, started the car and backed it out of the driveway.

"So, how do we get to Food Lord?" Rawlings asked.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As Daria let herself in at the Morgendorffer household, she could hear the sounds of an argument coming from the kitchen. Oh, goody, she thought. It sounds like Aunt Rita's arrived.

She looked into the living room. There was no sign of her father, or of Quinn. Moving quietly through the room, Daria then looked in through the entrance to the kitchen, making sure that she wouldn't be spotted. Sure enough, both her mother and her Aunt Rita were involved in an argument over some aspect of their past. Sighing to herself, she decided that the best thing to do would be to try and sneak up the stairs to her old room, ring Jane, pack a bag and then sneak back down the stairs. Unfortunately for her, she was spotted.

"Well, Daria!" said her mother. "Come here and say hello to your Aunt Rita."

Smothering a sigh, she walked up to the kitchen table. "Hello, Aunt Rita," she said.

Rita gave her a look. "Hello, Daria," she said. "How's Boston?"

"Full of beans," she said. "Hasn't really changed all that much in twelve months." As she turned to her mother, she made a decision about Jane's suggestion. "Mom, I probably won't be around as much this summer as I was last year," she said. "In fact, I'm probably going to be pretty busy with Jane."

Helen Morgendorffer raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Oh?" she said. "And may I ask just what you are going to be doing that will keep you so busy with Jane? Watching TV over at her place, no doubt."

"Actually, Mom," said Daria, "Jane and I will be doing some research into local history."

"Oh? Really?" said Helen. "And what prompted this sudden interest in Lawndale history, when you never showed any interest in it in the past?"

Sighing to herself, Daria sat down at the table. "Jane and I met this guy in the diner on the village green square in the centre of town," she said. "He's from Virginia, and he's doing some research into an ancestor of his who passed through the area with the Confederate Army in 1862."

"Very interesting," said Helen. "But it doesn't explain the sudden interest in Lawndale history. Why, the place didn't even exist until fairly recently!"

"Well, he has maps that his ancestor carried on him," Daria replied. "We looked at them over lunch and…"

"Now Daria, I know that you're an adult now, but didn't it cross your mind that having lunch with a strange man might be somewhat risky?" Helen said.

"I have lunch with strange men all the time at Raft," Daria replied. "Usually those are my classmates. And after a few lunches together, they cease being strange in the strangers' sense of the word. It doesn't mean that they're not strange, though."

"Very witty, Daria. But what do you know about this man. In fact, how did you and Jane end up having lunch with him in the first place."

"Believe it or not, we sort of rescued him from a peroxided waitress in the diner," Daria said. "He told us what he was doing in Lawndale, and Jane and I gave him some pointers about where to look for information, such as it is, on this place," Daria replied. "He took us to Cranberry Commons, bought a local map, and then bought us lunch." Daria gave Helen an exasperated look. "Don't worry, mom," she said. "Jane and I were perfectly safe. We both sat in the back of his car, and I had my pepper spray in my jacket. Richard Rawlings was a perfect gentleman all the time."

"Wait a minute," said Rita. "Did you say his name was Rawlings?"

"Yes, Aunt Rita," Daria replied. She frowned. "Is that important?"

"Where did he say he was from?" asked Rita.

Daria frowned in concentration. "A place called Mount Folly in Virginia," she said. "He says it's his family home."

Rita looked at Helen. "It seems my niece has met a member of Virginia's tidewater aristocracy," she said.

Helen's eyebrows rose. "Really?" she said. Then they narrowed when the rest of what her sister had said registered.

"Yes." She turned to Daria. Was his name Richard John Rawlings?" she asked.

Daria was surprised at Rita's question. "Yes," she said.

Rita turned back to Helen. "He recently purchased the Mount Folly property for an undisclosed sum," she said. "It had been in his family for years, but some relative lost it several years ago. I heard about it through some of Mother's society friends, as well as through the real estate grapevine."

Helen said," But how could you be sure that it's the same man? I mean, this person could have heard about it through the news!"

"Because this was not released to the news services," Rita said. "He was most insistent that the deal remain quiet. He also bought back several neighbouring properties and had them reattached to the main house."

"Why, whatever for?" Helen asked.

"Believe it or not, Helen," Rita said, "heritage farming."

"Heritage what?"

"I've heard of that," said Daria. "They basically grow what are called heritage crops so that the varieties don't die out. It keeps the gene pool of our major food crops, as well as animals, viable. Some of the big genetics companies tend to pay quite well for samples of heritage seeds, since they may have some properties to resist some kinds of disease, or better abilities in adverse weather conditions, than many modern crops." She looked at her mother and aunt. "He did say something about several other properties throughout the South," she said.

"Well," said Helen, "perhaps you should bring him around so that we could meet him, if he's such a fine young man."

"Well, considering he was off to look for a motel room here in Lawndale," Daria said, "I somehow suspect I won't be seeing him again. Anyway, what he said about his family research got me thinking about doing some research into the Confederate Army being in the area, with an eye for a short story." Daria got up. "Well, in any case, I'd better go and have a shower and talk to Jane about tomorrow's activities." She turned around and walked out of the kitchen, and climbed the stairs.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As Daria walked past Quinn's room she heard the door open. Turning around she saw the head of her sister poking out through the partially opened doorway.

Quinn saw her. "The shouting's stopped," she said. "They haven't killed each other, have they?"

Daria, despite herself, gave Quinn a small smile. "No, Quinn, they haven't," she said. "I suspect Mom's mulling over some information she got from me and Aunt Rita."

"Oh?" said Quinn. "This aught to be good. What is it?"

"It's about a guy Jane and I had lunch with today, and who I suspect I'll never see again," Daria said. She walked down the corridor, with Quinn following. "However, he may have given me a bit of an out in regards to the Battling Barksdales versus the Manic Morgendorffers when Amy and Grandmas Barksdale and Morgendorffer arrive for Mom's 'Bonding With My Daughters Before They Both Head Off To College' scheme she has planned for us." She paused outside the door leading to her old room.

"Oh?" said Quinn. "What kind of 'out' is this?"

"Research for a possible short story," Daria said. She opened the door and walked in, with Quinn following.

