A/N- Okay, here goes. It's time for probably the biggest apology I've ever made. I am so sorry to all of you guys for taking over two weeks to update this, but I do have some honestly good reasons for it. Turns out that moving, starting school, and buying Saints Row 4 all in the same week is a very bad idea. My internet was down for way too long (seriously, xfinity, what's with that?) and I wasted a lot of time messing around with this chapter instead of just publishing it. I want to thank you guys for sticking with me even though I'm so unsteady and in return, there's going to be a surprising twist to the next chapter that I think fans of the game will really like. I'll skip the individual thank yous for this update (you all probably know how much i love you by now) and get down to the story.

Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever own Red Dead Redemption or any of its characters. The only parts of this story I own are the plot lines that come after the ending of the game as well as my OC characters. The content of this story was not meant to insult anyone in any way, shape or form. Rated T for violence and coarse language.

Chapter Track: Out on the Town -Fun.

Chapter 10: An Untimely Proposal

My father has never been a very nice man.

When I was five, I witnessed him ordering the battery of a fellow who was stupid enough to try and cheat him on a business deal. As far as I know, that man walked with a limp from then on. When I was eight I caught him ensuring the destruction of a small settlement just because its founders dared to start a village on his land. Nobody died, but those settlers lost everything they had. When I was twelve he singlehandedly brought to light the charges that made Nate Johns lose his position as governor of West Elizabeth. That particular exploit was beneficial for the entire territory, but my father only did it to bring down the man who was holding back the expansion of his business endeavors. Despite all these misdeeds, though, my father was always kind to me. For some reason it had never been enough.

This is why, when I arrive at Blackwater in the winter of 1914, I don't feel particularly happy to be there.

"Miss MacFarlane!" a well-dressed man in his early twenties calls out to me as I make my way across the train station. Judging from his marvelous posture and eager-to-please attitude, he must be one of the newer servants.

"Hey." I acknowledge the stranger. He looks taken aback by my words, and I remember too late that hey is not a proper greeting in Blackwater. Perhaps he would have felt more at home with a hearty hello, my good man.

"I can take your bags for you, if you'll allow me to," the manservant says this quickly, as if trying to cover up his surprise at my vernacular. I smile easily and allow him to take my saddlebag from me and he leads me down the steps and into the always busy Moore Avenue where quite a few people greet me by my first name. I return their salutations as politely as I can, but just barely manage to hold back and expletive when I see the newest mode of transportation my father has purchased. The automobile before me is large, black, and clunky with red leather seats inside. If Jack could see this he'd die from excitement.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" the servant asks me as he dumps my bag into the backseat. I nod, stepping closer to run my hand over the vehicle's smooth exterior.

"I didn't catch your name." I say to the man next to me. He smiles good-naturedly and I notice that he's quite handsome, something that isn't very common among the serving class.

"Desmond." he says simply, "Now, Miss MacFarlane, we should probably get home before your father comes looking for you."

I respond to this suggestion with a noncommittal grunt and get in the passenger seat of the automobile. Desmond is still smiling in that same bland way as he settles in beside me, gripping the wheel before him with practiced hands. He drives down the street and turns away from the center of town, towards my old house, and I watch like a hawk in hopes of memorizing his technique. I quickly realize that learning to drive is a feat that will take much longer than this ride will, and instead turn my attention to the scenery around me. This part of Blackwater is better known as 'Uptown' where wealthy individuals like my father and several high-class politicians make their homes. We pass by Seth Briars' house as I ponder this, and I recall that Rufus must be there along with Seth's wife and kids. I'll have to visit them before I head back to Armadillo.

"How has the country been treating you, Miss MacFarlane?" Desmond pipes up as I lean out of the automobile, trying to get a good look at Seth's backyard. It doesn't look like Rufus is there at the moment.

"Better than the city ever did," I say, maybe too honestly, "People expect less of you out there, you know?"

"I do, actually," the manservant admits as he pulls up next to the second largest house in uptown, "I grew up in Gaptooth Ridge."

