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REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 5: ‘My Beautiful Buffy’


A/N: Although I am not getting hardly any reviews for this story, I’m going to keep submitting it. It is very important to me. Thank you for reading this, luv S


Jesse, Buffy’s man servant, found Captain Spike Anderson just where the Lieutenant, Parker Abrams had left him. “You sent for me, Captain, Sir,” this Jesse asked humbly of Spike. “Close the door Jesse,” Spike mumbled as he poured himself another drink. “Join me?” the blonde man nodded at a glass of whiskey on the little table in front of him. “Sir,” Jesse stammered, “I’m a servant of this house, we don’t mix with the Master or his guests, any of them. Not in that way.” Spike chuckled and poured the loyal servant a drink anyway, “I don’t give a fuck what you do with your Master Riley Finn, Jesse,” he slammed the bottle down on the table. “I just want some answeres, and fast. About your Mistress, Mrs. Finn, that is.” This Jesse looked about nervously, but relented and raised the little glass to his lips. With a smile, he set the glass back down on the table and sighed in pleasure, “we only are allowed the drink at Christmas, and other special Holidays. Thank you, Captain, Sir, for the little nip.”

“So, tell me, Jesse,” Spike sat down on the sofa and put his booted feet up on the table that was placed in front of it, “what about Buffy? I mean, Mrs. Finn? Is she happy, Jesse, in her marriage and all?” The servant dropped his gaze from Spike, scrunched up his brows then slowly shook his head. “I shouldn’t be tellin’ you this, Captain,” he admitted in a low, sorrowful voice, “but…” Spike sat up on the sofa, “tell me,” he ordered firmly, never taking his eyes from the man before him. “My Mahalia, Mrs. Finn’s maid, she’s my woman, Captain Spike. She’s my wife and my son’s Mama. If it weren’t for Mrs. Finn, we’d never been married. Our Master, Riley Finn, he’s a hard man, usually a fair man to his slaves, but an odd one. That’s for sure. Never even batted an eye when Mahalia went to him and told him about our boy, before he was born that is. Master Riley, he laughed, acted odd, even about that. But, once Mrs. Finn came here, after they married, Master and her, she found out about our baby, Halia’s and mine, talked the Master into lettin’ us jump the broomstick.”

“Jump the broomstick?” Spike asked with a raised eyebrow. “That’s Plantation talk for ‘marriage’ Captain,” Jesse grinned. “Mrs. Finn, she made sure that Mahalia and me, that we got married good and proper by one of our own preachers. Mrs. Finn, she’s a fine lady, Captain. But, I expect you already know that, huh?” The slave gave Spike a slight smile of understanding, causing the Brit’s lips to form a smile of his own. “Yes, Jesse,” Spike sighed, his eyes half closed in thought, “Mrs. Finn is a fine lady, through and through. But, please, Jesse, go on. I want to know more about your Mistress, your Master and their relationship.” The older man thought for a moment, then began to relay some answeres to Spike, reluctantly, perhaps, but forthcoming, definitely.

“Master Finn’s Mama, she was a good woman, too, just like Missy Elizabeth Finn. She insisted that the house slaves learn to read and write, better themselves, somewhat and the new Missy, she encourages us to do this. But Master Riley, he took after his Daddy in a lot of ways. The old Master, he was an old devil, he was, name of Quentin Travers Finn. His Papa, he owned this Plantation first, then left it to Quentin. He’s the one bought me from a slaver trader in Louisianna, brought me here when I was a boy. Anyway, Mrs. Finn, the elder one, Riley’s Mama, she tried to change the old Master, make him more nice and all. When their only son came along, well, the older slaves about the place thought that maybe the old Master Quentin would soften up, and he did, a bit anyway. But, his son seemed to grow up and take on a lot of things that the old Master used to do.

