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lacrymatoryao3 · 6 days

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First Time for Everything

One Shot Smut with Little Plot

Charles and Arthur awkwardly explore each other. Still working on my main fic, but also am on a Charthur jag.

1,557 Words (AO3 Link)

They needed somewhere private, but not in Saint Denis or even Rhodes. Those were still too close to Shady Belle and would risk the rest of the gang hearing rumors from locals. After hushed private discussions, they agreed to make a return to Valentine under the guise of having a robbery lead. Charles was the one to ride in first to get a room at the hotel. He wasn’t there during the shootout with Cornwall’s men, so the owner wouldn’t cause a commotion with him like he probably would with Arthur.

Arthur waited outside the town, on the side of an infrequently used trail that led to the Dakota River. He smoked two, maybe three cigarettes in a row to calm himself with his binoculars on the side of the hotel waiting for Charles’s sign from the window. As the sun set it arrived. From the upper floor in the room the owner always seemed to put people in, he saw the curtains be pulled back to block out the view of the street below.

He urged his horse forward and into Valentine. He pulled his hat down to make it harder to see his face, hoping no one remembered the great black Shire he was sitting upon. He hitched him beside Taima in front of the hotel and walked to the side of the building where there was an outside staircase to the top floor that avoided the lobby all together. Once he was in the hall the door to the room was on his immediate left. He took off his had and smoothed out his ash brown hair, taking a deep breath and lightly knocking on the door.

Charles answered with his long black hair still damp from his bath. No wonder he took so long. He put on fresher clothes, different from the weathered light blue with white dotted shirt he wore during the long and dusty ride, an outfit he started wearing when they arrived in the South. The one with the black trousers, a faded burgundy red overshirt that he only fastened at one bottom button, and a tanned leather vest that was embroidered with small colored beads in a tribal pattern in strips on both sides down the front.

Arthur just stood there, staring at the man in front of him as if he turned him into stone. He could only utter a strained and nervous “hey”.

“Hey,” Charles replied, a soft and equally clumsy smile breaking from his plump lips, “You, uh, should probably come in.”

Arthur nodded, hastily stepping over the threshold so Charles could close the door. He took off his hat and set it on a wooden chair next to a large standing mirror in the corner of the dimly lit room. His ragged satchel joined it, but not before he went into it and produced an unopened bottle of Kentucky Bourbon.

“I… Brought somethin’ for us.” Arthur said, waving the bottle to Charles.

Arthur opened the bottle and took a sip. The burn calmed the fluttering he had in his stomach, though his heart was still racing. He handed it to Charles, who also took one. They passed it back and forth until there was nothing left.

Charles set the bottle on the mantle of the fireplace. The flames caught his figure and created a blazing halo around his wide, strong, and athletic body. A golden glow washed over his dark skin. Despite having little belief in them, Arthur felt like he was looking upon an angel. His doubts possessed him like ghosts manifesting from the shadows. His heart began to race and get caught in his throat.

What if he embarrasses himself somehow? Neither of them knew what they were about to do. He had only been with women and he couldn’t even remember the last time – 5 years at least. In the world they lived in, two men lying together in the same way was seen as unnatural… An abomination to those religious type of fools.

Another thing was Arthur didn’t see himself anywhere near attractive. When he looked in the mirror all he saw was scars, blemishes where the sun he was almost always under kissed his skin, his crooked nose and chipped teeth from so many brawls, lines that set his scowls into the flesh, he still saw the stains of blood that he shed despite them being long washed away. If it came to that, would Charles even still be attracted to him when he shed his clothes?

It was only a moment that felt like an eternity, with both feeling apprehension and doubt, before Charles returned to him.

“You ready?” Charles asked, more bashfully than Arthur had ever heard from him.

“Yeah…” Arthur responded, “If you are, anyway. We don’t got to if you ain’t.”

“I think we’ll be okay.” Charles assured him, resting his large and shaky hands on Arthur’s waist. He pulled him closer, until their chests were crushed and they both could feel their pounding hearts.

Arthur nodded and breathed, “If you change your mind at any point durin’ this, tell me and we can stop…”

The air became thick as they gazed into each other’s eyes, their minds letting go of any preconceived notions they were taught by the world. Instinctually, their faces grew closer. At first their lips traced, savoring the sensation and heat of their breaths and bodies, until they pressed together. They tried to go slow, soft, building up the flame. It didn’t last very long. Arthur took Charles’s face in his hands, his thumb tracing the large scar that snaked along the right side of his face, kissing harder. He slipped his tongue into Charles’s mouth. He grasped Arthur tighter, greeting him with his own. Their faces burned with a hunger and passion neither of them expected to experience with another man.

With eager hands, Charles gently took hold of the kerchief around Arthur’s neck. He untied the knot and pulled it away, dropping it onto the floor. He unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his broad chest. Arthur let out a low grown as he felt Charles’s rough, calloused hands explore his hair covered flesh.

“I’ve always been jealous of you for this…” Charles muttered, circling the bare halo around Arthur’s nipples.

Arthur chuckled, his face and ears turning a bright red, “Ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

They became emboldened enough to fully undress and joined each other in the bed. In Arthur’s arms Charles felt so warm, his plush skin hiding the hard and well sculpted muscle underneath. It excited him more than he expected, his cock beginning to pulse as it swelled. He refrained from touching it, focusing on Charles instead. He pressed his mouth to an area behind his ear, working downward to his neck.

Charles never experienced such tenderness, such attentiveness to the most sensitive areas on his body. His breathing increased, Arthur’s coarse fingers messaging his breast. His head tilted back for a moment, his throat letting out a soft yet high pitched moan. The ache was becoming too intense to ignore. He reached down, taking hold of his own cock and started to slowly stroke it. He looked down and saw how hard they both were. Arthur’s was slightly longer, but incredibly thick. The skin was pulled taught away from head, which was almost purple at the edges. From the tip, a clear fluid wept in long tears that dropped onto the bedspread. Charles took one of Arthur’s hands, leading it downward to replace his own. In return he took Arthur’s. He looked deeply into his beautiful blue eyes, pupils blown in lust.

Charles filled Arthur’s hand. With each movement his shaft throbbed, eliciting a sigh or grunt from the man it was attached to. Christ… It was the most foreign and erotic thing Arthur encountered. It wasn’t enough. He took Charles’s ass and pulled him closer, until their sensitive members brushed. Arthur couldn’t close his fingers around them both. Their hips moved in rhythm, spreading Arthur’s precum until it covered their cocks and they slid against each other with ease.

Words became rendered useless. The only thing Arthur muttered between the two men’s moans was an often unused ‘fuck’.

Charles started to buck more in his grasp, panting with beads of sweat on his brow. His cock was constantly twitching, begging, desperate.

“Arthur…” Charles gasped, “Arthur, I’m going to-”

“Come for me, Charles. Let it go.” Arthur whispered. He was dangerously close too, fighting to keep it before he was ready.

A few more aggressive thrusts, then Charles tensed. His cock erupted, his seed splattering both of their stomachs. It was joined soon after by Arthur’s. He shook, riding the intensity of their orgasms until they were spent. Arthur let go, rolling onto his back and huffing to catch his breath.

They laid in a stupor for some time, paralyzed by blissful relief. Arthur got up to fetch the towel hanging off the washing stand. He wiped Charles off first before himself, throwing it across the room. He opened his arms and Charles rolled over to rest his head on Arthur’s chest, the two embracing.

“What did we tell Dutch we were goin’ out for?” Arthur asked drifting off into sleep.

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow.” Charles replied with a soft and tired laugh.

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lacrymatoryao3 · 11 days

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No one: Absolutely not a single soul:

Me: Trying Arthur down to a chair and teasing him until he's hard and the tip is leaking precum like a faucet. Then you sit on his lap with his cock inside you until he's an absolute mess and begging for friction. Or until he breaks the ropes and just primally fucks you.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 arthur #red dead redemption arthur #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader

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lacrymatoryao3 · 21 days

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FYI

I have a couple of smutty one shots I'll be working on before chapter 11 of my longform fic. One will be Charthur and the other Vandermatthews.

#Tom speaks #rdr2 fanfiction #Charthur #Vandermatthews

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lacrymatoryao3 · 28 days

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Tis I

come play with me?

link <3

hiii friends i was procrastinating on writing so i decided to start a random tag game ;) no pressure tags for anyone else who's bored and also @voylitscope @wllipt @blurglesmurfklaine @smfstump @greyhavensking @tessabennet @hipsterdiva and @its-tortle!

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lacrymatoryao3 · 28 days

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Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 10: January, 1900 (Continued)

[1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9]

To the world, Arthur Morgan is dead. As he tries to face the idea, in a lush valley in Ambarino he comes face to face with a woman from his past, and they must reckon with an era long gone. Especially when she has secrets of her own.

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there’s smut in this.)

Tag: @photo1030

2,304 Words (AO3 Link)

Arthur was left stewing in it, his conflicting feelings. Tidying up the house, working in the stables, even taking a damn nap. He couldn’t get it out of his head, the way the Sheriff spoke about Ana, and how it reared a possessiveness of her he wasn’t proud of. All because she told him she still loved him. In hindsight he saw it in the things she did for him in the past. She had patched up his wounds, worried about his safety and if he would even come back from his dangerous adventures. She had been the one who washed and mended his clothes, who kept him company at night. He was just blind and too much of a coward to let himself keep it in the moment.

Mary was the one Arthur had intended to marry, but Ana was the closest thing he had came to a wife. It felt odd to realize, but it was completely true. That led Arthur to wonder something. How much did he mix Mary and Ana Maria in his memories? Who did he really miss the most? He still did love Mary as well, but it started to seem different than it used to. He did fail her, like every time before, and she was right to want to move on from him. He said a silent prayer, a very rare action, that wherever Mary went after the last letter she sent to him that she was happy. He hoped she would find someone who is honest and good to her as she deserved. It didn’t hurt anymore that it wasn’t going to be him who provided it. A lot of weight of was lifted off his shoulders.

And then there was still Ana. Arthur wanted to love, to be loved, but part of himself wanted to convince her he wasn’t worth it no matter how badly he needed or desired it. He was incapable of seeing what she saw in him. He wished so desperately he could see the good in himself everyone else seemed to think was there. He couldn’t get over the thought he was never worthy of it. After everything he’d done, surely there had to be some punishment. That all went away when he looked at her, when he thought about her. He couldn’t bring himself to break her heart again. That was an even worse sin to him than every murder and robbery he ever committed.

Self doubt and hatred aside, Arthur got what he wanted. He was a father, bumbling and lost about it like every man probably was. He had a woman who loved him. The question was how to hold onto it instead of running away.

“For now I am a prisoner… in Still-water Jail I lie…” Arthur sang quietly to himself riding on Delfina, humming the parts he had forgotten, “For which I will be sorry… Til my dyin’ day…”

By the time he got to the school the children had already been let out. He knew something was wrong when the sounds of the children weren’t the usual ones they tended to have as he he drew nearer. Some were scared, some excited, but all crowded around the commotion in the front yard. Surrounded by their peers was Arthur Francisco and an older boy circling each other before taking swings like they were grown men. The older boy was taller and looked like he did a lot of farm work. Arthur Francisco, impressively, was able to hold his own against him.

Perhaps he should have let them fight it out, but he couldn’t stand the sight of poor Miss Svensson doing everything she could to separate them. She had taken hard tumble when the older boy got Arthur Francisco on the ground, striking him in the stomach. He didn’t get very many in, Arthur Francisco got the upper hand and grabbed him tightly around the neck and using his knees to roll on top of him. He kept one hand there, pummeling the boy with his other fist. He just kept punching him in the face over and over.

Everything happened so fast Arthur hadn’t fully registered what was happening when he jumped off Delfina and ran to them. He snatched Arthur Francisco from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist and yanking him away as the child flailed against him.

“DON’T YOU EVER TALK ABOUT HER LIKE THAT AGAIN, MILLER!” Arthur Francisco hissed at his enemy, “IF YOU DO I SWEAR I’LL KILL YOU!”

He could feel the rage emanating from him, his blue eyes burned like hellfire glaring at the older boy lying before him. Arthur finally and fully saw what Ana had repeatedly told him about their boy: himself. It was in that unmerciful and righteous anger.

“Like hell you will boy!” Arthur objected, putting Arthur Francisco firmly on his feet and grasping him hard on the shoulders, “You don’t talk to no one like that! You hear me?!”

The emotion hearing Arthur Francisco utter those words matched the boy’s own. The audience grew quiet and quickly dispersed, leaving only them, Miss Svensson who was standing and dusting herself off, and the Miller boy sitting defeated on bloody snow.

Arthur spun around, focusing some of his ire to him, “And you, what’s your excuse?! Ain’t you a little too old for this bullshit?!”

Miss Svensson shook her head and helped the Miller boy to his feet, “This happens frequently with Zachariah, I am afraid. Another letter for me to write now.”

“Well, don’t worry about this one.” Arthur huffed, gesturing to Arthur Francisco, “I’ll tell his mama and deal with what I can in the meantime.”

Miss Svensson took the Miller boy inside the school to tend to just injuries.

“What the hell happened anyway?” Arthur asked Arthur Francisco. It had to happen on his watch. As if the day hadn’t dragged on enough. He took a bandana out of his pocket, softly wiping Arthur Francisco’s face to see the damage. His lip was split and bleeding, bruises were already appearing around his left eye and jaw. Arthur had him open his mouth. No teeth where chipped, broken, or missing. He carefully prodded his stomach, checking for any signs of internal injury. The boy only told him it was sore and not painful. That too would be bruised for a while.

Arthur Francisco sighed, “Well… Jane was talking to some of the girls about the new baby. He went up to her and started asking her… not very nice things.”

Arthur nodded, “I can understand wantin’ to defend a girl, but don’t go around threatenin’. Because there comes a time where somebody takes you up on it, and you either become a coward or a killer. Or… you’re the one that gets killed. Me and your mama seen too many men go to an early grave for it. We want better for you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. I just… Don’t understand why people are so hateful just because someone exists.”

Arthur put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “There’s a lot of them out there, I fear. You just got to be better than they are.”

Arthur gathered their horses. He put Arthur Francisco onto Josefina and tied her reins to the horn of Delfina’s saddle. He led them through town, stopping at the butcher’s to buy some steaks for dinner before setting off home. He kept a close eye on the boy, but besides the darkening contusions on his face he didn’t show any signs of anything else.

“This isn’t the first time this has happened to me…” Arthur Francisco calmly protested, holding the steaks while Arthur put the horses in the stable by himself.

“Yeah, I know, but I want to make sure.” Arthur replied, “If something happened, your mama wouldn’t be afraid to beat me senseless. Now, go inside and put those in the ice box. I’m going to go beck of Mrs. O’Hogan.”

Approaching it, on the outside the O’Hogan’s gingerbread styled home was silent. Once he was at the front door, Arthur could hear the chaos that 5 children in one place could bring. He took off one of his gloves and knocked loudly so it could be heard over the commotion. Mr. O’Hogan stepped out, disheveled and with a big smile on his face.

“I hope we got some good news there!” Arthur greeted.

Mr. O’Hogan clasped him tightly on the shoulder, “We sure fuckin’ do! Little girl, 6 pounds! Both o’ ‘em as healthy as can be! Sent a cable ta the archdiocese in Saint Denis, see if we can get a priest ta come up an’ baptize her.”

O’Hogan let Arthur go, pulling a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lighting it with a match, “So, how about that row Little Arthur had? Heard he put a hell o’ a hurt on that Miller boy.”

“He’s pretty banged up his damn self. I have no idea how I’m going to tell Anie.” Arthur replied, “I just wanted to make sure everything went well with your wife and check how your daughter is doin’. That boy said some nasty things to her I was told.”

“Nothin’ about them Millers ain’t nasty!” O’Hogan replied, “Getting’ tired o’ it. I’m gonna start goin’ with ‘em ta school an’ back.”

“As long as you let our ladies come back.” Arthur said with a hint of humor, “Anyway, you have a good night, Owen. Glad you finally got your third girl! Let our ladies come home soon!”

Making dinner was a lot easier. Arthur knew how to cook a slab of meat, not in a pan but all it did was take slightly longer than holding it over a fire. The boy had enough experience in the kitchen to heat up a can of carrots. They kept a plate in the warming box for Ana. After cleaning up they spent time on the living room floor, drawing animals with the watercolors Arthur Francisco was given for Christmas. Arthur would sketch them out with a pencil, and the boy would paint them. Arthur shared the least traumatic stories about the things he saw over the years. They spent a lot of time talking.

Arthur got him ready for bed on time. He patted the boy lightly on the head, “Your mama should be home soon. She’ll probably check up on you because… Well, you know.”

“Yeah, she usually does.” Arthur Francisco said, “Good night, Arthur.”

Arthur got up and went to the door, “Good night, son.”

[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]

Ana closed the door quietly. She took off her jacket and shoes. Her hands went to her head as she tip toed into the kitchen, pulling out every pin until her hair was free. She was glad everything went well, and that it was over for another two or three years. The O’Hogans made it seem like this would be their last. With a couple like that, she wasn’t sure how long that vow would last.

Maybe if she had something like that, Ana might feel the same about it.

The counter was a note on a piece of torn paper. In Arthur’s fine handwriting was a line about leaving a plate from dinner for her. She hovered her hand over the stove. It was still quite hot. She opened the warming box to find it nearly as fresh as it was from the evening. He was always good when cooking a piece of meat.

She put it on the table, poured a glass of gin, and sat down to enjoy it. Arthur’s door creaked open. He stepped out and sat next to her.

“I hope I didn’t wake you.” Ana said.

Arthur shook his head, “No. I was actually up waitin’ for you. How’d everythin’ go?”

“Good! Of course, there’s always that time when things can be a little risky, but I think Rosaline and the baby will be just fine. How did it go with you and Arthur Francisco?”

“It went well… For the most part…” Arthur went quiet for a moment, “The boy got into a fight when school let out.”

Ana rolled her eyes, “I heard Stephen and Jane tell their father about it. How bad are his wounds this time?”

“He’s pretty banged up. He did worse to that Miller boy.”

“I’m not surprised.” Ana sighed, “Something has to be done about them, before things get worse. I have an idea. Maybe the father will consider it, if you’ll accompany me tomorrow.”

“I sure will. I’d like to see this hated man.”

After Ana ate she went up the stairs with Arthur following behind. She entered Arthur Francisco’s bedroom. The boy was sleeping soundly when she sat down at the edge of his bed, stroking his hair and scanning the bruises on his face. She sighed again and tucked his covers around him, kissing him on the temple before leaving.

Arthur waited for her in the hall. She patted him on the back, “Thank you for everything you did today. I imagine it wasn’t easy for you.”

He saw his chance. Before he his doubts got the better of him, he wrapped his arm around Ana’s waist and drew her to him. She let out a quiet yelp in surprise, but she didn’t pull away. He held her close to his body, her head coming to rest on his chest. He forgot how small she was compared to him, how wonderful it felt to have her pressed against him protectively in his arms. Her warmth filled a hole deep within his heart, one that had grown so accustomed to pain it almost burned. He never thought he’d feel like that again, where his heart raced, his face burned, his hands shook.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 posting #rdr #red dead redemption #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #rdr2 community #red dead 2 #red dead redemption arthur #red dead redemption community #arthur morgan rdr2

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lacrymatoryao3 · 1 month

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Hi, there!

I was checking to see if/when Chapter 10 of "Redemption Was Just the Beginning" was going to come out. So love that one...

It should be done soon! I've been having a hell of a writer's block and I'm getting out of it now!

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lacrymatoryao3 · 2 months

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Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 9: January, 1900

[1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8]

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there’s smut in this.)

Tag: @photo1030

3,075 Words (AO3 Link)

Arthur wasn’t sure what time it was, or much of anything for that matter, when Ana burst into his bedroom late in the night… Or was it early morning? Either way, the dawn had not yet broke and Arthur was jerked out of a deep sleep confused and disoriented.

“What, what?! What’s the matter?!” He shouted bewildered, reaching in a crazed manner for a weapon like his old instincts dictated.

