32What happens when I'm asked to practice social distancing.
WARNING: All characters will act and speak OOC. This is an attempt at historical fiction. Hence you won't see slang words like 'cool' or 'dope.' On the flip side are the prevailing ethnic stereotypes that existed during this historical era. Trigger warnings will be added to include racial slurs as warranted.
To ease in writing, I'll mention a character is a recent Swedish immigrant, or their native language is German. However, I opted not to write dialogue in broken English or translate English into another language.
I take liberties. One specifically is the rural scenery, haven't explored N. CA outside of the bay area. That said, I'm sure I'll miss something. And if you find it, let me know.
All grammar errors are mine.
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, but I want to thank RIB for allowing me to borrow their characters.
Thanks for reading! I welcome reviews!
Brittany rubbed the oil from her palms. She stuffed the rag into her back pocket, to raise the clear canopied bubble up that protected the driver's seat of her time machine. Swinging a leg over the aluminum frame until her foot came to rest on the stable leather surface, she swiveled to bring her other leg into the tight cockpit. She took a breath before wiggling her butt down onto the seat as she stretched her legs out to touch the pedals. Next, she maneuvered her arms into the safety harness that crossed her chest to slip the silver flap into the buckle until it clicked. She positioned her rainbow-painted helmet on her head to lock the headgear beneath her chin. Followed by the face mask. Another snap to secure it against her face. She drew a breath of fresh oxygen from the tube. Brittany flipped the black visor over her eyes. With a touch of her index finger to the knob, she brought the canopy over her head until she detected the kiss of suction for an airtight seal.
Brittany thought it ridiculous to follow the safety steps to run a maintenance check, but Santana insisted after an earlier test sent her into the next week. When Santana caught up to her, Brittany sat alone in their apartment nursing two broken ribs, a black eye, and various bruises from flying forward. Yep, time travel could be dangerous.
She slid her seat forward toward the half-moon shaped steering wheel. With her right foot, she depressed the brake pedal and her left thumb to push down on the button that sat atop the steering wheel. The engine rumbled to life as the rocket vibrated from stem to stern as though it would shake apart into pieces at any second. The thermoatomic-powered engine was her own design, and she knew the jerkiness would stabilize to a purr as soon as the fissile helixes balanced the fuel within the fluidity cauldron coils. Brittany checked over the gauges as the red digits flashed at a rapid speed to level off. The blinking lights of blue, green, red, and white completed the test to a solid glow on the dash. She listened to the bicorn-polar generator's exponential hum sweep from an undetectable 1hz to what Rachel told her it was middle G in the 'A-flat major' scale. Brittany identified it as 391.995Hz on her display. It wasn't what her ear picked up. Instead, she perceived a thump in the tone. Then a microsecond later, a creak followed by a roar that deafened her. Her spine and head forced back into the seat as the high-bypass-ratio turbofans engaged. The aluminum body rattled with a vibration that unnerved her as oxygen forced its way from her lungs. She was moving. A realization hit Brittany, as she watched the dash become whirring pixilated geometric colors that spun and changed in front of her like a kaleidoscope. The massive steel cables from ocean-going freight ships that anchored the time machine to its lab berth she'd left unattached. Within a millisecond, she blacked out.
Brittany awoke in the cockpit as splinters of sunlight creased between a curtain of leaves, needles, and smudges of dirt that covered her protective canopy. She squeezed her eyes shut to open them as she shook the daze that hung like a black mist in her head. Focusing her attention on the display, she checked the date clock. It read 1852. The GPS sat at 38° 20' 55.687" N 120° 46' 26.767" W. Brittany, frantic, pressed the buttons of her computer, it froze, the spinning clock to wait, then pop as the screen went black. She knocked on the display with her knuckles, quickening her movement as the adrenaline rushed within her body. The display remained lifeless. Her fingers fumbled with nervousness as she flipped up her visor, unsnapped the face mask and chin restraint to remove her helmet. Only to find the protective cover above her restricted its removal. She inhaled oxygen from her mask, then a slow exhale to gain her composure to think back to the display readings, at least the one that mattered, the battery power level.