He turns off the vehicle and gets out gracefully, opening my door for me before bending over the backseat to grab my luggage. I think I understand now why my father hired Desmond. He saw a bit of himself in the younger man, what with both of them being country boys who had aspirations for bigger and better things that could only come with city life. Desmond heads right up the steps to the door without pause, but I have to stop and admire the view. After all, this expansive, white house with its green shutters and wraparound porch will someday be mine. The only thing that separates the plot of land from the rest of Blackwater is a white picket fence on three sides and Black Iron Lake on the other.

"I'm here!" I call out as Desmond holds open the door for me and disappears up the stairs, presumably taking my luggage to my room. This is the typical fashion in which I announce my arrival at my father's house. One look around the spacious living room tells me that father hasn't touched the furnishings here once since my last visit. The two lacy couches and their matching white armchairs are still set in a semi-circle around the glass coffee table in the center of the foyer, but there is a single pale Calla in a vase on its surface. I assume that Desmond or one of the maids has taken to replacing the flower with a new one every couple of days. I sit down on an armchair on the far right, glad I'd chosen to wear a dress today. It's one less thing for my father to criticize when he sees me.

The man in question makes his appearance mere seconds after I take my seat, entering the room from a hallway directly across from me. He's wearing a crisp black suit and neither his curlicue mustache nor elegantly cropped black locks have a hair out of place.

"Darling," he breathes, approaching me, "You look lovely."

He leans over me and we embrace momentarily. Anything my father does happens quickly and is over in the blink of an eye. I'd spent a great part of my childhood trying not to blink so as not to miss any of it.

"Thank you," I say, smiling slightly in spite of myself. He sits on the couch beside me and snaps his fingers just once. Not a minute passes before one of our younger maids, Amealia I think, brings out a tray with a tea set perched on top. She sets it down on the table in front of us along with a plate of finger sandwiches, and backs out as quickly as she came.

"How was the journey here?" my father says, pouring the contents of the teapot into two china cups, "I never did enjoy riding the train much myself."

"It was fine, but I'm guessin' you won't need to take the train again, right?"

I'm referring to the automobile and, judging by the smug look on his face, my dad knows it. He's always liked to put up appearances, my old man.

"It's a wonderful thing," he brags about the machine, "Nearly as fast as a horse and so easy to drive."

"I'd like to learn." I admit. He eyes me warily as I pick up one of the dainty sandwiches, putting one hand under my chin to catch any crumbs. Pretty soon he'll be lecturing me on the correct way to drink tea from a cup.

"I'll have Desmond teach you sometime," my father agrees easily. He's always been pretty good about making sure I keep up with the latest scientific and technological advances and I wouldn't be surprised if he bought that automobile, in part, so that I could become skilled at driving it.

"What did you ask me to come home for?" I blurt out even though I know that the words will certainly grant me some ire from my father. Every time I come home to Blackwater, I get the feeling that I'll be reverted back to my old self if I don't get out quickly. That Effie couldn't tell a repeater apart from a rifle and frankly, she didn't much care about the difference. That Effie is a girl I never wanted to be.

My father frowns at me over the rim of his teacup, silent and foreboding. I can see a twitch of that familiar annoyance in his expression and I know what he's thinking. He wanted to me to be more of a proper lady than this.

"I know this is where I'd usually comment on your lack of decorum, but I'm simply tired of trying to change you." he sighs and puts down the cup, "There is a much more important matter we need to discuss today."

I can't even imagine what could be so important that it would encourage my father to forgo one of his infamous sermons.

"Do you remember Charles Vanderbilt?" he says pointedly. At his words I can just faintly recall the handsome face of a boy four years older than me who'd attended Blackwater School at the same time I had. Granted, our age difference meant that we rarely had any need for interaction, but in the few instances that we had spoken he was quite friendly towards me.

"Everyone remembers Charles Vanderbilt."

"Good." my father is smiling just slightly now, "Well he came by to speak to me just a few days ago and he told me some very interesting things about the two of you."

"We barely ever talked." I point out.

"Even so, he told me that he'd been quite taken with you the few times you had."

