January 1881

Bud jerked awake to the bedroom door slamming against the wall. Tolbert came in, carrying what looked like a crate full of his moonshine, and set it on the bedside table before backtracking and closing the door. He took off his boots, coat, hat, and shirt, tossing them all in one corner of the room.

"Tol?"

"Go back t' sleep," he ordered, his voice a little hoarse. It almost sounded like Tolbert had been crying.

"You okay?" Bud propped himself up on his elbows, gazing at his older brother as he sat down on his side of the bed.

"I'm fine, Bud," he snapped. "Go back t' sleep."

Bud flinched and turned to where his back faced Tolbert.

"Night, Tol."

"Night."

Tolbert sighed as he grabbed a bottle and pulled the wooden cork out of the top, taking a swig of the liquid. Maybe he shouldn't've been so harsh with Bud, as the boy was only concerned, but Tolbert was dealing with more than enough at the moment and he didn't want to talk about it. He especially didn't want to talk about it with his sixteen-year-old brother.

He's taken Mary to a dance that evening, and when he was escorting her home, she'd informed him that she didn't want him anymore.

"Tolbert... I don't want ya t' get mad at me, but I need t' talk t' you 'bout somethin'. Tolbert, I don't want ya anymore. Wait, no, I mean I don't want ta be with ya anymore. Ya jus' got too violent a temper t' be a good man, an' I can't help but wonder if ya'd hurt me eventually. With a temper like that, Tolbert, ya can't be a good husband or a good poppy. I don't — I don't want t' hurt ya, Tolbert, but I jus' can't see past that temper of yours. If we did get married, an' we had chil'ren, what would happen if ya got mad at 'em?"

Tolbert shook his head. She was right about three things, at the very least. Tolbert wasn't a good man, Tolbert wouldn't make a good husband, and he certainly wouldn't make a good poppy. Tolbert wasn't the type of man cut out for something like that.

"I jus' can't stand by n let ya hit 'em, Tolbert. They're chil'ren. Discipline is one thing, but wit' your temper, ya'd end up takin' it further than that. I do love ya, Tolbert. I just can't marry ya. Ya do jus' fine keepin' yer temper in check around that brother of yours. Ya don't care what ya say or do 'round anyone else."

Tolbert supposed she had a good reason for it. He just wished she would have told him sooner if that was how she truly felt. He reached in his pocket, pulling out the ring that he'd bought over in Pikeville. He didn't really have the money to spare on it, but Mary had told him that she'd always hoped to have a ring when she became betrothed. Tolbert slammed it on the bedside table, accidentally waking Bud a second time.

"Tol?" he mumbled groggily, turning to where he faced him.

"Sorry, Buddy. Go back t' sleep," he said much softer than he had the first few times he'd done it.

"What's wrong, Tol?"

Tolbert sighed and looked down at him.

"Bud, when ya find a pretty girl n she agrees t' court ya, y' might wanna make sure she thinks yer a good man n she wants t' marry ya. 'Specially might wanna do that 'fore ya let her get real close n ya fall in love with 'er."

"...Tolbert?" Bud sat up his brows pinched together in concern. "Tolbert, what're ya talkin' 'bout?"

"Mary don't want me no more."

Bud blinked in surprise, his brows raising.

"Don't look at me like that," Tolbert commanded shakily.

"S-sorry. What... what all did she say t' ya?"

"She said she didn't want me anymore. That she didn't wanna be with me anymore. Said I got too violent a temper t' be a good man, a good husband, or a good poppy. She said she can't see past it. Said I'd end up hurtin' the chil'ren if we got married n had 'em. Then she said I do real good at keepin' my temper in check 'round you, but I don't care what I say or do 'round anyone else."

"Oh, Tolbert," Bud breathed. Bud pulled his older brother into a tight embrace, the empty bottle in Tolbert's hand dropping to the floor. "Tolbert, oh God, I'm so sorry."

Bud knew how hard it was for Tolbert to let Mary get so close to him, he knew how Tolbert had planned to ask Mary to marry him, he knew how Tolbert had spent practically every dime he had on that ring for her.

"Did... did you ask her?"

"No," Tolbert mumbled, his voice thick with emotion. "Didn't have the chance to. Now I'm glad I didn't; I woulda jus' humiliated myself."

"Nothin' humiliatin' 'bout showin' someone ya love 'em," Bud pointed out, letting Tolbert lay his head on his shoulder.

"There is when they don't want ya," Tolbert countered. "I'm an idiot for ever thinkin' she might wanna marry me anyways. She's right — I'd be a terr'ble husband n a terr'ble poppy, an-an' I ain't a good man. Not in the least."

"Yes, ya are. Yer a great man, Tolbert. You're absolutely amazin', an' I don't think ya should listen t' her. I think ya'd make a great poppy."

"Yeah, an' you're the only one," Tolbert scoffed.

"Nah. Ya'd make a great poppy. Speakin' of, I didn't know where ya went t'night, s' I told Poppy ya was up at the still."

"Mm... thanks," Tolbert mumbled against Bud's shoulder. "Ev'ryone should have a brother like ya, Bud McCoy."

"Oh God, no," Bud shook his head. "No one needs someone like me."

Tolbert sat up, his brows furrowing while he gazed at Bud.

"Pardon?"

"Nothin', Tol," he sighed tiredly. "Let's jus' get some sleep."