Brittany closed her eyes to visualize the display. All she could see was 1852, followed by the black screen. A primitive scream arose from within her chest, one that echoed frustration, anger, and disappointment at her carelessness. Wiping the tears that trickled from her eyes onto her reddened cheeks, she needed to think with her left, rational, mathematical brain hemisphere, not her emotional right one. Her design anticipated circumstances requiring an alternative escape route from the cockpit. She reached for the manual release levers that sat on each side of her below the bubble. Instead of popping upward, the canopy groaned as she pulled up on the levers. An additional weight hindered the ultra-light cover. She used her hands to push the canopy upward. With each stretch of her arms upward, she increased the force needed as she rocked the hindrance off. Her face contorted. She inhaled once more to gather the little muscle power left in her arms when a creak echoed as the object snapped, followed by a thud outside. Her overextended arms stretched upward, yielded to the protective shelter. It shot backward with an abrupt surge to rest behind her head.
Brittany depressed the clasp on the chest harness that held her down. A click disconnected the two belts. She wiggled her weary arms from the straps, then brought her knees up under her chin to stand. The air tubes attached to her helmet pulled her back. Irritated by her imprisonment, Brittany yanked the helmet off, tossing it over the side where it thudded to the ground. Around her, she saw only trees. Below her, the ground downward slope. Above her, a break in the forest canopy toward the blue of the sky. Her time machine landed in the middle of a forest.
She scrambled out of the cockpit, a short jump to the ground, brushing back her blonde hair back to see where she landed. Brittany reached back to the lever next to her seat, pulling upward she released the cable to open the storage area behind the cockpit to retrieve her iPad. She pressed the power button, counted out 17 seconds, entered her PIN, the picture of Santana holding their baby as the background. In the upper right corner the spin of the WI-FI until she read no signal found. Brittany flipped to the cell signal. It, too, revealed no signal detected. From her MIT lab coat, she pulled out her cellphone. Again the same messages flashed, no signal detected. Her knees buckled as she slid to a squat next to her beloved time machine. She burst into tears. She'd fucked up.
Sheldon lifted his worn, stained hat. He took the kerchief from his back pocket to wipe his brow, "Well, hell! I ain't seein' anything strange up here. How about you, Rick?"
"Nope, nothin' out of place here, Sheriff. Old Coot must have gotten himself full as a tick last night,"
Brittany, her misery cut short by the nearby cries of men, bolted to the nearest tree to hide behind to listen in on their conversation. She held her breathing as rivulets of tears continued to stream on her cheeks. Snot tickled her upper lip. She needed to sniff. Worried they might pick up her body's mundane response in the serenity of her surroundings, she used her fist to rub the viscous mixture away. Brittany recognized the voices. At a snail's pace, she peeked her head around the trunk to look at who violated her moment of private anguish.
"Yeah, probably found himself some gold yesterday and couldn't keep it in his pocket. Spent it at April's instead." He lifted himself in his saddle stirrups to slip the red kerchief into his pocket "Knowin' April. She gave him the rotgut too." The Sheriff sat back into the saddle. His horse snorted at the man's weight. "Why don't you and the boys head back into town. I'm gonna look around some more." Reining his horse, to calm the gelding, who'd picked up an unusual scent in the air. "then head out to Rancho Pacifico. Miss. Ana's got squatters on her land. And she's not one to throw up the sponge for grangers squatting on her land."
"She's a rich woman in these parts, didn't get that way by being euchred, Sheriff."
"Yeah, well bein' flush doesn't make it right, Rick. And if I don't do something, she'll get those Diablo boys to do it, for her. "
"You think she has connections to those hard cases?"
"No, but she probably knows someone who does."
Each man tugged on the reins of their mounts. Rick raised his hand in a wave. "I'll see ya back in town, Sheriff."
Brittany watched the slim man, his long red hair spread over his shoulders, and a scruffy beard who she remembered as Rick Nelson, ride away on a mule. The much larger man, his face clean-shaven on a brown horse, rode in the opposite direction, singing off-key as he steered the animal down to the tree line. A man she identified as Coach Beiste. What the fuck was Coach doing on a horse? Last she knew, he was convalescing at home after his other knee replacement. Brittany sat back to the ground, thinking of the conversation. Coach spoke of a rich woman called Ana, who was that, she wondered. She sidled forward to the next tree to observe Coach. She glanced back around her cover to see him not far away from her. If she maintained her distance, he might not catch her tracking him. First, she needed to protect the time machine.
