Disclaimer: I do not own the song "Give My Love to Rose" or the "Red Dead Redemption" series. "Give My Love to Rose" belongs to Johnny Cash and Sun Records, while the "Red Dead Redemption" series belongs to Rockstar Games.
John Marston rose from his slumber under his makeshift tent along with the rising sun; he sat up from his bedroll, stretched his limbs as he yawned, made himself a cup of coffee, cooked some eggs above his campfire, and readied himself for the new day approaching. He looked up at his Thoroughbred, Rachel, while drinking his morning brew and couldn't help but think about two things: the first was the previous days events. He had just helped his friend Sadie Adler recapture RamónCortez and turn him in to the Sheriff at the small town of Rhodes, where he was to be sent to Saint Denis to be hanged. Another bounty captured, another stack of cash to help pay for his new farm. He had told Sadie that he wasn't going to make a habit of it, but he knew deep down that he didn't have much choice. It was a better alternative than returning to his old life, that's for certain. That life was dead and gone to him, and John hated thinking about the fool he used to be… the same fool that drove Abigail away.
"Abigail…" the lone cowboy said as his mind raced towards his second thought. He looked up at the sky to see the stars disappear as the sun rose in an attempt to find some hope in the mess he found himself in. "I wonder if you and Jack got my letter yet. And if so… will you actually come back to me? Will you forgive me?" To say that he missed them would be an understatement; they were the only real family he had left and he drove them away. John then rubbed his eyes to remove what eye crusts he missed when he woke up (along with the tears that were beginning to form), finished his breakfast, packed up his belongings, placed them on his horse, and began the journey home to his ranch at Beecher's Hope. He didn't feel the need to rush home, for he knew his friend Charles was looking after the place… and making sure that Uncle didn't slack off on his share of the work.
John Marston rode his horse through the calm and peaceful wilderness that was Scarlet Meadows and couldn't help but take in the serenity around him: the cool wind in his face, the screeching of occasional hawks soaring high above him, the barking of coyotes and foxes every now and then, and the green of the trees on top of the viridian grass brought a little bit of peace to his mind. The freedom of roaming through the beauty of nature; it was one of those things that he would never get used to no matter how many times he did it. There was something… therapeutic about it that he just couldn't get over. Especially since he could finally do it without getting shot at. The sound of something troubling broke him out of his semi-trance: the screech of vultures above him. He looked up to see a kettle of the scavengers circling above something nearby, waiting for it to die. "That can't be good," the cowboy thought to himself as he made his way towards the direction of the flying circle.
He rode for half a mile before he heard something. "Help…" it said weakly.
"What the?" Marston said to himself as pulled on the reigns of his horse to stop. "Hello? Can you hear me?" Marston called out.
"Help… please…" the voice cried again, still weak, but a tad louder than before.
John spurred his horse to continue towards the direction of the voice that was begging for help, and it led him to railroad tracks where a vulture was descending from the sky to begin the feast. John shot his Volcanic Pistol at the bird, and then at the kettle above, and drove them all to fly away. "Leave him alone you filthy buzzards!" John shouted as they left the sight. He holstered his gun, rode up next to the body of the man lying by the tracks, got off from his horse, and the only words that escaped his lips at the sight of the man were, "Jesus Christ…"
The man looked to be in his mid-forties, judging by the amount of gray hair mixed in with black. His skin was sun burnt; he had claw marks all up and down his legs (likely from a mountain lion), a deep scar over his right eye so he only had his left eye to see with, blood soaking into half of his mustache, even more spilling from his left arm, and his upper torso had deep scratches laid into him so bad that one could see part of his ribcage. John knew right then and there that the man didn't have much long to live, but he was surprised to hear the man call out despite being in the shape he was in. "Thank God you found me when you did, mister."
"Hang on there partner, I'm going to get you to a doctor" he said in an attempt to comfort the man.
"No, no" the man said as he weakly grabbed John's wrist, "Mister, just listen to a dying man's words… please," he begged as a tear spilled from his good eye.
John stopped resisting and leaned beside him so the dying man wouldn't have to use too much energy.