Ana was hurriedly dressed, with a piece of paper with instructions scrawled hastily on still drying ink, “Owen was just here. Rosaline is in labor and I need to go over there. I don’t know how long I’ll be so I need you to take care of the house and Arthur Francisco. I wrote everything down… And please, use the stove this time when you cook anything. I already made lunch for him, it’s in the ice box.”

Arthur did hear pounding, but he had assumed it was something in his dream. He grunted rubbed his face, finally checking the clock on the end table. A quarter past 3 in the morning. Why did babies need to come when everyone was sleeping?

He saw her off, trying to shake the tiredness by standing on the cold porch until he couldn’t see her anymore. It seemed every man besides Mr. O’Hogan was doing the same thing, Mrs. Liang followed Ana not too soon after, then Mrs. Johnson in the distance. At least they all knew how babies were born. The only woman who had any real idea to help poor Abigail was Susan, and she had never had any of her own.

Arthur did sleep a bit more, sitting in the living room after getting the fire going, until the clock started to chime at 5. He practiced his usual morning routine and went into the kitchen, grabbing any cook books he could find. Ana had plenty of little recipe cards, however she had naturally wrote them in Spanish. He sat down after getting the coffee going and scanned the table of contents in each book to see if he could find something easy enough for him to make without it becoming a disaster. So many of the measurements they listed made absolutely no sense to him. What the hell was a ‘scruple’? Or a ‘dram’? He only knew a ‘gill’ as something fish had. He found one simple enough that didn’t have any of those, with the instructions understandable for someone as stupid in a kitchen as he felt like he was. Poaching eggs seemed simple enough. Making toast was easy.

He filled a small pot with water, setting it on the stove when it was hot enough for it to boil. As he waited he put a pan on the neighboring burner and dropped a spoonful of butter into it, letting it melt and cover the bottom. He cut some slices of bread and slapped them in, turning them every few minutes until they were crispy and a light brown. He put them onto a plate and into the warming shelf above the stove. The water was bubbling and steaming by then. According to the recipe he just needed to crack the eggs into the water and let them go until they set. He just watched them float in the water, the whites wrapping themselves back around the yolk like an overly complicated soft boiled egg. He strained them out with an odd looking utensil that looked like a metal spider’s web on a stick. He put them with the toast in the warming box.

Arthur went up and knocked on the door to Arthur Francisco’s room. When he went inside the boy was still snug in his bed. He almost felt bad needing to wake him, gently tapping him on the back until he opened his eyes.

“Hey.” Arthur whispered, “Time to get up and around.”

Arthur Francisco looked at him, baffled that he was the one there to rouse him, “Where’s Mama?”

“She’s with Mrs. O’Hogan. Her baby’s comin’ soon.” Arthur replied, silently thanking Ana that she already took the boy’s clothes out, “It’s just you and me today.”

Arthur had no idea what he was even supposed to do other than make sure the boy got out of bed. He was sure he knew how to take care of himself, he didn’t need to be supervised. On top of it he felt awkward just standing there as the child washed and dressed. He did note what Ana was talking about with him being like Arthur. It was in the way he fastened buttons, especially on his shirt when he left the two top buttons open as if he didn’t like the collar close around his neck. He moved his arms around to make sure his suspenders weren’t tight sitting on his shoulders. Arthur could really put a word on how it made him feel… The closest was a melancholic happiness, if that even made sense.

Even more like Arthur was he didn’t speak much in the morning. He mutely followed Arthur to the kitchen and sat down in his seat.

“Now, don’t expect anythin’ fancy like your mama can make.” Arthur said to him while taking out the poached eggs and the toast, sprinkling the eggs with some pepper. He absentmindedly poured the boy his own cup of coffee, before questioning if that was something Ana let him drink. He didn’t see any wrong in it. He was drinking coffee that young… Then again, he was smoking and drinking a few years later. None of it killed him, so one time for the kid wouldn’t hurt.

Arthur Francisco didn’t complain. His first few tastes of the drink gave him a puzzled look on his face, but he enjoyed the meal more than Arthur expected him to. Both ate in similar ways. They broke open the eggs with their forks so the yolk would bleed over the toast and dipped up the excess on the plate with the crusts.

In the stable the boy tended to his own horse, while Arthur helped the throng of other children. He got onto her on his own, he was still light enough to use only his arms to hoist him up into the saddle. Damn, Arthur wished he could still do that.

The youngest O’Hogan girl, Arthur believed she was called was Jane or something, went up to Arthur Francisco and asked if she could ride with him. He instantly and eagerly agreed. Arthur went over and helped her onto the back of Josefina, putting her legs on the same side so she didn’t wrinkle up her skirt.

Making their way through town more children joined. They sure did talk a lot, and all at once. Arthur found it to be a little too much noise for so early in the morning, it was like the girls giggling over coffee but tenfold. He tired to tune most of it out, staying focused on what was ahead and making sure the group didn’t run into each other’s horses or anyone in the street.

It was hard to believe the schoolhouse fit so many children. It looked like a two room shack at most with a covered bell tower and only one teacher standing on the porch to greet the pupils. Arthur assumed she was the other Svensson sister Ana had told him about.

He ushered and helped the children put their horses in the covered paddock in the yard. He made sure they had everything they needed, especially Arthur Francisco.

“All right.” Arthur said to him, “I’m heading off. If I’m back before the day ends I’ll come meet you. If not make sure everyone gets home safe.”

Arthur Francisco nodded, “Yes, sir. See you later.”

Arthur lit a cigarette watching everyone else go inside out of the elements. He sighed, turning Delfina to the direction of the sheriff’s office and jail.

[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]

Mrs. O’Hogan laid in her bed that was covered by old rags. She let in sharp breaths and slowly blew them out, making attempts to regulate the pain ever contraction brought to her. Ana and the rest of the women – including Bridget, the O’Hogans’ soon to be 16 year old daughter – did what they could to keep her comfortable as they waited for Dr. Anderson and the local midwife, an older woman the town mothers affectionately called Nurse Henry.

The air when a baby was expected was a heavy and bittersweet one, with so many potentials that overwhelmed the mind if thought about too deeply. There was excitement, the coming of a new life and a sore buy joyous mother. There was fear, no matter what birth was a dangerous affair for both. Ana had Arthur Francisco there, as did Mrs. Liang with her youngest son Caihong, and Mrs. O’Hogan herself had Jane and Adam and Nicolas in the same bed in the same house with no major or worrying troubles. With all the religious and superstitious trinkets from different backgrounds surrounding her, there was high hopes the good luck would continue.

They tried to keep the mood light, if only for Bridget’s sake. The young woman was more nervous about the ordeal than her mother was. Mrs. O’Hogan occasionally muttered that she hoped the doctor and nurse would make it before the baby did. Mrs. Liang and Mrs. Johnson agreed, with Mrs. Johnson remarking her second son Emmanuel nearly came out as soon as her labor started.

Dr. Anderson and Nurse Henry arrived just shy of 4 in the morning. Her jovial nature relaxed some of the anxiety, opening her little bag and getting right to work. Dr. Anderson was mostly there in case pain relief was needed or the birth would need to become a surgical one. She did offer Mrs. O’Hogan something called Ether, a way to reduce the discomfort, that Mrs. O’Hogan waved off with a comment that she went through it 5 other times without it and she doubted it would be any different the current time.

Then, 3 hours went by…

They kept Mrs. O’Hogan relaxed, letting her rest in any position that she deemed comfortable. They gave her plenty of juice to drink. Every woman in the room took turns walking around with her several times. In between each action to help things get going Nurse Henry would look underneath Mrs. O’Hogan’s shift to check how her dilation.

The sunlight broke and brightened the room by the time the baby was ready. Mrs. O’Hogan sat at the edge of the bed, leaning back so the nurse and doctor could kneel below her with blankets with Bridget behind them to see what it all entailed. Ana messaged Mrs. O’Hogan’s back as she pushed, Mrs. Johnson holding her hand, and Mrs. Liang dabbing her face with a cool damp cloth.

The shrill cry of a baby was a delight to everyone’s ears. Nurse Henry wrapped the baby quickly and took it closer to the furnace to clean them and keep them warm.

The nurse evaluated the baby, “You got yourself another healthy baby girl, ma’am!”

“Oh thanks be to God!” Mrs. O’Hogan cried in relief.

Once the afterbirth passed the women helped Mrs. O’Hogan affix a washable sanitary belt between her legs for any bleeding then removed the rags to tuck her into bed. The nurse gave her the tightly swaddled baby girl. Mrs. O’Hogan didn’t need instruction on what to do. Everyone watched, quietly taking in the small creature who latched onto her mother’s breast.

Ana didn’t want the experience to be sullied for herself. She smiled away the envy. Her reflection on being pregnant wasn’t the most positive one, but it seemed completely worth it once she held her son years ago. Growing up she was taught she would have several children, like every woman around her in Mexico did. Yet there was only one.

The baby was put into her cradle, rocked until she fell asleep. Mrs. O’Hogan took the chance to do the same. The lull was a welcome one for everybody. Once Dr. Anderson and Nurse Henry departed, the rest of the women returned to their stations in the room, collapsing and closing their own eyes.

[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]

The sheriff’s office looked like most others in every backwater town Arthur had found himself in, a wooden built and sided construction with one half heavy impenetrable stones where the cells were. He hitched Delfina to the side of it. He didn’t know what was compelling him to walk up to the door. He didn’t like nor trust the law in any capacity any more than he did. He didn’t need the money. That was the only thing that made him take the bounties before. He knew how easily, despite being considered dead, how it could be him running from these vultures again. What was it? To get the rush he once savored? To prove to some unseen judge he was a changed man?

He opened the door, interrupting whatever conversation Sheriff Strange was having with the three. bored looking deputies.

“Of course, if we ever get that goddamn rail line they’ve been promising-… Oh! Good morning Mr. Callahan.”

Arthur tipped his hat, “Sheriff.”

“Taking me up on bounties?”

Arthur nodded.

Sheriff Strange handed him a piece of paper. It wasn’t exactly what Arthur was expecting, just a scrawled note with a name, their crime, description of the person, their address, and the cost to turn them in alive.

“Now he isn’t the most high profile one we got around here, but how you handle him is how you earn my blessing.” The Sheriff explained, “Earl Harris is just your run of the mill card cheat. He’s mostly a thorn in my side, coming in every few months for the same offense. Check the saloon first. He’ll go easy unless he’s had liquor, but he’ll talk your ear off.”

The goal: find some old card shark and take him back to the jail. Probably just to spend whatever time he owes and get released to start it all over again. $2.50 wasn’t anything to sneeze at anyway. He left the Sheriff and his lethargic seeming deputies. Closing the door Arthur heard him chide them, for one of them to whine ‘Oh come on, Pa!’ in response.

He took a bundle of rope from one of Delfina’s saddle bags, attaching it to his belt just in case. He left her at the hitching post, the saloon was a convenient walk down the street. Arthur leaned against a support post, making himself look like another patron who had drunk until the morning. He nonchalantly looked into the large windows.

The card table was in the middle of the room, always within eye shot of the bar. The saloon was mostly empty except for a few stragglers from the night before, but there was a large group looking like they were playing a round of poker. He studied them. One that had his back to him seemed to fit who he was sent to search for – thin build, ill fitting denim overalls, long stringy white hair and from his vantage point what looked to be a matching beard, a tattered wide brimmed straw hat. He sort of reminded Arthur of Uncle if he had skipped several meals and was far more energetic.

Arthur pushed through the double swinging half doors and walked up to the table to his potential target, “Excuse me, partner. Are you Earl Harris?”

“Yeah! What’s it to ya?” The man replied, turning in his chair to Arthur.

“You think we could step outside? I have some business with you to speak about.”

Earl Harris excused himself to the other players. As he set the cards in his hand onto the table, a bundle of other cards slipped out of his sleeve for everyone to see. There was the evidence Arthur needed. It was so easy it was almost insulting.

One of the men against Earl Harris slammed threw his hand to the table, “You son of a bitch!”

Arthur swiftly led Harris out of the saloon as the men rose, taking off their jackets and rolling up their sleeves. The fight wouldn’t have been a fair one for them, Arthur was a head taller and twice their sizes, but the Sheriff wanted Harris alive and in all probability unbeaten.

“What’s this all about?!” Harris mumbled stumbling down the stairs at Arthur’s hand on his shoulder’s urging.

“Well, I’m afraid Mr. Harris you’re a wanted man.” Arthur explained, “You’re going to have to come with me to see Sheriff Strange and I’m hopin’ we could do this like gentlemen.”

Harris blinked and gave a mostly toothless grin to him, “Aw hell! Why didn’t ya just say so?”

The short walk felt like an eternity. The Sheriff wasn’t kidding about how incessant Earl Harris could talk. Arthur was audience to his entire life story and whatever detour he decided to focus upon before returning to the point. He had no concern about his impending incarceration. In fact, Arthur started to suspect he actually liked it.

Walking by Harris gave Delfina a hard pat on her rump, “Fine horse ya got here! Got the goddamn Gardener brand! Ya must be mighty close to that lady!”

“That’s no one’s concern but my own.” Arthur replied.

Harris didn’t take the hint, “Bout time she got herself a real man! That ol’ husband of hers weren’t much of one, if ya catch my drift!”

Arthur grabbed him buy the shoulder, his patience wearing thin, leading him into the Sheriff’s office. Harris gave a jovial greeting to them. He instructed Arthur what his preferred cell was. He gladly shoved him into it, getting as much distance from Harris as possible or he was at risk of getting Arthur’s gun handle across the head so he’d be quiet for a while.

“Told you he was conversationalist.” Sheriff Strange chuckled seeing the exhausted expression on Arthur’s face. He put the money he was owned on the desk. Arthur took it and made a gesture of thanks and goodbye.

“Tell Mrs. Gardener I said hello!” The Sheriff shouted after him, “Treat her right! She’s a fine, fine woman!”

Arthur took a deep breath to calm himself when riding away on Delfina. It made his skin crawl, not liking that any more than he did at the party.

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lacrymatoryao3 · 2 months

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I have a dumb as fuck idea in this current fic where Arthur just spends a day in the kid's classroom and just having a bunch of 8-10 year olds helping him with the courses but I have 0 idea where that would fit so expect a one shot whenever I get this finished.

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lacrymatoryao3 · 2 months

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Thank u ;w;

Redemption Was Just The Beginning: Chapter 9 “Taking me up on bounties?” Arthur nodded. Sheriff Strange handed him a piece of paper. It wasn’t exactly what Arthur was expecting, just a scrawled note with a name, their crime, description of the person, their address, and the cost to turn them in alive. “Now he isn’t the most high profile one we got around here, but how you handle him is how you earn my blessing.” The Sheriff explained, “Earl Harris is just your run of the mill card cheat. He’s mostly a thorn in my side, coming in every few months for the same offense. Check the saloon first. He’ll go easy unless he’s had liquor, but he’ll talk your ear off.”

I was thinking it's been a while since we've done this tag. So today, I offer you the last line written for the 3 WIP's on which I'm currently working. I'm not sharing anything for Undead Nightmare since it's the WIP planned for tomorrow 😉

Divider by @saradika-graphics

The Cursed Knight (FC5 Medieval AU)

Jacob's lips were raised to reveal his teeth, like a wolf ready to attack. And that was the first time Diane noticed the strange prominence of his canines. Long, sharp, sparkling... Ready to tear her skin to make her bleed to death.

Don't Come Near (RDR2 Omegaverse)

Charles kept silent, not really sure if confessing to Arthur after the terrible week they had spent trying not to kill each other for Eleanor's favors was a good idea. Then he thought back to the moment they had shared, by the campfire, listening to Eleanor's moans.

The Call of the West (RDR2)

"Let me help you," Eleanor said, getting off Taima.

She walked past Arthur who was rolling the wheel towards the cart.

"You're going to break a nail, little lady."

"I'll take that to be your gentlemanly side speaking, Mr Morgan."

Tagging (no pressure) @josephseedismyfather @inafieldofdaisies @carlosoliveiraa @strangefable @socially-awkward-skeleton @adelaidedrubman @alexxmason @direwombat @photo1030 @g0dspeeed @megraen @voidika @onehornedbeast @simplegenius042 @simonxriley @cloudofbutterflies92 @titiagls @chloekistune @josephslittledeputy @wrathfulrook @readingcoco @redwritr @monaskydancer @noodlecupcakes @zanazirafanfic @thewanderer-000 @skoll-sun-eater @corvosattano @florbelles @kieropal @theelderhazelnut @shallow-gravy @aceghosts @12timetraveler @marivenah @elderglocks @thesingularityseries and you if you want to share something 😊

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lacrymatoryao3 · 3 months

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Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 8: New Years Day, 1900

[1][2][3][4][5][6][7]

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there’s smut in this.)

Tag: @photo1030

1,824 Words (AO3 Link)

It seemed like only one of Ana’s dreams. One of the fleeting moments where she could be against him. His chest rose and fell calmly, the occasional snore or mutter from whatever he himself was conjuring up in his own mind. His heartbeat was strong and steady. She could feel his large hand on her shoulder, his thumb stroking at the fabric of her dress. It was too cruel of life for her to wake from it, in her big bed by herself.

It was such a pretty dream…

She opened her eyes with an agonized groan, from being ripped away from the imaginary version of him and the pounding headache from her overindulgence from the party. She rolled onto her back, squeezing between her eyes for a moment of relief from the pain.

She awoke Arthur in the process, snapping him into reality feeling every human emotion at once. He blinked a few times, finding her trying to fend off the worst of hangovers to minimally function. An all to familiar experience.

He scratched at the stubble on his jaw, “Mornin’.”

Ana’s eyes widened in surprise, snapping to his groggy face. It hadn’t been just a dream, and given how things went the night before a panic shot through her that made her temporarily forget her suffering. She shot up, nearly falling out of the bed from how sudden she lurched away from him.

“W-what happened here?” She cried, her pulse racing in terror. As much as she desired it, losing herself in that way when so heavily inebriated was a fear worse than injury or death.

“Nothin’.” Arthur replied sedately, “You know I wouldn’t do anythin’ like that. Especially with how drunk you was. Would’ve been wrong.”

Ana sighed in relief, falling back onto the pillows. It took some of the fright away, “So… How did we end up like this, exactly?”

It wasn’t a shock to Arthur that she didn’t remember much, or anything. He didn’t know how to explain everything that happened, but he also felt like she was owed it, “You asked me to stay with you.”

“You didn’t have to. You could have gone when I fell asleep.”

“You were in a bad way by the time we got back. I didn’t feel right just dumping you and leaving you.”

Ana laid there rubbing her forehead. She regretted not making a pot of menudo the previous night for breakfast. She sighed, unable to to feel too sorry for herself. Her body felt like it was made of lead, using the little energy she had to try to roll out of bed.

Arthur caught her by the shoulders, pushing her back down, “Oh no you don’t. You rest for once. I’ll take care of breakfast and get you something to help.”

Ana wanted to protest. She wasn’t fragile. She had toughed out more than a bad case of alcohol withdrawal, but she knew how he was. She instructed him where things were, especially the medicines she kept in the kitchen cabinet. She screwed her eyes shut, letting her body float around around without moving. It made Arthur comfortable enough to gather his clothes and leave the room.

He made quick work of taking care of himself, getting dressed in his own room. He caught his reflection in the mirror of his shaving station, about to open his mouth to criticize his appearance like he often did before stopping and shaking his head. There was no time for that. He went to the kitchen and gathered the remedies for Ana to feel better. He took a tea spoon and a glass. He grabbed a bottle of Doc Crockett’s Miracle Tonic and a bottle of medical bitters. He placed them onto a tray and set the glass on the counter. He cracked an egg in his hands over the waste basket, removing the slimy whites from the yolk and gently sliding it into the glass so it didn’t break. He added to it a few dashes of hot sauce and Worcestershire sauce with a pinch of salt and pepper.

He brought them up to her before going back to the kitchen to figure out what he was going to do. Living outside most of his life, usually having someone do the cooking for him and if they weren’t around only roasting a random and crudely cut of meat from whatever animal he killed, wasn’t conducive to working in a kitchen alone. He knew how to make black coffee. He had eggs, scrambling them wouldn’t be too hard. He could easily open one of the cans of strawberries. There was some bread rolls and a block of cheese on the counter in a basket. Going into the ice box he produced some bacon he could fry.