Daria looked around the room. As soon as she had shifted out of home her parents had gutted the old padded cell. It now looked like a guest room. They had even taken out the scarred panelling inside the closet, replacing it with new timber. Luckily, Daria had taken rubbings of the violent poetry the room's previous tenant had carved into the closet's walls. But then, this isn't where I belong, now, she thought. That's up in Boston, in the apartment in that old Victorian-period townhouse I'm sharing with Jane. She sat down on the bed. Quinn went over to the desk, pulled out the chair and sat down in it.

"So, what gave you the idea about researching a short story here?" Quinn derisively said. She waived one hand above her head indicating the general area of Lawndale.

"This guy I was talking about? Seems he's following the path of an ancestor who was in the Confederate Army when it came up this way in 1862. Jane suggested that I might research some of this myself as a prelude to doing a story centred on their being in the Frederick-Lawndale area. Only this wasn't Lawndale back then."

"Oh?" said Quinn. "What was this dump called then?" Despite herself, Daria smiled. Since a student from Bromwell University had tutored her over two summers ago, Quinn had gained more of an interest in 'brainy things', which had led her to not only improve her grades by a great deal, but led her to what may well turn out to be her calling in life. This was something that Daria had every intention of encouraging as an end in itself, and not simply as a means to enable her and Quinn to avoid the kind of adult relationship their lawyer mother had with her sisters.

"Back then, this was called Sloane's Crossroads," she said. "Which isn't all that surprising when I think about it."

"Figures," said Quinn. "Does this mean that you'll be calling Tom Sloane to see if his family has any information about that time?"

Daria frowned at that question. "Not if I can help it," she said. "Although Tom and I parted fairly amicably, I'd still feel a bit uncomfortable in dealing with his family. I'd rather explore some other avenues first before calling on Tom or his family. Though, mind you, I'd rather deal with Tom than his parents."

Quinn nodded. "I suppose I can understand that," she said. "Hey!" she said. "Do you mind if I used something like that to help me get out of the house?"

The question took Daria aback. "I can understand why, but wouldn't that arouse Mom's suspicions?" she asked.

"Not really," Quinn said. " I have been doing much better in school. Besides, I do need to brush up on some of my basic research skills for college. And it's not as if I could do any work in this house. Not with Mom and Aunt Rita screeching at one another. And I'm not looking forward to Grandma Barksdale and Grandma Morgendorffer being in the same place." She shrugged. "So what if I'm looking for an out? All I have to do is make a plausible excuse."

"Couldn't you go round to Stacy's house, or any of the other ex-Fashion club members'?" Daria asked.

Quinn shook her head. "They've all gone away on holidays," Quinn said. "It leaves me just staying here suffering the psychic torment of being caught in a war zone between the Barksdale and Morgendorffer women of the older generation." She gave Daria a pleading look

Daria considered what Quinn had said earlier. "Well," she said, "I suppose I could run it past Jane. See what she thinks of it."

"Great! Thanks, sis!" said Quinn. A look of sudden realisation came across her face. "Do you know if she's been studying Renaissance painting techniques?" she asked.

That question took Daria by surprise. "I could ask, but why?" she said.

"Well you know I've been looking at studying materials conservation focussing on historical clothes?" Quinn asked. Daria nodded. "Well, I've been buying some interesting books on costuming online, as well as looking at some interesting sites on reconstructing historical costumes."

"I suppose I can see why the books on costume, but the techniques?" Daria said.

"It's something one of the V and A people told me," Quinn said. "One very good way to understand the costumes people wore in the past is to actually study how they were made. That not only includes techniques, but materials as well." She gave Daria a smile that resembled the one her sister normally used. "Now, while I can't really afford proper bullion threads," she said, "there are some acceptable substitutes available that at least enable me to get some of the techniques right."

Daria was thunderstruck. "You mean you've been studying how to make historical costumes?" she said.

Quinn nodded. "Both Stacy and myself," she said. "Just a minute." She got up and left the room, returning a couple of minutes later with two books. "Here's a couple of my source materials," she said, putting them down on the bed next to Daria. She then went and sat back down in the chair.

Daria picked up the top one. "The Tudor Tailor: Reconstructing sixteenth-century dress." She opened it up and went to the inside of the back cover. She read about the authors. "This is pretty impressive." She put it down and picked up the other book Quinn had brought in. "Patterns of Fashion: The cut and construction of clothes for men and women c1560-1620."

"There's two more in that series," Quinn said. "I've got them both, as well as folders of stuff I've downloaded from the Internet and burned to CD as well as printing off and binding."

Daria turned a wondering look onto her kid sister. "I have to say I'm impressed, Quinn," she said. "But why the question on Renaissance painting?"

"Well, although I know that Jane's as much a genius in painting as you are in writing, not to mention general academic studies," Quinn said, "I suspect that she may not have done much painting regarding draped figures before going to BFAC, despite anything she did in high school." She leaned on the back of the chair. "In my studies in costuming I found out that many of the artists of the renaissance period had some familiarity with costume. They needed it in order to be able to do portraits of the rich and powerful, especially of their clothes. So I figure that in return for shelter from the upcoming family fireworks display here, I could show Jane some of the techniques I've been working on. It might help her at art college."

Daria was amazed. Apparently Quinn had acquired even more depth than she had assumed. "I'll run it past her," she said. "She may just be interested in what you're doing just for the sheer interest value in it."

"Good!" said Quinn. "Tell her I'll bring over some stuff I'm working on, plus some samples I've gotten from some suppliers online for her to look at." She gave Daria a wicked look. "Do you think if I throw in a copy of the exhibition catalogue from the V and A display I was at would help sweeten the deal?"

"Would it?" Daria said. "I most definitely think so!" She looked at Quinn. "How many copies have you got?"

"One for me, one for Stacy, and several others," Quinn replied. "I was looking at giving you one before we all went up to Boston."

"So you're definitely coming up to Boston?" Daria asked.

Quinn nodded. "I'm starting at Boston University in the fall," she said. "So's Stacy." She grinned at Daria. "But that's not the best bit."

"Oh? What is the best bit?"

Quinn's grin grew even wider. "The V and A people have managed to get Stacy and me scholarships to study materials conservation and historical costume there," she said, "plus summer internships at the Smithsonian next year." She buffed her nails and looked at them. "Seems we impressed them this year."

"Boy, I'll say!" Daria said. She cocked her head and looked at her younger sibling. "How do you do it, Quinn?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Have things like that happen to you," Daria replied. "The whole V and A thing. I know that you worked hard to be able to get into Boston, but still... Having something like this just fall into your lap..." She shook her head.

