Isn't it funny how you can be away from somewhere for years and your legs almost always seem to remember exactly where it is you're going? That's how Charles Baker Harris felt as he navigated the roads of Maycomb. It had been 12 years and they were identical to the day he'd left. Granted, some saplings had grown and a few new houses had appeared but everything was more or less the same, if not grown up a little.

Maybe he hadn't noticed because he'd been too busy focusin' on the new subdivision they were building three streets over, or the birdhouse on Mrs. Trollop's eavestrough at the end of the street before, but there was a ball of what one can only call dread slowly growing in the pit of Charles' stomach. The ball had caught momentum, too, like a snowball at the top of a big hill. It kept on rollin' and growin' and gainin' speed. Now it was like he had an anvil pertly stuck in his gut, weighing him down and somehow making him swallow more. His feet suddenly felt like lead, and what had once been a thin line of dainty beads of sweat were now miniature rivers of salty water rushing like rapids down every worried crease in his face.

He was nervous. Was this what it felt like? He'd spent his entire life at the top of the totem pole, so to speak. The girls had fallen over him. The women in church loved him. The men at the cigar club envied him. Now? Well now he was a blubbering mess and he hadn't even mustered up the courage to turn down her lane.

He swallowed one last heaping gulp of air and pulled out his wrinkled handkercheif. With one swift wipe of his drenched brow he turned.

There, on her porch sat a dainty haired girl of only nineteen doing needlepoint. Her auburn hair glistened in the sun, and pearls of sweat danced about her furrowed brow. She was the picture of a housewife in her pretty lavender checked cress and her hair loosely piled on her head. Charles barely recognised her. In fact, he didn't recognise her at all. Where was the carefree, adventurous tomboy he'd fallen in love with so many moons ago? Who was this domesticated, peaceful creature before him now?

What he didn't know is that Jean Louise Finch was only wearing a dress on account of it being a Wednesday, and she'd just come from her meeting with the other church ladies. She'd joined the ranks of these squawking chickens in a feeble attempt to get the lawn at the school tended to, there were broken shards of glass about the lines of the fence and the weeds in the garden had grown almost uncontrollable. Of course, this meant playing round after round of bridge with a pack of insufferable married women. Worst of all was Teresa Hanworthy. She had gone on and on all afternoon about how Jean Louise was pretty enough girl to snag a man, it was just that she had no talent. If she would just pick up some sort of talent, she could maybe find herself a man. A man maketh a woman, after all. So Jean Louise had stupidly bragged that she did have a talent, that in fact she was a master of needlepoint and that she'd bring in some of her work to church that Sunday. What a stupid lie that was, wasn't it? See, Jean Louise Finch had never picked up a needle in her life, let alone to make a delicate portrait out of overpriced coloured threads. Yet here she sat in the July heat making a delicate portrait out of overpriced coloured threads. But she'd be damned if it wasn't the best needlepoint portrait of a clown that stupid Teresa Hanrathy had ever seen. Even if she had stabbed herself several times already.

She was so focused on her needlepoint she'd hardly seen the tall, dark stranger sauntering up her drive. In fact, if it wasn't for her stabbing herself for the third time that stitch he could have made it all the way up the rickety porch steps before she'd have said a single word. Instead she caught him as he hit the base of the stairs, and she rose as ladylike as possible, just as the man tipped his hat up.

Yes, his eyes were squinting a bit from the sun. And yes, he was about three ties the size and wearing a rather nice suit. And yes, it had been more than 10 years since she'd seen such a face in these parts but there was no mistaking this face.

"Dill?"

A/N: It's 4 am and I've updated the first two chapters and deleted the rest. Stay tuned, and don't hesitate to PM me with suggestions, edits and reviews. Or write a review. Hell, its been 6 years since I logged on I don't really remember how this thing works.

Cheers! xx