Coach made himself easy to trail. While his horse kept an easy walking gait, Coach sang, Brittany able to recognize he recited the same stanza and the song's chorus.
Will, you come my Phillis dearie to the wild mountain free,
Where the river runs so pretty, and ride along with me,
And you shall be so happy with your Jacob by your side,
So, wait for the wagon, and we'll all take a ride.
So, wait for the wagon, Oh! wait for the wagon,
Oh! Wait for the wagon, and we'll all take a ride.
Oh! Wait for the wagon, and we'll all take a ride.
Coach slowed his horse as they descended into a valley. Brittany kept one eye on the rider, the other on her footing. She thanked her genius mind for the excellent sense to wear her Nike's that morning. Wait, was it that morning? She comprehended the year was 1852. What she didn't know is today's date, she didn't even know if the year was correct or not. She'd tried no year but 2022. Brittany drew her eyes off the horse in front of her to consider the date coding. With her next stride, her foot slid forward on a patch of moist pine needles as the earth beneath her trembled for a few moments. Unprepared for the abrupt movement she stumbled forward with a screech. Her arms flew out in front to brace her fall followed by an ugh when bare palms met gravel.
Neighing with a snort, the horse froze in his tracks as the earths moved, "What the fuck?" Sheldon peered back. With a slight prick of his spurs, he swung his horse toward the shriek. Brittany rose, dusting her hands on her thighs she searched around to locate a place to run to, the earth trembled again, the gravel slithered beneath her as she went down on her ass. She struggled to rise, but Sheldon's horse, now unphased by the swaying earth beneath its hooves, caught up to her. Brittany held up her left palm, steadied her right palm on the ground. "Wait," she said.
Sheldon reined in his horse. With a guttural 'WOAH,' the enormous beast slowed to a halt next to the blonde on the ground. "What the hell?" Sheldon studied the attire the woman wore. Light blue trousers, a white coat over a pink blouse with the shape of a cat etched on the front. White boots that extended above her ankles, a bluish-green checkmark on the side. Sheldon's hand grasped for his Colt revolver, not certain what to expect. "What's your name, missy? And you'd better tell me the truth. I'm the law in these parts."
"Uh, Brittany. Brittany S. Pierce."
"Where ya from?"
"New York."
"That's a big state from what I hear, what part?" Sheldon dismounted his horse.
"New York City."
"Well, I've met a few folks from New York City, and you don't look like one. And you don't sound foreign, neither. So, I'll believe you for now. Whatcha doing here?"
"Where's here?"
Sheldon squinted his eyes, his brow furrowed at the blonde, "California."
Brittany's eyes widened. She had moved across the country. "Uh, what's the date?"
"June 3rd, 1852. What year did ya think it was?" Sheldon grumbled to remember hearing of people forgetting dates on the trip across the territory. He sensed that wasn't her problem. "How did you get here?"
One hundred seventy years that how far back in time she'd traveled. Excellent news the time machine worked. The bad news she didn't know if she could get back to 2022.
"I asked you a question, missy, ya need to answer me."
Brittany squeezed her eyes shut to remember Mr. Schue's American history classes, "Walked! Um, I walked here from New York City."
Sheldon nodded, "You walked? You walked? Across the country? No trains or boats? No horse or wagon or oxen? You did this by yourself?"
"Yes!" she grinned.
"You a Mormon?"
"No."
"Where's your camp? You gotta gun or pick? Shovel, maybe?"
"No. I'm a water sign."
"Don't mess with me missy, I can make it, so the only thing you see is water for years."
Brittany swallowed as she realized that this wasn't the Coach who saw her special magical naïve side, she'd need to be serious to get around this, "Joke, Sir. I broke camp. What I have is what you see."
"You get robbed? Lots of gangs around lookin' for easy gold to pick."