Quinn frowned for a moment, and then realised what her sister was trying not to say. "Daria," she said, "you're jealous, aren't you?"

Daria blushed at that question. "Envious is more like it," she said. "One of my fellow students at Raft once said to me that the best thing that could happen is that we wind up getting paid doing something that we really love. I hope that will still happen to me, but you... You look as though that is going to happen to you... And yes, that makes me jealous." She looked at Quinn. "But I'm also happy for you. Make any sense?"

Quinn thought about it for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah," she said. "It does in a weird sort of way." She looked at Daria. "We seem to be making good progress in not turning out like Mom and her sisters, aren't we?"

Daria nodded. "I'd have to say so," she said. "Despite such a conclusion being at variance with my chosen philosophy." She cocked her head at Quinn. "I understand about you managing to get into Boston," she said, "but how did Stacy manager that feat?"

Quinn game a Mona Lisa smile so much like Daria's. "I helped her get her grades up," she said. "It took a lot of work, but ever since the Fashion Club folded she and I had enough time on our hands to be able to do that." Quinn was quite evidently proud of what she had achieved in the past two years, something that did not go unnoticed.

"And what about the other two?" Daria said. "Sandy and Tiffney?"

"Sandy's going to Lawndale Community College," Quinn said. "She's doing some lead-in courses to help her get into college. Tiffney's doing a beautician's course there as well."

"Well, I have to say that I'm damned impressed with you, sis," Daria said. She looked at the clock.. "Hmm," she said. "Sick, Sad World's just about to start," she said. "I wonder if it's reruns?" She switched on her old TV.

Quinn shook her head. "Well, you watch your show. I'm going down to my workshop in the basement and take advantage of the peace and quiet for a while."

That statement took Daria by surprise. "Since when do you have a workshop in the basement?" she asked.

"Since I got really interested in historical costuming techniques," Quinn said. "Daddy helped me to fix it up. It's the only really unused space in the house. I've got a cutting table and workbench down there. I've even got storage area for what materials I have."

Daria shook her head in astonishment. Then, something on the TV caught her attention. As soon as she realised what the show was about, she groaned and hid her face in her hands.

"What is it?" asked Quinn. She stepped in front of the TV. On it she saw a young man in his early twenties, who had a geeky air about him, which was emphasised by his acne problem. The man was talking about being abducted by aliens and his encounter with two skin-stealing alien love goddesses in the Lawndale area. "Is that...?" she began.

Daria nodded. "Yes," she said. "It's the same idiot who works for Pizza King who decided that Jane and I were alien love goddesses." She looked over at the telephone. "I'd better ring Jane and let her know about this new complication in our lives. She probably knows, but I feel like venting with someone who knows what this is going to do to us. Makes for a good mutual support group." She looked at Quinn. "I'll also ask her about the other thing, I promise."

"Ok. Thanks, Daria." With that, Quinn walked out of Daria's old room. Just as she walked through the door, the sounds of people talking in tense, loud tones came up the hallway.

Quinn flinched. "Sounds like Grandma Morgendorffer's just arrived," she said. She turned to Daria. "Make that call real quick, please," she said. "I don't think I'm going to be able to stand much more of this."

"On it." Daria picked up the telephone and rang the Lane residence. After a while, she hung up. "She must be out," she said. "I'll call her cell phone." She quickly entered Jane's cell phone number.

After a few rings, Jane picked up. "Yello," she said.

"Out on the town, are you, Jane?" Daria said.

"You could say that, amiga, she said. "I'm out getting groceries."

"Very perceptive of you," Daria said. "Look, about what we discussed earlier? It looks as though you will have a couple of refugees coming over sometime soon."

"You and Quinn, eh?" Jane said. "Yeesh, it must be bad if the both of you are bailing so soon."

"Well, Mom and Aunt Rita were involved in one of their little discussions when I walked in," Daria replied. "Quinn's been putting up with it for most of the day and is seeking refuge at Casa Lane as well, at least from the worst part of the familial pyrotechnics."

"Well, OK. Just bring what you need. If you can both throw a few bucks into the food fund it would be appreciated." She paused for a moment.

Daria was wondering why Jane had stopped speaking and was about to ask when Jane came back on. "You run the project we were talking about past Helen?" she asked.

"Yes, and I got cross-examined," Daria said. Found out some interesting things too."

"Well, guess who called me because he couldn't get a room?" Jane said.

"You're kidding," Daria said.

"No I'm not," Jane replied. "Seems every available room is booked up because of some UFO convention. Saw a bit about it on Sick, Sad World before we went grocery shopping."

"That's the other thing I wanted to warn you about," Daria said. "I caught a bit of it myself. Guess who they were interviewing when I turned it on?"

"Hmmm. Surprise me."

"Artie," Daria said. "He was going on about..."

"Lemme guess... the alien sex goddess thing, huh?" Jane said. "So you think we could be targeted for 'surveillance', eh?"

"Probably." Daria came to a decision. "Look, "she said. "Me and Quinn will meet you at your place this evening. We'll pack overnight bags and try and sneak out. Quinn will be bringing some of her work over. You might be interested in it. Oh, and she's got a copy of the V and A exhibit catalogue for you. Will that be enough to buy her entry?"

"Would it? It most definitely would," replied Jane. So I'll be seeing you sometime this evening then."

"Most definitely," Daria said. "You and I will be sharing your old room no doubt."

"Yep. I'll see if I can get one of the other rooms ready for Quinnie. See you."

"See you this evening. 'Bye." Daria hung up. "It's all arranged," she told Quinn. You're coming with me to Jane's. Be sure to pack lightly and bring only those things you really need."

"Oh, I can do that," Quinn said. "I'll bring over a couple of my folders and this," she said, indicating The Tudor Tailor. "I got rid of a lot of my old clothes over the past year. I'll just bring a couple of changes of clothes. I suppose we could use the washer over there."

"Correct. I'll start to pack my gear and prepare a letter explaining where we've gone," Daria said. "I suppose I had also better look for an alternative route out of here."

"I'll go down and get some things from my workshop," Quinn said. "At the same time I'll scout out the situation downstairs. We could always lower our bags out my window and climb down the trellis if need be."