Taken with me? That the great-grandson of the patriarch of Vanderbilt University somehow had the entirely idiotic idea to be taken with me of all people is something I don't think I'd believe in any situation.

"Really?" I don't know what else to say. My father nods.

"He intends to court you."

My heartbeat speeds up slightly at this news and I find that I'm at a loss for words. I've never been courted before and, to be honest, there's never really been anyone here whom I wanted to court me. Jack is the only guy I've ever felt any of those more sentimental emotions for. My father continues to watch me, his hands folded together in his lap, waiting for me to answer with…what? Joy? Excitement?

"That's a surprise." I say honestly. My father coughs just once to clear his throat, indicating that he's about to say something that is, to him at least, of the utmost importance.

"You know I've never been one for arranging marriages, Effie." he reminds me, "I've always thought that you could find someone on your own if you wanted to. I still stand by that belief, but I urge you to consider Charles very carefully. He's a kind man from what I've heard, and he's wealthy and connected in a way that makes him worthy of your time. I suggest that you get to know him before you reject him."

My father is being very reasonable right now and that in and of itself is unusual. I can't not consider this. I mean, no one has ever shown any serious interest in me before.

"Okay." I say, "I'll think about it, I promise."

I stand up then, my sandwich finished and my teacup entirely drained. I don't want to be here anymore. If I have to stay in Blackwater for a while, I'd rather spend my time around a friend.

"Where are you going?" my father asks me in a lively tone. He's probably hoping I'm on my way out to see Charles already. I won't tell him this, but I think I'm going to stay away from the Vanderbilt boy for some time despite my promise to get to know him. I have other things I need to sort out first.

"I should check in on Collette. I told her I'd drop by to help with the wedding plannin' if I came back to Blackwater."

My father looks disappointed for a brief moment, but the emotion disappears just as quickly as it came. He calls out for Desmond and the manservant appears before us faster than I thought humans could walk.

"Could you take my daughter over to the Miller household?" the elder man asks, "I don't think she should be driving the automobile by herself just yet."

"Of course, sir. Miss MacFarlane?"

Desmond is holding his arm out to me and, before I take it, I think about how strange all of this is. Why is everyone so hell-bent on being proper around here? How much easier would it be, for example, if I was allowed to eat a three-course meal with one fork instead of three? Or if I could just jog down the streets to Collette's place without everyone looking at me like I was insane?

The automobile starts up with a sputter that makes me rethink the entire idea of vehicular transportation. I mean, is it really safe? At least when horses collide their riders usually crawl away with nothing more permanent than a few broken bones. And with all I've been hearing about flying machinery, I really think we have to draw the line somewhere before-

My thoughts stop abruptly as we pass by the Briar estate. Rufus. Rufus is laying there on the front porch.

"Stop!" I shout at Desmond. He flinches, clearly frightened by my tone, but does as I command anyway. I jump over the still-closed door the moment the automobile ceases its movement and race across the expansive lawn between me and that dog at top speed. Only when I go up the stairs to the porch do I see that he's not alone.

"Adelaide!" I exclaim, crouching down in front of the young girl. If I remember correctly, she's turning ten this year, "It's great to see you, how are you?"

She starts to answer me but before she can get the words out, Rufus springs up and nearly bowls us both over. The blonde dog rams his head into my chest and almost sends me toppling back down the stairs.

"He missed you." Adelaide says bluntly, "And Jack too. Is he here?"

"He's in Armadillo. He couldn't come along."

The little girl looks visibly disappointed and I'm not surprised by that. She's had a little crush on Jack for months. I reach down to pet Rufus and try to ignore the fact that she and I have that in common.

"Where's everyone else? Your parents? Lewis?" I ask her. It's strange that her younger brother isn't with her now because all my memories of her include him somehow.

"Mama took Lewis to the store."

I decide not to ask for specifics.

"And your father?"

"He's inside," Adelaide announces, "I'll go get him!"

The little girl turns on her heels and pushes open the front door to her house before disappearing inside it. Rufus rolls over, showing me his stomach, and proceeds to wag his tail like crazy when I scratch under his ribcage. I look over my shoulder and am impressed to see Desmond still seated in the automobile, waiting for me. He's good at his job.