The next challenge came with the stove. He opened every hatch and lifted every lid he could to figure it out. He had no idea where to put wood, or how to light it. It probably took a long time to warm up to do anything. He got frustrated about it quickly, taking his ingredients and tools into the living room. He sat in front of the fireplace, stoking it and adding new wood to it until the flames began to crackle brightly. He cooked eight pieces of bacon first, holding the pan above the fire and flipping them every minute or so until they were crispy but not burnt. He used the grease they produced to scramble up four of the eggs. He put them on a serving platter to cool while he prepared the coffee.

“I knew I should have told you how to get the range going.” He heard Ana’s voice announced beside him. He looked towards her. She had rallied and gotten dressed, though her face was still a bit haggard and exhausted.

“I must admit though,” She added, “I do admire your ingenuity.”

Ana helped him carry things back to the kitchen, instructing him for the future how the stove worked. They sat down an ate together, both thinking it nice to have time alone for once. They made idle conversation. She praised him for what he did, to which Arthur replied with a remark about how if she kept feeding him like she did he would need pants with a larger waist. She admitted she didn’t think that was at all a bad thing, believing he could benefit from putting on more weight. She remembered how old he was, 36 and going to be 37 at some point in July. She was 32, reminding him she was turning 33 in February though she didn’t want any big to do about it. It felt almost like old times, when they’d be sent away on some lead together. The money was nice, but the time spent talking and laughing freely was – at least for Ana – the favorite part of being away from the others. For the moment, they saw each other as they once were again.

“I got to ask, Anie.” Arthur said cleaning up the mess he made, “Did you mean all those things you said last night?”

She sipped her third cup of coffee, the inquisitiveness in her tone told him she had no memory of it, “Depends on what I said. You know how much of a fool I am when I’ve been drinking.”

Arthur smiled and nodded. There was a time at camp when they all had been drunk off some cheap spirit they stole off a stagecoach. Somehow Ana’s attention turned to Dutch. She slurred something along the lines he’d have been much happier if he had been born a woman, and was someone’s well kept wife. Everyone else thought it was hilarious, though Dutch himself was fuming. He avoided her for a good part of a week, if he needed to tell her anything he either sent Arthur, Hosea, or Susan to relay it.

He took a deep breath, going quieter as he said it, “That… That you’re still… In love with me.”

Ana paused, setting her cup on the table, “Of course I am. I always have been, likely always will be. The happiest moments in my life were with you. You gave to me one of the best things in the world, and that’s my… Our… Little boy. He’s always been like you.”

She got up and went to the sink, placing her hand on his shoulder. It seemed so tiny on his broad body, “What else did I confide?”

“You made a mention about Mary.” he replied.

Ana hummed seriously, “Did I? She had always been in the back of my mind, I suppose. Make no mistake, I do not hate Mary. I never had anything against her, she was a very nice woman. I wished it worked for you two. Like I said before I’m willing to-”

“That part of my life is long over.” Arthur interrupted, “It didn’t work, and it’s best if I put that behind me. Don’t worry about her… Please.”

He wasn’t sure if she believed him, but she didn’t bring it up the rest of the morning. She perked up considerably by the time they were ready to bring Arthur Francisco back home. The apartment the Liangs lived in was at the very top of the inn, making them go up two flights of stairs to get to their door. They were greeted by Mrs. Liang, who welcomed them inside with her usual warm hospitality. Everything was a mixture of the familiar and Oriental, from scrolls with dragons and Chinese writing to hand painted calligraphy. The children sat at a low table on cushions, using sharp knives to slice patterns into blood red paper.

Ana and Arthur joined Mr. Liang at another table. Mrs. Liang joined them carrying a tea set smaller than the Western ones, made of well sculpted clay and glazed to take on the pale green shine of jade. She poured a dark roasted Oolong tea into the handleless cups for them to drink with some dried Mandarin orange slices. They chatted casually until the tea was gone and the children finished the little projects they had taken on. Arthur Francisco presented his to Ana, a simple cutting resembling the petals of a lotus flower.

Both Ana and Arthur Francisco thanked the Liangs for letting him spend the night profusely before they started their return to their own home. The boy talked about everything he did while there on the way. Though the hangover was still making her miserable she didn’t let on around her son, still being the same supportive force. As Arthur followed behind them, he was reminded of the few memories he had of his own mother. It came with a sudden longing, a desire to wholly belong within what he was being offered.

Maybe Arthur did have a future, but he needed to fight hard for the one he wanted.

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lacrymatoryao3 · 3 months

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Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 7: New Year’s Eve, 1899 and Day, 1900

[1][2][3][4][5][6]

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there’s smut in this.)

Tag: @photo1030

4,410 Words (AO3 Link)

“Gettin’ real good at that.” Arthur said sitting on an old barrel, watching Arthur Francisco blow the bottles apart off the nails hammered into the beaten and pellet scarred section of fence. Now and again he would pull out his pistol, taking a shot from his hip to impress the boy despite his fingers starting to go numb even in gloves after a couple of hours in the cold.

Ana had given Arthur Francisco some instruction. He was better for his age than he imagined most boys were. Like his mother his focus was incredible. His stance was solid, his feet apart to match his shoulders and his left foot slightly ahead of his right with its knee facing the targets. He had a decent grip on the rifle, the stock at his dominant shoulder but far enough so it wouldn’t strike his collarbone. He knew not to hold his finger on the trigger unless he was ready to fire. He aligned the barrel with the eyesight and checked it with the attached scope. Arthur made some minor corrections with him over the past week. He had gotten comfortable enough rather quickly.

Arthur remembered an instance when his father tried to teach him to shoot. It didn’t go well. In fact, none of the memories he had of Lyle Morgan were positive except when he died. It wasn’t long after his mother was buried, Lyle trying to give him some semblance of survival kills. He wasn’t going to live forever, after all. A fact Arthur began to savor at one point. In the end, like any time he tried to be a parent, it ended with his hand striking the back of Arthur’s head and the young boy shedding hidden tears after. The only thing he learned from the miserable son of a bitch was using violence to stay alive.

Then he met Dutch and Hosea. It was the first time men had shown him any sort of care, rather than tolerance. The marksmanship he came to depend upon came from their patience. They didn’t lambaste him when he didn’t hit the target, they didn’t lay a hand on him when he needed more instruction, they just kept at it until he was good to handle it on his own.

He had made a promise to himself when Isaac was born and he saw the baby for the first time. He was going to be the opposite of what his father was to him. He tried to balance his two lives, one with the family that had accepted him and gave him love he didn’t have after his mother was gone, and the one consequence thrust upon him to build until it was torn away from him at the cost of two innocent people’s lives.

Looking back, he wasn’t the father he could have been. He’d show up every three months or so, stay a week, and ride back off leaving Eliza to fend for herself with whatever support he could give to her. Though he was always happy to see him, Isaac barely knew him and Arthur didn’t learn enough about him either. Somehow, for some twisted reason, he was given the chance to try again. He could be the father he pledged to be the first time, without the responsibilities of a gang to distract him.

He didn’t know this one either… At all. He didn’t get the glimpses of him as he grew. Arthur Francisco had no idea about him in return, or the fact Arthur was the father he asked about. It had never come up for anyone. Arthur and Ana hadn’t spoken about if or when or how to tell him, and his namesake never said anything. As it stood, this man that suddenly appeared in his life was just a friend of his mother’s from a long time ago. Arthur wondered if he had some sort of inkling. It wasn’t impossible to put the pieces together. They had the same first name, the same color of eyes… Whatever he thought, he was keeping it to himself.

Ana had only given her son a small ration of ammunition to practice with. It was even smaller on New Year’s Eve. There was a schedule they had to follow. Once it had ran out they started walking back to the nice, warm house where Arthur talked the boy through how to use gun oil. Arthur Francisco got most of it on the rag and as a result on the rifle, but his hands were still coated in the greasy fluid when it it got put away. It took him several tries to wash it off.

“What you thinkin’ about huntin’ anyway?” Arthur asked, holding his hands over the stove to take the chill out of them.

“I’m not sure yet,” Arthur Francisco said, “I’d like to at least get a deer. If I’m lucky maybe an elk or moose someday.”

“Ever hunted them before?”

“I’ve tracked them. Couldn’t shoot them. Only animals I’ve killed have been rabbits and turkeys.”

Arthur Francisco began to explain the movements of several deer in the area. He knew exactly where they grazed depending on the season and snow cover. He learned one herds schedule so well he looked at the clock in the kitchen and told Arthur where they were. He also knew the general territories of the elk and moose in the mountains up north according to the roving hunters and trappers who would come and go from Canada. The boy was on his way to being an expert hunter, something Arthur never felt he’d been. He improved a bit after Charles showed him the methods he used. He never was able to master a bow and arrows until then, though he had to admit he still preferred a gun. Either way he hoped he’d be a little bit useful. He had taken down plenty of deer, a few elk, a couple of moose, and other animals in his time. Pearson never went without meat, at least. Arthur used the opportunity to tell the story of the one thing he was proud of: killing that massive and nasty, scarred and half blind grizzly bear above O’Creagh’s run awhile after he and Hosea practically ran from it.

As the time ticked by Ana had finally appeared from upstairs, carrying a the overnight bag she packed for Arthur Francisco. She had been running around the house all day. She cleaned the house top to bottom, mopped the floors with cinnamon and water, made everyone bathe, she put a candle on a white plate surrounded by grains and spices to burn out and buried the waxy remains. On the stove for dinner she had a stew with salted codfish and olives. In the oven was two pans of Mexican styled cornbread, one for them and the other for the Liang family who Arthur Francisco was going to spend the night with since Mrs. O’Hogan was expected to give birth any day.

They finished dinner with a spoonful of lentils. Something that apparently a token of good luck for the coming year. After cleaning up Arthur and Ana accompanied Arthur Francisco to the inn, along with the corn bread. As soon as they went back to the house, Ana disappeared upstairs again to get ready for the party.

She envied men at times. The ordeal getting dressed for any formal occasion was less time consuming for them. They didn’t have the expectation to be as beautiful as possible. Just her hair was a time consuming process. She split the layers in half, braiding the top much like she normally did but more elaborately and higher onto her head. She left the bottom loose and flowing, allowing it to curl in its natural profusion. To think other women envied her for that thick mop she had to care for. She wasn’t a whore anymore, and hadn’t been for over 16 years. If it wasn’t so socially unacceptable she would have cut at least half of it off years and years ago once she had escaped.

One thing it had taught her was how to do her face up without making it too obvious she had product on. She massaged her face, neck, and chest with a soothing cream that was intended to keep her complexion youthful and even… well, as possible. She was getting old and there was only so much she could do about it. When it dried and absorbed she covered it with a fine powder that she had to mix with cocoa and cinnamon to match her skin tone. She covered her eyelids with a subtle dusting of charcoal, then wetted a tiny brush from one of her son’s old paint sets to apply a darker line along her eyelashes. She added some blush to her cheeks and stained her lips with a waxy rouge.

Ana removed her robe and stepped toward the clothing laid out on her neatly made bed. Her stockings and the Combination – an assemblage of the top of a thin strapped chemise sewn to the drawers which made the waist less clumsy – was a heavy knit wool for the cold weather. She slid the low heeled pumps that matched the color of her dress onto her feet, then put on her corset. It was much more rigid and slightly tighter than her normal one, partially for vanity and making the gown’s bodice fit better. She covered it with a ruffled front camisole. The idea was it would keep the dress from being too tight around the breasts, but it really only seemed to give the illusion that they were bigger than they really were. One petticoat was heavy, lined with glazed cotton quilted into black satin. The second petticoat was much finer, a sheer underskirt to cover a back padding that supported the dress’s train… or make her ass bigger, she didn’t really question American fashion anymore.

“You almost done there, Anie?” She heard Arthur’s voice on the other side of her door after a soft knock. Perfect timing.

She opened the door and motioned him inside, “Good! Can you help me with the back of this?”

Arthur had seen women in various states of undress. Whether it was the women in camp, the working girls in whatever town he was in, he’d seen her in a lot less layers than she had on. Yet, he still couldn’t be casual about it. It still felt indecent of him to be there. He obliged, of course, standing behind Ana and focusing of fastening the back buttons of her gown’s bodice and only that. He turned away from her to let her put on the skirt, a shy attempt at maintaining her modesty around him.

Ana shook her head, muffling her laugh with a smirk. She put on her gloves and a set of pearl jewelry she received as a wedding gift before ending the charade, “Well? I think you can look at me now.”

She didn’t look like the same woman. She was regal in her champagne yellow gown with irises draping down the fabric in delicate golden silk threads. The train made her appear smaller, delicate, the most feminine she had ever looked. Her rigid stance still dripped with the same wild pride she had since he met her.

Arthur smiled, one of the few genuine ones he could recall over the last few years, “Almost don’t recognize you. Didn’t think you could seem dainty.”

“Oh, I could still take you down if I needed to.” She replied keenly.

It made him laugh. The girl he knew was still in there. Just waiting for the moment to resurface.

Ana folded her jacket over her arm, a closely matching black opera coat overlaid with yellow lace and lined with black fur. Arthur held the door open for her, “I have no doubts you could.”

The Grange hall was a nondescript structure, built like an oversized double shotgun house. It could have been easily passed by, even with the sign hanging from the porch roof that wasn’t readable until they were right in front of it. The entryway had a strong scent of oak from the wall panels. Arthur underestimated the population of the town. People came flooding into the hall with them in droves to the point it started to make him nervous.

A young man who was a member of the Grange fellowship took their coats. They entered the main meeting hall to join the throng of people. It certainly wasn’t a high class affair like the ball that wretch Bronte held in Saint Denis. It was much looser, less focus on formalities and more on the locals having fun. What people wore ranged from simple evening wear they could afford, to just what they put on when going to church on Sundays. On the stage was a volunteer brass band. It was immediate that they weren’t professionals, but while they didn’t play well it was enough to dance to without being grating.

Lounging at the end of one of the benches that spanned the walls underneath the windows was a man. He was about as tall and built similar to Arthur, though clearly several years older. His face was much more weathered, with a default expression of solemnity and seriousness. His heavy horseshoe shaped mustache and eyebrows where an ashen white, as was most of his hair except his long muttonchops and ends swept behind his ears that reached his shoulders which still retained traces of auburn. He seemed to be studying everyone who crossed the gaze of his oddly piercing dull gray-green eyes. The simpleness of his wool blue-black suit stuck out or the occasion, until Arthur noticed the overly polished brass six pointed star sheriff badge pinned to his chest.

Ana approached nonchalantly him, “Good evening, Sheriff! Even working on a night like this?”

Seeing her, his eyes lit up and he stood to greet her, “Ah! Mrs. Gardener! It’s good to see you! You look lovely as you always do!”

Something about how they talked didn’t sit well with Arthur. He couldn’t entirely place why, but there was a twinge in his chest. Maybe the fact he was the Sheriff that caused it, or how suddenly warm he became to her. He quietly reminded himself, regardless of what once was, she was no longer his. It didn’t stop the simmering instinct to get her away from him, protect her from whatever he was eyeing her for.

Ana motioned to Arthur to join them, delicately leading him by the arm, “Sheriff Strange, this is Mr. Arthur Callahan. He’s been staying and working with me for a few months now. Arthur, this is Sam Strange, Cain Valley’s sheriff. Mr. O’Hogan told you about him if you were interested in maybe helping with some bounties or whatever else.”

“Sir.” Arthur acknowledged gruffly.

The Sheriff looked him over, “You look tough enough. Could use more strong men in these parts. Especially once the thaw starts. With the lower states pushing back against ‘em, we’ve been getting a lot of gentlemen hoping to cause mischief like they used to. If Mrs. Gardener can give you the time, stop by the station.”

A few more pleasantries were exchanged before they moved on to the banquet table in front of the stage. The centerpiece was a large crystal bowl of spiced punched that had cherries and orange slices floating in it. Behind it were bottles of rather cheap wine and champagne and carefully arranged glasses. On plates to the side were dainty snack foods like crackers and cheese, small fruit tartlets, and different kinds of finger sandwiches. Ana poured Arthur and herself some wine. She identified the eligible women in attendance. Many of them she knew and she narrowed them down to an acceptable age.

“Have you seen anyone you think you’d like?” Ana asked innocently.

Arthur had forgotten about Ana’s plans on finding him a woman, “Can’t say I’ve been paying much attention.”

Ana started subtly pointing out she settled upon, “The really tall blond lady over there in the pink dress? That’s Ingrid Svensson. Her sister Astrid is the school teacher, because of that she’s not permitted to attend events like this. Astrid is 25, Ingrid is 27… Over on the other end, the two women chatting in the corner in red and green? One is Nina Weimann. She’s also 27. Her father is the barber. The other one, her friend, is Zofia Grabowski. She’s 28, came here from Poland to marry a miner. He apparently died before she arrived and she wandered up here. She works as a milk maid and a laundress… The woman next to Sheriff Strange is his daughter, Louise. She’s 30 and her surname is still technically Covey. She was married for a while, but moved to Nevada for a year and got a divorce… Just walking in, in that bright purple is Margot Lambert. She’s a bit more closer to your age, 33. Her grandfather was a French trapper to staked a mine claim here. Even after it dried up they remained. They’re good people. Run the bank now. Just… Pick out whoever you like and I’ll introduce you. Or all them, we can make a circuit.”

Arthur followed her gesture. There was nothing about any of the women, not that they weren’t attractive and he was sure they were nice, that piqued his interest.

“What makes you think I’m keen in any of them?” He muttered.

Ana playfully poked his back, “Oh come on, Arthur.”

Arthur jumped away from her and laughed, “Why you so determined to get rid of me?”

“I’m not trying to get rid of you!” She defended, “But you need someone. My god, when was the last time you even bedded anyone?”

His eyes widened in surprise at the question, sputtering out in reply, “When was the last time you did?!”

Ana swallowed down the last of her wine and poured another, “Too goddamn long, that’s when.”

Arthur sat down on one of the long benches as Ana joined the Contra group dance. Just watching it overstimulated him. For one so fast paced he’d have made a complete clown of himself if he had tried. Ana stuck out, a jewel among them in her rich dress. Her skirts billowing about as she glided from one partner to another. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, striking a match with the sole of his shoe. He took a few hard puffs. Jealousy reared itself in his emotions again, especially with the men who became her momentary partner. Being unable to quell it was further frustrating him. What the hell did he want? Even more, what the hell did she want?

Ana had much more to drink by the time she rejoined him. Her face was rosier with the amount of alcohol in her blood, her eyes sparkling, and a wide smile on her face. She dropped beside him heavily and joyfully wrapped her arms around him.

“Don’t sit there with such a sour face!” She teasingly chided, “You used to know how to have fun! Come on, the next dance we have!”

She led him hand in hand to the floor. Her steps weren’t as graceful as they were at the beginning of the party. Arthur himself had a bit to drink, but he didn’t indulge as heavily as Ana did. He had to be on his best behavior, after all.

When the waltz began Ana had brought herself closer to him than the usual. She led at first, a comical sight for a woman whose head only reached his chest. Once he was refamiliar with the movements she let him. She sighed and laid her head on him. In her deep brown eyes was a deep affection that was always in the background of her gaze towards him. Something that came to the surface once her inhibitions were thoroughly suppressed. He hadn’t seen it in so long. It was pure and unconditional, unashamed and not awkward or close to ashamed like he had with Mary the last few times she and Arthur had crossed paths.

He didn’t know how deep it went for her. How safe she felt with his arm around her, his hand resting on her back. It was the same when they were young, like his presence was where she felt the most right and where she belonged. If she could tell him, she would. Instead she simply savored the brief moment, rather than the endless ideas of what could have been.

The champagne began being passed around as it grew closer to midnight. The band stopped when another member of the Grange came onto the stage. With his watch in hand he began announcing the minutes to midnight. Once 10 seconds were left the crowd joined in, counting down from 9 until the new year finally arrived.

It was 1900. A new century. Everyone was cheering. The church bell began to toll in celebration and the band played Auld Lang Syne with some singing loudly along and other throwing small pieces of food or coins at the door to the entry hall, a superstition to prevent hunger or poverty in the coming months. There was another tradition Ana had wanted to fulfill, one that caught Arthur off guard. She turned to him, standing as tall as she could and kissed him on his cheek.