Suffice it to say that they both managed to get out of the Morgendorffer house undetected. When Helen came up to bring them both down, she found the following letter on Daria's bed:

Mom,

Decided to get an early start on the project I'm working on. So I'm staying at Jane's for the moment, at least until the hostilities here have ceased. Quinn is with me as well. We'll be back for the family dinner you intend to have but will not be taking part in the family discussion that will inevitably erupt.

Both your loving daughters.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As Daria and Quinn walked towards the Lane residence, Daria said, "Quinn, I'm genuinely impressed. You have packed lightly. Well, light for what you usually take with you on trips."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You mean the trip up the mountains, don't you?" she said. "I'm never going to do that again." She didn't say what that was, but Daria understood what she meant.

Quinn indicated one of the two bags she was carrying. "This has got a fair bit of my workroom stuff in it," she said. "Especially some of the projects I've got going involving some decorative techniques."

Daria raised her eyebrows. "Indeed," she said. "Jane may well want to watch you do that. Hell, she may even do a sketch of you doing that for a painting."

"I'm OK with her doing that," Quinn responded. "But if she wants to turn it into a painting I'm going to have to tell her what I should be wearing in it. That is, if she wants to make it look as though it is in the Sixteenth Century."

Daria looked at her sister. "And what should you be wearing in it?" she asked. "Fine gowns?"

"Only if I'm embroidering a sampler or something similar," Quinn said. "Most of this work was done by craftsmen and women. Some would be well dressed, but the majority would be wearing plain, but good clothes. They only wore anything fancy for Sunday church." Daria's estimate of her sister's new depth rose several notches as she heard Quinn make her explanation. "On a related note," Quinn continued, "do you know the origins of the Puritan clothing stereotype?"

Again, Daria was taken aback by her sister's new intellectual depths. "Never really thought about it," she said. "Why?"

"Most illustrations we have of Puritans, especially the rich and important ones," Quinn said, "are actually wearing their Sunday best. And the reason they wear black is because black dyed cloth was quite expensive. Sure they look plainly dressed, but they are usually wearing a fine linen shirt, a minimum of lace if they could afford it, and good quality cloth dyed in one of the most expensive dyes around. Normally they would wear the same clothes as everyone else, except perhaps just a bit plainer than their peers."

"Wow. Quinn, you have astounded me," Daria said. "And you learned all of this from researching clothes?"

"Yeah. The basic social rules concerning clothes are pretty much the same for any period, even in spite of sumptuary laws," Quinn said. "If you could afford it, you wore it, just to show how wealthy you are. Fashion is just another way of expressing that."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," Daria said. The walked on a bit further. "There's something else I'll have to tell you, Quinn," she said.

"Oh? What is it?"

"Remember that guy I mentioned? The one Jane and I ran into who's following an family member's path?" Quinn nodded. "Well, it appears that the UFO convention has booked every room in town solid. So he took up an offer Jane made to him of a room at her place."

"Why did Jane say that?" Quinn said. "I mean, you've only just met the guy!"

"Personally I think it's her hormones plus her poor impulse control," Daria said. "But I do have to admit, he is cute-looking."

Quinn halted. "I must be hearing things," she said. "You admitting that a guy is cute?" She gave her older sister a wicked smile. "Perhaps there is hope for you after all!" she said.

Daria blushed at Quinn's statement. "Oh, bite me," she said. She kept on walking.

Quinn hurried to catch up. "You'll probably have to bring him over for Mom and Dad to meet," she said, her evil smile growing even wider as she spoke. "But preferably after the rest of the relatives have left, so that he doesn't know just how weird a family we have."

Daria, her face bright red, shot Quinn a murderous glare. "I will not be doing any such thing," she growled. "Besides, I mentioned him so that you wouldn't be surprised when you saw him. Plus..." Her voice trailed off.

"Plus what?" Quinn asked.

Daria sighed and stopped. "I didn't want you falling for him in a big way," she said. "He's handsome, quite intelligent, well-educated, charming..." Rich, "and a perfect gentleman."

Quinn was stunned. "Wow!" she said. "But why don't you want me falling for him?" she asked.

Daria signed again. "I remember how hurt you were after David Sorenson blew you off," she said. "Plus, he's only going to be in the area for a short while. Then he'll be going back to his home in Virginia."

"He's from Virginia?" But that's just across the border!" Quinn said.

"Not the part of Virginia he's from," Daria said. "Charles City County. It's not far from Williamsburg."

"Good God!" Quinn said. "So he's from one of the First Families of Virginia?"

"He didn't say that," Daria said. "But he is quite well off. Plus, I suspect he's a good deal older than he looks."

"What? He's had plastic surgery?" Quinn said.

Daria considered this. "No, I don't think he has," she said. "He looks to be in his mid-twenties. But I think he could be in his thirties."

Quinn shrugged. "Oh well," she said. "I was looking forward to meeting some nice boy in Boston anyway," she said. The two continued walking.

Quinn's evil smile returned. "But he sounds just right for..." she began.

"Finish that sentence," Daria said, "and you'll find out the meaning of the term fratricide."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Approaching Casa Lane both Daria and Quinn saw, parked in the driveway, a late-model Mercedes Benz car. "Looks like they've gotten back from their grocery run," Daria said.

Quinn said nothing. She was looking at the car. "This guy is better than 'well-off'," she said. "That's a seriously-expensive car."

Daria shrugged. "It doesn't seem to be an issue with him," she said. They walked up to the front door.

Daria rang the doorbell. "Hopefully somebody'll be able to let us in," she said. After a few minutes the door opened.

"Hi," said Jane. " Come on in. The war zone refugee centre is just about ready," she said.

Daria and Quinn stepped in. "Thanks for having me over, Jane," she said. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "I think I can get an idea," she said. She looked at Daria. "How bad is it?" she said.

"Well, Grandma Morgendorffer had arrived when I rang you," Daria said. "From what I had heard when I got in it seems that Mom and Rita were at it for some time before."

Quinn shuddered. "It was bad," she said. "I couldn't do any work in my workshop in the basement."

"I'd have thought you would have been pretty safe there," Jane said.

"Unfortunately sound travels down a lot better than it travels up," Quinn said. She looked around. "So where am I staying?" she asked.

"I've got Trent, the band and my other house guest shifting stuff out of Wind's old room," she said. "I'll have to have guests over more often: seems to be the only way we can get some tidying-up done."

"So Rawlings is helping?" Daria said. "Interesting."

"He insisted," Jane said. "And remember, he also insisted on his first name. Richard," she continued.