Brittany grabbed her left hand to twist her wedding ring. It was still in place. "No, they didn't get any gold, everything else."
"K well, you can ride with me. I'll take ya back into town after a stop at Rancho Pacifico. Maybe Miss. Lopez has more proper clothes for ya to wear." Sheldon turned toward his horse to mount, then offered Brittany his hand to help her onto the back.
Brittany took Sheldon's hand and, with a vault, landed with her leg across the rear of the horse. She shifted sideways to center herself. Between her and the back of the saddle laid a blanket. Sheldon required a shower, she thought. "Miss. Lopez?" she recalled Sheldon spoke of a woman called Ana to Rick.
"Yep, she owns all the land as far as you can see. Plus, a few gold stakes in these parts."
Brittany dropped her head. Her eyes closed as she smelled the sour stink of Sheldon's body odor. This would be a lengthy ride, she realized.
Sheldon steered the horse from the foothills into the valley onto a bumpy dirt pathway. The terrain changed to rolling hills fields where herds of cattle and sheep grazed in the distance. Brittany picked up the occasional bark of dogs to wrangle the sheep, who resisted with their cranky baas. The cows undistributed by the yapping worked their tails as whips to threaten away whatever bugs touched down on their hides. Birds passed above her. The sky awash in blue, a sight Brittany found peaceful. Except for a casual word to Euros his horse, Sheldon didn't undertake in any conversation with Brittany.
Yet, Brittany's mind raced as she considered what she'd done. Where she touched down. The era she found herself in. How to reveal herself to people she'd meet. And more significant, how she'd go back home. The time machine she'd hidden, but only with what was handy. If even a chipmunk darting around it, a fallen branch might disclose the polished shell. Plus, she didn't know the damage produced by the landing to the undercarriage of the craft. The top, aside from scratches, was intact. The canopy in one piece. Nor did the exhaust pipes appear bent. Destruction of a slight dent or crack in the shell might involve the interior electronics and mechanicals. Minor fractures in a circuit board or loose cables. Pinpricks to the tubing. Even without detectable damage, she'd still have to power up to do health analyses. That might identify new destruction that could take longer to repair or worse be unrepairable, leaving her in stranded in 19th century America.
The dilemma before her, how to explain herself to individuals she'd meet. Brittany remembered the look on Sheldon's face as she responded to his queries. Her tale of being an unaccompanied female traveler on her way to the goldfields from New York was farfetched. Still, he'd offered her his hand. Will others be as friendly to her? Her open, diverse accepting world lived in was now a closet. Governed by rules of law and religion that eschewed any sexuality other than heterosexual. It meant that Brittany would have to take care of what she said, what she did, and how she behaved when she met them. She'd have to play stupid again, taking her queues from those around her. Accept circumstance as it existed in this life.
After what Brittany believed to be an hour, the scenery changed. Gone were the stock animals replaced by vineyards. Where equal distant rows of vines, reinforced by trellises, appeared on either side of the trail. With her eyes shielded from the sun, Brittany viewed women in the fields with a spattering of men. As they neared a gate with stone posts that held up a steel arch with the words 'Rancho Pacifico' in wrought iron. Coach stopped Euros, directing her to pull out the blanket, which when unrolled she discovered, was an old battered oilcloth duster coat. He recommended her to put it on, so as not to shame herself if men were present. Beyond the gate behind fences, horses grazed in the fields. Brittany saw barns coated in white, along with stables, and shorter buildings spread out. In a corral, a gray horse attached to an extended lead pranced in circles around a man. Onlookers cheered at the man in Spanish. A group of children watched alongside. All the men wore low-crowned hats with broad brims, leather jackets, trousers overlaid with chaps to their thighs and boots. The children's clothing emulated their elders.
One man separated from the group to stroll over to the newcomers, "Hello, Sheriff. Thank You for coming out." Brittany noticed a slight Spanish accent in Blaine's speech as he patted Euros neck, his eyes squinted in the sun as he studied the riders.
"Mr. Anderson. I picked me up a stray. Don't suppose your missus might have some clothes for her? Can't take in back to town with what she's wearin'. God knows how miners act around a properly dressed lady."