A familiar man is standing in the doorway when I turn back around, a man I respect more than almost any other. Seth Briars is now a vision of health and well-being as opposed to the scrawny, sunburned mess he was when I first met him. His smile is wide as he looks down at me and it reaches his blue eyes. His daughter has come along with him, clutching at his leg in that way children do.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" he asks facetiously, and although he's now dressed like a wealthy man there's absolutely no hiding that familiar hick accent he's always had.

"Doubt it," I huff, standing up, "I'm at least twelve classes above yours."

He laughs at that and, as usual, I feel a tinge of pride that at least one person finds me funny. I only wish I could make Jack laugh more often.

"C'mere," he pats the seat of one of the chairs littering the porch, "Tell me how you've been."

I obey both of his commands and proceed to tell him the exciting story of my past few months. I soften certain parts of it, (Adelaide's listening in, after all) but I do my best to paint Seth the most detailed picture I can. There's just something about him that makes you want to talk to him about the more important things and I wonder if, excuse the grave-robber pun, it's because you know he'll take your secrets to the grave. He nods at all the right parts of my tale and looks politely concerned through the rest of it. Seeing him here, on the porch of this large house with this beautiful little girl in his lap, makes me wonder how he'd ever been any other person than the one he is today.

"Sounds like you've been havin' a rough time." he comments when he knows I'm done talking. I nod weakly, drained from the effort of spilling out two months' worth of biographical information.

"It's worse for Jack, but I think it's still better than the alternative."

"What d'you think the alternative would've been?"

I look over at him, and then at Adelaide, wondering if it's okay to speak my mind in front of her. Seth jerks his head to the side, giving me a silent go ahead.

"He'd be dead." I state brusquely, "Or dying."

The man beside me doesn't disagree with this, and I'm not surprised. When he's not hiding things from you, Seth is the most honest guy around.

"I think you did right!" Adelaide squeaks, moving around in her father's lap. He releases her and she collapses on top of the dog at our feet the first chance she gets. Most dogs would be annoyed by this, but not Rufus. He loves kids.

"For what it's worth," Seth says, his eyes on me, "I agree with her."

His words, and his daughter's, are worth more than he knows. It's been eating away at me inside for so long, the knowledge that I might've messed Jack up somehow by letting him become a bounty hunter. By encouraging him. On her deathbed Abigail asked me to make sure Jack would be okay, after she was gone. Am I even doing that right?

You can't let him go down that road. The one he won't come back from.

"Miss MacFarlane!" Desmond is now leaning against the automobile, "I suggest we get a move on before it's dark out!"

I look up at the sky and, upon noticing the purpling that comes along with a setting sun, realize that he's right. I have to get over to Collette's home before dinnertime.

"Come see us later, y'hear?" Seth has this uncanny ability to read minds, "Before you get back to Armadillo."

"Right." I say. I'm smiling and I hadn't even noticed.

"Make Jack come too!" Adelaide insists, gripping Rufus's left ear in her tiny fist, "I miss him!"

I bend down and kiss the big dog gently on his muzzle. I know nothing would make him happier than seeing Jack again.

"He'll be here." I assure the little girl, "Even if I have to drag him the whole way."

She seems content with my answer and goes back to messing with Rufus's face, stretching it this way and that. When I get up, Seth envelopes me in a hug.

"Don't doubt yourself so darn much," he says kindly. I return the embrace, pressing my nose into his shoulder. There are some things that no amount of money can rid you of, and for Seth it's that scent of the sun and the desert that he retains from his days in Cholla Springs. It might be a little selfish of me, but I hope he always keeps this part of himself that only Jack and I can recognize.

I literally have to suck in a breath. That's how beautiful she looks.

"Collette!" I exclaim, holding back tears of joy. I'm such a pansy when it comes to these things.

"I know, I know. It's a bit much, isn't it?"