"A'ight," Tolbert conceded. He wouldn't push Bud to talk about it if he didn't want to, but that didn't mean he wouldn't ask about it tomorrow. All Bud had to do was tell him he didn't want to talk about it, or the way Bud usually did something like that was by telling Tolbert he could shut up and mind his own business.

Bud ended up lying on his side facing Tolbert, who gave the boy a tight-lipped smile.

"Night, Buddy."

"Nigh', Tol," Bud murmured, already half-asleep. "I love ya."

"Love ya too, Bud."

Tolbert had insisted that Bud went hunting with him. Bud had agreed — he loved going out in the mountains for a while — and had bid their mother goodbye before rushing out to catch up with Tolbert.

Now, leaned against an oak tree, the two brothers stood in silence. Tolbert was debating on breaking it; Bud's words the night before had him worried and he wanted to find out what he meant by it. So after debating with himself for a moment, he decided to speak up.

"Bud... what'd ya mean by no one needs someone like ya?"

Bud looked over at Tolbert and sighed. He'd hoped that Tolbert would forget about it, but he should've known that he wouldn't. Tolbert had the ability to remember the things he wanted to remember most of the time (the only exceptions being when he's half-asleep and/or when he's extremely drunk) and he never let the matter go once he heard something.

"Y'know what I did in November. When — when ya had the mind t' kill Jonce? Well... not too long after that, I got up in the middle of the night t' get some water. Heard Poppy tell Mama that I ain't nothin' but a dis'pointment an' that I couldn't be no son of his if I'm savin' Johnse Hatfield's hide. I know they think I don't know he said it. Ev'ry time I see him, it's all I can think about. That Poppy's dis'pointed in me n he wishes he never woulda gave me his name."

"Oh, Buddy, why didn't ya tell me?"

"Ain't no reason to. Not like we can do nothin' 'bout it," he sniffled, forcing his tears back.

"That ain't the point," Tolbert rolled his eyes.

"I know. It's jus'... after that, it jus' seems like no one really wants me 'round anymore. Heck, Tol, there's times I convince myself that you don't even love me anymore. I know Pharmer n Cal n Jim are all still mad at me. So's Poppy. It just... it feels like no one loves me anymore, Tol. No one really talks t' me anymore but you n Mama, an' I know I shouldn't feel the way I do, but I can't help it. I've tried t' make it stop; t' make it go 'way, but it won't. I don't know why it won't," he confessed, wiping at his eyes. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be botherin' you. Ya've got 'nough t' deal with without listenin' t' my problems."

"Ya ain't botherin' me. I wanna know all this. I'd rather have ya tell me all this than you keep it t' yerself 'til ya end up convincin' yourself that we all hate ya. We don't, Bud. I was mad at ya for a day or two after that, but I never stopped lovin' ya. Jus' 'cause yer mad at someone don't mean ya don't love 'em, honey. We love ya. We love ya very much, but I don't think any of 'em can love ya as much as I do."

Bud looked up at Tolbert and sighed heavily. He didn't know how he could express that he didn't want Tolbert to worry about him; that he wanted Tolbert to focus on his own situation without giving Bud a second thought. He shouldn't worry about Bud.

"C'mon, let's go on up the mountain a bit. Maybe we'll have better luck up there."

Bud nodded, slinging his rifle over his shoulder while following Tolbert. They reached a narrow path and Bud grimaced. He pushed on, though, and didn't say a word about it. If Tolbert wanted to go on up the mountain, Bud would go with him. That was just the way it worked.

They trekked up the path in silence. Leaves crunched beneath their boots and small piles of snow were still clinging to the mountainside, but they paid it no mind. Overall, it was a nice day for the middle of January.

Bud bit down on his lip, carefully stepping over a fallen tree limb. He allowed his eyes to stay focused on the ground, deciding that would probably be best.

"You not gonna say anythin'?" Tolbert asked.

"Huh?" Bud lifted his head swiftly, not seeing the fair-sized rock in the middle of the path. He tripped, his ankle twisting. He gasped and lost his balance, letting out a shriek before toppling over the side of the path, rolling down the hill. He heard Tolbert shout, but Bud couldn't answer. He grunted when he hit a tree at the bottom of the hill, groaning as he shifted onto his back.

He slid the strap off of his shoulder and moved his rifle to where it laid beside him, looking back toward the hill when he heard Tolbert shout again.

"BUD!"

He grimaced when he saw Tolbert making his way down the hill, but he didn't say anything.

"Oh my God, Bud!" Tolbert fell to his knees beside the boy. "Are ya a'ight?"

"Fine, fine," Bud waved him off, forcing himself to sit up. "Jus' hurts a bit is all."

"What happened?" Tolbert queried, his blue eyes shining with concern.

"I tripped over a stupid rock," Bud grumbled. "Twisted m' ankle n lost my balance. I'm fine."

"Let me see it."

"Tol—"

"It'll make me feel better if ya jus' let me look at yer ankle, Buddy. There's a chance ya did more than twist it, an' I'd hate ya t' walk around on a broken ankle."

"Fine," Bud groaned, looking down at the ground. He winced when Tolbert pulled his boot off and shoved his pant leg up, but he didn't utter a word.

Tolbert examined Bud's ankle, gently rubbing his thumb across it. Bud yelped and smacked at Tolbert, but Tolbert paid no mind to him. He was used to Bud smacking at him when he was checking a wound or injury the boy had acquired.

"Yeah, you ain't walkin' on that," Tolbert mumbled.

"Tolbert—"

"Don't argue with me," Tolbert's eyes snapped up and met his. "How bad's it hurt, Bud?"

