Hosea and Arthur rode into the encampment, in the heat of the day. It had been weeks since they last stayed in camp, so taken up with their business in town, and Abigail envied them such freedom.
There had been a time, barely five years ago, that Abigail used to follow them into town. To work the saloons in search of good marks. The naïve sort with extra padded wallets and jewelry. Sometimes she'd even get to play a piano. Abigail missed playing most of all. There was something about touching the keys and allowing those clear, tinkling notes to hang in the air. Beautiful and brief. Like a taste of happiness.
Dutch sat in the shade of his grand tent. With proper furniture and finer comforts. The enameled wash basin and French soap. The mirrors and lanterns. The chest full of fine shirts and vests. Reading at his leisure as great men are wont to do and Abigail could not make hide nor hair of the title. Dutch looked up from the page when he heard the horses, and snapped his book shut.
"Hosea!" he shouted warmly in greeting. His smile slipped in place. Dutch stood from his seat and opened his arms. "Arthur!"
"Hey, Dutch," Arthur said. "Can we, uh, talk a minute?"
Abigail knew at a glance it weren't for no happy reason with Arthur's mouth set in such a determined line and his eyes cast in shadow.
"Of course, son."
The enforcer drew near to Dutch before speaking, only further alerting Abigail to the fact that something wasn't quite right. Arthur spoke in a low voice. "You gotta get our boys to let up off them coach lines."
"Heh, I don't see why," Dutch said, a positive beat to his tone. Abigail tried to keep her focus on her darning, all while straining to listen to the conversation over the other sounds of the camp. Uncle's snoring and Karen and Mary-Beth arguing over some story... Lord... did she have to be so loud and insistent all the time?
"They're keepin' things clean, fair an' square," Dutch explained, with a wave of his hand. The rings on his fingers glittered in the sun. "Such is the way of things."
Arthur remained sour as ever. "It's getting so nothin' is gettin' through, Dutch."
"Oh, I think that's a tad dramatic," their leader replied with a smirk, crossing his arms.
"The banks aren't even moving money anymore," Hosea added. "Too great a risk."
"You don't say..." Dutch said, stroking his chin in thought and Hosea nodded, knowingly. "Now that is interestin'."
"It's gettin' bad..." Arthur pressed. "Medical supplies are gettin' to cost too much and with the payrolls gettin' held up..."
Dutch smiled. "So?"
Arthur blinked. "Waddaya mean 'so'?"
"I think what Arthur is trying to say is that things are getting tense," Hosea chimed in, always the diplomat. "Plus, it seems that the O'Driscoll's set up on the other side of the Upper Montana. There's been blood. Lots of it."
"Well, as long as Colm and his scum stay on that side of the river," Dutch reasoned. "We should be fine."
"Innocent folk don't see a difference..." Arthur said. "Alls they see is a pack of wolves...."
"Wolves? Arthur... you know we ain't cut the same. We're just... easing a few purses. Rich folk. It's the natural order."
Abigail flicked her sight up to the three. Arthur shook his head, hands resting on his hips. "Since when we become so... apathetic?"
Dutch laughed, an incredulous and amused smile twisting his dark mustache. "What's gotten into you, son?"
"Nothin'," Arthur said gruffly, his gaze dropping to the earth at his feet. Abigail tried to keep her eyes on her work and ignore the strange anxiety in Arthur's voice. "I just... I dunno...we rob 'em as need robbin', sure, but they just... take it back. It's hurtin' folk..."
"My boy, that is exactly what is wrong with civilization," Dutch explained, putting a hand on the enforcer's shoulder. He spoke more softly. "The rich will always steal from the poor."
Arthur nodded in agreement all the while, just as he always did. Until he stopped suddenly, seized by some persistent thought.
"But...," he said, hesitant yet insistent, like a starving mongrel on a bone despite the threat of a kick. "We don't need it, Dutch. We got plenty of money. More than enough to buy that there land back in Ambarino..."
Dutch drew his hand back.
"I told you, son..." Dutch began, though a tightness lingered in his voice.