There’s a slave,” Jesse looked at Captain Spike, his brown eyes were clouded and dark, “she’s not a bad woman, not at all, pretty too. She’s about thirty, her name’s Kendra and she’s got a young son, about six or so. He’s called Robin and Kendra, she’s a field slave’s woman, name of Wood, she claims that this boy is Master Riley’s.” Spike raised his eyebrow again, “does Mrs. Riley Finn know of this child?” he asked soberly of the servant. “I believe so, Captain,” Jesse nodded, “that and the new one Kendra claims is also Master Riley’s.” When Jesse mentioned this new child, Spike stood up from the sofa, “another baby?” he grumbled, looking at the portrait once again. “Not yet, Captain,” Jesse looked down at the floor, “baby isn’t due for months yet. But, everybody on the farm, they believe it ‘is’ Master Riley’s.

You see, Captain,” Jesse stammered again, apparently not sure if he should reveal all of this private information. “My wife, Mahalia, she’s a good friend to Missy Finn, loves her like a sister, she does. The young Mrs., she tells Mahalia things that maybe I shouldn’t be repeating. But, we like the Mrs., Mahalia and me, and we know she’s so unhappy that she married Master Riley. He doesn’t treat her right, you see. Not the way a man should be with his wife and he goes to the slave cabins, at least, Mrs. Finn believes he did, even after their marriage."

Spike clasped the fragile whiskey glass in his hand, his anger began to erupt. ‘Fucking asshole,’ he hissed silently about Finn, ‘he humiliates her, my Buffy. Debases her, I wager, then goes to other women. I’ll fucking rip his head off when I find him!’ Apparently, Spike assumed, everything that Xander Harris had heard, years before in Boston, had been true. His best American friend, the one Spike had not seen or heard from in almost three years, Xander, had told him, way back then some very ugly things about Riley Finn.

“Word has it,” Xander had muttered over whiskeys at his home, “that Riley Finn has a yen for sexual violence. I heard from my friend, Daniel Osbourne, he’s the short red haired Irishman we met in Philedelphia, remember William? Anyway, he’s engaged to my dear, sweet cousin Willow, but he’d never tell ‘her’ this. Anyway, Daniel says he heard that Riley Finn, fucking bastard, beat a high class whore almost do death. During the act, so to speak. The whore master had to send the poor girl away, she was ruined physically for work.”

Spike narrowed his blue eyes and glared at the portrait above the mantel place, “so, Jesse,” he stood and paced about the room. “Your Mistress, she’s not happy in her marriage?” The man averted his eyes once again from the Brit, “I shouldn’t have spoken so, Captain,” he sighed. “My Mahalia is gonna’ skin me alive if she finds out about this talk, but like I said, we like Missy Finn. She’s a good woman and we want her to be happy. No, Sir, Captain Spike, Mrs. Elizabeth Finn is a very unhappy woman, at least she was, until the Master enlisted and went to fight the War. After that, she, Mrs. Finn, seemed to be happier, for a while anyway. Until…” Spike glanced at the servant and tilted his blonde head, “until?” he asked. Jesse looked down at the floor again, “Mrs. Finn was happy, kind of, until your Army marched up here and took over her house. I think anyway.”

Buffy Summers-Finn was pacing, like a cornered cat, about her bedroom floor. She had gotten good at pacing, ever since she had married Riley Finn, that is. After he had enlisted in the Continental Army, had gone up somewhere to the Northern Colonies, Buffy had calmed down somewhat. Certain events since her husband’s departure had caused her grief and worry, but she had handled the situations fairly well. Until now that is. William Anderson had just ridden up to her husband’s doorstep and back into her life, this was past an ‘event’ it could turn out to be a castastrophe.

“Damn him,” Buffy grumbled as she turned to the walk in closet that ran across the east wall of her bedroom. “I’ll give that pompous, all mighty Captain in his Majesty’s service a ‘dinner’ to end all dinners.” She flung the door of the closet open and began to paw through her many beautiful dresses, finally settling on the one that would be just perfect for tonight’s supper.

After she had laid the silken perfection out on her huge marital bed, Buffy inspected herself again in the mirror. ‘I’ll wear my hair up, in a top knot,’ she decided with a smirk, ‘only because I just know that William would prefer it down!’ She began to plot other little details to really miff him, that overbearing and overwhelming man who held her life, her husband’s plantation and the people here in his hands.