It lingered on him on the way home. He didn’t understand the messages she was sending him. One moment she was trying to find him a bride… The next she was pressed against him and she had her lips on his face. He was considerably less drunk than Ana was, who spend the time gushing about their shared memories, but he was enough for the contradictions to annoy him.

Ana felt his mood shift. His energy was always so strong when his mood changed, comparable to the air when a sudden storm rolled in. Another thing her son had in common with him. It sucked the mirth inside her, replacing it with cold and anxiety. She waited until they were inside where it was warm to confront him about it.

“What’s bothering you now, Arthur?”

“It’s just…” Arthur grunted, pausing and slamming his fist on the capped post at the bottom of the bannister, “What you want from me, Ana?”

She blinked, his image swayed in her foggy vision, “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Bullshit!” He barked, “You get all nice and cozy to me, then you act like you don’t want me!”

Knowing him, how easily he felt rejected, made what he said painfully sear through her. Her instincts to hide weakness made her straighten, to fight the regretful tears starting to string her eyes, “It’s… It’s not that I don’t want you.”

That only further agitated him, “THEN WHAT THE HELL IS IT?!”

“BECAUSE I WILL NEVER BE MARY!” Ana shouted back. She covered her face. The dam had burst and she couldn’t allow him to see it. She softened her voice, “I accepted, ten years ago, that you would never love me the same level as I loved you.”

She started to laugh at how ludicrous she sounded, “That’s it! The truest form of love I can show you is a path where you can actually enjoy life. It doesn’t matter if it involves me. I’ve had a good life, I want the same thing for you.”

No matter what she said the result was still the same. While Arthur’s anger was gone, the self loathing that haunted him filled every fiber of him. He just stared at her, remorse etching the lines in his face deeper. He reached out to her, “Anie…”

“No. I just can’t…” She stumbled passed him up the stairs.

He heard the door slam. He just stood there. He’d rather she had just called him names, confirmed what he already knew about himself. What did happen made him feel worse. Something clicked as his silent chastisement paralyzed him. He didn’t know what it was, but it was enough for him to follow. Ana was probably undressed by now, in her nightwear. He just hoped he didn’t totally miss the chance to make something right. He hesitated at her door. From the other side were her muffled sobs.

He didn’t knock. Ana didn’t react to him entering and softly closing the door behind him. He sat next to her on the bed, only able to muster a weak “Ana…”.

“Will you at least try?” She said weakly, staring at him with red and watery eyes, “For me? For our child?”

Arthur rested his palms of Ana’s cheeks, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears that stained her face, “Yeah. I can try.”

He pulled down the blankets of her bed. She wearily obeyed, allowing him to help her lay down and tuck her in, “But, for now, you need to rest. You had a lot to drink tonight.”

He lowered the flame in the kerosene lamp on the side table to a dim glow. Once he was satisfied that she would be okay, he got up. Before he could get too far away from her, Ana grabbed his wrist.

“Please don’t leave me…”

Her hold on him was strong, desperate. Ana knew it shouldn’t be. She was the one who left him. She was no more worthy of it than any common whore. In her state, she just couldn’t be alone, away from him.

Arthur couldn’t say no, not with her despondent mood and woeful expression of heartbreak. He nodded. He did, however, instruct her to let him undress. She closed her eyes as he quietly stripped himself of his confining clothing, making sure his union suit didn’t show too much. The innocence of it aside, he did have some apprehensions sharing a bed with her. He hadn’t done anything of the sort in years, to the point he couldn’t really remember exactly when. Still, he crawled in on the empty side next to her. He put his arm around her, where she instinctively rested her head and hand on his chest.

“Since the party didn’t seem to go well,” Ana whispered as sleep came, “Do you want help finding Mary? I’m still willing.”

Arthur pulled her closer, covering her more, “You don’t need to worry about her no more.”

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lacrymatoryao3 · 5 months

Text

Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 6: Christmas Eve and Day, 1899

[1][2][3][4][5]

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there’s smut in this.)

Tag: @photo1030

4,301 Words (AO3 Link)

A/N: This took me a while because I am painfully Jewish

Arthur wasn’t prepared for how strict Ana’s timetable was for Christmas Eve. She was serious about everything and everyone being ready to meet the guests in the evening. Most of it involved all hands in the kitchen to cook their share of the dinner menu. Ana prepared the main dish the day before and let it marinate in the ice box so it would taste the best. All that was needed was to let it reheat slowly on the stove throughout the day so it was hot. It was a stew, named Pozole Rojo. It was made with pork and hominy, corn kernels soaked in a bath of alkaline water that was also used to make tortilla dough, with onions and garlic. A red sauce was mixed into the broth, made from the usual dried chilies and some more onion and garlic and herbs added.

The undertaking they handled together was making Tamales, made by steaming corn husks filled with dough, peppers, fresh white cheese, and the surplus red sauce that wasn’t used in the stew. Arthur was given the simplest task, mixing together the filling while Ana made the dough. Arthur Francisco combined them into the corn husks, folding them into a rectangular shape and trying them with thinner husks. While they steamed they focused on the dessert, Sopaipillas, fried flour based fritters that would eventually be covered in powdered sugar and ground cinnamon then drizzled with honey.

Arthur Francisco was more adept at his roles than Arthur. It seemed from the moment he could follow directions Ana had him learning them. To him, there was no ‘women’s’ or ‘men’s’ work, simply just work. Arthur had an awkward experience curve to vault over. He knew how to grill meat and heat up whatever he looted that came in cans, he could make coffee, he had a vague idea how Pearson made stews, but anything elaborate escaped him.

God damn, no wonder Pearson was always drinkin’…

By the time everything was finished and being kept warm, Ana was ushering them out to the inn. Everyone had to take a thorough bath and there was no debate on it, though Arthur Francisco tried. Arthur couldn’t stifle the chuckle walking into his assigned room hearing the young boy whine as his mother stood there in the hall sternly looking at him and pointing at one of the other doors.

He let out a pleased gasp as his nude body sank into the hot water. He laid back and closed his eyes for a while. His muscles relaxed, soaking before he washed. Such a simple pleasure he couldn’t get over. A weekly ritual, expected and adhered to. Of course, he used to bath whenever he had the chance but jumping from one camp to another didn’t assure it regularly. He savored it, especially the fact he didn’t need to pay for it. Though he half wished there was a bath girl like there was in other, less reputable places. A woman’s gentle and careful touch while he took a pause from his worries. He so rarely indulged in it, to a point where he was frequently starving for it. Yet of all days and times he longed for it greatly. The thought quickly made him ashamed, not knowing exactly why.

The house smelled lovely with the spices, mixed with the incense of the decorations, floating through the air at their return. It was close to a strong and snug embrace. It was a strange feeling to Arthur, familiar and foreign at the same time, filling him with a nostalgia for something he never had.

Ana led her increasingly crotchety son up the stairs so they could get dressed. Arthur went to his room to do the same. On his bed Ana had laid out a suit he had never seen, a meticulously coordinated ensemble.

It was grander than his tastes, a style similar to the fashions that Trelawny would wear and force him in during his elaborate heists. The white shirt had a high, banded collar held irritatingly tight at the neck by the silver with royal blue striped puff tie. The vest was a matching royal blue with a silver damask pattern. The frock coat was navy blue and had a subtle brocade on the lapels, its matching trousers was also lightly striped. The shoes were overly shined black wingtips.

Arthur grumbled to himself adjusting everything. He couldn’t guess how exactly this little get-together was going to go, all he knew was he wasn’t expected to play a role like such garments used to signify. He had to be himself. A big, halfwitted oaf in a fancy uncomfortable suit.

He joined them waiting in the living room. The expression on his face akin to that of the young boy’s, equally as unhappy wearing his own getup. His mother clearly combed and pomaded his hair against his will, until it stuck unmoving to his head in a side part. He was constantly fidgeting with his stiff wingtip shirt collar or running his fingers against the black velvet fabric of his double breasted jacket. Ana was the only one who looked fitting in her red gown, a green turtleneck blouse underneath the blazer. Ribbons matching the colors had been woven into the braid in her bun. Her eyes lit up seeing Arthur enter the room. It was the first time she really looked at him in over a week.

She made a thrilled sound and rushed to him, “Oh, that looks so wonderful on you!”

When she touched the lapels her demeanor changed. Her behavior shifted, her natural confidence dissipating rapidly. Her eyes darted away like they had been, only to quickly glance up to him to give a shy and awkward smile. She straightened the lapels and let go, bringing distance between them once again.

At the hour the guests were expected there was a loud knock on the front door. Everyone was dressed in their finest clothing, holding their contributions to the Christmas feast. The Johnsons had a brown sugar glazed ham, candied yams, and a carrot pie. The O’Hogans, with heavily pregnant Rosaline covering her stomach by plaid shawls, brought a roasted duck, boiled potatoes heavily buttered and salted, an a spiced fruit cake that marinated in whiskey for at least a year.

The Liangs were the most interesting. Christmas didn’t exist to them, the closest thing they had was a winter solstice festival that they adapted for the event. Mrs. Liang was dressed in the most elaborate garments of her former social class. Her hair was done up in what looked like a bow on the top of her head, with silver accessories resembling winter plants and flowers from her country. Her dress was high collared violet and pink robe-like shirt with wide sleeves that ended at her knees so the matching skirt hiding her feet underneath was visible. Mr. Liang matched somewhat, his tunic was shorter and a simple gray and loose fitting black pants gathered at the ankles. They prepared their traditional festival foods to sample, all with hard to pronounce names for the rest of them. There was ‘Lap Yuk’, cured and dried out pork belly. ‘Tang Yuan’, rice dumplings filled with black sesame paste and mushrooms in a clear broth. ‘Nian Gao’, a sweet dessert cake also make from rice.

The crowd went into the dining room. The children were made their plates and were banished to the kitchen. There were… So many. Even with the kitchen table expanded extra seats were created at the counters for all of them.

The main topics of conversation were rather dull. If Arthur could have thought of a reason to go hang around the kids, he would have excused himself. What they talked about seemed more interesting and fun. Instead he sat next to Ana, pretending he knew how to be a proper gentleman and copying what utensil he was supposed to use when eating the diverse dishes offered. He couldn’t say he disliked any of them. Then again, he was willing to eat most anything. If someone handed him pig slop he probably would try it if it had salt. What the Johnsons and O’Hogans brought was similar enough to what he would get in saloons in whatever town they camped near. He had grown used to what they made, though he noticed the spice was scaled back from normal for the sake of everyone else. Ana had whispered to him that the corn husks of the Tamales weren’t eaten, just a way to hold the filling. The Liangs’ was unique, but not in the way he heard from people. In Saint Denis he heard a bartender complain about the smell that came from restaurants in the Chinese quarter. What it actually tasted like wasn’t bad at all.

“Mr. Callahan, I never got the chance to ask.” Mr. Johnson addressed Arthur in his deep, booming voice that could even strike fear into him if used correctly, “What’d you do before you ended up here?”

“A lot.” Arthur replied, coming up with ways to make his past more palatable to his audience, “Never really looked to settle, so I just wandered around doin’ what was available. I’ve always worked with horses, broke a few, raced now and again, cared for them more than I did myself a few times. Shootin’, always did that, for huntin’ or a couple of times contests. Ended up with a lot of security work. Did stagecoaches, trains, some banks. Herded cattle. Bounty huntin’ if the price was good.”

“Man’s smarter than he gives himself credit fer!” Mr. O’Hogan added, “If ya want ta to get back into bounty work, I’m sure Sheriff Strange has somethin’ fer ya! His list is longer than he is tall!”

“Some of them aren’t actual bounties, however.” Ana warned, “Some are just people he’s willing to pay to get out of the town and not come back.”

The table laughed. Even harder when Mrs. Liang mused that “With big man, we finally deal with Millers.”

“What’s the whole deal with them anyhow?” Arthur asked.

Mrs. Johnson groaned, “Racist bastards. They came up here from Leymone and brought all that with them.”

Mrs. O’Hogan nodded, “They don’t like much o’ anybody. Irish, Black, Chinese, Italian, Mexican, probably don’t like Jews or Indians if we had ‘em here.”

“Bastards are probably fuckin’ inbred.” Mr. O’Hogan commented.

Mrs. O’Hogan slapped her husband on the shoulder, “Owen!”

“What?! It’s bloody true! Just take a look at ‘em! One o’ these days our kids are gonna get tired o’ ta calumny in ta school yard and snap those boys’ necks!”

“All right, all right,” Ana said soothingly, “Let’s not worry about them. It’s a holy night.”

The desserts with the flow of alcohol was a bit too much, though very good. Arthur’s stomach actually hurt some when dinner ended and everyone moved to the living room to drink more, except Mrs. O’Hogan of course, and be entertained with little games or shows put on by the children. Ana rewarded them with little wrapped bundles of sweets for the next day, then told the Nativity story with them and finally added the statue of Baby Jesus lying in his manger bed to the scene on the fireplace mantel. She taught them the best she could a few songs about the season in Spanish, with Arthur Francisco’s help.

Arthur found it… Ironic, so to speak. Looking around the room, Ana had ended up forming her own gang after all. They just didn’t break any laws. It was the arrangement Dutch had constantly promised they’d have if they got enough money, and she did it completely by circumstance. They answered to her, they respected her, she respected them, and they all worked together and actually liked each other.

It made his heart ache slightly. What if she told him? She was right, at that point he wouldn’t have left. What if he could have convince her to stay with him? Egotistic, but he wondered how she would have gotten along with those who came after her. She knew John long enough, Sean showed up shortly before she disappeared. She would have hated how John reacted to Abigail having Jack, but they could have raised their sons together. Jack would have had playmate and not be so alone. She would have gotten along with the other girls. She was much more sturdy than they were, she could have protected them from some of Susan’s brutal wrath. She might even have been able to befriend Molly, convince her their life wasn’t one she was suited for before it drove her to the brink. She would have liked Javier, Lenny, Charles, tenuous with Mac and Davey. She certainly would have punched Bill when he had one of his drunken antics, and with her temperament Micah would have died the moment he said or did anything out of turn to her.

Another time you could have had something, Morgan…

He played his deprecating thoughts off for the rest of the night. Enjoying it as much as he could. By the time everyone left it was an hour shy of midnight. Ana hastily sent the boy to bed, who was more exhausted than he said he was in his whining about it. She and Arthur took the chore of cleaning up and making the house presentable again.

“If this is what Christmas is like,” Arthur remarked, “I’m scared to know what New Year’s brings!”

“New Year’s is a dance at the Grange Hall! I only do this once a year! I don’t need to entertain all the time.” Ana sighed, “You want to go with me? You’ll meet new people. Plenty of of girls.”

“You know I ain’t much of a dancer.”

Ana took a sip from another glass of wine she poured, “Most people here aren’t besides the Contra. Honestly, they’re not even good at that. It’s just a way for the community to have a party without messing up their own houses again.”

Arthur chuckled, “You just want me in this damn suit again.”

“That suit looks good! You’ll get someone’s attention! I already crossed off marriage in my life’s checklist, it’s your turn!”

He shook his head. It was odd how determined she was about that when she rarely spoke about her own.

“Speakin’ of that,” Arthur said leaning against the sink, “You never told me much about your husband.”

The night of drink loosened Ana’s demure, speaking about him in her disturbingly detached manner, “When I came here I was working as a laundress. It didn’t pay enough, and Jacob put out an advertisement for a maid. When we met he saw my condition. Jacob was a homosexual, but he knew he needed a wife for appearances sake. I needed a husband so the baby and I wouldn’t be looked down upon and we’d be taken care of. It was just convenient. I had no issue with it, he and I got alone fine, he was good with the boy. He’d go off every so often, play it like business when he was somewhere with whatever male lover he had. I focused on being a mother and running things while he was gone. The problem was when he got sick. Tertiary syphilis. He probably had it for years. He went downhill quickly, lost his mind, lost most motor function, it was a mercy he died. Terrible disease.”

Arthur blinked, taking it in, “Wait. So this man was galivantin’ about with other men, and you didn’t do nothin’ yourself?”

“What choice did I have?” Ana laughed, “I was a beard, but I was still expected to be the proper wife. You know the rules are different for men.”

It was late when everything was in order. The conversation fizzled out and both of them excused themselves to bed soon after. Running from lawmen was less exhausting.

Initially his dream started with the old times. Of the family he had before. Those last good and hopeful moment they had, gathered together at Horseshoe Overlook. He was standing at the cliff, the sun breaking over distant mountains that bathed the sky orange and turned the Dakota river red. The rays gleamed through the tall, dense trees. Everyone was coming to life. Pearson whistling while preparing the day’s meal. Susan shouting orders to the other women. Some of the men’s distant voices at the fire with their cups of coffee. The phonograph in Dutch’s tent reverberating one of the many opera songs he had heard over and over to the point of near insanity. The securing noises, the feeling of being surrounded by familiar people. Most of them now dead.

He saw a tan shape below him. A cougar unusually out in the open. It loped slowly, its head down like it was sick or injured in some way. Even from above he could hear the low, pitiful sound it was making. He pulled out his gun and made his way to it as quietly as he could. He hid in the brush, ready to aim to put it out of its misery. The creature was looking around, still making its agonized cry. He caught sight of something else before he could fire. The buck wandered near the river’s edge, unbothered, unconcerned, unusual for such an animal with a predator nearby. There was no fear of the cougar in its black eyes. Not even when the cougar noticed and started running towards it. It simply walked away into the trees. The cougar tried to follow it, not in a manner with the intent to kill, still making that sad noise. He started to recognize it. Like a woman crying, whimpering in heartfelt unhappiness. As it gained no ground to close the distance between them, it gave up. It laid in the grass with a defeated sigh. He almost felt sorry for the thing, sensing illogically the… love it had for something meant to be its prey.

He raised his revolver again at the cougar, the sound of hammer clicking alerted the buck. Lowering its head to brandish the strong antlers, it ran directly at him. He had no time to pull the trigger when it struck him in the chest, sending him several feet backwards against the rocky terrain with the firearm flying off in the air. He laid in the dirt, huffing to catch the breath that was thoroughly knocked out of him. When he could finally stand up again the buck was still there, grunting defiantly between him and the cougar. All he could do was lift his hands to show it he was disarmed. The buck turned away. It studied the cougar, moving towards it. It started licking the cat, that perked up and rubbed its face against the buck as it laid down beside it. It rested its head on the strong cougar’s body. As close as cuddling as two animals could get. He was unable to wrap his head around what he was witnessing, yet the peace he felt when he was on the day he was supposed to die came back to him.

[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]

No one felt like getting fully dressed in the morning. Whether it was from the hangover in the adults from the night before, Arthur Francisco’s excitement to open gifts, or the fact he woke them up earlier than they would have liked. Arthur couldn’t be angry with it, in a way he was touched that the boy included him in throwing up the door and jumping onto the foot of the bed like he did with his mother. Both Arthur and the boy stayed in their flannel union suits but with a pair of pants over them to be decent. Ana covered her nightclothes with a wool dressing gown dyed a rich dark green, embroidered down the chest and skirt with vibrant flowers like the blouses she used to wear when she was younger.

They sat in front of the tree on cushions Ana had laid out in front of their respective gift piles, 5 for each of them. Arthur wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole event, other than that the things he had tried to wrap himself didn’t look nearly as nice as what Ana had and an underlying concern whether or not they would like any of the things he had given them.

Despite Arthur Francisco’s eagerness for his own turn, he and his mother agreed that since Arthur was the newest one he should be the person to go first. Somehow, that was even worse pressure. He took one of the small, square boxes from Arthur Francisco. He was careful with the paper and string. Inside was a silver cased watch. Embossed on the lid was, ironically, a buck deer standing in a field below a mountain range. The other thing from the boy was a plainer cased matching compass. They both had short chains to either attach to a vest button or suspend on his gun belt.

