You guys are amazing for all the follows and favorites!
Keep giving me feedback on Arya!
Thank you!
CHAPTER SIX: WE GOT OURSELVES A DOCTOR
The flames lick at my feet
Their hearts full of hate
What they don't understand, they condemn
What they can't comprehend must meet its end
The next morning, Arya woke up with crusted tears in the corner of her eyes. The smell, that she had prominently figured out was Arthur's natural musk, still clung to her as she stumbled out of his tent. The early morning dew still lingered on the grass, catching and glittering in the bright rising sun. The air was cold, but the young woman knew that with the day moving forward, the heat would settle in uncomfortably.
She almost raced across camp to her and Sadie's tent, that was now being inhabited by John and Abigail. Upon entering, the caramel-haired woman was met with the sight of a sleeping Abigail, sitting on the stool and bent over her husband. The latter was sleeping.
"Abigail," Arya coughed, clearing her throat awkwardly. "Wake up."
The dark-haired wife shook herself awake, light gaze sweeping the tent to find her husband. "Is everything alright?" she asked.
Arya hummed. "I'm going to change his bandages," she said. "Would you mind getting me some clean cloth and warm water?"
"He woke up durin' the night and ate a bit of stew," Abigail said, matter-of-fact, as she got to her feet. "He didn't talk, but he seemed in a great deal of pain."
"That's to be expected."
The two young women exchanged spots. Abigail stood by her husband's head, while Arya sat on the warm stool and started to unwrap the bandage that was now darkened by blood.
"His temperature remained the same?" Arya asked, voice low in concentration.
"Nothin' out of the ordinary," Abigail breathed. "Just like you said."
Arya hummed again. "The bandages, Abigail," she reminded the other woman. After a few moments of hesitation, John's wife all but ran out of the tent.
Once John's hand was completely unwrapped, Arya assessed the healing wound. The sticks were in place, the stitches seemed to not have broken, and his wrist was already less swollen.
"Howdy."
John winced as he awoke, smiling awkwardly as he made eye contact with the girl sitting at his side.
"You don't look so great, Mr. Marston," Arya joked, her eyes going back to his hand.
"I wouldn't talk, madam," he groaned back.
He tried to sit up, against Arya's instructions, and lay back down.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"Like a man who tried fightin' a bear," he answered comically.
The girl shook her head and smiled. "What in the world were you thinking?"
He shrugged, winced when his hand grazed his pants, and said, "Ah, when do I ever think?"
That had them both laughing, as Abigail burst into the tent with a bucket full of steaming water and clean cloth.
"Who gave you the right to be jokin' around, you moron?" she angrily asked.
John and Arya exchanged a raised eyebrow, and then the younger girl burst out laughing.
"And what are you laughin' at?" Abigail yelled.
"Abigail, sweetheart, come on," John asked.
Abigail, fuming, glared at Arya before growling, "I'm going to get stew and water."
After Abigail left, Arya thoroughly washed John's wound. Carefully, she tended to every scratch and gash to make sure no blood was left. Then she rebandaged the wound.
"I don't want you using your hand for some time, understood?" she asked sternly, cleaning up her mess and the dirty cloth.
"Yes, ma'am," he grumbled. "How do you know this stuff anyway?"
She shrugged. "My mother and her mother before that were healers of the body," she explained. "It was my legacy to learn."
When she was done cleaning up, she stood, stared at John, and realized he was uneasy. "Arya," he mumbled. "Will I ever be able to use my hand again?"
Arya's mouth pursed and she felt the pang of guilt and pity fill her up like acid being poured down her throat. Sighing, she dropped the bucket and took a seat on the stool again. "Honestly," she began, "I'm confident that you will. Maybe not like before. But I'll work with you. We'll use a playball to get your bones and muscles used to mobility again. It will hurt, but you will have to go through the exercises. Maybe you'll gain full mobility without pain again. Maybe your right hand will have damage and will hurt. I'm not sure."
He nodded solemnly. Arya got back to her feet, picked up the bucket, and walked out. She was met with Abigail eavesdropping, who didn't care and rushed into the tent, and went to Pearson's wagon.
The girl disposed of the water and threw the cloth into the fire. She took a generous bowl of morning stew, downed a cup of coffee, and waddled out towards the edge of the cliff, where her friend Sadie was waiting.
"Heard you were a doctor now!" the blonde woman hollered once Arya sat beside her.
Arya scoffed and shook her head. She was getting tired of explaining the same story, so she just shrugged. "I got a thing for injured people," she joked.
Sadie rose her brows, and before Arya could notice, she had given the blonde woman an opportunity to bring up a certain subject.
"He asked about you this mornin' before headin' off," Sadie sing-songed.
