Chapter Text
Rachel Jessop is ankle-deep in dirt when her father’s apprentice first arrives.
That he’d taken an apprentice at all had come as no small surprise, as half the boys at her school had asked for work before the start of summer, and he’d turned every one of them down. Rachel herself knew she only had a position at Jessop’s Conservatory because she was his daughter, and Mr. Jessop didn’t believe in wasting away her summer without a job. She’d applied at several diners, but her father had liked neither the working hours nor the distance.
This way, he can keep her right beneath his nose, where she’s less likely to cause trouble.
It’s not exactly like he needs the hands, either; her father’s always had a steady work force at the Conservatory, many of which have worked there since before Rachel can remember. They’re getting older, she supposes, and the work isn’t letting up any. Her father’s always said that it’s a young man’s job.
She’s sitting on a turned over vegetable crate with her bare feet beneath a hose when the truck pulls up – something years old and not unfamiliar to Hope County. The baby blue paint is flaking and vaguely rusted in areas, but the engine sounds to be in good condition, from what Rachel knows about engines.
She’s content to ignore the new start, as she does the rest of her father’s workers, when a pair of boots step into her field of vision. Dark boots, scuffed and obviously worn for their steel-capped support; she imagines they’re ancient and just as reliable as when they were first bought.
“This is Jessop’s Conservatory, right?”
The voice surprises Rachel out of a witty remark.
She cranes her head up and squints past the sun. There’s a girl standing before her who can’t be much older than she is, in faded jeans and a tucked in polo shirt. Rachel tilts her head to one side and tries to see the stranger’s eyes behind the shades. “You’re my dad’s new apprentice?”
The stranger’s laugh is more of a bark, short and mildly offended, if Rachel’s reading her right – and she is. A hand comes up and pulls the glasses from her face. “Apprentice?” The way she says the word makes Rachel suppose her father has either exaggerated at the dinner table, or over-promised in a job interview. “More of just a hired hand, really, for a few shifts here and there. I take it that means I’m in the right place, then?”
Rachel sighs and shuts off the water.
When she stands, it’s in a puddle of mud, and she’s really no cleaner than she had been previously.
(She curls her toes in the dirt and doesn’t care, either way.)
“Yeah, this is the right place. What’s your name?”
“Rook,” she replies, and Rachel’s reaction is instant and unforgiving. Rook grins like she’d been expecting it, anyway. “People call me ‘Rook’.”
“Not much of a name,” Rachel mutters, not unkindly, and pads dirty footprints into an open shed to put the hose away. The brief reprieve from the scalding daylight eases her nerves, some; she runs her sleeve along the sweat at the back of her neck and squints out at Rook as though she can’t weigh her up. It’s a specialty of Rachel’s, usually, something she’s come to depend on. She doesn’t like it when it doesn’t work.
“You just moved here?”
“Just,” Rook nods.
“From where?” Rachel asks, but Rook’s smile hints at secrets, and she doesn’t have the patience right now to unravel them. It’s too damn hot and she has work to do. “Did you come alone or with family?”
“Alone,” Rook says, stepping closer. She uses the doorframe of the shed as a leaning post and crosses her arms, still holding her sunglasses. “I didn’t catch your name, though? From the way you’re interrogating me, I’d think you owned the place.” A muscle twitches in Rachel’s cheek. “Mr. Jessop mentioned he had a daughter.”
“Mhm, well done, you’ve got me all figured out.”
Rook’s smile doesn’t falter.
“Why’d you move here, anyway? Nobody moves here… plenty of people move away.”
Rachel re-ties her ponytail as she waits for an answer. She’d hate to admit it, but she’s curious. She can’t remember the last people who moved out here, although she’s sure they were middle-aged and owned property elsewhere. She watches Rook for a sign, for a hint of what lies in her past, but there’s only those peaceful, easy brown eyes staring back at her, and a slack smile.
It’s infuriating.
“I have my reasons, I guess,” Rook shrugs, and it’s obvious that that’s as far as her answer will go.
“Everybody does,” Rachel agrees, and steps towards the door. Rook leans out of the way to let her pass. “You’d best find my dad before he starts to wonder where you are. He hates it when people are late, or,” and she picks up her discarded footwear from the mud-puddle that’s already drying, and twirls around to send Rook a pointed look, “when they dawdle at their job.”
Rook tips her head in understanding and tucks her sunglasses over the collar of her shirt. The Jessops’ house sits ahead in the distance, impossible to miss, and Rook makes that her first port-of-call. She’s had exactly one informal interview with Mr. Jessop and she doesn’t doubt that his daughter is painting an accurate character reference of him.
“Noted,” she says, and nods her head as though to leave.
“It’s Rachel, by the way— my name.”
Rook turns back with a smile that Rachel is learning comes easy to her.
“Go on,” Rachel urges her, “go and find him. Dawdling, remember?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’d hate to get you into trouble.”
Rachel watches Rook from a distance.
She hadn’t noticed so much before, but it’s obvious from the way that she lifts the equipment that Rook is built for a hands-on job like this – that she most likely has a background in it or something similar. She is subtle muscle, the kind that comes from hard work instead of pride in appearance. The revelation fuels Rachel’s curiosity further, until she’s caught staring by Rook herself.
In the distance, Rook raises a hand in greeting.
Rachel turns quickly back to her work.
Rook is tired and vaguely aching by the end of her first day at Jessop’s Conservatory.
She imagines Mr. Jessop had put her through her paces to see what she was capable of, and that not every day will be as strenuous, but this is what she’d signed up for. She knew what the job was, and it brought in enough money to keep her afloat for the time being. It’ll do for now, is the important thing, although she can’t help but hope that not every day will be as rough on her weary body as today has been.
When she returns to the trailer park at the end of the day, Rook is sunburned and exhausted.
It had never been her first choice for accommodation; aside from the everyday prejudices, the park wasn’t in the best condition, and at least one neighbour had a penchant for heavy rock at unforgiving hours of the night. In short, it was affordable, and that’s about all the persuasion Rook needed to consider it an option.
She kicks her boots off at the trailer door and strips her clothes with lacklustre grace. She has exactly enough time to eat and shower before her body succumbs to fatigue, and her dreams are uninteresting and forgotten as soon as she wakes again, only to repeat the day.
Like this, she spends three stifling weeks in Hope County.