Ana’s gifts to him continued with the concept of functionality. One of them was lacquered brass binoculars with leather around their grip point. They had a high zoom range which was useful for long distances, a good replacement for the set he lost. She also gave him a new pair of boots, simple but thick leather that had heavy roped stitches and a smooth lining inside. It was certainly welcome, he was still wearing the ones he pretty much always had his adult life. They were on their last legs for a while, and she knew him enough to know he would keep using them until they fell apart.

The last thing, tagged as from both Arthur Francisco and Ana was a nicely made fishing rod. It was most likely a hint from the boy more than his mother. Arthur doubted the man he was raised to think was his father did much of those things with him. He just didn’t seem type, and while Ana tried when still with the gang once or twice she never got the hang of it nor did she have the patience.

Arthur thanked the both of them, not sure what else to really say. Ana patted him on the shoulder and Arthur Francisco smiled pleased he did a good job of it.

Then, it was Ana’s turn. Her son had given her a one pound box of some fancy French cream candies, with a nice box that had a pretty woman lounging on a fainting sofa enjoying the product. He also gave her a bottle of lilac perfume in a heavy, etched glass bottle with a cork stopper. What was from him and the boy together was a gold, twisted chain necklace with a crucifix-like cross.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably when she moved to his sole offerings. He didn’t know why it made him so nervous. She was taken aback, but not negatively, which gave him some relief. He had bought her a nice summer dress like the ladies in bigger places wore. The shirtwaist had nice loose sleeves gathered at wide cuffs at the wrist. The entire thing had delicate lace sewn onto it. The other thing was a small straw had that had a silk ribbon to match.

Ana looked at him, a faint blush breaking onto her face. There was a lot she wanted to say. None of it was anything she would around her son. She patted Arthur’s shoulder tenderly and thanked him. The look in her eyes was brighter than they had been. The image of the cougar from his dream when the deer stopped running from it flashed into his mind, making him even further question its meaning.

Arthur Francisco was the required distraction from the sudden, confusing tension. Ana cleared her throat and let him open the gifts from her. They were a set of watercolor paints and brushes, as well as the large and thick paper to use them on. Arthur didn’t know he liked to paint. The boy pointed out a frame on the wall, a drawing of Enrique looking over the outside paddock fence. It was simple, though well executed for a child. He was struck with the realization he had so much more he needed to get to know about the boy.

Arthur Francisco was also very happy with what he got from Arthur. There was a half-pound box of milk chocolates, something anyone would safely appreciate. The other was a three book box set respectively about hunting, fishing, and foraging edible plants.

The finale was what Ana had put to be from both of them: the Carcano. Arthur Francisco let out the most delighted sound, nearly jumped to his feet from joy. Ana did her best to explain to him the rules about it, no pointing it at anything except animals, keeping it unloaded in the house, keeping it up and not taking it unless she knew. They weren’t sure if he actually heard any of it, but he nodded like he did. He begged his mother when she was finished if he could go outside and shoot at some of the empty bottles he used to practice with the pellet gun he had before, then asked Arthur if wanted to help.

“Gonna have to get dressed first.” Arthur replied, “Think you can leave it for a few minutes so we can get ready?”

He propped the gun against the wall, rushing up the stairs to his bedroom. Arthur and Ana laughed as they stood.

She rested her hand on Arthur’s shoulder, which left an unfamiliar sensation on his skin, “While you two are doing that, I will finally get breakfast around. It’s much too cold for me.”

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lacrymatoryao3 · 7 months

Text

Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 5: December, 1899 (Continued)

[1][2][3][4]

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there’s smut in this.)

Tag: @photo1030

3,848 Words (AO3 Link)

It was too early. Much too early. It wasn’t long ago where Arthur wasn’t phased by waking up as the sun crept into the sky. Just a cup of usually sub-par coffee and he was good to go. Then again, it also wasn’t that long ago where he was contented sleeping under a tarp open to the air and elements, on an old cot with a shitty inch thick pad for a mattress and nothing else. He often did it fully clothed to roll out and get going on whatever harebrained scheme or errand Dutch thrust upon him. When they could finally escape from Colter, settling the camp at Horseshoe Overlook, Uncle had remarked on the way to Valentine with the girls in the wagon that Arthur was ‘going soft’. Maybe it was true, given he stopped and helped a stagecoach driver who wrecked outside the town get one of the horses back, but he imagined the old man’s remarks if he saw what Arthur lived currently lived like. In a few short months, Ana had spoiled him. Tamed him. Civilized him.

The breakfast on the table was something Ana could whip up quick. They were thick tortillas stuffed with ground beef, fresh cheese, tomatoes, and corn. Ana sat listlessly with coffee. The only one fully awake was the boy, buzzing in his seat. He was the first in his outerwear, the first out the door, bringing Delfina and a horse to pull the flatbed sleigh.

“Can I ride with Mr. Callahan, Mama?” Arthur Francisco cried with boundless energy.

“If he’s okay with it, sure.” Ana mumbled crawling into the sleigh driver seat as Arthur attached the horse.

The boy looked at Arthur beggingly with his bright and youthful blue eyes… Which, in all honesty, made Arthur uncomfortable sometimes, “Yeah, come on.”

He picked up and put Arthur Francisco onto the back of Delfina, lifting himself into the saddle.

“It’s a bit of a ride, but if everything goes well we’ll be back by lunchtime.” Ana said, “Arthur Francisco will navigate and I’ll follow behind. The game trails are pretty wide so we shouldn’t need to carry the tree far.”

With that, they headed West into the dense forest, farther and farther away from what little civilization there was. Delfina whinnied indignantly as Arthur urged her through the high snow drifts. Arthur patted her on the neck, trying to soothe her with soft and comforting words through the cigarette between his teeth. The sunlight broke through the tall evergreens in the dense forest in brilliant beams. There was no sound except the heavy breathing of the horses and the babble of a creek flowing under ice nearby. The isolation was a familiar comfort for Arthur, as well as something that heightened his guard. He gripped the end of his repeater, his ear pricking at any crunch of the ground or snapping of twigs. There was so much lurking. Wolves, cougars, all were hungry and mean this time of year.

Arthur and the boy wandered ahead. Arthur Francisco waited until his mother was out of earshot, chewing on his lip, “Can I ask you a question, Mr. Callahan?”

Arthur glanced over his shoulder and shrugged, “Sure, kid.”

“Did you and Mama meet before? She acts like she’s known you a long time.”

“We did, yeah.” Arthur explained, “We were both real young. That was a long time ago. You wasn’t born yet.”

Arthur Francisco quietly considered things before pushing on, “Does that mean you know who my father is?”

Arthur slowed Delfina to a walk. His stomach felt like it did a nauseating flip. He cleared his throat, mouth going dry, “What you mean? Ain’t that the feller your Mama married?”

Arthur Francisco shook his head, “No.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well… I figured it out when I was little. Jacob was good to me, we had fun together before he got sick, so didn’t ask Mama until after he died. She told me the truth.”

“I see… She ever tell you anythin’ about him?”

“Not really. She says I’m like him, is all. She doesn’t talk about him much. I think it makes her sad. Like she misses him.”

“Well, your Mama had went through a lot of nasty things,” Arthur said, swallowing hard, “I’m sure when you’re older, she’ll tell you things you need to know.”

Arthur Francisco sighed, “Yeah. She said they did bad things to survive once. I just hope he’s still out there.

Arthur stammered, “Y-yeah… I do too.”

The trail ended at the rocky foot of the mountain range. Arthur hitched Delfina to a fallen log when Ana caught up. They trekked the rest of the way on foot. In the spring and summer it might not have taken long, but with the buildup it was a challenge the entire way. Except for Arthur Francisco who bounded through the snow and making a fairly even path for Arthur and Ana to follow. At the bottom of a ridge there was a cluster of young fir trees. Arthur looked to Ana. He didn’t really know what qualities a perfect Christmas tree comprised of.

Ana carefully inspected each of them in the group. She compared their heights to her own, reaching to touch the very tips. She scrutinized their widths, so that it could fit through the door into the house. She took of a glove and felt the cold needles with her bare hands, seeing which ones were soft and not sharp and prickly. She lightly bent a branch or two, determining how sturdy they were for the weight of the things that was going to be put on them. She even smelled them, so the scent wouldn’t be unpleasant. Once she settled on the best one she checked with her son. He agreed with high enthusiasm.

“Okay!” Ana called out, “I’ll hold onto it. Arthur, you’re the strongest so I think you should start cutting it. Leave a little for Arthur Francisco to do, so he can learn.”

Arthur started sawing it low and evenly to the ground. Once it was three quarters of the way, Arthur Francisco took over. He helped Ana keep the tree in place, so when it was free it wouldn’t topple onto her. Together they all carried it to the sled, covering it with a large canvas sheet and tying it down with heavy ropes. The boy did everything he could to assist. He wasn’t as powerful as Arthur was, yet anyway, but he had an iron determination.

“That is beautiful! Good job you two!” Ana cheered, climbing back into her seat, “We’ve certainly earned Champurrado when we get home!”

Arthur smiled, but the gesture didn’t reach his eyes. Ana recognized it when she gazed at him. She knew what it meant, like all those years before, there was a thought in his mind troubling him and he didn’t want anyone to notice it. She called over Arthur Francisco, convincing him to ride with her under the guise that he should watch to make sure the tree was okay as they started back. She didn’t dare inquire about it with her son around. She didn’t ask him, either. God… What had that boy said?

She looked at Arthur now and again as he rode beside them, with that look on his face when he was deep in thought. She was so close… But so, so far.

The house was a welcome relief. Ana sighed feeling warmth again, as they brought the tree into the living room and shoving the trunk into the tree stand waiting in front of the bay window. She rushed to close the door to keep the heat in. They stripped from their snow covered coats and hats, pulling off their wet and icy boots.

She heard her son say “it’s going to be so exciting to decorate!”. Arthur followed him, only replying with a half-there “mhm.”.

‘Christmas’ had a different meaning to Arthur. He couldn't remember what it was like when his mother was alive. When it was just him and his father it didn’t exist. With the gang it was just another night of drunken revelry around the campfire, with gifts of necessary items for him when he was still young. That later was the same with John. It didn’t have all that much importance until Jack was born, Abigail trying to give him some semblance of a normal childhood. Though even then, what he was given was limited.

It didn’t mean much to Ana when she was with them, either. Granted, she didn’t have the means or the ability. She was making up for it, with a mixture of things from her own country and the more familiar traditions found in America. On the walls were boughs of cedar that gave off a pleasant scent. Draped over the door frames and fireplace mantles was garlands of holly with bright red bows. On every table imaginable were vases filled with a flower with wide red petals from Mexico, Ana called them Nochebuenas. In every room there was some image of the Nativity, if not more than one. On top of the fireplace mantle was the most important one, figures carved from wood and painted, Ana adding the characters to it on certain days.

She opened a chest and pulled out multiple kinds of decorations. They wrapped a garland of glass, opalescent pearls around the tree. In an orderly pattern they hung colorful glass baubles, walnuts painted gold with ribbons at the wide end, handmade straw ornaments shaped like snowflakes, and seasonal paper graphics cut out of old cards on the branches. From the tip they draped paper chains and covered by a hollow skirted figure of the Virgin Mary holding the child Christ. It was like they were a family, admiring their work for a moment when it was finished.

Ana brought a tray of bowl-like cups filled with Champurrado, a sweet hot chocolate drink flavored with cinnamon. The boy sat on Ana’s lap. She tenderly wrapped a heavy quilt around him.

Heavy hearted, Arthur imagined Eliza and Isaac. He calculated how old would that boy even be now if he had lived. 13, maybe 14? He would be starting to become a man. What would he have looked like? The misfortune of resembling his father? Or the long, round face and kind eyes of his mother? He looked away, focusing on his drink, staring into the fire. He bottled it up as quickly as it came, the searing pain that tore through his mind and soul. He didn’t do enough for them. He told Eliza he would do what he could to do right by her and the child he helped create in an ill-thought moment of heartbroken passion. With their fate as it had become, he failed them.

Like a spectator he saw what he had always longed for. Like a fool, he threw every opportunity to have it away. All for the loyalty of the man who saved him, molded who he was, threw him away. Near him could have been Mary and whatever child they could have had if they had actually had ran away like they both wanted and even planned many times before. It could have been Eliza and Isaac if he hadn’t been an idiot and fully took responsibility. They would have lived.

He never let himself fully grieve.

God damn you, Dutch…

Arthur ended up drowning his demons the best way he knew. When things wound down, the boy in bed, Ana slipping into the dining room to wrap the gifts delivered to the house in the mail, he sought solace in a bottle of old unopened bourbon that was dusty and forgotten in the back of the kitchen cabinet. He ripped the yellowing label covering the plug with ease, jamming a knife into the cork and pulling it out. It made a loud popping sound with a short burst of visible fumes escaping the top. He put it to his lips, not bothering with a glass. He swallowed a quarter of the liquid in one go, burning down his throat. He hadn’t had a proper drink in so long. The warmth of it spread through his body, the effects quickly hazing his thoughts and vision.

Everything was destroying him. Every doubt and fear. The questions, the unknown. Why couldn’t he have just died? There was too much before him. What can he do? He never had a proper job before all this. What was he even really good at? Besides robbing and killing, that is.

He slammed the quickly empty bottle on the counter. With his inhibitions thoroughly suppressed he staggered into the dining room. He stopped at the entryway, Ana sat humming to herself while wrapping something in blue paper.

Through the fuzziness he saw her like she was when he was wild. The anger she had… It was so strong once, so fiery, there were times when she sat alone in the camp she shook with it. She was just as beautiful. A kind he only had for a brief moment in time that slipped from his grasp. They had once found comfort in each other. Heartbreak and pain melting away in one’s company, connected and entwined by limbs and a bed sheet. And one day… She was gone. She would never admit it, but he knew it was his fault somehow. It always was.

She was different now, as was he. Their anger became forlornness, but she had more to hold onto. She was a successful landlady with a group loyal to her as any gang would be. She was a mother.

A mother… To a boy… Ten years old with cerulean blue eyes.

He couldn’t take it any longer. He marched into the room, running into one of the fancy chairs. He held onto its back to keep himself upright. He stared at her through glossy, unfocused vision. Her brows furrowed with concern at the sight of antics. She opened her mouth to speak, but Arthur was first.

“That boy is mine, ain’t he?” He said with no hesitation.

Ana’s worry changed to seriousness. She looked down and sighed, “I was wondering when you’d ask.”

She motioned him to sit down, holding the chair’s arm steady as he wobbled against the table to do so.

“He is, yes.” She said.

All this time. All this time there was another child he had and barely knew. If he had any idea, so much could have gone differently. He could have made up for where he went wrong before. Some of the hole in his heart could have been filled. He felt so many things, anger, anguish, and sorrow.

“Is that…” Arthur sputtered, “Is that why you left…?”

Ana’s long silence terrified him.

“Yes and no. I had been thinking about it for a time before that. After Fernando was dealt with, I thought I’d feel better. Feel safe. Instead, I only felt hollow. All I knew was that life had tired me. I couldn’t do for much longer. All that was keeping me was you… And that fell apart when I saw you had a meeting with Mary.”

Ana reached over and squeezed his shoulder, bringing down her walls and letting her vulnerabilities be known for the first time in years, “And I’m not going to deny that it didn’t hurt me. Then, as fate tends to do in those instances, I found out I was pregnant. Miss Grimshaw, of all people, was the one who told me. I had been feeling ill for a few weeks. I was good at hiding that most of the time, but that day… I was helping Pearson with the cooking. I don’t know what it was I was cutting up, but the smell was awful. So I excused myself and walked into the forest. I threw up like I had been doing. I didn’t realize Susan had followed me. She confronted me, sat me down and asked me several questions. How long it had been going on, when my last cycle was, the last time we had intimate, then she told me. She was horrible about it. She called me so many names, I was surprised she didn’t beat me. That was the push I needed. That wasn’t the environment to raise a child in, I knew that first hand. Reluctantly I wrote a letter to Dutch thanking him for all he had done for me, dropped it into his tent, took what I had and packed it on Enrique, and off I went.”

Arthur buried his flushed face in his hands. He knew what she was talking about with Mary. He had no idea Ana had witnessed it, or how. She had asked to see him, to tell him in person she was going to be married to someone else. It was the last time he expected to lay eyes on her. There wasn’t anything inappropriate about it, they held hands and she kissed him on the cheek as goodbye.

He beat hit fist against the table, “I’m a goddamn idiot!”

“No… No you’re not. I knew where your love was from the beginning. I knew it would never be with me, and I respected that.” Ana replied, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Arthur Francisco sooner. It was selfish of me.”

She never forgot when Arthur got that letter. After Mary had broke things off due to her father’s pressure, Arthur had met a young waitress named Eliza. It was a one night stand, as far as Ana understood. She had never met Eliza, but she had somehow found where the gang was staying once her condition was apparent. Ana was the only one he told about it, stoic until they were alone and broke down into a full on panic attack. Eliza knew about his life and didn’t expect much from him, but he did as right by her and their child as best he could. He gave them money, he saw them for several days every three or four months. She was the only one he told when he returned and saw their graves. She never asked how he knew they died in a robbery. It was too painful.

Perhaps that’s where her selfishness came in. Her son was the only thing that kept her going, aside from the business. She would protect him with bullets and blood, if she had to kill or die for him so be it. She knew Eliza was different. She didn’t experience the violence she had. She was outmatched, and lost her life as a result. That would never happen to them, but she could only imagine Isaac waiting for his father. He probably asked all the time, so used to the irregularities of Arthur’s life. Ana couldn’t bring herself to put her own son in that situation. He asked enough as it was, but to have it change from “can you tell me anything about him?” to “when do you think he’ll be back to see us?” was too much. It would be like losing him again and again.

“I don’t blame you, Anie,” Arthur conceded, “after all, the ugly and savage bastard I am, I wouldn’t want the boy to end up like me either.”

Ana shook her head, “I wish I knew who convinced you of that. Because if I did I would kill them. I… I can’t show you how I see you. If I could I would make whatever trade with God or the Devil to do it.”

She couldn’t put the thought that this was in part Dutch and Hosea’s doing, despite her deep respect for both men. It may never have been intentional, Hosea repeatedly said Arthur was smarter than he tended to let on, but as they made the man what he was they also ruined him. If given the chance Arthur was and could be a much better man, in all regards compared to Dutch. It may have posed a threat to his authority, and in the end it did. If he wasn’t so loyal to the fault he could have easily gone on his own or simply taken things over after Blackwater started to unravel Dutch’s fragile sanity.

Her own emotions were much more simple. Where Arthur thought himself as ignorant, she recognized his intelligence. He may have never gone to school, but he was smart, a quick learner, competent and well rounded in his skills. Where he saw nothing but nastiness and ugliness in the mirror, to her even after a decade he was still the most handsome man in the world. If she could prove that to him, he would be able to have whatever he wanted, whoever he wanted.

“And before you ask why, it’s because I care about you.” Ana continued, “I want to see you succeed. I want you to be happy, you deserve that just as much as anybody else.”

“No-”

“Yes! I will do whatever it takes for that to happen! After Christmas, we will discuss what you could do next. If you want to stay here, which I would prefer for… Our son’s sake. There’s plenty of land around. You could easily stake a claim and build a homestead. I’ve been considering buying some farmland and if I did I would need someone to run the operation, I could offer that position to you. It would work like the general store, all profits are split 50/50 after paying the hands.”

Ana took a deep breath, “It will never be like with Mary, but find a bride. There’s many, many young women here looking for husbands. You would be considerably more preferable than most men. And… If you really still want to continue with the idea it’s Mary Gillis or no one… I will help you find her. She may not have heard the news. If you two are meant to be, she will come for you.”

Ana stood and dimmed the lights in the dining room. She helped Arthur into his room, making sure he was comfortable. She wished him goodnight, dimming the rest of the house on her way upstairs and him her own bedroom. She caught sight of herself in the mirror of her vanity. She picked up every one of her own flaws. The faint lines slowly appearing on her face as she aged, the scar above her upper lip from where her brother struck her wearing their father's ring and cutting her when she was 12, the faded and barely noticeable circular burns from cigars on her upper arm that traveled to her back underneath her nightgown.

She crawled into her bed, alone like she had since she became the lady of the house. Appearances aside, she called herself a fool for the lingering hope that it would work now that they were older. They simply weren’t meant to be. A pained ache bubbled in her chest. She closed her eyes as her tears fell. She locked the hope away.