Arya rolled her eyes. "Where did he run off to?"
Sadie shrugged. "He went to meet up Javier, Charles, and Bill at the saloon."
"Well, that doesn't sound like a good thing."
The women spent most of the morning in each other's company. Sadie talked about her husband, Jake, in the most lovable tone. Arya listened, if only half-heartedly. She had never married, never dated, and rarely found interest in boys. When her brother and her lived in Valentine, she had been approached many times by suitable bachelors. Her brother had been approached, asked for the hand of his sister, but had promptly announced to those men that he was not responsible for her.
Their mistress, with whom they lived with in that stocky cottage a few miles north of Valentine, had often asked Arya about her celibacy. Germanotta, Italian born and married an American, was always bringing up the subject of Arya's ringless hand. The girl never saw a problem with it. She didn't like dresses, hated cooking, and didn't want to mommy a grown man.
Germanotta was not pleased. She, who had been married and had been widowed before being able to fall pregnant, could not see the sense in Arya's celibacy.
"You know what she used to tell me?" Arya said to Sadie. "She used to say that men saw a challenge in me, you know, because I dressed like them. Thank God I was pretty though!"
Sadie laughed. "My husband and I used to share everythin'," she replied. "He said I couldn't keep up if I wore a dress."
The two women burst out laughing again, leaning into each other.
"You know," Sadie rasped, "that's the most I've heard you talk about your life."
Arya coughed and all signs of pleasing left her face. "I know."
"What was his name?" Sadie asked carefully.
Arya's stare met Sadie's, black on blue. "Who?"
"Your brother."
Speaking his name was something she'd never did since his death. For some odd reason, after Colm O'Driscoll and his boys made sure she and her brother would never have a good life, Arya hadn't spoken her brother's name. Hadn't even thought it.
"Sadie…" the girl trailed off with a sigh.
"What did they do to you?" Sadie asked lowly. "What happened anyway?"
"Sadie." Sternly, Arya stood and waved off her friend. "I don't need one of my only friends here to doubt me, please."
Sadie nodded, bit the inside of her cheek, and stood too. "Alright, alright," she cooed. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine."
A commotion, close to a brouhaha, caught the women's attention. Arya groaned loudly. Between John's accident and spending the entire night sewing him back up, she had no patient for anything else.
She saw Arthur, Bill, Charles, and Javier ride into camp. They were laughing, joking, and all of them were sporting bruises and cuts. Arya breathed in sharply when she saw Arthur. He was covered in mud, some of it drying, most of it dripping wetly onto the ground as he hopped off his horse. He winced and cradled his ribs, and as Arya approached with Sadie on her heels, she saw the bruises and bloody cuts on his face.
"What in the hell?" Sadie asked.
Bill was laughing. "Arthur here tried fightin' the biggest boy in the county!"
Arthur growled, "I did fight him. I won."
Arya approached Javier, who was bleeding from the nose. "And what happened to you?" she asked gravely.
Javier shrugged. "Bill started a fight in the bar."
"Fuck off, Javier, it ain't my fault!" Bill defended in that baritone voice of his. He pointed an accusing finger at Charles. "This idiot threw at chair at the barman!"
"I threw a chair?" Charles asked, and when Arya found him, he was limping his way around the horses.
"And before Arthur could finish the big hunk," Bill continued, breathless, "some do-gooder creep stepped in and shooed us away!"
"Well thank God he did!" Sadie shouted back. "Ya'll look like a bunch of shit-covered-crackheads!"
"I'd watch what you say to us, miss, we just came back from a fight," Javier drawled, tipping his hat towards the blonde woman.
Arya, fuming, hands in fists, groaned. "You're honestly the worst men in the world," she growled. Then, shaking her head to regain her composure, she added, "Charles, how bad is your ankle?"
Charles examined his foot. "I wager it's just a sprain," he answered.
"Good," the girl said. "Walk it off… but don't put too much pressure on it." Turning to Javier, she asked, "Is there any other thing other than that cut?"
Javier shook his head.
"Wash it with warm water," Arya growled. "Bill, anything alarming on you?"
"My pride is bruised," he cooed.
Arya rolled her eyes. "Have Karen take care of you." To that, Sadie laughed. Bill wobbled away with Charles and Javier in tow, all of them complaining. For men who had supposedly fought in a saloon fight, they sure had baby-like wails.
"And you?" Arya asked Arthur, crossing her arms over her chest. "I suppose you've got cracked ribs and some cuts that need stitching?"
Arthur's mouth went round as he looked to Sadie for back up. The woman put her hands up. "You ain't gettin' out of this one, big boy," she said. She walked away with a knowing smile.
