A/N: I am so surprised I didn't have this uploaded. I've got it up at Y!Gal, I could've sworn it was here as well. Oh well, it is now! Sorry, it's tiny. That was kind of the point. I just needed to get my love for Jack Marston and my annoyance at his LACK OF GRIEF out of my body. This is based off a line Jack will sometimes yell when he's fighting. "I ain't got much to live for, but I'm a Marston!" Good line.
This is unrelated to the other story I have for RDR. To those who are hoping I'll update that again, I've been working on a new "chapter". I'll try to finish it soon and post it for you. ^_^
Happy reading guys.
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I'm A Marston
Ma was never the same after Pa died. Once a strong and independent woman, one who never hesitated to tell you just what was on her mind, she became weak and quiet, almost silent. She spent most of her time weeping or staring out the window of the living room. It was as though she thought if she stared long enough, Pa would come bursting out of the barn like he always did, or ride in on his American Standardbred after a mission. I guess Ma never noticed the said horse trotting about the corral, or hitched to the post after I finished using him. It was incredibly hard to watch.
Because of Ma's new state, I was granted hardly any time to grieve. I spent the entire night after we buried him just balling my sixteen-year-old eyes out, but there was no time to shed tears over him after that. I suddenly found myself doing almost all the work that needed to be done on the ranch. I had to take care of not only Pa and Uncle's work, but most of Ma's as well. She just wasn't in any condition to do so. I walked in on her once trying to scrub down the floors, and she somehow managed to spill the entire bucket of water and soap on herself. I rushed over to her to help her get off the floor and then took her to her room where she remained for the rest of the night. She pretty much stopped doing…anything after that.
Ma didn't eat very much, if I got her to eat at all. I gave up trying to make her solid food a couple of months after Pa died and stuck to soup and bread. She would sometimes drink about half the bowl and nibble on the bread, but I never got her to eat more. However I didn't push it - I was just glad she was eating at all.
I was unsurprised when Ma got sick a year and a half later. She had been coughing pretty regularly before Pa had even came back to us, but it got worse as the winter months came around. Things got a lot tougher after that. Ma was weaker than ever, despite the medicine I was able to purchase from the doctor in Blackwater. I had never been more grateful to Pa than I was when I had to buy Ma medicine. He left us quite a bit of money that I had put aside for emergencies, and without it, I don't think Ma would have lasted as long as she did.
I can't be sure which was harder - burying my father, or burying my mother. When Ma was finally resting peacefully next to Pa, I allowed myself the time I should have gotten after Pa died. I don't think I left my house for a week and my face was rarely dry. I loved my parents; they were all I had in the world, no relatives, no grandparents. Ma and Pa were orphans, and now I was too.
When I was finally in control of myself, I began to think. I had never really registered before that there was this rage boiling within my veins. I guess I had been too preoccupied taking care of Ma to really focus on myself, but now that I could, I realized I was…livid. On occasion, Ma used to mutter random strings of words under her breath and it was through her that I learned what exactly happened to Pa. I learned that it was due to Edgar Ross that the Army stormed my home three years ago and murdered my father. It was due to Edgar Ross that I was an orphan now, because with Pa's death Ma slowly died without him. It was due to Edgar Ross that I was alone and broken and angry.
And I was going to kill this Edgar Ross. I was going to avenge my parents, avenge Pa, and bring justice to the Marston name.
"I ain't got a lot to live for," I murmured. "But I'm still a Marston."