Suddenly, in the middle of her plotting, Buffy scurried over to her desk, opened the locked drawer with her key and pulled out her personal diary/journal. Her mind was a whirl of emotions as she opened the rather large book to the middle and removed a neatly folded piece of lined paper. As she sat on her little vanity seat, Buffy unfolded the note and began to peruse the oft read words there; they began: ‘My Beautiful Buffy’


Flashback, Boston 1775 Buffy’s POV


“Did Charles send Lord Anderson away yet, Winnefred,” Buffy asked of her Maid, whom sometimes she called Fred. The tall, shy girl, who was actually older then Buffy herself, scrunched her face, nervously, “no Miss. Charles Gunn did not send Lord Anderson away, not today. He, he took a note from the man, Miss Elizabeth,” Fred stammered, avoiding her mistresses green eyes, and held it out to Buffy. Miss Summers sighed at her maid and placed her golden head in her tiny hands.

“Why did he do that, Fred?” Buffy asked quietly. “Now don’t be blaming Charles, Miss Elizabeth, please,” Fred pleaded softly, “the man, Lord Anderson, he near pleaded for Charles to take the note and see that you got it, Miss. Charles says that the man, this Lord, he said something about Charles knowing what it was like, something like ‘do you know what it’s like to want something so badly, something everyone says you can’t have.’ Something like that, Miss. Charles took pity on the man, took his note and asked me to give it to you. Please forgive us, Miss, it’s just that…”

Buffy looked up and met Fred’s soft, sympathetic eyes, they mirrored her own green ones. “I am truly sorry, Winnefred, about Charles and you, your impossible situation here.” The youngest Summers had been aware for some time that Charles Gunn, her father’s man servant was deeply in love with Winnefred, Buffy’s maid. However, the circumstances, being what they were, who the two would be lovers were, made a relationship, more so a marriage, out of the question.

“It’s just that, maybe you could read the note, Miss,” Fred whispered softly, “see what this man has to say. Would it be so bad? What could it hurt, Miss?” ‘A lot, Winnefred,’ Buffy thought to herself sadly, ‘it could hurt an awful lot.’ “All right, Fred,” Buffy sighed instead, “I’ll read the note and see what Lord Anderson has to say.” She took the folded paper from Fred, gently, and unfolded it. It began: ‘My Beautiful Buffy’


After she had read the entire note, which was more like a letter in length, Buffy’s eyes were filled with tears. She tried to wipe them away, quickly, so that Fred could not see her weakness. Finally, Buffy reached into her desk and retrieved a pad of her own personal pink stationary, the ones with her monogram of ES embossed in the left hand corner in gold. Buffy quickly scribbled her words of response on the fragile pink paper and folded it neatly. “Please see that Charles gives Lord Anderson this note, immediately, Winnefred,” Buffy murmered as she turned to look at herself in her desk mirror. The maid turned to leave her Mistresses’ bedroom, “and Fred,” Buffy added, “do you think you could do me a favour, tomorrow evening? Help me out with something?”


Present Day, South Carolina, 1778


“I did mean to meet you, William,” Buffy sighed as she peered at her reflection in the vanity mirror. “I’m so sorry, for everything, but I wanted to come to the Park, to hear your pretty words and see you again.” A quiet knock on her bedroom door woke Buffy from her reverie, “who is it?” she asked softly, returning the note and journal to the drawer. “It’s me, Missy,” Mahalia called through the door, “I’ve got that nice Lieutenant with me, says he needs to speak with you Mrs. Finn.” Buffy stood up and quickly hurried to the door of her room, “come in,” she let the two people in her room.

“I am sorry to disturb you Mrs. Finn,” Lt. Abrams smiled slightly as he bowed, “but my Superior Officer, Captain Anderson, asked me to inform you that the matter you discussed has been handled. Orders have been issued that no resident of this Plantation be bothered or harrassed in any way. Also,” he young man added, before Buffy could thank him, “Captain Anderson asked me to tell you that he is quite looking forward to your dinner engagement this evening.”