"Hurts real bad," he admitted, his voice rising in pitch. "Oh my God, it hurts real bad, Tol."

Tolbert let the boy put his boot back on before standing and grabbing Bud's rifle. He slid the strap over his shoulder and bent down, letting Bud wrap an arm around his neck. He lifted him and stood, Bud hiding his face by tucking his head in the crook of Tolbert's neck.

"I'm real sorry," Bud muttered. "Shoulda paid 'tention."

"Hey, it happens," Tolbert tried to assure him. "Ain't no need t' be embarrassed. It's jus' me."

"That ain't the point," Bud grumbled, clenching Tolbert's shirt in his hand. "If I woulda paid 'tention, ya wouldn't be carryin' me like I'm a baby."

"The only reason I ain't lettin' ya walk is 'cause it felt like it's broke. Did it crack?"

"Sounded that way. I thought I mighta snapped a stick when I tried t' catch my balance," Bud shrugged lightly. Tolbert hummed. "Sorry."

"Quit 'pologizin'," Tolbert scolded softly. "It's alright. I promise ya, Bud, if I didn't wanna carry you back home, ya'd be walkin'."

"I know."

"Good. Glad ya know."

"Tolbert."

"Hm?"

"Shut up."

Ran'l had been outside when the boys returned. He raised a brow, but he didn't say anything. He would find out what had happened from Sally later since he and his youngest son weren't getting along as well as they usually did.

Tolbert carried Bud inside after acknowledging their father, meeting their mother's eyes the second he entered the cabin.

"What happened?" she demanded, approaching the boys while dusting her hands on her apron.

"Bud tripped n hurt himself. I think he's broke his ankle, Mama," Tolbert told her in a hushed voice. "It didn't feel right."

"Put him t' bed. I'll be up in a minute t' check it."

"Thank ya, Mama," Tolbert breathed, moving toward the staircase.

He rushed up to the room he shared with Bud, placing the boy on the bed before moving and carefully pulling his boots off. He winced when he saw the black and blue color on Bud's left ankle, but he didn't say anything. Bud had dozed off on the journey back, and he wouldn't wake him just yet.

Sally confirmed Tolbert's suspicions while the boy was sleeping, and had bandaged his ankle. After giving Tolbert the strict order to keep Bud in bed, she returned downstairs.

When Bud awoke that evening, Tolbert was already sleeping. And while Bud wasn't hungry, he was thirsty, so he got up to go downstairs and fetch something to drink. He limped terribly, but he pressed on. He was fine; he'd just twisted his ankle and it was trying to give him problems.

He slowly made his way downstairs, wincing and tightly holding to the banister as he descended. His ankle seemed to be sending waves of pain through his leg, but he didn't care. Bud carefully stepped down once he'd made it to the bottom, and ran his hand along the wall until he reached the kitchen, latching on to the counter and letting out a pained, shaky breath.

He grabbed a glass and filled it with water, leaning against the counter while he sipped it. He lifted his left foot off of the floor and hummed in displeasure, willing the pain away.

"Thought yer ankle was broke."

Bud jumped, nearly losing his grip on the glass.

"Broke? Tol said it might be, but he didn't say that it was."

Ran'l hummed. He got closer to Bud, and Bud could smell the moonshine. Ran'l was drunk. Bud tried to suppress a grimace; he hated it when his father was drunk. Ran'l could either be overly emotional, or he could be really mean. And judging by the way he looked right now, tonight he was really mean.

"Ya know, really, Bud, I expected more from ya. I gave ya my name, after all, an' ya ain't done nothin' but disappoint me since ya been alive."

Bud flinched at the words and hung his head.

"I'm real sorry, Poppy. I-I try m' best t' make ya proud," Bud whispered, forcing back the tears that pricked the corners of his eyes.

"An' even yer best ain't good enough," Ran'l scoffed. "Were ya doin' yer best t' make me proud when ya saved Jonce Hatfield's hide?"

"Poppy, I didn't know she was gonna—"

"She ain't part of this fam'ly no more! Ya shouldn't even go n see her, much less talk ta her! She brought shame on this fam'ly, Bud!"

"I'm sorry, I jus' didn't—"

"Shut up!" Ran'l slapped Bud, who flinched from the harsh impact. He fell silent and kept his eyes fixated on the floor, taking deep, shaky breaths through his nostrils while he tried to calm his racing heart. "Ya've never made me proud, Bud."

"I know," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"I don't even love ya, Bud. Ya ain't been nothin' but a problem ever since ya was born, ya know that? Yer a shame t' the family, a disgrace! Ya ain't ever done nothin' ta make any of us proud, not even yer Mama or Tolbert. Sometimes I wonder why any of 'em loves ya, Bud. Ya ain't good for nothin'. Maybe that's why I don't love ya."

Bud felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Ran'l didn't love him anymore. Before he'd saved Johnse's hide, Ran'l had loved him unconditionally. And sure, Bud knew his father was drunk, but weren't people honest when they were drunk?

"Heck, Bud, I wonder why I let ya stay here n keep my name! Ya ain't done nothin' but bring shame t' it. Maybe you was nothin' but a mistake. Maybe I made it givin' ya my name, I don't know, but yer a mistake, Randolph McCoy, Junior. Ya understandin' me?"

"Yes, sir," Bud forced the words out, trying to hide the fact that he wanted to cry.