"Hmm," said Quinn. "Daria's already told me a bit about him. A Virginia tidewater aristocrat, eh?"

Jane shot Quinn a look. "And you are not going to try and charm him, capeech?" she said.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I didn't have any intention of doing that, Jane," she said. "Besides, I'm looking forward to meeting all of the cute guys in college. Boston's sure to have plenty."

"Glad to hear it," Jane said. Just at that moment Rawlings came down the stairs. He was carrying a box filled with bags of some substance that neither Daria or Quinn could identify. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing a large scar on his right forearm. At sometime in the past it had been gashed open, but it had also been quite skilfully sewn up.

"Where do you want these, Jane," he said. At the sound of his voice Quinn's eyebrows rose. She looked at him and a moonstruck expression came across her features.

Uh Oh, thought Daria. Quinn has just seen what I was talking about.

Jane, however, hadn't seen this. She had turned around when Rawlings spoke and had moved over to look in the box he was carrying.

"Just go and put them in the fallout shelter," Jane said. "It looks like some of Mom's pottery supplies so they should fit in there." She looked up the stairs. "Is there any more?" she asked.

Rawlings shook his head. "No, this is the last of it," he said. "Trent's got the, uh vacuum cleaner going up there taking care of any dust." Jane said nothing but nodded.

Rawlings' stumble over the term vacuum cleaner hadn't gone unnoticed by Daria. Strange, she thought. He doesn't seem to be all that familiar with modern housecleaning equipment. Yet he drives a car.

Rawlings looked over and saw Daria and Quinn. "Evening," he said, giving a sharp nod of his head before exiting out of the room.

As Rawlings headed out of the room Jane noticed the look on Quinn's face. She gave a slight frown and then came over and stood in front of Quinn. "Ground Control to Space Cadet Morgendorffer," she said. She snapped her fingers in front of Quinn.

Quinn shook her head. "Uh, what?" she said. "What happened?"

Daria smirked. "Looks like you were smitten with a certain Virginian gentleman," she said. She looked at Jane, who was giving Quinn a look of bemused irritation.

"Just remember," Jane said, "he's a guest in my house. Also remember that you said that you wouldn't go chasing him."

Quinn gave Jane a bemused look. "Really, Jane," she said. "I really don't know him at all, so how can I go chasing him?" She looked at the doorway that Rawlings had gone through. "But he is pretty cute," she said.

Jane turned a bemused look on Daria. "You're not the only Morgendorffer to think that," she said.

Daria gave Jane a death stare. "I hate you," she said. Jane said nothing, but smirked in reply. She looked up the stairs.

"Well," she said, "I had better get you settled in. Daria, you know where my room is," she continued. A wicked smirk came across her face. "Or, better yet, you know where..."

"Finish that sentence, Lane and you'll be seeing just how well that bridesmaid's dress will fit you," Daria growled. Jane said nothing but smirked at Quinn, who smirked back. Shooting daggers at the pair of them, Daria growled, then picked up her bag and stomped up the stairs.

Quinn followed. "Boy," she said, shaking her head. "She must have it bad to be reacting like that." She looked at Jane. "And I suspect that you may also have something going for him."

Jane shot Quinn a glare. "Oh?" she said. "And what makes you think that?"

Quinn started ticking off points on her fingers. "Well," she began, "there's the fact that you meet this cute stranger and, on first acquaintances, offer him a room in your house. Then, when he does accept your offer, you go all out to clean up the place, something I have never heard of happening in all the years I've been familiar with Casa Lane. Then, there's the fact that you are ragging Daria over whatever attraction she may have towards him. Finally, you warn me off before I've even met him." She smirked at Jane. "Am I wrong?"

Jane attempted to glare at Quinn but found it difficult to maintain. She began to chuckle. "Boy, you sure have my number!" she replied. She shook her head. "I suppose I'd better see if Trent's finished cleaning your room." She looked at the two bags Quinn had. "I see you've packed light."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "This," she said, indicating a large overnight bag, "has got my clothing and toiletries. This," she continued, indicating a large duffel bag, "has got some of my costuming stuff."

Jane raised her eyebrows. "What did you bring with you?" she asked.

"Some source materials, as well as some cloth samples and some projects I've been working on. I've got a couple of embroidery hoops and a small table frame. Unfortunately I couldn't get to my big standing frame, which is a pity because there's something on it I'm sure you'd want to look at on it."

"What is it you're working on?" Jane asked. She was getting intrigued by what Quinn was telling her.

"Are you familiar with that portrait of Queen Elizabeth the First as a thirteen-year old girl?" Quinn asked.

"Vaguely."

"I think I've got a picture here," Quinn said. She opened a side pocket on her work bag and rifled around in it before drawing out a folder. She leafed through it until she found what she was looking for. "Here," she said, handing Jane the folder.

Jane found herself looking at a painting of a young girl in a mid-Tudor period costume, lavishly decorated with what appeared to be gold embroidery. "Yeah, I've seen it before," she said. She looked at Quinn. "You're not working on this, are you?" she said.

Quinn shook her head. "No," she replied. "Just on the decoration on her sleeves." She indicated the gauzy material that had the embroidery on it.

"Cool," Jane said. "I've always wondered how they did this."

"Basically you get a thin wire or rod, baste it to the material..."

"'Baste'? I thought it was something you did to turkeys or roasts," Jane said.

"In this connection, it's a term used for a temporary stitch," Quinn said. "Anyway, you baste it to the material, then you take a metallic thread and you work it over the rod. When you've finished, you remove the rod, attach it next to the completed row and start again. Once the area you're doing this on is filled in, you then take either a very fine knife or scissors and you cut through the loops, leaving this effect."

Jane was amazed. "And you're doing this?" she said.

"Yeah," said Quinn. "However, because of the nature of the work it can only be done on a standing frame. Which is back at home in my workroom." She sighed. "And I really don't want to go and face Mom after we ran out on her tonight."

Jane gave Quinn a sympathetic look: something that was rare for her to do. "It's that bad, huh?" she asked.

Quinn nodded. "We had to sneak out through the front door after we had lowered our bags out of one of my windows," she said. "Then we had to sneak around and get them before high-tailing out of there for here. I know Daria left a note, but with the way things are over there..." She gave Jane a look. "Personally, I'd be expecting a 'phone call sometime..." Just then, the telephone rang. "Bingo," said Quinn.

