A/N- I was going to write about this guy down in Florida, but I can't remember his name, so I changed the story a little ^^ ~*~*~*~

Summary: A teen in Virginia who is taking part in a class trip meets a strange boy who seems to have a very troubled past. Warnings: maybe in modern times, and violence. (- stuff -) = journal entries. /~/ stuff \~\ = memories/ flashbacks

~*~ = location change

Gold Tinted Roses

/~/ "Samneric! Sam_n_Eric get yourselves in this house for supper!" A women in her early forties walked out from under a 1776 style white bleached overhang that connected to a huge house. The house was made of brick and wood, two floors on the ground and one floor that sunk halfway into the hill on witch it was constructed.

The woman walked out under the apple tree on witch the setting sun sparkled upon. As the light hit her face and played out she seemed more like the child who had lost her kitten than an ageing widow who's husband had died fighting for a new world without taxation. Her twin boys, both seven years, were playing out a fighting game. Using sticks as muskets, dressed in blue and red, trying to mimic their father's life through a game.

Running her hands in her apron, she called to them again. "Samneric! Supper!" This time Sam and Eric turned to their mother, both stopped in lunge position, with sticks out far as if to impale each other with unsought gittyness.

"Yes ma'am." Both boys called up in one voice and dropped their sticks. Running up the small hill, the mother noticed that on their white and red shirts and blue trousers had grass stains all ground into the fine fibers that took her weeks to sew.

"Where's your brother?" The women shielded her eyes with a hand that still smelled of apple chutney, fresh baked bread, and salted pork. "Has he gone down to that open field again?" The women narrowed her eyes as a chorus of 'Yes ma'am' and 'Yes mama' reached her ears.

She had told him not to go down to that field and not to take one of the horses, witch he had also done. The British would have been marching through that area, something might happen. The mother had a bad feeling about this.

~*~

"Oh golly, look at that." A sandy haired boy, much like the women and two seven year olds, only with a hit of red flecking his bangs, sat belly down in the weeds. His thin frame flat against snake holes and his pageboy cut fell slightly in his eyes. A dirty and muddy hand ran its way over the boy's sweaty face, high cheekbones, and Irish completion.

His accent was the same as his brothers and his widowed mother who was so worried over him. Eight years to this week he had come to America from Ireland, and he was now sixteen. His green eyes scanned the mass of red- coated soldiers that marched in the dusty road below his scarcely seen ledge.

"Come on Daithi!" Another boys voice hissed to the sandy haired one. "I'm not fond of this one lick! Them redcoats could march up 'ere and blow our brains out."

"Shut up Willy." The sharp, crisp voice of the Irish boy now named Daithi, shrilled slightly at his English friend. Daithi turned his head to the pudgy boy, Willy, who was pressed against the ground next to him, more noticeable.

"But your ma told you not to come down 'ere." Will's voice wined and ground out each word as if it was Daithi's own mother sitting among the brush.

"She's watching Dillon and Curren. She won't even know I'm gone." Daithi stretched out over the ledge more to get a look at the men his father hated so. "Redcoats." He whispered. His long blue headband draped around his solders and entwined itself in his slim fingers.

"Watch it Daithi!"

"Willy?" Daithi looked back frantic as the ground under him gave way. Willy, grasped at his best friend's hand, but instead caught the blue and gold headband. Crouching lower, Willy was able to see what went on next.

Two men in the marching redcoat lines, startled, through an ambush was in order. "Spies!" "Sir?!" "Get them!" "Wait!" "It's a child!" "Fire!" "Sir!" "Do it coward!" "No!" An officer wrenched the gun from a walking soldier and by the blue color of Daithi's tunic, he open fired.

Everything went still, almost slow motion. Daithi felt the button on his tunic's shirt shatter and he felt the musket ball rip through the blue cloth his mother had so lovingly woven for him. As his vision blurred, red flowed greatly out from him and onto the dusty road.

"Oh-Oh-Oh- Oh lord!" Willy bolted off into the brush and back to the Owen farm. \~\

"This blows." Ann looked up her baseball cap at an old looking house. Her heavy metal CD blared into her ears, and she was oblivious to what the tour guide was saying.

"This house was built sometime in 1770, it was a home to an Irish family who lived here until they abandoned the house. No one has lived here sense, and this year it has been turned into what it had probably looked like back then, and is now rented out to schools who spend two months, as you guys will, playing out the roll of a colonial family. As I was saying about the family: The Quinn family lived here all their lives after them came over from Ireland. The mother who was called Quincy was married to Jacob who was killed in the Revolutionary War. They had three sons named Daithi, and twins Dillon and Owen. Dillon and Owen were able to grow up and marry, Owen caring for his mother until she died. Daithi however, was killed at the age of fifteen from a shooting accident witch the British were apart of, but not many know what happened."

'Idiot boy' Ann thought, turning her music up louder, but was literally 'cut-off' as her 'new' history teacher, the young Jack Merridew, came up with scissors and cut her headphone cord. The twenty year old grinned as it he had just pushed his little sister into a river while she still had on her Sunday best. "Listen, you might learn something! You know, your friends were talking about how you like ghost stuff on the plane ride here, I hear this place is haunted."

"Jack." He always insisted they use his first name. ".They aren't my friends, and . it does seem real cool that it might be haunted." She still had a look of annoyance, but with the plane ride all the way to Virginia from jet lag can get to ya.

"Mmmf." Ann folded her arms and looked back at the ground as the guide continued.

"Now, you will dress in period when you are here, and will receive new names that go along with the time see." The guide called out names and assigned each person (about 20 kids altogether) a room in the house. "Ann Margaret, you will now be. humm. lets see, you can be Alexandra Quinn. Imagine that! A part of the family. You have room 9, third floor. It was originally Daithi's room. Enjoy."

"I'm sure I will." Ann's long black hair swished over her tall figure as she climbed the stares in the house and to her room. She took the silver plated knob in her hands. It was cool to the touch, but turned ice cold as she swung it open. Inside, it was amazing! I clear view off the balcony and a real colonial bed! It was furnished as if she had stepped back in time!

"This might not be so bad after all." A/n- WELL?! Good/Bad/Crap? Please tell me! Oh btw- Daithi is pronounced 'DA- hee', you will find out what his name means soon!