"Ya cryin', Bud? Ya gonna sit here n cry like a little baby like ya always do? Are ya s' weak that ya can't take what I say t' ya, Bud? Huh?"

"No, sir. 'M not weak."

"Yeah, ya are. Yer s' weak I wonder if yer really my son. No son of mine is as weak as you are, Bud. Ya can't be my son; yer too weak, too soft. Ya ain't no son of mine, Bud."

Bud hung his head, his chin touching his chest while he fought back tears. He wouldn't cry, he would not cry. He wasn't weak; he wasn't too soft. He had been terrified that his older brothers would end up getting themselves killed if they'd went through with their plan, so he had told the one person he knew could stop them.

"Matter of fact, Bud," Ran'l spoke up again, pulling the boy out of his thoughts, "I hate ya. I hate ya almost as much as I hate the Hatfields. Now ya best git yer hide back up t' bed, ya understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

Bud hurried toward the stairs, ignoring the pain it caused him. He climbed them and slipped inside the room he shared with Tolbert, finding his brother lighting a lamp.

"Where in the world have ya been?!" Tolbert demanded.

Bud involuntarily flinched.

"I—I jus' wanted t' get some water," he responded quietly, lowering his head so Tolbert couldn't see the tears that slipped onto his face. "I'm sorry."

"Bud, darlin', ya can't be walkin' on your ankle right now. It's broken. Ya need t' get back in bed, okay?"

"Okay."

Bud would do as he was told. It was bad enough that Ran'l hated him, and he was pretty sure everyone else did too. But Tolbert was nice to him, as was his mother and Alifair, and he would do anything they asked him to do.

Heck, Bud was pretty sure even Roseanna didn't love him.

Bud just wasn't a lovable person, apparently. His parents didn't love him or want him, and his siblings were the same way. He knew that Perry didn't like him anymore — the man gave Bud a look that could kill every time he saw him. He never spoke a kind word to Bud anymore, and he knew that Ran'l heard it. He was always right there when it happened.

Bud shook his head and got into bed, turning to where his back faced Tolbert. Tolbert hadn't done anything wrong, but Bud certainly wouldn't make it harder for them both by laying on his side facing him and accidentally curling up beside him while he slept.

"Bud? You alright?"

Bud didn't say anything. Maybe he could pass it off like he'd been really tired and had already fallen asleep. So he closed his eyes and evened out his breathing, giving the impression that he was asleep.

"Well, if ya ain't asleep, I love ya, Buddy," Tolbert told him before bending down and pressing a kiss to his temple. Tolbert laid down and turned to where his back faced Bud, figuring the boy was just in a mood.

Bud waited until he heard Tolbert snore to cry as silently as he possibly could. Ran'l didn't love him. Bud should have expected that, but he hadn't, and now he was in a mess of trouble again.

And what about the rest of the family? They hated him too, didn't they? Bud wasn't sure what he could do anymore. He supposed he would have to figure it out in the morning.

Tolbert knew there was something wrong with Bud. He only knew that because the boy hadn't uttered a single word the entire morning, and if Bud was alright, he would have fought against the order to stay in bed. Tolbert couldn't figure out what was wrong with him. He'd been fine the day before, had laughed and joked with Tolbert like he didn't have a care in the world. It was almost as if Bud was a completely different person.

So he voiced his concern to Sally, who agreed to go upstairs and see what was troubling the boy.

When she entered the room, the first thing she noticed was that he had intentionally turned away from Tolbert's side of the bed, and let his left arm hang limply over the side of it, his hand laying on the floor. His eyes were unfocused, his face red and splotchy, as though he'd been crying.

She knew in an instant that Tolbert was right. Something was wrong with her son and it wasn't the fact that he was being cooped up in the house until his ankle healed.

"Bud?"

Bud gasped and jerked, propping himself up with his elbow. He let out a breath of relief when he realized it was only Sally, and turned onto his back. He didn't want to see her; she didn't love him as he did her, so why would he want to look at her and be reminded of it?

"Honey, what's wrong wit'cha?" Sally questioned as she sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling her fingers through her son's thick locks of honey-brown hair.

"Stop, Mama," he mumbled, turning onto his side.

It hurt Sally that he'd turned away, but she knew her son well. He wouldn't do it without just cause, and she was determined to figure out what was bothering him so badly.

"A'ight, baby, I'll stop. Wanna tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothin'."

"It's somethin', Bud. Ya didn't fight with Tolbert when he told ya you'd be stayin' in this bed for a while."

"Ain't no sense t' fight. Won't do me no good."

"That's never made a diff'rence t' you b'fore, honey. What's wrong?"

"Nothin', Mama," he said a little forcefully. "Will ya please leave me alone?"

"Yeah, Buddy. I'll leave ya alone now."

Tolbert sighed as he entered the room that evening, his eyes flicking over his brother's frame. He still hadn't figured out what was wrong with him and had been told by Sally that Bud had asked her to leave him alone when she tried to talk to him. So Tolbert decided to take it upon himself to coax whatever it was out of him.

"Hey, Buddy. Ya feelin' okay?"

"I feel fine," he huffed.

"What's wrong, Bud?"

"Nothin's wrong!" Bud exclaimed.

"Bud, somethin's botherin' ya. What is it?"

"Don't worry about it. I don't wanna talk 'bout it n I don't need you tryin' t' fix everything. Ya can't fix this, Tolbert, so just shut up."

Tolbert sighed heavily and got in bed, shifting to where he faced the boy's back.

"I love ya, Bud," Tolbert murmured.