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lacrymatoryao3 · 7 months

Text

Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 4: Three Months Later: December, 1899

[1][2][3]

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there’s smut in this.)

Tag: @photo1030

5,540 Words (AO3 Link)

Arthur awoke as the dawn began to break. He didn’t get up right away, lying in bed and finding comfort in the warmth of his covers and in the room compared to what he saw outside his windows. Once the winter came it seemed to never stop snowing for very long. The mountains were hard to make out, blanketed in white against the clouded sky. The mostly fur trees cascading down the land were so heavy with it the branches bent and sometimes it would slide off in sheets to the deep, icy ground. When the wind came through there was nothing but a freezing fog.

It made him think about those cold days and nights trapped within those dilapidated log buildings in Colter.

Arthur had to admit, as he was taking care of himself for the morning, there were some things about ‘normal’ life he was taking to easier than he had expected. He enjoyed having a bed instead of an old cot, having walls around him and a roof over his head once his instincts finally came to realize he was safe within. He now had a routine once Dr. Anderson deemed he was well enough to do so.

Still, his old life lingered in him. Fighting him.

Arthur shaved, mostly to please Ana, focusing more on the task than the man that was reflected back to him. He doubted she was up and around yet, but if she was she would comment about the things he usually muttered to himself. He applied a small amount of an aftershave she had bought for him. It had an expensive smell, though it probably wasn’t the case for the kind of town he was in, like a bunch of different herbs mixed with citrus fruit.

He put a bundle of plants into his mouth to chew, something to keep his teeth and mouth clean. She made the boy do the same. He slipped out of his night clothes and washed himself up as he worked the taste out of them. He opened his window and spit out them out, closing it it quickly to prevent the chill from entering.

He went to his dresser, looking at all the new things Ana had gotten him to decide what to wear. Even after so many years apart from him, she still remembered the kind of things he liked. She had picked out the same style of button down shirt in different colors and patterns, a few pairs of dark denim pants, and a couple of sets of buckled suspenders, socks, more union suits for the weather.

He simply threw on the first things his rough and calloused hands touched. She bought him more things to wear than he expected. Had he been able to go with her to the general store she would have treated him like a dress up doll. He was never one to care about fashion, but when he put himself together it made Ana happy. Which as nice, he supposed. In a way it was, having someone around who cared about him. She wasn’t as aggressive as Susan Grimshaw was, the poor woman, but she was about as bossy if she needed to be. Always was.

Hanging on hooks next to the door were three coats. For summer, which felt like an eternity off, there was short navy blue canvas coat. For spring and autumn a black knee length cotton duster. For the winter which everyone in Cain Valley was suffering with a chocolate brown sheepskin leather jacket lined with with cream colored wool. Draped over it was a scarf and in its pockets a pair of black deerskin gloves.

Arthur bundled himself up, putting a new hat on his head. It didn’t look much different from his old one that he gave to John, except it was made of fabric instead of leather and there was a fine silk ribbon around it rather than an old haphazardly tied rope. He carefully left his room, finding the kitchen dark and empty. He slipped out the back door, trudging through the frozen mounds and enduring the biting northern air to a roofed space with walls made out of piled of short logs. He picked up the old axe that leaned against a tree stump in the middle of them, gathering enough logs that would make a suitable amount of firewood. He placed a log on the stump, hauling the axe over his shoulder and chopping in in two with a single heavy motion. At first he needed rests between, but after a few weeks his muscle memory kicked in once he became accustomed to the monotonous chore again.

For a moment, it was like Arthur was with the gang again. Doing what he usually did when he was around, as everyone half alert wandered around him for a cup of coffee and Pearson’s leftover stew from the day before.

He carried the wood to the kitchen porch, dropping it into a rack. Returning inside the lights were on. Ana was at the stove, with a serious expression on her face at first that brightened when she looked at him.

“Good morning!” She said cheerfully, taking a ladle and pouring the hot type off coffee people liked to drink in Mexico made with spices and a cone of unrefined cane sugar from a clay pot into a matching clay mug. She placed it on the table for him.

“Mornin’ Anie.” Arthur replied, sitting at his place at the table. He took a sip from the mug. It had a flavor he found overwhelming the first few times he drank it, but now he enjoyed the taste of the sweetness and cinnamon that mingled with the cloves and a thing called anise.

He watched Ana check if the frying pan was hot, cracking eggs into it. As they cooked she prepared other things. On the plates she laid down warmed corn tortillas, spreading refried beans onto them. The fried eggs went on top before being smothered in a chunky red sauce made from tomatoes, onions, and chilies.

The smell brought Ana’s son trudging down the stairs. He scratched his head still tried and sat across from Arthur, not really noticing he was there at first. Once he did his posture changed, suddenly shy and looking cautiously at him. Arthur noticed he did that a lot around him. Arthur studied him every time, just as the boy was doing to him. His face didn’t have Ana’s features. He didn’t know what her husband looked like, but there was something oddly familiar about them. There was something in them that brought up a long, bottled up memory back to the surface. Then there was his eyes again. Not just their color, but the way they scanned him and took note of everything about the stranger in front of him.

“Hey there buddy!” Arthur said as gently as his drawl could, a tone he often did with Jack, “I don’t think we’ve really been introduced yet, have we?”

Ana set the plates on the table and sat between them. She shifted in her seat nervously, taking a deep breath, “You’re right! I’m so sorry I should have thought about that sooner!”

She reached over to the boy and rested her hand on his shoulder, “My son, this is Señor Callahan…”

Ana paused and looked at Arthur to make sure she chose the right alias she had discussed with him. He nodded and she went on, “He is going to be staying with us a while, okay?”

“Hello, sir.” The boy said softly.

Ana smiled and everyone began to eat, “I think you two will get along fine once you get used to each other. You probably have a lot in common! You both like animals, especially horses, hunting, fishing, shooting.”

“Outdoors-y kid, huh?” Arthur said.

“Oh yes! If I can keep him in here for more than 10 minutes I consider it a miracle.”

Ana was the one who mostly led the breakfast conversation. Mostly to distract herself from the myriad of thoughts in her head. She considered asking him if he remembered. At least, if his were the same as hers. She quickly answered that question: no, probably not.

She thought about the past a lot when she alone. Sixteen years old, fleeing into a country she never had been to and barely knowing the language. The night she met Dutch Van der Linde, a man she had after the years still respected. Though after what Arthur had shared, she felt he was no longer worthy of it. He saw her for what she was then, a girl all alone doing desperately what she knew to survive. Looking back it didn’t seem like an accident. Both of them targeting a drunk and fat rich man stumbling through the California city they wandered into, him agreeing to split whatever the fool had after she knocked him out with one punch. Was he really aiming for her? After all, he had a habit of taking the vulnerable under his wing, winning them over with his idealistic charisma. He bought her a meal. He offered a bed, safety, a community. All that silver tongue of his that dripped like a rattlesnake with venom, with the tone of a snake oil salesman peddling questionable cures of the street, did was take her from one gang into another. The cycle was exactly the same.

It wasn’t all bad. When she had met Arthur he was also young, still with a boyish face despite the rest of him being a broad and burly man. He wasn’t one to easily warm up to strangers, like her own son. He was wary of her, to the point of standoffish. He had always been watching her, scrutinizing her every move to learn what kind of person she was. It took months for him to hold a conversation with her. It took longer for him to trust her enough to work with him.

The night she left she considered it the last time they’d cross paths. Then like a miracle he was brought to her, on the verge of expiring. As he improved over the months she looked to see how much had had changed. It was hard to do at first. She had been so focused on him gaining weight, getting those nasty bruises to fade, getting his breathing back to normal. He did seem calmer, jaded by his old life, instead of the thrill seeking man he was when she ran with the Van der Lindes. Lord… When a robbery was a successful he turned into such a beast. Not in a bad way, as she could recall. There were times she would replay the night after he, Dutch, and Hosea had committed their first bank heist when she was comfortable in her bed.

The introspective sadness within him had now become his norm. It was there previously. She saw it after Mary chose her father’s wishes rather than her own, when they collectively mourned Hosea’s wife Bessie when she died, again after the murder of Dutch’s girl Annabelle, and the tipping point when he found out the fate of Eliza and that little boy she had with Arthur… Isaac, she thought he was called. It had started to become too much. Made him weary.

It wasn’t something she couldn’t feel in herself. He had been there when her brother’s men, ones he stole and corrupted when their father was hanged, had finally found her. He watched her slaughter them, men she once knew and trusted as an innocent child. He witnessed her come face to face with Fernando, planting a bullet between his eyes. An unforgivable sin… Murdering a sibling.

They were never completely different. They were both broken people. She just was the one with sheer dumb luck. Her loyalty was to herself and conditional to all others. He never would have gone willingly. Not for Mary, not for his son, not for her if her he knew what she was hiding from him for the time being.

The boy left for school as Arthur helped Ana clean up. The troubled face Ana had earlier returned. She took a deep breath, “Your death has reached out paper.”

“Did it now?” Arthur draped the dish rag over the sink and picked up the Cain Valley Review that was on the table. He looked at the article. It was on the front page, but not the top headline. Seeing the title ‘ARTHUR MORGAN, OTHER MEMBERS OF VAN DER LINDE GANG, BELIEVED DEAD’ made one of the corners of Arthur’s mouth twitched, his voice was low, “So it is…’

“You are, officially, dead.” Ana said softly, oddly sad to say it out loud, “Good thing you’re using a different name. At least for a few years, until people forget.”

Arthur put the paper down and started slowly scratching at his cheek, wishing he had a damn cigarette, “They ain’t gonna really forget me. There’ll always be people lookin’ for me, no matter what is said. Especially if they wanted my head.”

It hit him like a slap across the face. He knew it was happening when Blackwater failed. That life was all over. He thought he’d be happier about it, like he imagined. The world was changing… It didn’t want men like him any longer. Instead it left an empty feeling in him, like he didn’t want it after so many years of badly looking for a way to have it. Maybe because it wasn’t completely on his own accord. Too much business was left unfinished.

Ana took one of his hands, covering it with hers, “It’s not easy. You will mourn yourself, and there will be times you don’t think you can adjust. Trust me, for a couple of years it was almost unbearable for me… But I know you, Arthur. If anyone can do this, it’s you. You are one of the most adaptable men in this world. Of all the things you’ve managed to survive, you can get through this.”

“I guess…”

They wished each other a good day. Ana watched Arthur from the window making his way to the stables. She wished she could have held him.

In front of the large barn doors there was a man with fiery red hair underneath a green plaid flat cap clearing away the snow to get them to open all the way.

“Mornin’ to ya, Mr. Callahan!” O’Hogan greeted loudly in a thick Irish lilt, “Just in time!”

“Mornin’, Mr. O’Hogan.” Arthur replied while being handed a second shovel, getting to work.

O’Hogan made a dismissive wave, “Call me Owen. What’s yer name, anyway?”

“Arthur.”

That made O’Hogan laugh, “Really now? Like Mrs. Gardener’s boy!”

Arthur blinked, then he sighed and shook his head, “Oh yeah?”

“Around here all the time, he is. Hands on learner, and a fast one fer a 10 year old. Not wonder he hates sittin’ at a school desk.”

10… I swear Ana told me he was 9…

After a couple of hours they finally went inside. The stables were bigger that it looked on the outside. The stalls were large, roomy and very clean for the horses who stuck their heads out over the gates to peer at who arrived. Arthur was in awe of the amount it held. Every stall had a horse in it mostly, save for the ones the children took to school. They were segregated by their use, on one side the horses the stage coaches used that were cycled in and out, the other the personal horses. The coach horses were big and hardy breeds, ranging from the usual Belgians, Shires, and Suffolks. A couple were Cobs. The horses that belonged to the compound were branded with a diamond with a G inside. They were all fine breeds. Ana always had an eye for the pretty horses, Dutch Warmbloods, Hungarian Half-breds, Missouri Fox Trotters, Mustangs, Norfolk Roadsters, Thoroughbreds.

Arthur approached the familiar Dalmatian Appaloosa, “Hey there, boy.”

Enrique sniffed at his hand, lowering his head to let him pet him between the eyes. It sent Arthur back to when Ana obtained him. He was so angry. Horse theft an offense punishable by hanging, the gang had bigger plans than that. At one point.

“Yeah…” Arthur whispered, “Gettin’ old. Ain’t we all?”

Surrounding the heating stoves in the middle of the stable aisle were buckets upon buckets of warmed melted snow. Arthur and O’Hogan used them to fill the troughs in the stalls. They hauled in bundles of hay and buckets with special grains for feed. When the horses had their fill the stage coach arrived. The two men led out fresh drafts and replaced the ones running for hours, covered in sweat from their hard work. They dried them and brushed them, putting warming blankets on their backs. They checked their hooves and put them in the newly vacant stalls, refreshing their feed.

“So, hear you’re havin’ a baby soon.” Arthur said.

“Number six! Should be here any day after that new year! Hopin’ fer another girl ta even it out!”

The new year… 1900. Damn…

“Six?!” Arthur cried, “How the hell do you fit all them in that house of yours?”

“Boys share a room. Girls share a room. The wife an’ I have our own. Lot easier now, that our oldest Mary Bridget is 15. Gotta get her prepared, ya know? Besides, we came from large families. My ma had 10. My Rosaline was one out o’ 12!” O’Hogan explained, “What about ya, Arthur? Ya have any kids?”

Arthur went quiet for a moment, “Once. He and his mama died some years back.”

“Sorry ta hear that.” O’Hogan patted him hard against the back, “Always rough.”

The least pleasant responsibility dealing with horses was shoveling their shit. With as many as Ana kept, there was a perpetual stream of it, and a lot of it at that. They were constantly hauling out wheelbarrows of it to go inside a large covered chest. Farmers loved the stuff, apparently. O’Hogan told Arthur once the planting season came all of them around the town would stop by. They raked plenty of money from it.

During lunch Arthur and O’Hogan sat on the floor in front of stove.

“So how’d you get into all this, Mr. O’Hogan?” Arthur asked.

“Always did it. Started out with them English bastards with their fancy estates in ta Irish countryside,” O’Hogan said, “Got tired o’ ‘em. Came here ta find they like us about the same as ‘em. Mrs. Gardener was the only advert fer a job that didn’t say ‘IRISH NEED NOT APPLY’. Here I am, better fer it.”

A few of the personal horses needed their hooves trimmed and shoes replaced as the task near the end of the day. They split the four, Arthur first grabbing the halter of a Tiger Striped Bay Mustang. It came back to him how to do it instantly. He bent one of the horse’s legs between his thighs, removing the old shoe and nails before cleaning the hoof with a knife that had a bent tip stroking it downwards. The knife also worked to trim the frog overgrowth away from the sole. The large nippers came next, taking excess off the outer hoof. He filed the rough edges down, trimming the sole a bit before brushing it and feeling it. He repeated with the other hooves, moving onto re-shoeing them with a fresh batch Mr. Johnson had made the day before. He lined the shoe up, they were well crafted and heavy, tapping the nails carefully into the hooves.

He took another, O’Hogan taking the last. It was amazing how good the disposition was on the horses, even the wild caught ones. The training they went through was rigorous, with expertise that the rich often only enjoyed.

The stable doors opened and the group of children came in on their horses after the school day ended. They were led by Ana’s son on his own Paint. The others were on smaller, shared Morgans. The three of Liang’s were piled at the front and back, the oldest girl at the saddle and reins. O’Hogan’s two school aged children had the boy in front, the girl sitting modestly behind him. The two boys of Johnson’s holding onto each other on theirs. O’Hogan and Arthur greeted the children and took the horses before they ran off to their homes. The only one who took care of his own was Ana’s son, who quietly dismounted and led Josefina to her stall. He took the harness and saddle off himself, carrying it to the storage outside her gate. He went into his pocket and took out the boiled egg he saved from his lunch, cutting it in half to share with his horse while he brushed her and blanketed her.

“Mr. Callahan!” The boy called out to Arthur with his books and lunch tin in his hands, “Mama wanted me to let you know she would like you to bring Enrique and whatever horse you’d like to the house. She needs to bring you into town for help with something.”

“All right.” Arthur answered, “Thanks for lettin’ me know, uh, Arthur.”

The boy ran out. Arthur wiped sweat from his forehead, trying to make sense of the small details he learned about him. He gave up for the moment, focusing on what was at hand. He got Enrique ready, then studied the horses.

“I know just the one!” Mr. O’Hogan shouted to him, leading a white and gray brindle coat Thoroughbred mare out of her stall, “This little lady here is called Delfina! Think she’ll suit ya very nicely.”

Arthur’s eye brightened in a gleeful delight. Delfina was a large and proud horse, a refined creature with a well chiseled body for her athletic nature especially for racing. He patted her on the neck and whispered to her, calling her a ‘fine girl’. Her spirited-ness came out as she nuzzled his pockets looking for treats, huffing when she couldn’t sense any. She was tolerant being tacked and saddled. It took him a couple of tries, which was embarrassing for him, to hoist himself onto her. He adjusted himself a bit, getting re-accustomed to it after so long by his standards.

He wrapped Enrique’s reins around the saddle horn, leading him as he learned to handle Delfina to the house. Ana waited for him on the porch with something hanging in her hand, that old gun belt Hosea had given her around her waist over her tweed coat holstering the same pilfered Schofield revolver and the knife that came from Mexico with her.

She stepped down to him, exchanging what she was holding for Enrique’s reins, “I have something for you. All I ask is you don’t wear it in the house and keep it away from my son without supervision.”

He looked it over, a gun belt with its weapons still attached. It was a thick and heavy thing, elaborately tooled into the black leather to have flowers and leaves all interconnecting with long vines. Among them on the holster was something written in Spanish in flowing, commanding lettering.

‘QUIEN CON LA ESPERANZA VIVE ALEGRE MUERE’.

Arthur buckled it around his hips, “What the hell’s that mean?”

“One who lives with hope dies happily.”

“I take it this was your daddy’s then.” Arthur pulled out the weapons, inspecting them.

“Of course. My Tia managed to recover it when they hanged him. Better someone use it than sit in a box in my wardrobe. I’ve maintained them, but couldn’t bring myself to wear it.”

They were old, but still in good condition. The handgun was a long barreled Volcanic pistol. The handle was a polished turquoise, inlaid in the stone was a motif of a skull and a rose tangled together with thorny stems. The blackened metal was engraved with a baroque style showing the silver underneath. The knife was customized the same. It had a long and wide blade, despite a few nicks it was still razor sharp.

Ana watched him with an amused smirk, “Looks nice.”

Cain Valley had a similar layout to Strawberry as Arthur followed Ana. The only difference was an actual bank and more houses branching out from the bricked main road on side streets. It wasn’t a dry town either. The saloon had the biggest sign, touting itself as the first business in the area since 1856. It was a busy place for being so remote, especially for the season. He saw many confused visitors carrying supplies for winter sports, Ana stopping and giving them directions. That must have been the biggest draw. The place was too well settled for just mining, or logging, or agriculture.

Ana had a name for herself, like the unofficial queen of the town. Every local knew her, greeted her. It was no different at the gunsmith when they walked in. She flipped through the catalog, Arthur perusing the displays.

“What would you recommend for a hunting rifle?” Ana asked.

“It depends on what you want to hunt, Mrs. Gardener.”

Ana nodded, “Something for medium to large game, but good for a beginner. This is going to be the big gift for my son for Christmas.”

The gunsmith left the counter and gathered three rifle models from their displays, apologizing to Arthur when he unintentionally bumped into him as he looked at the repeaters. He set them in front of Ana. The rifles he offered were a Springfield, a Rolling Block, and a Carcano. The Rolling Block and Carcano included scopes, good for long ranges. The gunsmith explained the advantages, drawbacks, and powers of the weapons. Ana picked them up and handled them, carefully considering the best one.

Arthur noticed the subtle changes in her when she held them. She was no stranger to rifles. She was no stranger to any weapon that could harm and kill. That angry, violence searching girl was still in there. He had a flashback to the time when she fully showed it to him. A bounty hunter had tracked them, after a high value robbery. She had thrown her knife into his groin. As he screamed in agony rushed to the shotgun he dropped, using the bullet meant for Dutch to blow off hunter’s head in a scarlet spray and emptying the rest of its ammunition into the limp body.