"No," Arthur said, meeting Dutch's eyes. "I don't think you did."
"It weren't right," Dutch replied evenly. "That land weren't right for our needs. We wanna go West, remember? California? Where it's nice and warm and free from all these damn rules. We just need a little more money. So we can buy a good plot and have some seed capital besides...."
Arthur let out a frustrated breath. "An' here was me believin' all yer bluster 'bout us helpin' folk..."
Abigail dropped her stitch then and looked up, carefully watching through her lashes as Dutch drew back a step from Arthur.
"I don't appreciate your sarcasm, son," he said, eyes narrowed. "Or your doubt."
"I... you know I got your back, Dutch," Arthur insisted. "I just don't think..."
"No. You don't think, Arthur," Dutch said bluntly. "Best you leave that to me."
That ended the debate, if it could even be called as much. Hosea shrugged and Arthur stalked away, coming to the edge of the great lake. He stared out over the calm water, something eating away at him.
"Hiya, Uncle Arthur," Jack sang innocently, heedless of the adult's sour mood and Abigail flinched. The older man took a steadying breath and tore his gaze away from the view. He looked down at Abigail's little sandy haired son and managed to find a smile.
"Hey, Jack," he said. "Whatchu up to?"
Jack stared up at him, grinning. "Tryin' to catch some butterflies!"
"Oh, yeah?" Arthur asked, soft and patient and Abigail knew that in another life Arthur would have been a decent enough father. "An' how's that goin'?
"Terrible," her little boy replied indignantly, kicking at a stone and Abigail set aside her sewing and moved to join them. "They always fly off."
"You gotta sit still, Jack," Arthur explained. "They'll come to you then... when you ain't chasin' 'em no more."
"But that's boring!"
"Yeah, I suppose," Arthur chuckled. "Go git yerself a net then, kid."
"Could you find me one?"
"Me? Oh, I dunno..." Arthur replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess we could make one."
"Make one?" Jack asked, starting up at the man all wide eyed and suddenly taken with the idea. "Could we?"
Arthur nodded. "Sure. Alls we would need is a stick an' some chicken wire. An' a pair of yer mama's ol' bloomers..."
"Arthur Morgan," Abigail chided. The outlaw leaned away from her admonishing swat, hands up, chuckling just under his breath.
"That would be silly," Jack giggled, squinting at him.
"Yes... yes it would," Abigail agreed. "Though... maybe I could speak to Susan. Might be somethin' round here that could do the trick..."
"Really, mamma?"
Abigail smiled at his enthusiasm. Anything to take his mind off his loneliness. Would that there were children his own age to play with... "I don't think there's any harm in the askin'."
"Oh boy!" Jack said. "I'm gonna go find a stick!"
"A good straight one," Arthur advised. "Take yer time."
Together, they watched Jack run off in search of the precious supplies, little legs pumping.
"He's a good kid," Arthur said, and Abigail folded her arms and smiled.
"Thanks," she said. Arthur turned his attention back to the lake and Abigail sidled a little closer to the older outlaw.
"So," she ventured. "How you been?"
"Fine, Abigail," he replied stoically. "An' you?"
"We're doing well enough I suppose," Abigail said with a smile. She looked at him askance. "So..." she began. "That talk with Dutch...?"
Arthur sighed. "Yeah?"
"You really think we're harmin' folk with all this...?" she asked. "For no good reason, I mean."
"In a way, yes," he said. Arthur's reply came so simple and undressed that Abigail could not help but trust in his assessment.
"Well..." she faltered. "Dutch has never steered us wrong before."
"No... he's... true," Arthur said, nodding. He pursed his lips a moment, in thought, before adding. "Best man I know. It's just... he ain't spent the same time in town... with the same people. He ain't seen what I seen."
"And what have you seen?"
"Well... just that costs are goin' up an account of the dangers an' all. Insurances or somethin'. An' regular folk can't always make ends meet," Arthur tried to explain. He rubbed his neck impatiently, trying to grasp the words. "I don't mean they're upset over a silk dress or... or... cold cream or such nonsense. But... medical supplies? An' payrolls? Ah, I don't rightly know... seems all that is another matter entirely."