Bud didn't respond. It was a blatant lie, why should he reciprocate it? Sure, he loved Tolbert and everyone else unconditionally, but he wouldn't let them lie to him anymore. They hated him, he knew that they hated him. He wasn't going to say something like that when they didn't mean it.

"Bud... ya not love me or somethin'?"

Bud stayed silent, tears welling in his eyes. He loved Tolbert, he truly did, but he couldn't say it anymore. Not when Tolbert didn't really love him.

"I don't know what I did, Bud, but I'm sorry," Tolbert apologized. "I don't mean t' hurt ya. If ya tell me what I did t' ya, we can work this out, Bud."

His breathing hitched as tears escaped onto his face, rolling onto his pillow.

"I love ya."

February 1881

Bud had pushed everyone away from him. He never allowed anyone to touch him anymore, he hardly spoke a word, and he never told anyone that he loved them anymore. It was as though the Bud they all knew and loved had vanished and had been replaced with an empty shell of a person.

So when Sally finally let him go back to doing his chores, Bud was rarely seen around the house. He spent his time doing his work and avoiding the family. But when he was forced to work with Tolbert to fix the fence that surrounded the tobacco field, well, he didn't have a choice when it came to talking.

"You alright?"

"Fine," he grumbled, pounding the nail into the board.

Tolbert, deciding to take a different approach, asked, "Think we'll have a good harvest this year?"

"Maybe."

"Bud, you've gotta talk t' me. Ya've hardly said a word t' me in a month n it's killin' me!"

"Don't, Tolbert," Bud sighed tiredly. "Jus' leave me alone."

"A'ight," Tolbert reluctantly agreed. If that was what Bud wanted, that was what Tolbert would do.

That evening, before the sun had set, Bud had come face to face with Ran'l, who was drunk again. He'd never known his father to drink so much but hadn't made a single comment on that while he took a berating and a beating he wouldn't forget.

And after Ran'l went back inside, Bud went to the barn. He hid up in the hayloft, curling up into a ball and crying. He didn't mean to be a shame to the family or his father's name, and he'd tried so hard to make his family proud of him. Yet nothing seemed to work, and Bud knew that every person in his family hated him now.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the moonshine that Tolbert had stored in the hayloft a few days before. It was a single crate filled with bottles, and Bud didn't see how he could make it any worse by trying to numb the pain he felt.

So he grabbed one, taking the wooden cork out of the top of the bottle. He licked his lips and hesitated, swallowing thickly. It wouldn't hurt to try to numb the pain, would it? Everyone hated him anyway; it wasn't like he could make it any worse by drinking a bit of moonshine.

Without so much as a second thought, Bud took a swig of moonshine. His face contorted to a disgusted expression and he coughed a little, but he was fine. He hadn't expected it to taste so bitter. He took another drink and leaned his head back against the wall, exhaling deeply through his nostrils. He really hoped this worked.

Bud had been up in the hayloft for a while, and was undeniably drunk. He'd drank seven bottles of moonshine, and he still felt the invisible knife in his heart that was twisting each time he met his father and received a berating or each time he didn't tell someone that he loved them.

It hadn't worked the way he hoped it would. Bud got up and stumbled, but he managed to catch his balance before making his way over to the ladder and climbing down it. He staggered out of the barn and into the cabin, where Tolbert, Ran'l, Sally, and Alifair all stared at him in shock.

"Bud...?" Tolbert got up and approached him, gently gripping the boy's biceps. "You drunk?"

"I ain' drunk," Bud slurred, swatting at Tolbert's arms. "Don' touch me."

"Sorry," Tolbert released him from his grip, allowing his hands to fall down by his sides. "Here... let's go upstairs. Ya... ya look kinda tired, darlin'."

"Mkay."

Tolbert carefully grasped Bud's arm, letting the boy lean against him while they walked. He helped the boy get up the stairs, and sighed once they were inside their room.

"Get ready for bed."

"Mmm... Tol'ert?"

"Yeah, it's me," Tolbert kept his voice soft. "Get ready for bed, honey."

Bud's brows furrowed and he looked at his brother strangely before untucking his shirt and pulling it over his head.

"Why y' actin' s' weird?"

"I ain't," Tolbert chuckled. "Yer jus' drunk, darlin'. We gotta getcha int' bed."

"I ain' drunk!" Bud repeated, his voice cracking in the middle of the sentence.

"Yes, you are. You are drunk, Bud. An' ya best have a good reason for it, too."

"Mmph."

Bud got into bed and looked at Tolbert.

"Will y' stay, Tol?"

"Yeah, Buddy. I'll stay."

Tolbert took off his shirt and got into bed, letting his baby brother curl up against him. What he didn't expect was for the boy to burst into tears. Tolbert exhaled deeply through his nostrils while he rubbed the boy's back. It was going to be a long evening.

Bud dozed off about an hour later, and had tightly wrapped his arms around Tolbert's middle. His legs ended up being thrown over Tolbert's, keeping him there beside him.

"Pharmer!" Tolbert called out when he saw his younger brother walk by the door.

Pharmer backtracked and leaned against the doorway, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Hm?"

"I need ya t' do somethin' for me."

"What?" Pharmer raised a brow.

"Go out t' the barn, up in the hayloft. I need ya t' tell me how many empty bottles are up there."

"A'ight. Be back in a minute," he mumbled, walking off.