“I think I’ll take the Carcano.”

“Good choice, Mrs. Gardener. I’m sure little Arthur will love it. Want extra ammo on top of it?”

“Of course, thank you. Can you box it up? I don’t want him seeing it.”

The gunsmith hoisted a nondescript carrying case from under the counter, laying the gun and ammo inside and closing it. Ana paid for it in full. When it was Arthur’s turn he bought an Evans repeater with a few extras. He attached a strap onto it, slinging it over his shoulder to take out.

The ride back was silent after Ana secured the rifle case to the back of Enrique with rope. Arthur kept it to himself at first, until it threatened to boil over.

“Arthur, huh?” He muttered.

“Hm?” It didn’t register with her.

“That’s the name of your boy.”

Ana nodded, still not getting what he was trying to imply, “It is, yes. Arthur Francisco.”

Arthur sighed heavily, “You told me he was nine. Everyone else is sayin’ he’s 10.”

“Did I?” The tone in her voice was puzzled, but he couldn’t tell if it was genuine or the one she would use when purposefully being evasive, “He’s 10. His birthday was a few days before you came. Why?”

They were too close to home for Arthur to push it, “Just tryin’ to figure it all out is all.”

The house smelled of the dinner Ana had left to finish before she left. A meat stew made with fatty beef called Birria. Arthur observed Ana’s, Arthur Francisco, as they enjoyed it. He often would scoop spoonfuls of it into one of the tortillas, folding it and eating it.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to start getting the boy to talk to him.

“How was school, Arthur?” He spoke up, feeling strange addressing the child with his own name. He has met others before with it, but it still felt different.

Arthur Francisco swallowed before he replied, “Fine. We learned more arithmetic today. Miss Svensson drew a star in my book for it.”

“That means you’re good at it then!” Arthur commented, “Hey… If you got four apples and I gave you three apples, how many you got now?”

“Seven.”

“Right! Clever!”

Ana smile and joined in, “And there was no problems with the Millers today?”

Arthur Francisco explained while preparing another tortilla, “Weren’t there today. Haven’t been all week. No one knows why. Not that anyone wants to know, since no one really likes them.”

Everyone joined in the cleaning up. Arthur kept going with the boy to get him to open up, even as they moved from the kitchen to the living room and up until it was his bedtime. Arthur Francisco wished Arthur a good night before following his mother up the stairs.

Left alone Arthur sat down at the secretary desk, pulling his journal out of his pocket. As he opened it he became distracted the windowed cabinet. Inside where many other ledgers and a few business related papers. Slipped into the corners where the glass met the wood were cabinet card photographs. He took them and studied them. One of them was a younger Ana, sitting with a spindly looking man dressed like those Bohemian dandies that wandered around Saint Denis. He looked at least twice her age, and he didn’t resemble her son much either. On her lap was a toddler who was probably no more than 3. He flipped the picture. Written on the back was ‘Mr. and Mrs. Jacob M. Gardener with son. 1892’.

“That was your husband?!” Arthur blurted out in surprise, as Ana returned and passed him to go to her chair.

“He did the job.” Ana said plainly, “He had money. He had land. He died not long after we were married. I inherited everything as his only next of kin, with the provision my son takes it over when he’s an adult.”

Arthur was struck by the lack of affection in her voice. It only gave him more questions about it. He put the photo back, moving on to the others. The next ones he had a slight recollection of. Mostly because he was in them. It had been Ana’s idea to do them those years ago. They made a decent sum going after a train and she had convinced him it would be fun. One was just of him, mounted on that prized horse of his Boadicea with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a rifle propped up on his shoulder. That one said on the back in Ana’s writing ‘Mi queridísimo – 1888’. The companion to it was of both of them. Ana sitting in her traditional Mexican dress, her hair loose down her back. Arthur was behind her, one of his feet resting on the same crate and his hands hanging off his thigh. That one was ‘Arthur y yo – 1888’.

He took a pencil on the desk and started scribbling down his thoughts from the day.

I am dead. I guess not many men can experience their own deaths. I had always thought about it. What it would be like. I understood it as nothingness. No doubts. No fears. Yet, I’m still here and the unknown of that scares me. I don’t know if I can manage living this way. There’s no relief in it like I hoped. I’m not alone in it, I know that. Annie had done it. She’s certain I can, but I’m just not convinced. She seems to do it well. Makes it look too easy despite once being a prized heir of her daddy’s revolutionary gang down there in Mexico, who got her wings clipped as soon as she posed a threat to that brother of hers. She won. She made it. Can I really do it? Death might have been easier. I deserved that path for being the awful brute I am. I’m a bad man, I shouldn’t pretend to be anything else. I still don’t believe in a God or a Devil. Maybe I should after all this bullshit. If there was I would unquestionably earned the burning.

On the opposite page he did what he knew best to get the nervous energy out: he drew. He sketched out his intended grave on that beautiful spot near the Wapiti reservation, that nice cross Charles had created with his own two hands. He wrote underneath it:

Does anyone except Charles know where it is? Did anyone else go there by now? Would they even mourn me?

He moved on to his next sentiment.

There’s something about Annie’s son. There’s something she’s not telling me about him. I don’t think even he knows. I hope it isn’t what I think it is.

12 notes · View notes

lacrymatoryao3 · 8 months

Text

Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 3: September, 1899 (Continued)

[1] [2]

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there’s smut in this.)

2,733 Words (AO3 Link)

Dr. Anderson was a woman. It surprised Arthur when she came into the bedroom adjoined to the kitchen with Ana. While he had heard of them, he had never actually met a ‘Lady Doctor’ as some people called them. He rarely saw doctors at all, but when he did the only women involved were either nurses or secretaries.

“Consumption, huh?” Dr. Anderson questioned, setting a medical bag nearly as big as she was on the dresser. She opened it and rifled through to get what she wanted.

Ana looked at Arthur snug tightly in the bed, “That’s what he says.”

“I see.” Dr. Anderson said out loud and putting her attention on Arthur, “Who did you get this diagnosis from?”

“Some doc down there in Saint Denis.” Arthur replied as Dr. Anderson put the end of a stethoscope underneath his shirt, moving it around to get a good listen of his lungs from multiple angles.

Dr. Anderson hummed, “Yeah? They do got quite the problem with that in those swamps. All that humidity.”

The doctor continued her examination, but while she investigated his ribs she pressed too hard on the muscle above his stomach. Arthur lurched forward and began to cough, hard and uncontrollably. Dr. Anderson grabbed a handkerchief and held it over his mouth. She encouraged him to let out whatever wanted to come up. Once the attack ended the doctor took a look at it, then put the handkerchief in a sealed metal box.

Dr. Anderson sighed, “I know that wasn’t pleasant, but with this sample I can look at it under a microscope at my office and see what’s really going on.”

“So,” Ana said, who had been sitting in a comfortable chair next to the bed, “do you agree it’s consumption?”

Dr. Anderson put her tools back into her bag, “To be quite honest? I’m not sure. Of course it’s a possibility with his symptoms, but at the same time he has injuries that make it harder to say for certain. Either way, his lungs are terribly congested. I’m going to give you a few things to keep him comfortable. Keep the windows open until the weather changes, he needs fresh air. Make sure he rests and doesn’t exert himself. Give him good food, good drink.”

The doctor rubbed her temples, “And if you think it’ll help make sure there’s a lot of garlic. I don’t really understand the idea people around here have about it, but since most almost swear upon it I don’t see the hurt.”

The doctor left them with two medicine bottles, one for pain and another for fever. She also gave Ana a medical syringe in case Arthur was unable to swallow. Ana followed the Dr. Anderson out, leaving Arthur with his thoughts for a while. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like feeling helpless or useless. There was no guarantee he would ever get better, he didn’t even try to entertain the idea. He would have preferred to die fighting the way he expected to, not like an old man bound to a bed.

“You dying, Mister?” A small voice squeaked from the doorway. Arthur looked at him, the boy peeking over the door jamb. He assumed from his dark hair and warm complexion he was the child Ana said she had. There was something peculiar to him, but Arthur couldn’t place it.

“Dunno yet.” Arthur replied a little too seriously than he intended, “When I am I’ll let you know.”

The boy scurried before they could say anything else to each other, hearing his mother’s voice. Arthur heard them muffledly speaking to each other in Spanish in the kitchen.

Ana returned to the room holding a wooden tray with legs, “You think you could eat for me? Mrs. Liang whipped it up. She says she’ll make you some sort of soup that should help you. Chinese medicine sort of stuff. I also made you a garlic tea.”

Arthur sat up a little further as Ana placed the tray on his lap, “Garlic… tea?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. We use it Mexico for coughs and such.”

Arthur looked at the meal. It was a fillet of some sort of fish with a cause on it. When he tried it, despite not having much of an appetite, it was a type of horseradish with more garlic mixed in. Underneath was a pad of plain white rice. On the side there was a salad of red radish mixed with apple. The tea did have a faint taste of the garlic, but it was mostly overpowered by the taste of lemon and honey. It was an odd combination, a little bit fancy, but it beat the spartan concoctions Pearson would throw together.

Arthur managed to finish it, Ana lowering the kerosene lamp’s glow before she left to feed herself and her son. They tried to be quiet in the kitchen. He looked around the room, looking for something to entertain himself with. He opened the tiny drawer in the bedside table and leaned over to peer inside. He pulled out a book. It was a collection of short stories about that English detective written by a feller named Conan Doyle. Mary-Beth had told him about him once. He opened the book to find on a blank starter page ‘J. Gardener – Obtained 1894’ written in a weak and shaky hand. It wasn’t a long book, but the previous reader didn’t seem to get very far. A quarter of the way through it, Arthur found a cigarette card of a Sioux chief in full regalia that was used for a bookmark.

Arthur had read the first three stories when Ana came in the room. She had changed from her sage green blouse and black plaid belted skirt into her nightgown. She had taken her hair out of the high bun with a braided crown into a style Arthur was much more familiar with. Her hair was still very long, falling in waves down her back, just as thick and shiny as it had been when he had first met her.

“I forgot that book was in here. Good thing you found it.” Ana said, placing a leather-bound journal and pencil on the table, “I brought that for you. I remember you always doing something in one of those.”

She sat in the chair next to him, propping her feet on a matching ottoman and draping a blanket over her lap. She stared at him for a while, there was a warmth gleaming in her eyes, “I never thought I’d see you again.”

Arthur gave her a frail smile, “Too bad you had to see how old I’m gettin’.”

“It’s not so bad, and I’m not young anymore either.” Ana replied, leaning against the chair’s arm, “Tell me, everything I missed. What happened to the gang? Clearly something, or else you wouldn’t be here.”

Arthur hesitated, but eventually began the long story. First with all the people who joined after she had gone, the ensuing years. Then he got to Blackwater, and the downfall of everything. One disaster after another, the Pinkertons, Micah Bell, Dutch’s change. He got into how he learned he, supposedly, had tuberculosis and who and how he got it. Ana listened with her own whirlwind of emotions, especially when she found out how old Hosea and Susan had gone out. She had some solace in those who she remembered who did make it out like Uncle who never seemed to do much around the camps, or Pearson who tried his best despite the bland stews, or the fallen Reverend Swanson who enjoyed listening to her pray during the mornings. She was surprised about John. He was just a teenager when they had met, he a near feral child. To know he had a family, was something she never completely expected of him.

The conversation went well into the night. As the owls hooted through the open windows, Arthur’s eyelids started to become heavy. Once there was no more speaking, Ana watched him as he fell asleep. She watched him for a while. Anger ignited in her chest for him, at Dutch. She contemplated if she ever really knew him. He seemed so different those years in her past. To know what became of him, what he did to the man he raised from a boy, it astonished her. It didn’t seem right. And that Micah, whoever the hell he was. It was a good thing she hadn’t been there. Her temperament would have not cooled, she would have probably killed him the moment he said anything vulgar to her.

Ana sighed and got up from the chair. She draped the blanket over the back, taking one last look at Arthur with all the things she wished she could say. Her feelings were still the same, but the knowledge and understanding it would never be despite any new hopes were also. Still she gazed upon him, reaching down and pushing his hair away from his forehead. She muttered to him softly not to wake him, before leaving the room to retire to her own upstairs.

[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]

During the night, Arthur’s fever spiked. When Ana went to check on him, he was flailing about in the bed. Sweat drenched his body, his nightshirt, and sheets. Ana fetched a small bucket of water and rag she put into the ice box before she went to bed. She put the fever medicine Dr. Anderson gave her into the syringe and tapped the air out of it, stabbing the small needle into his neck but avoiding any veins. She dunked the rag into the bucket of cold water, wrapping it around his forehead. She held him, waiting for it to break. He grasped wildly at anything he could grab whether it was her nightgown, which he pulled with a ferocity that the seams began to rip, or her hair tumbling down her back until she cried out in pain. Still, she held him tightly as he screamed and carried on in whatever delusional dream possessed him.

Through his anger, “MICAH! YOU RAT BASTARD! I SHOULDA LET YOU SWING IN STRAWBERRY! YOU DAMNED US! SOLD US OUT!”

Through his pain, “Dutch… Dutch, how could you do this…? You were like a father… And Hosea… You called me your son… Why? After all them years? Why?!”

Through his sobs, “Mary… Oh, Mary! I’m so sorry!”

Ana couldn’t stop herself from wincing at the last one, feeling like a knife cut through her heart.

After an eternity the medicine and the cold rag worked, leaving Ana feeling like she had just been through a battle. She examined her wounds, bruises on her arms and scratches on her back, and gown torn beyond repair. She laid him back in the bed, knowing in the morning she would need to change the sheets but too exhausted to bother right at the moment. She tucked him into the blankets tightly, lying down on them next to him. She brought his head to her chest, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and neck. It didn’t take sleep long to take her once she closed her eyes.

[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]

At first Arthur slept without much in terms of dreams. Then came a heat that burned like he was in the hottest pit of Hell. He opened his eyes to flames surrounding him. He couldn’t seem to escape them no matter what direction he moved in, fire licking his skin and threatening to consume him. In the blaze he saw faces and then their full forms. They surrounded him. Micah, that potbellied prick with that displeasing smug grin on his lips under his disgusting mustache and twinkle in his beady eyes covered by his stringy blond hair. Dutch with that unfeeling stare that had grown colder and colder by the time he abandoned Arthur on that cliff near Beaver Hollow. Mary, the most painful of all, the same expression on her beautiful face when he refused to run away with her. He tried to shout back at them, but to his ears no sound came out. He crumbled in front of them, their visages fading from him, leaving him in a pitch black void.

In front of him appeared a bright white light. He hesitated going towards it, until his eyes adjusted. It was the opening of a cave, leading to a meadow bathed in a golden glow. Instead of comfort he felt dread, like the other times before the world had turned that color. He walked towards the exit given to him, bracing himself for what he was going to see.

Surely enough, there it was. In a tall patch of grass alongside a stream fed by a waterfall, a magnificent white-tailed buck stood. It stared at him, unaffected by his approach. Arthur reached out to it, the deer sniffing at his hand and stepping away. It then looked past him. Sensing something else nearby, Arthur looked over his shoulder. Lounging calmly on a rock there was a cougar. Arthur knew how cougars usually were, strong and dangerous. They would attack without being heard or seen until it was too late. To see one act in such a way unnerved him.

The cougar stretched its slender body, loping down from the rock to the buck. It stood between it and Arthur. He expected to see it attack, but instead the cougar affectionately against the buck. The cat purred and groomed it, further confusing Arthur. He was aware this was another of his visions, he had had them when he learned he was dying, but this time he was unsure what the meaning held.

The cougar grunted. It walked towards the waterfall, looking back as if expecting him and the buck to follow it. The buck bounced behind the cat’s body, both animals disappearing under the cascading water. Arthur took a deep breath, stepping under the heavy shower.

The sudden coolness struck him, bringing him back to reality. He opened his eyes. He was still alive, lucky for another time. He felt a cool rag on his head and tightly in Ana’s arms. Arthur looked up to her face. Whatever had happened, the trouble was written on her sleeping face. He truly didn’t understand it all, how it led from the acceptance of dying and dying alone at that, to this. He out his head back onto her breast, finding comfort in her warm and strong heartbeat.

[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]

“I’m mighty sorry, Anie.” Arthur spoke as he watched Ana, still in the nightgown he ruined, strip the bed in the morning after breakfast and turning the cotton filled mattress over to the dry side from the armchair she sat him in.

“You have nothing to be apologetic over.” Ana replied, putting new linens on the bed and replacing the pillows, “It was a rough night. Until you came out of it I was almost sure I was going to lose you.”

She tucked the bottom blanket sheet into the foot board, covering it with a new quilt. She smoothed them with her hands before folding them into a triangular shape so Arthur could get back in when he was ready and stacking the pillows on top of one another so his head could stay comfortably elevated. She went over to him, helping him pull off his sweaty nightshirt. She put a fresh and clean on him after shaving his face, combing his hair, and washing him up with a damp cloth.

“I shoulda died out there. I don’t deserve any of this…” Arthur muttered when she tucked him in the bed.

Ana sighed. She started softly stroking his hair, the look on her face one of concern and sadness, “You let me be the judge of that for now, Arthur Morgan. All I want you to worry about is to get better.”

After Ana was dressed a man knocked on her door, handing her a telegram from Dr. Anderson. The slip of paper read:

‘Examined sample from gentleman in your care = Found no evidence of mycobacterium tuberculum (consumption) = Patient however has severe lung infection = Continue treatment recommendations = If advances send me again = If not will visit in a month’s time = Dr S M Anderson M D.’

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lacrymatoryao3 · 8 months

Text

Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 2: September, 1899 (Continued)

[1]

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there's smut in this.)

3,315 Words (AO3 Link)

Ana Maria Gardener stood at the counter of the Hoosier cabinet in the kitchen as her son groggily ate his breakfast. She put together his lunch for the school day, wrapping the contents into a tea towel and placing it in a tobacco tin painted and shaped like a wicker picnic basket with a sealed glass bottle of milk.

Her son sighed and stood up, taking his plate to the sink, “How much longer do I have to do this again?”

“Do what? Go to school?” Ana replied in Spanish, “Well, you just turned 10. I’d like you to stay in until the term ends after you turn 13. I think you’ll be enough of a man by then to take over some of my responsibilities.”

The young boy turned and looked at her. She reached over and smoothed his straight, raven black hair and continued with a more gentle tone, “So, I’m afraid you have another 3 years.”

He rolled his eyes. They were striking for a child of his ethnicity, especially compared to his mother’s deep brown ones, bright and soulful ocean blue. They cut through anyone he gazed upon, almost glowing in contrast with his light tanned skin.

The grandfather clock chimed eight times. Ana handed her son a balled up bundle of mint, thyme, and basil to clean his mouth and teeth. He dutifully put it into his mouth, chewing it as she followed him into the living room for his coat and hat and out onto the porch of the house where she handed him his lunch and books. He leaned over the railing and spit the concoction out when they became tasteless, sauntering down the stairs to the barn.

Ana wrapped the wool shawl over her shoulders tighter for extra warmth. She looked at the overcast sky above Cain Valley and the rocky peaks of the Bear Mountains. Autumn had not even officially arrived yet, and the snow was already threatening. She frowned. Even after so long her Mexican blood hated the cold. It made her long for Guadalajara, the birthplace she hadn’t seen since she was a child.

Her son came back to the house riding on top of Josefina, a patient dark brown and white Tobiano patterned American Paint mare. Behind them he was leading Enrique, an old a trusty Appaloosa stallion with a coat of white with black Dalmatian spots. Ana had taught him well, the boy was so gentle and patient with them. It made him more experienced than others his age. In those moments, Ana allowed herself to think of his father.

Ana hitched Enrique to the post in front of the house. He reached up to her son, who leaned down and let her kiss him on the forehead.

“No fights!” She said firmly, “I do not need another letter from Miss Svensson about it!”

The boy nodded, but she knew by the look in his eyes he wasn’t going to promise anything he couldn’t keep, “Si, Mama. See you later.”