She twirls around in that simple white dress, and I have to wonder how I never before realized how breathtakingly beautiful she is. I mean, of course I knew she was pretty; you don't get as many guys courting you as Collette has when you're not pretty. Her wedding dress brings out something I hadn't noticed before, though. It makes her glow.

"No." I say firmly, moving forward to run my hand over the pure white cloth, "No, it's perfect."

She looks over at me, her lower lip quivering just slightly. Collette's close to crying too. If she looks even half as spectacular as this on her wedding day, I think James will faint on the spot.

"You've always been there for me." she says softly, "You know that, right?"

She turns away from the full length mirror in her bathroom and takes a seat on the settee beside the claw-footed bathtub. As she begins to remove her heeled slippers, I note that while my father may be richer than hers, Mr. Miller spends more of his wealth on making his family happy. My own father was always more interested in what is necessary than what is frivolous.

"It goes both ways." I say honestly. If Collette hadn't befriended me in my first year of school, the rest of the children may have never seen me as more than an illegitimate heir to the MacFarlane fortune. Everyone always says that Collette is shy, but they're wrong. She's reserved. She doesn't give herself away as easily as most people do and that makes some people uncomfortable. They see their own failings in areas where Collette succeeds.

"Maybe, but…" she breaks off suddenly, frozen in the act of unbuttoning her petticoat. I lean against the marble sink, waiting.

"I've always wished I was stronger, more like you. I could have done better if I was."

She's blushing furiously now, her trademark reaction in times of embarrassment. I grin as I imagine a stronger version of Collette. Perhaps she'd have punched James out the first time he presented her with a bouquet instead of just accepting the gift quietly.

"You wouldn't be Collette, then." I point out. This makes her smile. She slips behind a silk screen to change into her everyday clothes and I while away the time by spritzing the different perfumes on her sink counter onto my arm. By the time she reappears in a yellow sundress, I smell like the perfume/ cologne department at the local boutique.

"Why do you have so many of these?" I ask of the perfumes as we exit the bathroom and head down the hallway.

"Does it matter?"

"It's just a question, goodness."

She narrows her eyes at me as we reach the spiral staircase that leads down into the foyer. James is waiting for us down there and the carriage outside has already been prepped to accommodate the three of us. I'd told Desmond to return home without me so the Millers' driver will take me back and then whisk Collette and James away for an evening of romance. Despite my earlier misgivings, courtship seems like it might actually be fun.

"Sweetheart!" James is up on his feet the moment Collette enters the room, "Great timing, I was just about to send one of the maids up to fetch you."

She goes to him and he drapes her jacket over her shoulders. I smile to myself, thinking of the time Jack had given me his hat to protect me from the rain. What had happened after that may not be my best memory but the gesture was still nice.

"Effie, you didn't bring a shawl with you?" James has turned to me now, ever the gentleman.

"No, but don't worry about me," I say, walking to the front door, "I'm pretty warm-blooded."

He glances down at Collette, an expression of confusion on his face, and she shrugs as if saying it's true. I push open the mahogany doors before me without waiting for the servants to arrive and the lovebirds follow along behind me, making comments on the weather and the beautiful starry sky above us as we go. I, however, remember the night sky in Cholla Springs and I am not so impressed by what I can see now.

The Miller stagecoach has leather upholstery on the inside and I'm careful not to scratch it with my boots as I clamber into the wide space and take a seat by the window. Collette and James sit across from me and I realize that I'm the third unneeded wheel on their bicycle for tonight. It's a little lonely to notice this, but I think that's how it should be. Love makes it hard to see anyone else besides that other person.

I stare out the window as the ground begins to shift beneath us and think about how I've been moving around so much that I've started to miss things in a different way than most people do. I miss the feeling of riding War as fast as he could go, the closest I'd ever gotten to being completely free. I miss seeing the pride in Wade Johnson's eyes when he'd arrested those crooks at the end of the Westwood poisoning case. I miss the Marstons' graves and the peace I felt when I could sit beside them and recount my happier memories of the two of them. The person I miss most of all, though, is the one who is closest to me, and despite the fact that he's miles away I can sense him like a misplaced limb. If even ten percent of that feeling is reciprocated, I'll be content.