Tolbert was hoping that Bud hadn't drunk too much; that he'd only drank one or two — three at the most — bottles of moonshine. Bud had never drank moonshine before (Tolbert had forbidden it) and he knew that it wouldn't take much to make Bud drunk the first time he ever drank it.

He gazed down at his brother, observing his childlike features. Bud looked so young. Tolbert hadn't really noticed how young his baby brother looked before, and now that he did, he sort of wished the boy wasn't sixteen. He looked more to be around thirteen, and Tolbert would have preferred that. Bud listened to him then, and he wouldn't have dared to even think about touching moonshine.

"Um... Tol, did ya drink any of that 'shine out there?" Pharmer asked as he slipped into the room.

"No, why?"

"Tol... there's seven empty bottles."

Tolbert sighed heavily, running his hand through his ginger curls. He didn't know what he could possibly to dissuade the boy from doing it again, but he was sure that him being sick when he woke up would help with it.

"Why's he drinkin'?"

"I dunno, Pharmer," Tolbert looked up at him. "I dunno anymore. I thought maybe that he was jus' upset over his ankle when it started, y'know? That he was mad he couldn't do anythin' for a while n jus' decided t' take his frustration out on us. But then he snapped at Mama n told her t' leave him alone, n he started gettin' these bruises an' he cries himself t' sleep. He thinks I don't know, but I do. I know he's cryin' himself t' sleep."

"You'll figure it out. He can never stop talkin' t' you for long, Tol. He loves ya too much."

"He's been at it for a month now, Pharmer."

"Jus' give him time. Maybe he'll tell ya when he wakes up."

"Maybe..."

"Well, I'm headin' t' bed. Night, Tolbert."

"Night."

Bud was miserable.

He'd woken up about five minutes ago, and had turned away from Tolbert and pulled the blanket over his head. He gagged and squeezed his eyes shut, keeping silent while he swallowed thickly. Tolbert had gotten up and had gone downstairs after dressing. He returned and placed a glass of water on the bedside table.

"Hey, come on," Tolbert murmured, trying to coax the boy out from under the blanket. "Water helps it, I promise. C'mon."

"Don't wanna," Bud moaned miserably.

"I know, but ya want it t' stop?" Tolbert asked.

"Mhm."

"Then ya gotta come out from under the blanket, honey. Sit up for me, there ya go. Here, drink this," Tolbert handed him the glass of water. Bud took it and sipped it. "What're ya drinkin' for, Buddy?"

"I jus' want the pain t' stop," he whispered so softly, Tolbert barely heard him.

"What pain?" Tolbert's brows pinched together in concern. Had Bud gotten hurt and hid it from them?

"Stop it," Bud stated shakily.

"Stop what? I can't stop if I don't know what I'm do—"

"Stop! Stop actin' like ya care when ya don't!"

"Bud, what in the world are ya talkin' about?" Tolbert questioned, being sure to keep his voice soft. He was sure Bud still had a headache and he didn't want to make it any worse.

"You don't care about me," Bud chuckled bitterly. "None of ya do! So stop actin' like ya do, Tolbert! I'm tired of ya always tellin' me that ya love me n actin' like yer concerned when ya ain't. So stop it! Stop. It."

Tolbert felt like Bud had just slapped him as hard as he could. Bud thought he didn't care about him.

"Where did ya get a crazy idea like that?" Tolbert demanded, overcoming his shock.

"It don't matter. It's true anyways," Bud muttered, taking another sip of water. "Don't — don't worry 'bout it, Tolbert."

"Buddy... ya drank seven bottles of moonshine. I'm gonna worry when yer doin' that."

"Nothin' t' worry 'bout, Tolbert. I'm fine."

"Oh yeah," Tolbert drawled sarcastically, "yer totally fine when you're drinkin' seven bottles of moonshine."

Bud took a gulp of water and looked at Tolbert, letting out a shaky breath.

"Bud, I've seen the bruises. I've heard ya cry yerself t' sleep for a month. What's goin' on, Buddy?"

Tolbert reached out and placed a hand on Bud's shoulder. Bud flinched, his breath hitching. Tolbert retracted his hand, looking at Bud with concerned eyes.

"Bud?"

"I'm fine, I swear," he rushed, giving Tolbert the empty glass. "I'll be downstairs in a minute."

"A'ight."

Bud couldn't sleep that night. So he stayed downstairs once everyone had gone to bed — well, everyone that was in the house. Ran'l had gone to Pikeville for a few days on business and Tolbert had yet to come home.

He didn't mind sitting in silence; it gave him a chance to think. He'd actually talked to Tolbert, but he hadn't told him anything. Bud wasn't going to be stupid enough to do that. He would keep it to himself; it worked out better for him that way.

He looked up when the door opened, finding Tolbert. He knew instantly that he'd drank too much while he was out, and let out a quiet sigh. Nothing good ever happened when Tolbert drank too much.

Bud watched him cross the room, making it to the counter before he acknowledged him.

"C'mere, Bud."

Bud reluctantly did as he was told. He approached his older brother, who swiftly pinned him against the wall, a menacing gleam in his eyes. Bud's heart skipped a beat. He'd never seen Tolbert look the way he did at that moment. It was like the Tolbert he knew and loved was nonexistent and had been replaced with what could only be described as either a demon or an evil spirit.

Bud had the sinking feeling that something bad was about to happen. He didn't care if it happened to him; he was nothing but a problem anyway. He just didn't want anything to happen to Tolbert, whether he be angry and drunk or not.