Jane looked at the ringing phone. It was quite clear that she didn't want to answer it. Eventually, she sighed. "I suppose I had better answer it," she said. "I don't think it'd be a good idea for your mom to come over here just now." She went over and picked it up. "Hello?" she said.

On the other end Helen Morgendorffer replied. "Hello, Jane," she said. "I gather that my errant daughters are over at your house?"

Jane winced. Boy, she really sounds pissed, she thought. "Yes, they are, Mrs. Morgendorffer," she said. "Apparently things are a bit tense over your way, or so they tell me."

"Well, I would like them to come back home right now," Helen said. "Both of their grandmothers have arrived, as well as both of their aunts."

"Gee, Mrs. Morgendorffer. "I'll pass on the message, but things are a little hectic right now," Jane replied. "We're clear..."

"Jane, I don't care just how hectic things may be," Helen retorted. "Their grandparents and aunts are here, and I want them here now!"

"Ok, Ok! I'll give them the message!" She winced as Helen hung up. Then, after replacing the handset, she looked at Quinn. "Your mother's pretty pissed," she said.

"Probably because Grandma Morgendorffer and my Aunt Rita have probably gotten onto her case about us high-tailing it out of there," Quinn said.

"Well, things must have gotten worse, because she said that your other grandmother plus Amy have shown up," Jane said.

Quinn hid her head in her hands. "Oh, god!" she said. "I really, really like Amy," she continued, "but sometimes I just wonder how is it possible that such an intelligent woman can be so stupid when it comes to her family."

"Something the matter?" Daria said. She had just come down the stairs and had caught the last piece of the conversation.

Jane looked at Daria. "Your mom just called," she said. "She wants the pair of you back right now. And boy, did she sound pissed!"

Daria's face hardened. She folded her arms. "I'll go back for the family dinner," she said, "but I won't stay there while they are fighting." She looked at Quinn. "Quinn and I are trying to avoid that in our adult relationship." She looked back at Jane. "Besides, I'm now legally an adult, and if I don't miss my guess, so is Quinn."

"Well, the way she was talking I wouldn't be surprised if she turned up here in force," said Jane. "And then things would get really ugly."

"Perhaps I might be able to offer some assistance?" came a soft voice. The three young women turned around to see Rawlings leaning against the door frame. "I apologise for eavesdropping," he said, "but I could not help but overhear."

Daria's eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't know if you'll be able to offer something constructive," she said, "but at this stage I'm willing to listen to anything that might help."

Rawlings shoved himself upright. "You have to understand," he said, "that it's very hard for parents, especially mothers, to let go of their children. Especially if those children are daughters." He gave a small smile. "It was very hard for my mother to let me go, first, when I went to boarding school in the North, and second, when I went to VMI and later into the Army." He folded his arms. "Even though you may be adults, " he said, "to your mother you'll always remain her little girls, to be loved, cherished and, strange as it may sound, protected."

As Rawlings spoke Quinn got her first good look at the tall, aristocratic Southerner. Her initial impressions were confirmed. Definitely cute, she thought to herself, even mussed up like this. But Daria's right, he is older than he looks.

Something else pulled at Quinn's consciousness, something she couldn't put her finger on at first. Then, she gasped to herself. Those eyes! she thought. Those have got to be the oldest-looking eyes I have ever seen! She remained fixed on Rawlings' eyes.

Daria looked down at her folded arms. "I have to admit you have some good points," she said. "Very good points." She looked up. "But, as you said, my sister and I are adults. We would both like to be treated as adults, especially by our relatives. How do you suggest we go about achieving that?" she added. It was a challenge, and everyone in the room knew it.

Rawlings didn't quail. He returned Daria's challenging look with a level gaze of his own. "I would suggest that, in order to get them to treat you an adult," he quietly said, "you first start acting like an adult. And when you do, make it plain that you deserve the respect that adults give one another. And that if they want your respect, they will have to earn it by being adult themselves." He leaned back against the door frame. "From what I gather your family tends to engage in some rather 'unadult-like' behaviour?" He gave a faint smile.

Daria returned it with one of her own. "Yet more good points," she said. "So how do you suggest we go about doing what you suggest?"

"Well, going back to your parent's house would be a good start," he said. "You don't have to take your bags, though. Just walk in and demand to be heard, but do so in an adult-like manner." His smile grew a fraction wider. "If you like, I can come with you. Sometimes a having an outsider at this sort of thing does make the participants improve their conduct."

Daria considered the idea. "Interesting notion," she said. "But I don't know how mom will handle your being there. She may not act as you expect: after all, she is a lawyer."

Rawlings' smile grew wider. "Leave that to me," he said. "I've had to deal with lawyers in the past."

"I'm also not too sure just how my grandmothers will react to your being there," Daria said. "Nor my aunts."

Quinn spoke. "Oh, Daria!" she said. "Really! Didn't you say that your mentioning him... Just what is your name anyway?" she said, looking at Rawlings.

"It seems we have all been remiss with our introductions." Rawlings came over and, taking Quinn's hand, bowed over it. "Richard John Rawlings, of Mount Folly, Virginia," he said.

A faint blush crept up Quinn's face. "Quinn Morgendorffer," she said. She recovered her hand. "I'm Daria's sister."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Rawlings said.

Quinn's blush grew deeper. "Thank you," she said. She then turned to Daria, who was sharing a smirk with Jane. "As I was saying," she said, "didn't you tell me that mentioning Richard's name to Mom and Aunt Rita quietened things down? And since he is Virginian aristocracy, he's sure to make a big impression on Grandma Barksdale!"

Daria considered Quinn's words. "You may have a point there, sis," she said. "A very good point! Aunt Rita did say she had heard about Richard through Grandma Barksdale's society friends." She looked at Rawlings, who had a somewhat inscrutable look on his face. In reality, he was deep in thought, mulling over what Quinn had said.

He noticed Daria looking at him and shook himself. "Excuse me," he said. "I was just thinking over something your sister just said." He looked at both Morgendorffers. "Did you say that your mother's maiden name was Barksdale?"

Quinn nodded. "Helen Barksdale," she said. "The family apparently has land around Columbus, Mississippi."

"May I presume that you're connexions of William and Ethelbert Barksdale?" Rawlings asked.

Quinn beamed. "You know about them!" she said. "I think William was a general."

"He was," Rawlings quietly said. "Commanded a brigade of Mississippi troops in the Army of Northern Virginia." His eyes had taken on a distant look, as though he was remembering something.