Blaine tipped his hat at Brittany, "Ma'am." he said as three of the boys came over to stand beside him. "Cesar," he put his hand on the shoulder of the taller of the three "Go tell Ana we have visitors." The three boys obeyed as they ran off.
Sheldon swung his leg over the horse's mane to slide off Euros, flipping the reins over its head. He extended a hand to support Brittany. As they strolled toward the dwelling, Sheldon recounted the story of his morning activities to Blaine. Except for the missing bow tie, Blaine was much the same. His boots made him a little taller. Beneath the hat protruded tufts of natural curls. His face carried a carefully groomed beard, his eyes bore a glint of sparkle, his teeth true when he laughed, and the lilt of his voice was the same.
At the house, Sheldon tied Euros to a post, then the three climbed a quick flight of stairs to a one-story home. A wide porch sheltered the interior from the summer's heat, The red roof shingles, thick white stucco exterior walls. Brittany remembered her trips to Santa Fe. This is what they referred to as a Spanish Colonial. She guessed if she could go through the house, she'd find an interior courtyard. Blaine opened the door. Both men allowed Brittany to enter the home first. Inside exposed massive wooden beams supported the structure along with an arched ceiling. Mounted on the walls, pictures hung as well a tapestry of a battle. The facing on the fireplace clad in blue and white tiles added a dash of color to the room. Area rugs carpeted the tiled floor and arched entrances that led to other sections of the home. The furniture was sturdy as the house it sat in, with clean lines and flat panels that highlighted the wood's grain, giving the room a down-to-earth quality. Unpretentious and practical, yet it maintained a warmth to it. Brittany wondered if the house still stood in 170 years. She feared she'd never find out.
"May I offer you and your friend a drink, Sheriff?" Blaine said as he hung his hat on a hook by the door.
Coach Beiste clenched his hat in one hand, with the other, he brushed his damp hair back over his crown, "Wouldn't mind that, whiskey if ya got it."
"And for you, miss?"
"Uh," For a second, her mind went blank, she didn't know what would be available or safe to drink. The Chai Latte she left on her workbench sounded wonderful, but she doubted they'd have that or know what it was in 1852.
Her confusion, broken by the sound of Blaine's voice, "We have wine too. Made from the grapes we grow. Or if you abstain from distilled spirits, I could offer you coffee, tea, or spring water."
"Uh, tea would be nice." Brittany watched as Blaine rang a bell from the mantle, a servant woman arrived, he made his request to her in Spanish, she disappeared. He poured both himself and Coach Beiste a low ball glass of liquor giving one to Coach, who raised it with a salute to Blaine, "To gals and fillies, and the fellers that rides 'em!" Brittany noticed Blaine's face red with embarrassment, he sputtered a feeble 'cheers' then sipped from his glass, while Coach gulped the alcohol like it was a shot.
"Miss. uh, I don't believe the Sheriff introduced us."
"Damnit all, where are my manners. Mr. Anderson, this here is Brittany Spears. Miss. Spears this here is Mr. Anderson, he's the... I don't know what are you these days, Blaine? Still haven't convinced Miss. Ana on marriage yet." Coach laughed, then finished his drink with another gulp.
"It's Brittany S. Pierce, not the singer Britney Spears." She corrected them, only to realize Britney Spears wasn't born yet.
"No, still a friend of the family, Sheriff." An awkward grin across Blaine's face, "The pleasure is all mine, Miss. Pierce. What brings you to California, or do I need to ask? Though from your distinctive style of dress, you don't appear to be a miner."
"Said she was from back east, New York City. Didn't give a reason for bein' here. Not a Mormon. Don't got no accent neither. But looks like a foreigner to me."
"Well, gold has brought in a remarkable group of individuals from all over the world to our fair state. Even you Sheriff, you're from Missouri if I'm not mistaken."
Coach availed himself to another glass of whiskey, "Figured I'd take her over to Miss. Fabray's for the night. Maybe Miss. Sylvester could put her to use dancin' with the fellas, or maybe she possesses some competence like sewin' or cookin' that could make her some easy money. If that's what she showed up here to do. Hasn't broke no law, so kinda senseless to lock her up."