"Ya think I don't care 'bout ya? That I hate ya?" Tolbert sounded calm. He sounded too calm for Bud's liking. His tone of voice didn't match the fury in his eyes at all.

"...Yeah," Bud admitted.

"Well... yer right 'bout that. I hate ya, Bud! Hate ya so much I wish ya were dead!"

Bud flinched. Was he really that terrible? That the one person he loved the most wished he was dead?

Bud let out a surprised yelp when Tolbert pressed a knife against his throat. Tolbert was drunk, he wasn't in his right mind, but Bud wasn't scared. He knew that Tolbert would kill him without a second thought in his current state, but it didn't scare him.

"Maybe I should jus' kill ya now," Tolbert growled. "Ya ain't never done nothin' fer this fam'ly anyways. S' why should I believe for one second that ya'd ever change that?"

Bud stayed silent. He wasn't the least bit frightened of the blade that was against his throat. Bud didn't scare easy like he used to. He'd grown accustomed to certain things, and those things wouldn't scare him again. He was used to being threatened; he was used to being beaten and berated, and he was used to people telling him that they didn't love him.

"Ya not gonna say nothin'? Ya gonna jus' stand there n let me kill ya?"

"Do it. See if I care," Bud shrugged.

Tolbert brought the knife back a little, his brows furrowing while he gazed at his baby brother. Had he just said—

"TOLBERT MCCOY!"

Both boys turned toward Sally, the knife clattering at Bud's feet.

"You get yer hide up those stairs! Go t' bed now!"

Tolbert shot Bud a glare before doing what he was told. Sally sighed heavily and picked the knife up, laying it on the table.

"C'mon, Bud. You'll sleep in my room t'night."

"Mama," he began to protest.

"Randolph McCoy, Junior, you will sleep in my room t'night! Do ya understand me?" Sally raised her voice a little, causing Bud to flinch. He knew his mother was tired and likely didn't like to be wakened by such petty little things, so he agreed to it.

Despite everything, Bud still loved each and every one of his family members dearly. He didn't care that they despised him. He loved them more than anything in the world, and he would always take up for them. Even if they did something like Tolbert had just done.

"I don't want ya gettin' hurt, baby," Sally told him after they'd entered her room; the same room that she shared with Ran'l.

"He wa'n't gonna do nothin'. He's drunk, Mama," Bud muttered, reluctantly getting in the bed.

"I know he's drunk. That's why I'm scared he'll hurt ya. Tolbert's not really aware of what he's a-doin' right now, n I don't want ya gettin' hurt 'cause of it."

"It's fine, Mama. 'M used t' it," Bud mumbled.

"What d' ya mean yer used t' it?" Sally turned her head toward him.

Bud grimaced. He hadn't meant to say that aloud.

"Nothin', Mama."

"Bud."

He turned his head toward her, finding her pleading eyes staring at him.

"I promise ya, Mama, it's nothin'. Nothin' at all."

Sally sighed and let the matter drop. He would talk to her eventually. She just had to give him time.

When Tolbert finally came downstairs the next morning, Bud was still sleeping on Ran'l's side of the bed. And when Tolbert noticed his baby brother was nowhere in sight, he asked his mother about his whereabouts.

"He's sleepin' in my room. Ya right near killed him last night, Tolbert."

"I what?" Tolbert blinked.

"I came out t' see whatcha were yellin' 'bout n ya had a knife t' his throat. Ya asked him if he was gonna stand there n let ya kill him, an—an' he told ya t' go 'head, that he didn't care," Sally explained, setting the last plate on the table.

"Is he okay?! I didn't — I didn't..."

"No, ya didn't hurt him none. Not physically, anyways. I don't know whatcha said t' him before that, but it's bothered him. Cried himself t' sleep last night. I thought I'd never get him t' sleep," Sally confessed, watching Tolbert pale.

Oh God, he'd made it worse. He had Bud to where he would talk to him and he'd ruined it all by his actions after he came home the night before.

The front door swung open and Ran'l walked in, looking at his son and wife strangely. He knew something was wrong, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it.

A scream sounded from Ran'l and Sally's bedroom.

Without as much as a second thought, Sally took off, running toward the room and shoving the door open, finding her son sitting up with wide, frightened eyes. She rushed over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed and trying to comfort him.

"Don't — don't touch me!" he shouted the instant she moved to lay a hand on his shoulder. "I don't want ya t' touch me!"

"Alright, honey, I won't. Tell me what's wrong."

"They're — they're gonna kill me, Mama. I don't wanna die," Bud sobbed, hanging his head low.

"Who's gonna kill ya, baby?"

"T-Tol'ert n Poppy!"

Tolbert and Ran'l, both of whom had followed Sally and stood in the doorway, flinched at his words.

Sally could understand Tolbert being a part of the dream, but Ran'l? What had he done to him?

"'M sorry, 'm so sorry! I swear, Mama, I—I won't ever cause no trouble 'gain!"

"Woah, Buddy, calm down. No one's gonna hurt ya."

Bud sat there and cried. Tolbert and Ran'l watched while she slowly managed to get him to calm down, and even coaxed the boy into allowing her to hug him tightly.

He clung to her and whimpered, Sally pulling her fingers through his unruly curls. She shushed him and murmured comforting words and phrases in his ear, gently rocking back and forth.

Sally's heart broke for her youngest son. She'd known for a while that there was something wrong with him, but she couldn't get him to talk to her. Last night was the first time in a little over a month that he'd actually spoken to her.

