Epilogue

John Marston had read about many people in Arthur Morgan's journal, but there was something about the way he wrote of this woman called Charlotte that had John riding all the way east to Annesburg and then further north to a small property nooked beside a waterfall and hidden behind a wood of evergreens.

A woman sat at the porch, polishing a rifle. She raised her gaze at the sound of his approaching footsteps and, surprisingly, instead of looking wary of the strange man trespassing on her property, she smiled hospitably.

'Excuse me, ma'am, but I think you may have met a friend of mine a few years back. Big, bulky fella with blondish hair?'

'Arthur Morgan.' She pinned down with unmistakable affection.

'He spoke very kindly of you in his – err – writings.'

'Oh, is that so?'

'It's Charlotte, ain't it?' he asked sheepishly, just to be sure.

'Yes, that's me. I've always thought very fondly of Arthur myself.' She told him, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

She sounded so joyful, it made John question what he was doing there. To tell her that Arthur was dead? Did she really need to know? Would she even care?

'Well, I… I'm sorry to say that he's dead, ma'am. He passed away soon after he last saw you… I thought he'd like you to know that's why he never showed up again. He was very sick, you know.'

'I know.' Charlotte nodded quietly. 'I know he was sick and I know he died… I was there.'

'You…' caught completely off guard it was about all he could do to gape stupidly at her, like a fish out of water.

She chuckled. 'It's John, isn't it? John Marston?'

'Arthur, he… He told you about me?'

'Oh, he told me lots of things.' She waved a hand dismissively and put the gun down on the bench. 'Come in for a cup of coffee.' she met his eyes and smiled, widely, fondly, as if lost in happy memories. 'And I'll tell you all about Arthur's last years.'

Too dumbstruck to speak, John watched her stand up and make for the front door. At last, when she stopped and turned back to him, raising her eyebrows, he found his voice. 'That… That's very kind. Thank you.'

XXX

'So this is the place?' Charles surveyed the strange Hill Home from the back of his horse.

'She said it's just up that slope there. May be a bit of a climb.' John explained, recalling Charlotte's words.

'We should leave the horses here then.'

They hitched their mounts to nearby trees and were off, negotiating the slippery incline, occasionally skidding on the scree and having to use their hands to maintain their balance, they eventually made it onto the ledge.

'How did she get 'im buried all the way out here?'

'Apparently, she rode to Annesburg when he died to enlist some help and ran into these Germans... Said they wouldn't even charge her for some reason.'

'I think I may know the ones.' Charles realised after a moment. He'd always liked to believe that good begot good and he was grateful that had proved true for Arthur in the end. 'But why this place? Didn't you say she had a plot by her house?'

'Yeah, but her husband's buried there. It wouldn't be right.'

'Is that what she told you?'

John thought about it for a moment. 'No. I just assumed… She said they came here often during the spring and summer, she and Arthur, to watch the sunrise.'

For a moment, they were both quiet. There was the grave; surrounded by rocks, a simple unidentified wooden cross staked in a mound of dirt amidst a bed of tropical milkweeds. And beyond and beneath it sat forests and rivers and mountains; nature at its finest.

'This place is perfect.' Charles could not help noticing. 'Arthur would have been happy.'

'Yeah…'

'You sure she'll be okay with this?'

John watched his friend untie the brand new memorial cross, he'd whittled himself, from his back. 'Sure. She said she's too sick to come here anymore and that she's gonna have to go back to the city. She was just waiting for one of us to show up because, somehow, she always knew we would.'

'Sick? Was it…?'

'I don't know… I couldn't ask.'

With a nod, Charles turned back to the task-at-hand and together they replaced the plain weathered cross with the new one. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.

'Rest in peace, my friend. You've earned it.' After a minute of mournful silence, Charles stood and turned around. 'I'm heading back. There're still some things I wish to look into before I leave.'

'Sure. Go ahead. I'll catch up with you later.'

As John stood there, in front of Arthur's grave, the weight of all that had happened seemed to finally strike him. Until that moment, he had felt restless as if he'd spent the last eight years running from the Pinkertons, but now it was all over. Finally. And he knew – more than ever – that he would not have made it, he would not have strived to become a better man all those years if not for Arthur.

'Guess we're just about done, my friend.' He said and smiled as the burden, at last, lifted from his shoulders and he turned new, grateful eyes towards the future.

A.N.: Epilogues are always sort of 'meh', I know, but it'd have felt unfinished without it. Anyway, one final thanks to all those who reviewed and added the story to their follows and favourites. It would be nice to hear what you thought, if you haven't reviewed yet. Even if it's just a couple of words. I honestly hope you've enjoyed reading this alternative ending as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you!