"My name is… Henry Cloverfield" he said weakly, "I was… let out of prison in Frisco five days ago… for ten long years I've paid for what I've done. I was trying to get back to Louisiana to… see my Rose… and get to know my son…"
"Oh shit…" the cowboy thought to himself as the dying man continued his story.
The man reached into his pocket with his good arm and handed John Marston a few pieces of paper and said, "Give my love to Rose please… won't you, Mister? Take her all of my money; and tell her to buy some pretty clothes. Tell my boy, Daniel, that daddy's so proud of him…he should be about… fifteen now…"
"Son of a bitch" Marston said as he was doing his best to not think about his own family while the mangled man before him spoke. Said man then reached into his pocket one more time and placed a medium sized bag into John's hands and spoke again.
"Mister… here's a bag with all my money... it won't last them long the way it goes" he attempted a chuckle, but only coughed and away from John. Marston gently pulled the man named Henry back towards his direction and as the man said, "tell them I said… thanks for waiting for me… tell my boy to help his mom at home… tell my Rose to try to find another…cause it ain't right that she should live alone." He said as tears continued to fall from his eye. "You'll find them in a small shack… northeast of Bluewater Marsh…" he weakly said as he handed one final paper to the cowboy who had found him. "Please tell them Mister… please?"
After hearing the man's story, John Marston looked at the money pouch for a really long time. He was tempted to take the man's money for himself and use it to pay for his newly acquired farm, but at the same time… his own thoughts once again went to his own family whom he longed for. He couldn't imagine being away from Abigail or Jack for as long as this man did, and he didn't even want to think about it. To keep this man's family in the dark about their loved one would hang over him for a long time, and that's something he couldn't bring himself to do. John placed the pouch in his pocket, leaned in towards the dying man's ear and said, "You have my word, partner. I'll deliver your message."
The man smiled as John whispered that into his ear; he then looked up at the sky and said, "Thank you God for sending this man." He looked over at John once more and said, "Thank you Mister. Thank you." He then looked at the sky one more time and said three words, "Rose… I'm sorry." He closed his eyes and breathed his last. Henry Cloverfield died with a peaceful expression on his face.
John slowly backed away from the body of Henry Cloverfield and began to place the items he was given into his saddle's pouch. The last item he pulled from his pant pocket was a small, folded up, piece of paper. He unfolded it to see what it was, only to be shocked at what he saw: a woman who looked almost exactly like his own wife Abigail; only she had a smaller nose, and her hair and skin tone appeared to be lighter by quite a margin. As for the son; he looked almost like his own son Jack if he let his hair grow out and with a lighter shade of color. "Of course they'd have to look like my family. This is insane…" John whispered to himself as he folded the paper up and placed it into a pocket on his vest. He pulled on the reigns of his horse toward a different direction, looked back at Henry's corpse one last time, tipped his hat, and spurred his horse towards the direction of the man's home.
Minutes passed by like hours as he rode his horse across the countryside towards the swamplands. With every step his horse took, he couldn't help but feel some amount of dread. He was on his way to inform a family, who looked so much like his own, that their loved one was dead. How does one prepare themselves for something like that? Not looking forward to this was the understatement of a lifetime.
The landscape began to change before his eyes as he continued to ride his Thoroughbred; the once green field soon turned to mud beneath his horse's hooves, the once cool air turned to humidity and he started sweating almost immediately, and he maneuvered between trees every few seconds until he finally came to small shack surrounded by tall grass, trees, and water. He pulled out a piece of paper from his pouch, unfolded it, and compared the image to what he saw before him; and sure enough, he had arrived at the house. "Well" John said to himself, "here we go." He dismounted his horse, removed the man's letters and money from his saddle pouch and into his pant pockets, and left his guns on the saddle of his horse.
As he approached the shack, he could see two things: the first was that the wife was sitting out on the porch in a wooden chair knitting something, with a shotgun nearby. Her hair was so light brown that it almost looked red if the sun shone at the right moment, her eyebrows were the same color as her hair, and her eyes were a piercing green. She wore an all black blouse, a red-checkered skirt, black boots, and a brown belt with a silver buckle. The second thing he saw was the son sitting off to the side of the house with a fishing pole in his hand, and a line already in the water. He wore a torn up white shirt with loose, brown pants. His eyes were the same color as his dead father's, and his hair was the same color as his mother's.
