Deliverance † Arthur Morgan

three: clean noses

Hard-pressed for every nickel and dime since things went south in Blackwater, Dutch tells everyone they have to earn their share and keep their noses clean in the Heartlands.

     THERE'S A SPIEL from Dutch Van der Linde about lying low around the Heartlands, how important it is everyone keeps their noses clean, and how everyone needs to do their share to help make up for the lost money in Blackwater. More pertinent to Lilian Cornwall is the reveal of his plan involving her. The first he's spoken of it —even to Hosea and Arthur judging by their trepidatious expressions while standing at Dutch's side. When the time feels right, he plans to arrange a meeting with Leviticus on neutral grounds —no lawmen, no Pinkertons— a simple exchange between gentlemen. An heiress for a clean slate and money enough to get back west. To Dutch, it's an infallible plan, but Lily knows her father better than anyone else. Nothing is going to be simple about what happens next, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a goddamn fool.

     Karen Jones cuts an imposing figure when she waltzes up to Lilian Cornwall with whiskey clinging to her tongue and a mean streak wider than the Lannahechee. Old Grimshaw already ground on Karen's nerves over setting up camp again and seeing Miss Cornwall sitting on a tree stump overlooking the shift of colors in the evening sky struck another nerve. Just cause she's the newest pawn in Dutch's scheme doesn't mean she couldn't do some goddamn work. "What do we do with you, missy?" Karen half-slurs, pointing a finger toward Lily with a sneer —draining the color from her cheeks. "Could tie you to a tree like that O'Driscoll boy." She points over her shoulder to the tree to Kieran Duffy and laughs at the shred of fear she sees in the spoiled little rich girl.

     Arthur sets a crate with tin plates and dented silverware on the table —seeing the two women at odds, he draws in a slow breath and adjusts the brim of his old hat. "Leave her 'lone, Karen," he says, waving her away. There's a quip on her tongue about him being a stick in the mud, but Karen thinks better of it, stalking off. He stands there a minute, eyes flitting between the sunset and Lily before he decides to sit on the tree stump too. It's a quieter evening than most, with the soft chirp of crickets and distant birdsong mingled with Javier's flamenco guitar —reminiscent of the days before everything turned sour in Blackwater.

     A sad sigh breaks the calm. "The girls don't like me much," Lilian notes, focusing on the lines of her palms, disheartened to know she would find no camaraderie with the women of the gang. It was clear from the way they looked at her since she first arrived in Colter —now it seemed there won't a single thing she could say or do to make them feel differently. Their minds already set.

     Arthur can't blame them, but he can't blame Lily either. "Suppose they wouldn't," he muses, thinking of the girls and their dreams and how few of them had come to fruition. It's mostly jealousy souring their view of Lilian Cornwall. He wants to tell her they'll come around eventually, or maybe she and Molly O'Shea might get on better, but he's not going to make a liar of himself. A glance over his shoulder, and Arthur sees the work is almost done for the day. Pearson's stew is smoking, Bill is starting a campfire, and the last of his things being set up by Grimshaw.

     "C'mon princess" —he nods to a wagon at the edge of the camp— "I'll show you to your castle." Lilian follows behind him, catching a sour glare from Karen and a curious glance from John Marston sitting up in his tent, half his face still wrapped in bloody linen. Her castle is a cot beneath a lean-to of one of the wagons —Arthur's quarters, though he doesn't say as much, she can tell by a fading photograph of him, Hosea, and Dutch from younger days. She doesn't smile, but when she looks back to Arthur, there's gratitude shining in her hazel eyes, to which one corner of his lips quirks upward.

     MARY-BETH CAN'T HELP the soft spot she has for Kieran Duffy. No one in the gang trusts him, not even Mary-Beth in truth, but she can tell he's a kind soul, especially to the gang's horses. And if an O'Driscoll can be as decent as Kieran, then Mary-Beth thinks Lilian Cornwall might not be as bad as the others say her father is. Besides, it'd already been a few weeks since they came down from the Grizzlies and each passing day saw Dutch's prized jewel sinking further into hopelessness. The way Lilian looked across to the mountains and Dakota River below sometimes could just about make the hardest of hearts weep. 