“I love you!” She called as he rode away to meet with the other children waiting at the main gate of the property.

“Love you too!” He replied.

The group wandered out of sight as the stage coach arrived, dropping off new visitors to the hotel she owned and picking up the old ones waiting on the porch. They were a diverse bunch, around similar ages give or take a few years. Some were Chinese from Mr. and Mrs. Liang, some were Irish from Mr. and Mrs. O’Hogan, a couple were black from Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, and hers half-Mexican. Despite their presence in the town for many years, and most accepting and welcoming of them, there were still ones who were not. That extended to their own children. It was no wonder her son, strong in his convictions, ended up getting into schoolyard brawls. Another thing of his father’s she saw in him, that she couldn’t curtail no matter how hard she tried.

She walked across the curved brick driveway to the inn on her property. Through a back door she entered a small office. She sat down at the desk, opening a time book sitting on the surface. She scanned through the names, noting the days and times they worked. Very rarely did the team she had miss days, or not fulfill the 8 to 10 hours she asked of them, without her knowing beforehand. She mentally totaled the pay for them. She went into the drawer and took out the stack of paychecks. She pulled out six of them and filled them out one after another, adding the same information each time with the exception of the names they were for.

She got up with the paychecks in hand, taking a satchel off a hook and putting them inside it before slinging it over her shoulder and across her chest so it rested on her hip opposite. She went to a safe hidden in a cabinet below a bookcase, entering the combination to open it. Inside was the money the inn made the past two weeks. She quickly counted it, first the bank notes and second the coins - $300.76 in total - before she put them in the satchel as well. She also grabbed a gun belt with a loaded revolver, buckling it around her waist under the bag.

Ana returned to Enrique at the her house, who was idly munching on some grass along the path as far has his tether could allow him to reach. She unhitched him and mounted him sidesaddle. She scratched him behind the ears, the horse making an unbothered huff as she guided him onto the main street to the general store a short ride away.

The general store was always busy, however the crowd always cleared the counter when Ana arrived. She politely greeted them, scanning for any unfamiliar faces who might cause trouble with the business she needed to attend to.

Behind the counter was a Mr. Latini. He was a scrawny man who always wore thick, round glasses and sported a mustache almost too big for his face. He had been the proprietor of the store, like his father before him, and shared 50/50 ownership with Ana since her husband passed on his businesses to her. It was something he was never thrilled with. She could always see it in his eyes when she came in for her half of the profits. For what reason she was never sure, perhaps because she was a woman, or because she was Mexican, or both, but he was smart enough to never debate about it. They both made out well in the end. She was never unkind or unfair, so they simply made their pleasantries and he gave her the money - $591.04 this time around. She nodded, put it in her bag, and got back on her horse.

The Farmer’s Bank of Cain Valley was the grandest building in the town. It was an ornate two story Neoclassical styled with large windows. Inside it was just as fancy with its carved wood paneling and accents and chessboard marble floor. It wasn’t busy yet, Ana being able to walk right up to one of the teller’s windows.

She took out the money and paychecks, sliding them to the teller, “I’d like to deposit the money and get these notarized to distribute.”

The teller gave her a slip and a pencil to fill out while he placed the proper stamps on the checks to make them exchangeable. They traded the pieces of paper and the teller took the money, recounting it at lighting speed to make sure he had the right amount. He disappeared for a moment, returning with a receipt.

“Thank you.” Ana said, putting them in her bag and departing.

The sky had cleared when she trotted back to her property on Enrique, the sky a vivid light blue and the sun warming the area a bit more. On payday Ana felt like she was on a grand tour of some sort. She would go into the blacksmith’s, paying to Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. She would go to the stable, putting Enrique in the paddock and paying Mr. and Mrs. O’Hogan, despite the fact Mrs. O’Hogan’s work was limited due to how pregnant she was. Her last stop was back to the inn, going through the main entrance to pay Mrs. Liang, who would hold onto her husband’s for when he returned in the evening. Ana took her satchel and gun belt back into the office.

Between the house and the inn Ana picked some bundles of herbs in the large garden, some for cooking and some medicinal. She carried them inside, walking through the floral wallpapered hallway to the kitchen. She hung them over the oven range nestled in the old renovated hearth to dry. She pulled out some small logs from under the oven, placing them into the firebox. She filled a kettle with water from a pump attached to the dry sink and placed it onto the stove.

She brewed tea, sitting at a secretary desk in the living room. She filled out a ledger book to keep track of everything she did that day, then moved on to reading the September issue of Good Housekeeping. There was once a time she believed reading those ladies’ magazines would teach her how to be a proper, honest woman. Now it often reminded her that most of the men and women who wrote for them were rich and metropolitan, out of touch and no understanding of how most people lived or raised their children. Damn Easterners.

Mr. Liang drove in a few hours earlier than expected, surprising Ana to see the wagon pull up in front of the living room’s large bay window. He jumped from the driver’s seat and raced up the stairs to the porch. He knocked on the front door rapidly, not stopping until Ana answered.

Liang bowed, “Madam Ana! Sorry to bother, but something important came up as I was return.”

Ana’s brow furrowed, “Is everything all right, Mr. Liang?”

“Came across man at Bacchus.” Liang began to explain, “He in back. He not good shape. Seem very sick. It came and go during ride, but I thought you could be help.”

Ana nodded and followed Liang to the wagon. Liang climbed into the back of the covered bed, hearing him say something to the man. The stranger grunted and replied.

His voice… Could it -? No. Ana knew that wasn’t possible. She swallowed that hope, waiting for Liang and the stranger to emerge.

Liang guided him out with the stranger’s arm around his shoulder. Liang told him where to step and had him sit down on the platform that doubled as a seat, letting him catch is horrible sounding breath. Ana’s eyes widened. A rush of disbelief washed over her, so intense it made her light headed. She stumbled backward, grabbing the stair railing to steady herself.

“You all right, Madam Ana?” Liang asked. Ana wasn’t able to form the words to reply, still staring at the stranger. He finally looked at her. His eyes were still the deep and soulful pools of ocean blue she remembered, but their clear sparkle gone. They were glassy and graying, bloodshot and sunken. Their life replaced by a painful sorrow.

He squinted in vague recognition, “…Anie?”

Anie… She hadn’t heard that in so long… His voice was still the same deep and warm baritone, but more rugged and raspy with age. It subsided the shock. She went over to him, sitting next to him and almost collapsing in the seat. She reached out, almost expecting the figure before her to disappear in an instant until her hands rested on his cheeks. She took in his face. He was older now, as was she, but the lines from the rough life he had led suited him more than it did her much softer ones. He had a few more scars than just the one on his chin that she remembered. She could tell his nose had been broken many more times. There was also the pitiful things. His features were gaunt. Under the deep purple and yellow bruises he was so pale, except for his cheeks and lips which were a feverish blush which burned under her fingertips. His beard had traces of both old and fresh blood trapped in the hairs. Above it all, he was there before her. After so long, she had him in her grasp again.

“Arthur…” Ana whispered, holding back tears, “It’s you… Dear God, it’s you…”

He nodded weakly, “Yeah. It’s me.”

Ana embraced Arthur tightly, burying her face in his shoulder. He felt so thin and fragile. His proud and strong, broad body withered away.

“You shouldn’t be this close to me, Anie,” Arthur said, “I’m real sick.”

Ana nodded. She let him go and turned to Liang, “Mr. Liang, could you go into the house and prepare the sick room? Afterwards I need you to fetch Dr. Anderson to take a look at him.”

Liang bowed, “Yes Madam.”

Ana put her attention back on Arthur. She took the shawl off her shoulders and wrapped it around his.

She sighed and shook her head, “You look like shit.”

Arthur remembered how blunt she could be, especially in her accent. He was unable to keep himself laughing, “I feel like shit.”

Ana helped Arthur stand. She led him into the inn, keeping her hand on his back. It felt nice for Arthur to be inside, warmed by the fire that crackled in the lobby.

“Mrs. Liang!” Ana called.

A small Chinese woman appeared from a hallway holding a stack of clean towels, “Yes, Madam Ana?”

“Are any of the bath rooms available? This gentleman here badly needs one.”

Mrs. Liang handed Ana some of the towels and a white nightshirt, “I just do up them all. Everything ready.”

Ana thanked Mrs. Liang and led Arthur down the hall. She chose one of the bigger baths. Despite how thin Arthur had become, he was still a rather large man. She didn’t think to ask, maybe she probably should have, but she was more focused on the task. She took the shawl off him first, then started for the closures of his suspenders to remove them.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Arthur remarked, putting his hands up to stop her, “What’re you doin?”

Ana put her hands on her hips and raised a thick, dark eyebrow, “What do you mean? You’re filthy. You clothes are filthy.”

“Yeah… But… Y’know…”

“Arthur, we have seen each other naked. It’s been a long time, but still. There’s no need for false modesty. Especially in your condition. I need to see how bad it is.”

Arthur relented. He knew she was stubborn when she was determined about something. At least, she was when she was younger. He just wished it wasn’t stripping him bare. She continued with his suspenders, throwing everything on a mirrored vanity. She moved on to the black bandanna he had tied around his neck, the one he used as a mask during robberies, then to his shirt. Ana made a remark about it, surprised it was still in one piece. He tried to recall if he had it that long, the beaten light blue shirt with dark blue double pinstripes. He had to agree it had seen better days, showing its wear and tear with stains of various substances and origins permanently soaked into the fabric.

“Hold still.” Ana ordered. She circled around him, inspecting every inch of his torso. His chest and stomach were deeply bruised like his face. She traced her fingers along the lines of his ribs, finding fractures that had begun to heal. He had a fresh scar on his left shoulder, still a light shade of pink. His condition heightened her worry. He was so underweight he was nearly a skeleton.

Her voice broke, “Oh, Arthur… What happened to you?”

Arthur winced, “Tuberculosis happened to me, Anie. And a man who ain’t even worth givin’ a name to.”

“Consumption…” Ana exhaled. She rubbed the bridge of her nose with her fingers, trying to gather her thoughts. He was right. If it was that disease, he was sick, and there was very little to do about it.

“Then I guess you came to the right place.” Ana added. She tapped him chest, motioning to sit on a stool next to the bathtub. She pulled the boots off his feet, and helped him take off his pants. Like a mother, she instructed him to get in the tub.

The steaming hot water felt good on Arthur’s infirm body, scented by lavender and rose oil. He laid back with a hum, watching Ana wander around the room to get things. She put a large bath sponge and a bar of Castile soap on the tray over the tub, going to the vanity and producing a shaving kit and a pair of scissors. She sharpened the razor blade before sitting down on the stool, dipping the shaving brush into the foamy cream and painting his beard with it. As she was with other blades Ana handled the razor well, carefully but quickly taking the hair off his jaw starting from below his right ear and ending below his left. She dipped the razor in the water to wash it off and dried it. She wiped the rest of the shaving cream off Arthur’s face with a washcloth that was warmed on top of the pot bellied stove in the room.

Ana smiled and rubbed the scar on Arthur’s chin, “There you are! There’s the handsome man I knew.”

“I’m gonna have to disagree with you,” Arthur chuckled, “ain’t nothin’ handsome ‘bout me.”

Ana made a sour expression and then rolled her eyes. She dipped the bristles of a hairbrush into the water. She started working on his hair, which had grown long and fell down his neck. She brushed it until whatever trapped in his locks had been removed and it shone with golden tones of polished copper. They didn’t speak for a while as Ana focused on cutting his hair. She wasn’t a barber by any means, but trimmed it to a normal length for a man and keeping it a little bit longer on top. She gave it one last douse before parting it on his right side.

Arthur was the one to break the silence, “Madam, huh?”

“Only the Liangs call me that.” Ana replied as she moved on to washing his body, “It has something to do with their culture putting an importance on honorifics. The Chinese have a very specific view on courtesy.”

“I guess. Jus’ sounds weird is all.” Arthur said, hissing through the ache when she went over a bruise, “How long you been here anyway, Anie?”

“Ten years. I ended up here after…” Ana trailed off.

He looked at her and nodded, “I understand.”

“I was fortunate somehow.” Ana continued, “I got married. I had a baby. My husband died. I got left with this business of his. My son is t-… Nine now.”

“At least one of us figured out how to live honest.”

“It wasn’t easy, Arthur. In fact, it was almost unbearable for a couple of years. When you spend all your life on the run, doing whatever you needed to do to survive in spite of any law. Ending up on the other side of it, your instincts still remain.”

Ana assisted Arthur out of the tub. She wrapped him in the warm towels and helped him dry off. He put on the knee length white cotton nightshirt and a pair of matching slippers. After all of what he bad been through, he had to admit it was nice to be clean.

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lacrymatoryao3 · 8 months

Text

Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 1: September, 1899

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there's smut in this.)

1,675 Words (AO3 Link)

There was a profound silence. It was shrouded in an unfamiliar peace. Arthur Morgan closed his eyes, embracing it. His weary, injured body was finally at rest. Something he hadn’t felt for so long as the coming sunrise warmed his face in the crisp air of the coming autumn. Stillness… Tranquility… Among the flickers of memories and reality that came to him.

Yet, his consciousness still remained inside his unmoving body. It confused him. Was this death? After so much of it he had witnessed, often committing, it seemed much more… final. How long would it last? Until the darkness consumed him and he faced his final judgment - if there was one? He felt the cycle of dawn and twilight many times lying there. He stopped counting after the first few times. He could do nothing waiting for whatever came next with his back on the rough rocky ground.

In the distance a man’s voice called him name. It was familiar, comforting, but it also filled him with deep regret. Of all the people on the earth to find him… it had to be Charles. He had often wondered what the amazing connection they had, what bond by either blood or spirit that made him so capable of tracking him down no matter where he may have been. Oh, what he would have been willing to give to be able to reply, but like what may as well be his corpse, he could not will a sound to emanate from his throat.

The ground shook. He felt Charles’s large hand cover one of his own, letting out a staccato sigh. Then he lifted him, carrying him onto the back of his horse. They rode for some time. There was a foul smell in the air over their journey. Death. Rot. Arthur was unsure if it was from him, or something beside him that occasionally butted into him when the horse’s trot increased.

They stopped for some time. Charles took the thing next to Arthur off the horse. He wasn’t sure what exactly his friend did with it. If only he could open his God damn eyes! He just didn’t understand what was happening.

The crickets started chirping when Charles returned. Then they rode through the night. He heard the occasional sniffle, occasional sob, but mostly stoic silence. A feeling started to threaten to consume Arthur again, something in life he would attribute to exhaustion. He tried to fight it, but in the end it eventually won.

Maybe, it was finally coming…

Until, at least, his awareness was jolted back to his predicament when he was placed on the ground. He heard the sound of digging and rocky soil being dropped over him. It didn’t take long for him to become completely covered in the damp blackness. It made his heart race. He did whatever he could to move, to yell, to do anything. Even without any of those things, the stress of trying drained him. He felt faint again.

Just as he thought he was finally fucking dead, he felt something crawling on his hand. Some sort of bug, probably. Ready to chew on his flesh. The tickle annoyed him, his fingers twitching to get it off him. It didn’t register at first, until he willed his hand to shift from his chest. He could move! After days, maybe even a week, his nerves began to fire.

Adrenaline coursed through his damp and battered body. He began frantically digging through the soil that blanketed him. It wasn’t a very deep grave, the sun blinding him the moment he could sit up and crawl out. He tried to get up, collapsing onto his knees. He knelt over huffing, his chest was so heavy like his ribs were kicked in by a horse. Then he remembered. That was more painful than trying to catch his wheezing breath.

“God dammit.” Arthur muttered out loud.

He forced himself to his feet, grabbing something next to him to support himself. A splinter of wood poked into the palm of his hand. He grunted, pulling it out and watching the blood ooze out from the wound. He looked over to what further injured him, the little breath he had stopping in his throat. It was a wooden cross, fashioned to look like a simple Celtic kind. What floored and dismayed him was seeing his own name on it.

‘Arthur Morgan’ was carved on the horizontal bar on the cross, in Charles’s sharp block handwriting.

On the halo he had put ‘blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness’.

Arthur couldn’t help but make a weak smirk and chuckle. Righteousness? What kind of righteousness had he been seeking? After all the horrible things he committed in his life. It didn’t feel like a fitting epitaph. Still, it felt kind of nice to know someone would remember him with some positiveness.

He looked at his hand again, the blood clotting and turning dark.

“Well, Morgan,” he said, “you survived again, you lucky bastard. For now, anyways,”

He scanned his surroundings, giving him an idea where he was. He made his way down the mountain. In his current state it was an ordeal, leaving him sputtering and gasping the entire way. He had to stop at the strange grass covered cottage that sat abandoned at the foot of the cliff he was supposed to be buried on. He managed to stumble to Bacchus Station, sitting down winded on the platform. The rasp in his breath was getting louder, until it became the uncontrollable coughing he was cursed to endure, pain shooting through his body every time. He bent over until his head was between his knees, his forehead resting on his fists. He let out whatever bloody gunk came fall to the ground at his feet. Leopold Strauss… That son of a bitch. Too much of a coward to do his own dirty work. Arthur bitterly regretted he didn’t do more than just throwing him out of the camp.

He sat up gasping, trying to hard to re-regulate. He needed to figure out how to get away from the area. Perhaps to New Austin, that doctor in Saint Denis said he needed somewhere dry and warm. Another option was the north. He read in one of those fancy magazines that places with high altitude and low humidity benefited people with different kinds of breathing issues, tuberculosis included. He stared at what he could see of Donner Falls, mulling over where to get a horse, where to get supplies for the trip. In any other situation he would try his damnedest to reach the Wapiti reservation. They would have helped him if they hadn’t moved on to Canada yet. Charles wouldn’t hesitate. Charles… God, what he wouldn’t give to see that man’s shocked face to see him still going. He offered to stay to help him, only for the man to tell him he had more people to help. He was right. Above all else, he set John free to return to Abigail and little Jack.

There were also those who got away who shouldn’t have. He begged Bill and Javier to think, only for them to remain blinded by their loyalty to Dutch. Fucking Dutch! The man he viewed as a father, as a friend, who Arthur himself had been loyal to the bone for, abandoning him and ignoring his reason for that greasy weasel Micah who brought this all on.

Arthur’s eyes began to sting. The tears warmed his cheeks. He never felt as helpless as he did sitting at a remote freight station. For the first time since he was young he had something that scared him more than anything else he faced: no one. His heart ached. He shouldn’t be alive. To those who knew him, loved, liked, or hated him, he was dead. Everything before him was new. He was no longer an outlaw, a wanted man to be hunted down with impunity. He couldn’t go back.

“Hey, Mister! You okay?” someone yelled at Arthur. He dried his eyes and composed himself, looking over and finding a man standing next to a horse drawn wagon.

“Not really.” Arthur replied, watching the man cautiously walk toward him. He was a Chinese man, a rare sight outside of Saint Denis. He wasn’t dressed like they usually were there either. He had on a plain, but well made suit. His hair was cut short, neatly combed and pomaded under his bowler hat.

“Is something I can do to help?” the man asked, his accent heavy but honest in his concern.

Arthur shrugged, “Where ya goin’? What the hell are ya doin’ out here?”

The man pointed at the broken train bridge Arthur helped blow up, “See if they start fix on that yet. Much easier dropping and picking up here, than Valentine or Strawberry. Much closer to Cain Valley. Less travel.”

“Cain Valley, eh? Never heard of it. How far is it?”

“Two day drive. If you want go I can take.” the man motioned to the wagon, “Lady I work for maybe assist you. Very nice woman. I have food and drink I can share.”

Better than nothing… Arthur thought, standing up and following the man. He crawled into the back where a bedroll was laid out among the goods. He sat down and tried to get comfortable.

The man got into the driver’s head, pulling out a rifle and resting it on his shoulder. He looked back at Arthur, “What your name, anyway? I am Liang Sing-chi.”

He thought about all the aliases he gave over the years to give him, he sure had a damn lot of them. He didn’t have the energy to go through them.

“Just call me Arthur.” he eventually told Liang.

Liang nodded, taking the reins of the horses in his free hand and whipping them sharply. The wagon lurched forward and turned, rolling down the road at a quick pace. The two men didn’t say a word once they were on their way.

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