It seemed a very domestic concern for him, considering he never cared how, exactly, the ends were met in camp. Oh, he brought money and meat, but... finer details? Costs? Insurance? Cold cream? "Good Lord, Arthur... What has gotten into you?"
He shrugged.
"I'd almost think you'd met someone," Abigail said with a laugh. "What with how turned around you are right now."
"Well," Arthur began, hesitating. He looked around a moment, bashful, assessing to see who else might be listening. Arthur looked at her straight and said, "well... maybe."
"You have," Abigail exclaimed, smiling. Oh, Lord, she thought. Now this was news. "Well... who is she? What's she like?"
"Easy now," he shushed, looking about as comfortable as a soaked cat. "No need to get all worked up. It ain't nothin'."
"Like Hell it ain't," Abigail said. "How long's it been? Since... well, Mary?"
"Long time," Arthur conceded with a modest nod.
"She sure must be somethin'..."
"She sure is," Arthur finally admitted, ruefully shaking his head and his gruff face cracked into a smile under his hat. Caught like a hare in a snare. "A fine lady. Smart as a whip and too good fer the likes of me."
Ah. That's what it's all about. "Well... is she sweet on you?"
Arthur shrugged. "I dunno. She's friendly enough...I guess."
"You guess?"
"Well... I ain't pressin' it much," he said. "Been teachin' her to ride is all."
"And...?"
"She's a sweet thing and she sure smiles a lot," he said, the rasp in his voice softening. "We talk plenty. She's got all this learnin' an' she talks to me an'... well... She don't tell me what to think despite all that, which is awfully nice. An' she listens too."
"She pretty?"
Arthur reddened at that and cleared his throat. Flustered but honest. "There ain't words..."
Abigail grinned, charmed by his simple admiration. "Does this fine lady have a name, Arthur?"
"Doctor Emelia Griswold."
"A lady doctor, Arthur? Good Lord, you're right!" Abigail laughed. He aimed high, it seemed. The good man inside him drawn to pretty, unsullied things and the dream of something finer, perhaps. Abigail playfully swatted his arm. "She is too good for you."
"That's why it ain't nothin'," he grumbled.
"Oh, I didn't mean it like that, you silly man. It's just... well... does she know? About us, I mean?"
"No," he replied sharply. "An' seein' as how we robbed her twice, I doubt she'd be too keen."
That doctor... She heard Strauss mention catching a fool doctor in his net... Abigail had assumed it was a man. "Oh, Lord, Arthur... you are a fool."
"I know," he said, resting his hands on his hips. He stared at the ground a moment, trying so hard to find the right words. "I know. I'm bein' a goddamn fool and yet..." he sighed heavily and looked back out over the water. "I dunno. I just can't help myself. I see her an'... well... I get all stupid."
"Well...," Abigail faltered. She did not know what advice to give him. She thought about when she grew sweet on John, all those years ago. How he inched up on her, like moss on a rock until the idea of being without him seemed impossible. John... that rotten fool. She loved John and wanted to kill him in equal measure. Sometimes, she wondered if she'd have given up on him by now, if not for little Jack. "I guess there's no harm in tryin'," she said, hesitantly. "But..."
Arthur looked at her. "But?"
"I... I liked Mary," Abigail said, honestly. "The idea of her, I mean. But..."
You never recovered, she wanted to say. Arthur kept no company and took no pleasure. Allowed no one to get too close. At some point or another, every girl eventually made the mistake of growing a little sweet on him. And why not? Arthur was handsome enough, for a man his age. And steady. But nothing ever came of it, and all their resentment came to rest on the shadow of Mary Gillis. "She did a number on you, Arthur."
He nodded with a grimace. "Ain't that the truth."
"I... I guess, I just want you to be careful, is all. We need you."
Arthur looked at the groundagain. He swallowed. "I know," he said, nodding. He sighed. "I know."