     Must be a little after midday judging by the shadows when Mary-Beth puts aside her needle and thread —having pricked her poor fingers a dozen times over already while lost in daydreams. She searches around camp, finding Lilian sitting on a boulder near the cliffside with Javier serving as her ward, both of them staring out at the rainbow in the distance. Better than Bill or Micah Mary-Beth thinks. The snap of a branch underfoot gives away her presence. Lilian shifts on the rock, looking back. "Mary-Beth," she greets with a reserved smile.

     There's something about Lilian Cornwall that makes Mary-Beth feel meek —perhaps it's just the name, or maybe the practiced poise, or that Lilian's the closest thing to the girls in her stories. She wrings her hands together. "If you like to read" —Lily's smile grows at the mention, a good book brings the same joy as a fresh canvas— "I have a few books." Most were silly romance novels, as Susan and the others called them, but Mary-Beth didn't mind, especially when she let her mind wander.

     "Thank you," Lilian says. 

     Mary-Beth nods with a smile, taking a step back to rejoin Tilly with chores, but she stops again, looking around those scattered about the camp and back to Lilian Cornwall. She knows what it's like to be timid around these folks. She'd been nervous and shy when Dutch first brought her back to camp. Now they're family —more of a family than the one she was born into. "They're not all bad," Mary-Beth blurts out, not quite thinking before she says it. Lily raises a dark brow, knowing she's talking about the gang now, not her books. "Jus' a little rough 'round the edges."

     Lily glances back over the Dakota River, half-hiding her smile. She knows there's truth in Mary-Beth's statement. Arthur and Hosea didn't seem bad at all, though she remained wary of others, especially Dutch. "I will bear that in mind." Mary-Beth nods, smiling too as she retreats to her chores 'fore Grimshaw can say anything. 

     HIS CLOTHES ARE tinged with blood and dirt from an early hunt and helping Pearson skin the pronghorn buck for the dinner pot when he looks around the camp, nursing a hot cup of bitter coffee. Lilian woke in the twilight hours to the rustling of a gun belt and the quiet jingle of spurs —Arthur mounted up before dawn to bring in the night's meal. Besides a few of the others bringing in wild turkeys or rabbits, Charles and Arthur were the ones ensuring no one went to bed with an empty stomach.

     "Coffee?" Arthur asks, holding out a second cup as he takes a seat next to her at the campfire. It became routine as of late, him finding Lilian in the mornings and sharing a cup of coffee and whatever Pearson scrounged up for breakfast —usually potato hash or porridge. "Added some honey," he notes. He'd gone to the general store the day before and picked up a jar of honey, would help sweeten the cornbread and Lily's coffee.

     In the past weeks, Lilian grew accustomed to the bitterness of Pearson's coffee, but the honey sweetness lingering on her tongue is a pleasantry that makes her expression falter into despair as a great wave of homesickness washes over her. It's not quite the same as a sugar cube and splash of cream, but it's enough. "Thank you," Lily whispers, her voice shaking and hazel eyes glistening with tears. 

     He doesn't like seeing her cry, or anyone for that matter. Unsure what to do, Arthur lays his hand on her back —the same way Abigail does with little Jack if he wakes from a bad dream. Lilian stiffens under his touch but settles when she realizes he means to comfort her. She takes a shaky breath, doing her best to regain her composure. "I'm sorry 'bout all this, Miss Cornwall," Arthur mutters, thinking about the mess they'd made out of this and all the whispers floating from town to town.

     Valentine's abuzz with too many rumors to keep straight about how Leviticus Cornwall's daughter went missing. Some say Lilian was kidnapped by outlaws or natives and being held for ransom. Others say she ran away for love, that Leviticus must have disproved of her beau. No matter the rumors, Leviticus has already put up a thousand-dollar reward for any half-decent information that leads to Lilian's safe return and nearly five thousand for anyone who could bring her back safe. 

     Wiping her tears away, she glimpses Arthur with his kind blue-green gaze and brows knitted with concern —his demeanor softer than usual. "I don't think you're the one who needs to be apologizing, Arthur," Lilian says, looking down at the coffee cup, her disheveled appearance staring back. "You and Hosea are the only ones who even bother to make sure I'm still breathing." Arthur's hand slips to the curve of her back, lingering for a long moment before he leans forward, grasping his tin cup with both hands. He glances at Lily with a small smile laced with a sigh, wondering what it is about her that makes him want to do the right thing.