"Who are you locking up, Sheriff? I assume it's the squatters who chose my river bank to pan for gold."
Brittany brought up her head at the unmistakable voice, "Santana!"
Warm brown eyes found Brittany's, but not the natural smile. Instead, Santana's eyes flashed over to the men as she crisscrossed her arms. The servant brought in a tea tray, setting it on a table near Brittany. She spoke to Santana, who excused her from the room. Brittany forgot the drink to stare at the 1850s Santana. Her hair was drawn back at the nape, her face, natural, clear of makeup. How Brittany saw her as most beautiful. Dressed in square toe black boots up to her knees, a leather vest over a baggy white blouse, the sleeves buttoned at the wrists. The shirt itself buttoned up to just below the banded collar, something her Santana would never do. Her Santana would have fewer buttons to restrict her rambunctious twins. A vertical pleated split leg skirt that fell to mid-calf. Horseback riding, Brittany thought. Whatever this Santana broadcasted authority, assurance. She saw Coach Beiste sit his glass down the minute Santana acknowledged him, rubbing his hair backward over his crown. Without pause or a bid to do so, Blaine offered Santana a glass of red wine.
Brittany heard Coach clear his throat, "No one, ma'am. Just found this stray here and she'll be needin' dresses better than what's she's wearin'. I hoped one of your girls here on the ranch might be willin' to lend her somethin'."
"She's tall, I'm not sure any of the women could lend a dress," Blaine said.
Santana glanced back at Brittany, sizing her up and down, "Teresa. She was tall."
"I thought you gave away all her clothes, Ana."
The bedroom was sparse. A double bed, wardrobe, dressing table, a cushioned stool in green velvet, and a privacy screen. Santana opened the chest at the foot of the bed, combing through the pieces, drawing out a pastel blue floral print cotton dress that buttoned down the front. She held it up to Brittany, interested in the length. "It matches your eyes." Santana let her guard down as she grinned up at Brittany. Brittany spotted the dimples in her cheeks as she smirked. The distinct tone of her spouse, who'd spoken to her a hundred times those same words. For a second, she stayed in front of Santana, consumed by her twin, fascinated to discover more about her. She wanted to graze her lips, to have her hold her. To hear comforting assurances that she'd find her way home. In its place, she heard, "Go try it on. Behind the screen." Santana pointed to the privacy screen. An odd sensation after years of Santana probing every inch of her nakedness, now being ordered to be modest in her presence. But this wasn't her Santana, she admonished herself.
Glad to discard the dirty, duster, Brittany removed her attire, tossing it over the screen to hang. Santana added to her costume a white sleeveless camisole and mid-calf length bloomers with a string to cinch them tight. Accompanied by a long white petticoat again, closed at the waistline with a string and opaque leggings. Brittany praised herself for all the gowns she'd worn during Glee as she moved from behind the privacy screen. She also thanked herself for keeping her bra on, though practical the camisole didn't restrict her breasts from shifting as she moved. However much she enjoyed taking it off, her modern undergarment granted her better movement than the thin cotton material protecting them now.
Brittany watched Santana's eyes travel the range of her height, stepping closer to fix the collar. Having her straighten her arms to test the sleeve length. Then back to examine the skirt length. "Shoes. That could be a problem." She turned to the servant woman, asking her to go fetch Juan. Santana had Brittany sit on the stool as she splashed water from an ewer into the bowl. Dipping a rag into the water, she lifted Brittany's chin to wash something off her face. "You fell." Showing Brittany the pink blotches of blood that she'd dabbed off above her eyebrow. "Don't worry, no stitches, and not serious enough for a scar." She rinsed the rag, folding it to expose an unsoiled square with delicate strokes she wiped Brittany's cheeks. "So, how did you learn my Christian name? Only my parents called me Santana, and only when they required my attention." She slipped the material back into the water, wringing out the excess to continue her work. "Both deceased."
Brittany bit down on her lip, she closed her eyes to both savor Santana's touch and to think, "I guessed."
"Hmmm, but you did recognize me?" Santana rinsed the cloth, squeezing out the excess water, folding it over to a square. "Have we met?"