"Sounds like you know them," Daria said. Rawlings shook himself at Daria's comment and smiled at her.

"You could say that, yes," he said. "I've encountered their traces in following my... relative's path up here." He again shoved himself upright. "But at present that is neither here nor there," he continued. "First thing we do is to get things sorted out with your family." He looked at Daria and Quinn. "Is my offer of assistance acceptable?" he asked.

Daria and Quinn looked at one another. "I suppose it couldn't hurt," Daria said.

Quinn nodded. "We might be able to play up the fact that he is Virginian aristocracy in order to avoid the worst of the fallout," she said.

Rawlings was amused. "Glad to be of service," he said. "However, before we leave I had better freshen up and get into a fresh set of clothes. If I may be excused?" Without waiting he headed up the stairs.

Jane looked at Daria and Quinn. "Well," she said, "while he freshens up and get changed, I might as well see if Trent's finished the vacuuming. Then we'll get Quinn set up in her room. She followed Rawlings up the stairs.

Daria turned to Quinn. "Do you think this might work?" she said.

Quinn shrugged. "It's worth a try," she said. "Besides, he might make the relatives actually relate to one another for a change."

Daria shook her head. "You have really come on over to the dark side, haven't you?" she smirked.

Quinn smirked back. "Well, at least I have had some good examples to follow," she said. "Besides, I think I've already established myself in 'Lawwwndale High's' history."

Daria smirked at Quinn's imitation of Angela Li's pronunciation. "So what did you do?" she asked.

Quinn's smirk changed into an evil grin. "Oh, nothing too drastic," she said. "One of my online friends is a historical reenactor. She told me where I could pick up small beer."

"Small beer?"

"It's what they used to drink instead of water," Quinn said. "It's 0.5% alcohol content by volume. No mater how much you drink, you can't get drunk. I bought some for the senior's graduation party."

"Won't they get suspicious?" Daria said.

"It actually tastes really good," Quinn said. "But you can't get drunk on it. So, when the footballers start drinking it..."

"They won't be able to get drunk, thus avoiding any unpleasantness arising," Daria said. "Apart from their just being obnoxious." She looked at her sister. "That's brilliant!"

Quinn looked at her fingernails. "I thought so," she said.

Jane stuck her head down past the upper floor level. "Trent's finished vacuuming your room," she said to Quinn. "I've just got to get some fresh sheets. You want to put your stuff in?"

Quinn picked up her clothing bag. "I'll put my clothes and things up there," she said. "I'll leave my workshop gear down here. You can help me set up somewhere where I won't be in the way."

"Ok," Jane said. "You mind if I do a sketch of you working on your stuff?" she asked as Quinn came up the stairs.

Quinn shook her head. "No," she said. "But if you want to do a painting of it let me know if you want to make it look like one set in the period. I can tell you what to have me wearing in it."

Daria shook her head and then sat down on the couch. Before long she heard footsteps coming down the stairs and a low, husky, laid-back voice say "Hey, Daria."

Daria looked up and saw Jane's brother, and her former crush, Trent Lane standing at the end of the couch. "Hey, Trent."

"Janey's just putting your sister in Wind's old room," Trent said. "We just managed to get all of Mom's pottery stuff out of there and into the bomb shelter." He stretched. "Hard work, that. Didn't realise just how much stuff Mom has collected."

Daria smiled. "So what are you doing these days, Trent?" she asked. "The band doing all right?"

Trent nodded. "We're still playing at the Zen," he said. "But I'm now working at a music store in town."

Daria's eyebrows rose. "Really?" she said. "Doing what?"

"Some sales, mainly in instruments. Also in testing out gear that has been brought in for repairs," Trent said. "They needed a musician to tell them just what needed tuning. I also test out samples of electric guitars and amps, working out which is the best combination." He sat down on the end of the couch. "I'm looking at going to Lawndale College, doing electronics. It'll help out in repairing stuff."

"Impressive. So you're not selling out?" Daria said.

"Not really," Trent said. "Helps with the bills." He relaxed into the back of the couch. "I met Rawlings," he said. "Seems cool, for somebody who's a part of the Establishment. Janey likes him."

"So I gathered," said Daria.

Trent looked at her. "You like him too," he said. "Hope that doesn't ruin things with Janey." He got up and stretched. "I think I'll go down into the basement and grab a few z's," he said. Yawning, he left the room, leaving Daria to ponder on what he had said.

Trent said I like Rawlings, she thought to herself. Well, he is likeable. But dammit, I hardly know the man! So how can I like him the way Trent seems to be saying I like him? Sure he's handsome, charming, intelligent, witty... Oh, God! I am starting to moon over him, aren't I? Well, it'll only be for a few days. Then he'll be out of Lawndale and, most likely, out of my life! So get over it, Morgendorffer! Daria was so caught up in her internal debate that she failed to notice that Jane and Quinn had come back down the stairs.

Jane took one look at Daria sitting on the couch and her face took on a concerned look. "Uh oh," she said. "I know that look on Daria's face."

Quinn looked at Daria as well. "Oh, God," she quietly said. "She's beating herself up again." She looked at Jane. "Give you Vegas odds it's over Richard Rawlings."

Jane shook her head. "I'd need better odds than that to touch that bet," she said. She sighed. "She meets a pretty boy and bam! She starts to feel guilty as hell over lusting after him."

"Ew, Jane!" Quinn said. "This is my sister you're talking about! That's just too much information! Besides, aren't you guilty of the same charge?"

"As are you, Quinnie," Jane said. "But he's really not my type. I got over handsome rich boys some time ago."

"I wouldn't call him a boy," Quinn said. "But I think I get what you're saying. I take it Tom Sloane cured you of that condition?"

"Somewhat," Jane said. "But Daria... she's never been comfortable with expressing her emotions. It sort of screwed up her relationship with Tom." She looked at Quinn. "She hasn't really been dating at Raft, either."

"Hmm, now that's not healthy," Quinn said. "We have to do something about that."

Jane shot Quinn a look. "She's been going off at me for being a yenta for some time now," she said. "Somehow I think she'd be less that impressed if her kid sister started playing the same game."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You just have to be subtle about these things, Jane!" she said. "There's a quite eligible man upstairs, and an equally eligible young woman in front of us. We only have to grease things a little, so that they begin to see the best qualities in each other. And I think this little research project you've talked her into, plus staying here for a while, could help things along." She gave Jane a serene smile. "You just have to know when to subtly apply the right amount of pressure."