Arthur tried putting his hands up in surrender, but winced, and then howled lowly in his throat.
"Okay, come on," Arya ordered, waving him after her. He followed her to his tent, where she made him sit on the edge of the bed. She hesitated before saying, "I'm going to need you to take off your shirt."
Arthur's brows shot right up. "Excuse me?"
Arya sighed and shook her head. "If you have internal bleeding, I need to know!" She was fussing and her cheeks were growing red, but if he had been badly hurt, she needed to see.
Arthur cleared his throat as he slowly and shyly – his own cheeks were tinged with crimson – untucked his checkered black dress shirt from his pants. Then he shook off his suspenders and unbuttoned his shirt. When he was done, he looked up at the girl for confirmation, and when he saw her stone face, he quickly shrugged off the entire garment.
The girl leaned in and examined the right side of his abdomen. She couldn't lie and not look at his stomach and chiseled chest. Defined muscles, however, didn't stop her from prodding with her fingertips at his ribs. He jolted in pain, hissed behind his teeth, and groaned. Arya took this moment of inattention from his part to slide her eyes along his shoulders. Strong, full, and round.
"Got a diagnosis for me?" he growled.
She prodded more with her fingers, feeling along the ridges of his ribs. Her stomach was alive with butterflies and heat spread in her body like hot melting metal. She was touching him. Flesh to flesh.
"Nothing seems broken," she grumbled, trying to keep her composure of angry comrade. "If you start coughing, come find me."
Arya turned politely away as Arthur got dressed. She tried to even out her breathing, to cool down her face, to stop her body from buzzing.
In truth, she was marveling at herself. She'd never – never - felt this way for a man before. She'd had the occasional sputter of heat in her belly once or twice, but never this full-on assault on her senses. She realized that she could feel his skin still on hers, smell him even from this far away, and her head was filled with hope. Of what? She couldn't tell.
"I would tell you to get some rest," she grumbled apathetically when he was dressed and standing, "but I know you won't listen to me."
He smiled, his blue eyes glittering, his full mouth spread over his teeth. "I'll take your word for it, don't you worry."
Then he left. He left her standing there and she didn't know what to do, so she followed. The sun by then had made its ascent into the sky and was shining, hot and bright. Hosea all but ran up to them with both worry and caution on his face.
"You alright, Arthur?" he asked. He gave Arya a nod in greeting.
"Ah, I'll be alright," Arthur grumbled. "Besides, we've apparently acquired ourselves a doctor."
Hosea smiled. "It would seem so."
"Don't take it for granted, though," Arya mused, but felt so belittled. After that stupid, school girl moment in the tent with Arthur, she felt small. And she didn't like it.
She made a mental promise to never feel that way again. To avoid the reasons that make her feel like that.
"Would you be up to hunt a big bad bear?" Hosea asked them. He was smiling now, convinced of Arthur's well-being, and now filled with conviction.
"Uh, hold on!" They were interrupted by a small stout man with greying hair and a small bent-over back. Arya had come to know this man as Strauss, the money-lending schemer that nobody seemed to like, not even Dutch. Arya's skin crawled whenever she spotted him, always bent over his big book. He seemed non-threatening from afar, even from up close, but he had rendered families poor by just the stroke of his feather and ink.
"Strauss," Arthur grumbled. "What's goin' on?"
"Herr Morgan," the old man wheezed, "I need you to pay some of our… uh, clients a visit."
"Why me?" Arthur asked.
Strauss looked up from over his glasses, his eyes going from Arthur to Arya. "Well, you're the most threatening people in camp," he concluded, as if evident, "and our clients are going to need a little convincing."
Arya crossed her arms and leaned on one hip. "Why would we need to convince them?" she asked.
"Because they owe us a lot of money," Strauss answered. "And they've been well overdue on their payment."
Arthur sighed and seemed to be considering this whole ordeal. Hosea was looking at Arya, sharing a look that she couldn't quite understand.
"Alright," Arthur conceded, "give me the names."
"You might want to look at this particular feller right here," Strauss began eagerly, flipping the book so all three could see. "Thomas Downes. His farm is South-West of Valentine. Should be easy."
Again, Arthur sighed. "Alright," he gave in. "Arya, you in?"
The girl felt the wrongness of the situation; money lending and stealing from the poor. But she'd seen the ledger. Although, all she cared about was getting her hands on Colm, she also didn't want to starve to death. And most of all, she wanted to keep an eye on Arthur. If his bruised ribs were more than that, she needed to know as soon as possible.
"Sure," she said.
"Hosea?"
"I'll sit this one out," the man answered.
"Okay," Arthur grumbled. "We'll head down there tomorrow."