"You look like someone I know. They say everyone has a twin, somewhere."
"I've not heard that before." Santana clutched a towel to pat the water off Brittany's face. The door creaked open. A short guy wearing dirty white canvas colored trousers, a blue shirt with the sleeves twisted up to his elbows, under a leather apron entered the room. Brittany tuned in to the exchange between Santana and the cobbler. He measured each foot, then took off to find her boots. "Boots?" a smile crossed Brittany's face, "You know me."
Santana cocked her head, "No, I don't. Boots hold up better." She inched closer to her guest, drawing Brittany's left hand in hers, "Your ring... it's... it's unusual. And beautiful." Santana nudged the offset diamonds with her thumb, the jewel capturing the light from the window, "Such unique ornamentation is uh, unexpected on working-class wives."
Brittany watched Santana's face. She wondered what this Ana would think if she were told she bought the engagement ring. She remembered the nervousness in her body language and unease in her voice as she proposed in the choir room. The astonishment and love in her face when she said 'yes.' Followed by skepticism that Brittany wanted to spend her life with her, asking 'really?' Brittany confirming her 'yes.' Kurt's rant about them being too young to marry. Santana's anger that led to Kurt's eventual smackdown in the hallway in front of Rachel. A gloom fell over Brittany at the thought of not spending the rest of her life with her wife. Having only a reminder in Ana of who she loved. Her soulmate. "Uh, Thank You."
Turning over Brittany's hand, Santana returned to her ministrations on her palm. "Impractical, though. And dangerous. Some miners would murder to have the money that ring would bring them. Easy pickings, as they say."
Her breath hitched a little "Coach... Um, sorry Sheriff Beiste, I mean, mentioned gangs that stole from settlers too."
"Yes, it's a problem and getting worse with more miners arriving to seek their fortunes. When I go into town, I have armed men with me. The merchants in town deliver our supplies."
"Sounds like Bushwick."
"Bushwick, is that where you're from? I didn't know that was part of the city."
"No, not yet at least. You've been to the city?"
"Mr. Anderson and I stopped on our way back from London. He studied law at Columbia. If you're from Bushwick, you're Dutch or German?"
"Dutch, does it matter?"
"No, of course not." A tap on the door distracted Santana, the sound of Juan's voice asking for permission to bring the boots in. She dropped the rag into the water basin. The door creaked as Santana opened it wide enough to take the footwear from the cobbler, only to dismiss him. She walked back towards the blonde, handing her the black boots, "Try them on." She turned to the bed, where she sat to watch Brittany slip her new shoes over her feet. "I'll tell the Sheriff to take you to Fabray's Boarding house. Quinn is a friend of mine. She'll make sure you have a meal. You can get some rest. She'll introduce you around, give you the lay of the land. Help you find work. I'll send a note, vouching for your room and board payments if you don't have money now. You can pay me later."
Brittany nodded, "No, I don't have money." It was a lie, but she doubted if this Quinn would accept money printed in 2020 with the face of a President who hadn't been elected yet or the signature of a Treasury Secretary who hadn't been born. Unsure what to do next, she stood, "I guess we're done?"
"For now."
Any interest in me continuing?
Notes:
The GPS location would put Britt in Amador County, CA. The 'heart' of the CA gold rush.
Euros - The horse-shaped god of the East wind who pulled Zeus's chariot.
"Wait For The Wagon" American folk song circa 1850. I'll admit finding music that fits the era will be a challenge.
Distance a horse (at an easy walk with one rider) travels in one hour, per my horse-owning friend, is 3.5 miles. Obviously, weight carried, and terrain lowers miles covered.
I read a comment where a poster stated Brittana had upgraded their wedding ring sets by 2020. To be honest, I can't tell if they did or not. Both are on screen for such a scant time while performing in the last episode of S6. I'm more inclined to say HeYa wore their own rings at the end. Since Santana likes bling, I'm open to the idea they did, but I would say Brittany kept her original engagement ring, to have it re-designed to add additional diamonds. With that in mind, in this story, there are additional enhancements made to her wedding ring set.