The conversation was interrupted bu the sound of footsteps coming down the upstairs hall. Both Jane and Quinn turned around as Rawlings came down the stairs, and their eyes widened at what they saw.

Rawlings had changed his linen shirt for a silk one of similar design, held together at the cuffs by a pair of expensive-looking cufflinks. He had also changed his trousers for a clean pair, but done in a dark blue cloth. Over it he wore a dark-blue jacket that was partially buttoned up. At his throat was a black silk cravat, with its ends tucked into the opening of his shirt and the knot held in place with a silver stickpin. He had washed and brushed his hair and, from the faint scent that rose from him when he got close to the two girls, it was plain that he had not only shaved, but had applied rosewater as an eau de cologne.

From his appearance, it was plain what Rawlings' tactics would be when confronting the Barksdale-Morgendorffer women: Play the Virginia aristocrat to the hilt.

Jane gave a low wolf whistle and started slowly walking around him. "Nice, very nice!" she said. "This should create an impression!" She looked at Quinn, who shook herself and then giggled.

Quinn turned to the couch. "Oh Daariaa!" she said. Daria shook herself and looked up at Quinn. "We're all ready to go," she said.

Daria got up out of the couch and then got her first look at Rawlings. Her face assumed a 'stunned rabbit in the headlights of oncoming doom' look.

Quinn chuckled and turned to Rawlings. "I think it's safe to assume my sister approves," she said. "Incidentally, so do I."

Daria shook herself and glared at Quinn. "Just remember that I know where you sleep at night," she growled. Both Jane and Quinn laughed. "I hate the pair of you," Daria responded. "I just wanted you to know that."

Rawlings rolled his eyes. "If the horse judging is complete, shall we depart?" he asked.

Quinn nodded and started for the door, with Rawlings, Jane and Daria following. They got out of the door, with Jane halting just on the outside.

As Rawlings, Daria and Quinn got in, Jane said, "Good luck! I should have dinner ready by the time you get back!" Rawlings said nothing but waived his hand. He started the car, reversed out of the driveway and headed off for the Morgendorffer residence.

Jane watched them go down the street. Boy, I wish I was there when this goes down, she thought.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As they drove along Quinn gave directions. Soon enough they arrived out in front of Schloss Morgendorffer. Rawlings pulled in just as the side door to the garage opened and a figure furtively looked out.

Quinn nudged Daria and pointed. "Looks like Daddy's getting ready to fly the coop as well," she said. "Don't blame him."

Rawlings shut off the car and the three of them got out. As Rawlings keyed the car locked Daria and Quinn headed for the garage side door. "Hi, Daddy!" Quinn said.

Jake Morgendorffer jumped at Quinn's voice. "AHHH!" he screamed. Then, looking around, he saw Daria and Quinn. "Oh. Hi, Princess," he said. "Kiddo." He looked around. "What are you doing back here? From what Helen said, the pair of you had headed over to Jane's house." His eyes took on a hunted look. "Do you think Jane has any room for me as well?" he plaintively asked.

Daria shook her head. "Somehow I don't think so," she said. "She had to clean out one of the spare rooms for Quinn. Plus she also has another guest and has only bought enough food for the five of us." She indicated Rawlings who had walked up behind them. "Dad, this is Richard Rawlings, of Mount Folly, Virginia."

Jake held out a hand. "Jake Morgendorffer," he said.

Rawlings took Jake's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Richard John Rawlings," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

Jake took back his hand and gently flexed his fingers. "From Virginia, eh?" he said. He looked at Rawlings' eyes. "Say, aren't you just a little old to be hanging around girls?"

Rawlings smiled. "Actually, sir," he said, "I only met them both today. I met Daria and her friend Jane at a diner where they saved me from this waitress. In exchange I bought them coffee and when they helped me with my little family research project, I bought them lunch at an eatery in..." He turned to Daria. "What was its name again?"

Daria smiled. "Cranberry Commons," she said. She looked at her father. "He's following the path of an ancestor of his who was in the Confederate army when it came this way in 1862," she said.

"Hey, I remember now! Helen mentioned something about that!" Jake said. "So your ancestor was in the Confederate Army, eh? My kiddos' ancestor was in the Confederate Army as well! Maybe they knew each other!"

"I am aware of the possibility, sir," Rawlings said. "Brigadier-General William Barksdale, of Mississippi." He looked at Quinn and Daria. "It is a pleasure to have been able to make the acquaintance of two of his more lovely descendants." Both Daria and Quinn blushed at that comment.

Boy, is he smooth! Daria thought. He just might get away with smoothing things over! She looked at Jake. "We'll both be staying over at Jane's, Dad," she said. "At least until things become more civil over here." She turned to Rawlings. "You sure you want to do this?" she asked.

Rawlings nodded. "As the Bard said, If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly." He indicated the front of the house. "The front door would be the best way to handle this."

Daria nodded. "Let's do it, then," she said. She, Rawlings and Quinn headed around the front.

Jake watched them go. "He's either brave or crazy," he muttered to himself."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At the front door they hesitated. "I suspect that it might be best if you went in first," Rawlings said. "This is, after all, your home. I'm just a guest of sorts."

Daria nodded. Taking a deep breath, she looked at Quinn. "Ready?" she asked.

Quinn nodded. "Let's do it." Daria got out her house keys, put them in the lock, and opened the front door.

As soon as they had stepped through Helen was on top of them. "Daria, Quinn, what do you..." Her voice trailed off as Rawlings walked in behind the two girls.

Daria took a deep breath. "Mom," she said, "this is Richard John Rawlings. You might recall I told you and Aunt Rita about him."

Helen looked at Rawlings. Her lawyer's trained eye immediately took in his semi-formal attire, noting that his jacket was hand-tailored. And quite expensive, too, she thought. She noticed the class ring on his right ring finger. Virginia Military Institute? she thought in astonishment.

Rawlings stepped forward and took a surprised Helen Morgendorffer's hand. "Richard John Rawlings the Third, ma'am," he said, bowing over her hand. "Of Mount Folly, Virginia." He let Helen's hand go.

Helen Morgendorffer's eyebrows rose at his soft, refined Virginia accent. I see what Rita means! she thought to herself. Definitely Virginia aristocracy