Buffy frowned momentarily and rolled her eyes, ‘dinner engagement, oh brother,’ she sighed in exhasperation. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” she finally responded with a nod. “Mrs. Finn,” Lt. Abrams began again, hesitantly, “may I speak frankly, Mrs.” Buffy nodded, “why not, sir,” she sighed again, “everyone around here seems to do nothing but speak frankly.” The Lieutenant smiled shyly then cleard his throat, “Mrs. Finn, Captain Anderson, he has this portrait, a sketch really. I believe he is the one that drew it, Maam.

It’s in charcoal and a lovely likeness, of a young lady, he takes it everywhere with him, Maam. I wondered for the longest time, who this beautiful woman in the drawing was and when I first met you? I realized, Mrs. Finn, it was you, all along, the drawing I mean.” Buffy stood, her eyes lowered, unable to look this man in the face. “I am sorry for the boldness, Maam,” the Leiutenant, “but for some reason, I thought you should know Mrs. Finn. Thought it seemed important.”

“Tell your Captain that dinner is 7:00 sharp, Leiutenant,” Buffy whispered to the man, who left immediately after her dismissal of him. “Missy,” Mahalia whispered softly, “that Captain, is it him? The English man from up there in Boston. The one your Daddy sent away, wouldn’t let you see?” Buffy nodded miserably, tears slipped down her cheeks, “yes, Halia, it is he. But believe me, when I say this, dear Halia; the man who is downstairs, right at this moment, is not the young man that I met in Boston. Not the one who sent me that beautiful note through my Father’s gates. This Captain Anderson seems to have become more monster then man.”

Spike scrutinized Buffy as she daintily tasted her roasted chicken. He had eaten most of his dinner, while his companion had merely picked at hers, mostly moving the food about her plate. Over his wine glass, Spike peered at her, in her emerald green, silk dress, so refined and lady like. ‘She has no idea, none, how that proper little dress is making her eyes shine like jewels.’ With a scowl, Spike noted again that she wore her golden hair in a top knot, with just whisps of hair tendrils gracing her cheeks. “I prefer your hair down,” Spike stated simply as he sipped his wine. Buffy shrugged indifferently and continued to manuveur her grits around the fine Finn china they were using.

“I prefer to eat alone,” she finally retorted, not bothering to look up at him. Spike slammed his wine glass down on the table, nearly breaking it and stood up from his chair. With just three strides, he closed the gap around the dining room table and reached out to pull the clip that held her golden tresses up out of her hair. “I said,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “that I like your hair down about your shoulders.” Buffy’s loosened hair fell about her shoulders all the way down her back, just inches above her waistline.

“How dare you?” Buffy rasped angrily as she glared up at him with narrowed eyes, “you have no right to touch me, William, ever. I am a married woman, it would suit you to remember this.” Spike clasped Buffy on her arm with his rough hand, “you’re married to the wrong man, Buffy,” he hissed roughly, “that doesn’t suit me at all.” She pulled from him and tossed her fine linen napkin onto the table, nearly upsetting her own wine glass, “this meal is over, William,” she stated haughtily, “at least for me.” He followed her to the door, stopped her before she could exit the huge dining room.

“I’m sorry Buffy, please don’t leave me now. I just can’t stand the fact that you, the lady your are, the esteem I hold you in, it means nothing. Does it? You have enslaved yourself to a man that is little more then a monster. Why? If only you would have met me, that night in Boston. We…” Before he could utter another word, Buffy turned to him and spat angrily, “you talk of monsters, Captain? What are you? Your reputation precedes you, Lord Anderson. You are well known for destroying the dreams of my neighbors and fellow Colonials, by burning their beloved farms to the ground.”


A/N: Oh, I went ahead and submitted this. I hope someone reads and reviews (groveling). Oh, next chapter, another BTVS/ATS character will make an appearance…hint: male/broody/tall!

Uhm, I’m submitting this with an apology to readers and reviewers here. I can’t get into the ‘view review’ section to respond to my reviews on any of my fics. I feel terrible; I love to respond! Anyway, thank you, all and please review. I hope to be online soon.
Luv, spuf





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