John Marston walked through the mud towards the shack, and dreading every step he took. The woman heard him coming and slowly lowered her knitting tools onto her lap, "Hello?" She asked the stranger with a strong southern accent escaping her voice, "Are you lost, sir?"
"Um, I'm not sure." John answered the woman, "Are you and your son… Rose and Daniel Cloverfield?"
The son who had minded his own business perked up at the mention of his name and turned his head towards the direction of the man who was talking to his mother. He slowly walked towards his mother as she answered, "Do I know you mister?"
"No ma'am, you don't." John answered honestly, "But I think I ran into your husband… um… Henry Cloverfield?"
"You saw my daddy?" Daniel said at the mention of his father.
"We received a letter from the prison he was held at four days ago saying that he was finally released. Daniel was only five when his father was taken away from us for attempting to steal horses. He attempted to escape from prison twice, but learned his lesson after that." She looked behind John in an attempt to locate her husband, but became worried when he was nowhere to be seen. "Where is he?"
"Oh God, here we go…" he thought to himself. He looked up to see the woman's son was now holding his mother in anticipation for whatever answer John was about to give them. "Ma'am, Daniel…" he inhaled and thought to himself, "God help me…" "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this… but… I found your husband's body early this morning lying by the railroad track out by Scarlet Meadows. He was in… really bad shape…"
"Oh God…" the woman said.
"He asked me to give you a few things before he… he passed away."
"No!" She wailed as she fell to her knees, with her son holding on to her with tears forming in both of their eyes. Neither son nor mother could stop crying and wailing after hearing the news of the loss of their loved one, and held on to each other for what seemed like an eternity.
"Again… I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you."
Daniel looked at John while holding on to his mother and asked, "How did he die?"
"He…" John started, "he looked like he was attacked by a mountain lion."
"Oh God…" the wife said again through her tears.
"Where did you say he was?"
"Uh… out by the railroad tracks out near Scarlet Meadows."
"Thank you mister. We'll go get him once we collect ourselves."
"You're welcome. Before I go I… have a few things from him that he wanted me to give you two." John said as he reached his hand in his pockets and pulled out the bag of money. Rose stopped crying for as long as she could as John handed her the pouch, "He told me to tell you to buy some pretty clothes for yourself. And for you Daniel…" John hesitated as he placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, "he wanted me to tell you that he's proud of you. And to continue to help your mother around the house."
Daniel choked up as he said, "I will" to his father's messenger.
John looked back to Rose and said, "He also wanted me to tell you, 'thank you for waiting all these years.' Also that you should… you should find another. For it's not right for you to be alone." The woman's tears started to roll down her cheek again at that as she shook her head. "But ultimately…" John said as he pulled out one more piece of paper and handed it to the widow, "he told me to, 'give my love to Rose'." John gently placed the letter into the mourning widow's hand, and she held it to her chest as she cried again. John slowly stood up, tipped his hat to the family, and said with honesty and holding back tears of his own, "I'm… I'm truly sorry for your loss."
As the cowboy turned away, he felt two sets of hands grab onto his. He turned around to see Daniel and Rose grabbing his hand with tears running down their faces, and appreciation in their eyes. "Mister," Rose said, "I know this wasn't easy for you to do… but God bless you for sending you!"
John lowered himself down to them one final time, looked them in the eyes and said "It weren't no trouble miss… no trouble at all." Daniel and Rose hugged the cowboy simultaneously, and although John was hesitant at first he perfectly understood the reason; so he returned the hug.
He stood up, walked back to his horse, looked back at the shack one last time before mounting his horse, looked up into the sky to think of his own family and how much he missed them, and rode away. He rode towards Beecher's Hope; all the while thinking about what had just happened.
Author's Note: Good God, how long has it been since I uploaded a story? Anyways, with the Covid-19, or Corona Virus, or whatever you want to call it screwing everything up for everyone I figured that now would be good time to get back into writing. Or drawing. Or music. Whatever, I need to do something to keep my mind occupied during these weird times. Hope you all are doing well during these crazy days and I hope you all enjoy (and cried during the reading of) this story.