"Baby, y' gotta breathe," Sally murmured. "It's alright, Buddy, I promise ya it is. Shh, it's okay, it's okay."

"I don't wanna die, Mama," he whimpered.

"An' ya won't. I promise, Bud. Ya won't die. Not 'til yer old n grey, honey."

Sally massaged the back of his head, watching as his eyelids became heavy. He fought to stay awake, though. He couldn't sleep if he was going to have dreams like that.

"Why don't ya rest some more, Bud? I'll wake ya when breakfast's ready."

"A'ight, Mama," he agreed softly.

Sally cupped his face with her hands, pulling his head down a little and kissing his forehead. She smiled softly and rubbed his face before standing.

"Mama!"

"What?" she turned around, thinking she might've accidentally hurt him or hit an injury he was hiding from them.

"I love you."

Sally nearly breathed a sigh of relief.

"I love ya too, Buddy."

March 1881

Bud spent most of his time with Sally. Ran'l didn't stop him — Bud was finally talking to somebody and it was like he was his old self again.

Ran'l didn't know why his son had just shut everybody out without any warning or reasoning. He knew that something must have happened, and he'd tried his best to figure out what it was, but to no avail. He hadn't had the least bit of luck.

Bud was happier now. He did anything and everything Sally asked him to do, and that was how he ended up going to Pikeville. Sally usually asked either Ran'l or Calvin to go with her, but Bud had been so sweet as of late that she figured the boy could use a day away from the farm and all of its responsibilities.

Bud mostly kept to himself, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat with his hat pulled down enough that no one could see his eyes. Bud preferred it that way. There were people who greeted Sally, who reciprocated the gesture kindly, and she never forced Bud to speak to any of them. She just kept her arm hooked around his so he couldn't run off. If he ran off while they were in Pikeville, she'd never find him.

They wandered in and out of shops, where Sally did release him from her grasp and allowed him to wander around. Each time she caught him admiring something and offered to buy it, Bud declined and gave a weak, "I was jus' lookin' at it, Mama. I don't want it."

She knew that Bud wouldn't tenderly touch something he didn't want, but she never said anything. She only sighed and said, "Alright. What d' ya say we get outta here, hm?"

Bud always agreed and followed her out of the store.

Entering the next store, as Sally tried to make her trips to Pikeville few and far between, Bud spotted a section full of wood carvings. Sally knew how much Bud liked them, so she told him to go look around while she gathered what she needed.

Bud shuffled over to them, observing each little figure and statue. There were animals and people, even some that were carved as hunters in the woods preparing to shoot a bear or a raccoon. Bud understood that; he liked hunting.

When he took his hound dog — whose name was Missy— he hunted things like raccoons and rabbits, maybe squirrels and pheasants, if Missy didn't howl and scare them off.

He'd been told by his brothers that he was a sharpshooter; that Bud rarely missed anything he aimed at. The only time he did, it was because Missy scared the living daylights out of him by giving a loud bark. That or whichever brother he went with scared the living daylights out of him by shooting their rifle right beside his ear, which caused it to ring.

But God, he loved hunting. He loved getting out in the mountains away from everyone for a few hours, just listening to the birds call to each other and spotting a female deer with her fawns, watching them as they frolicked around. Bud loved watching all the creatures as they ran around. They knew the hills as well as he did, maybe even better, he didn't really know.

He shook his head and focused on the wood in front of him again. Bud could easily make any one of them himself; he knew how to carve things out of wood. He'd gotten quite good at it since he started carving dolls for his younger sisters. It became a tradition for them; every year on their birthday and at Christmas, they would receive a carved doll from Bud. Each one had something different about it, and he was always trying to make them better than the last.

He knew they kept them in their chests, replacing the one they kept in the room each time they got a new one. That was good enough for him, knowing that something he did made someone happy. It made him feel like he was at least good enough to make someone smile, and he kept on doing it, ignoring the fact that his sisters hated him.

"Bud, honey?"

Bud was startled and nearly jumped out of his skin when Sally placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry, sorry. Musta been thinkin'," he laughed breathlessly.

Sally laughed with him, shaking her head lightly. She knew Bud had the tendency to start thinking and space out, to just stare at whatever he'd been looking at without realizing he was doing it. She never thought anything of it; her son was intelligent in every way and she never told him that he shouldn't spend so much time thinking. It was usually after he did that that he did something that was absolutely genius. He'd started a tradition with his younger sisters that way, had even thought about starting to do it with Alifair, who seemed to be growing tired of being gifted a dime novel.

"Mama... Ali's got a birthday soon... ya think she'd like somethin' made of wood instead this year?"

"Maybe so," Sally nodded. "She has quite a few dime novels."

"I know. She likes eagles, don't she?"

"'Deed she does."

"Hmm..."

She could practically see the wheels in Bud's head turning. He didn't talk to Alifair, didn't talk to anyone but Sally, but she knew that he still loved each and every one of them dearly. She watched her son as he chewed on his lip, clearly thinking something over while he stood and observed the small wooden figures in front of him.

"Maybe... I'm sorry, Mama, ya ready t' go?" Bud turned toward her. She let out a laugh and nodded.

"I don't mind standin' here if yer tryin' ta figure somethin' out, honey."

"Nah, I got it," Bud murmured sheepishly, his cheeks reddening. "Jus' hope Alifair likes it."

"I'm sure she'll like whatever it is yer plannin' on doin'," Sally assured him, looping her arm around his. "Let's go home, darlin'."

Bud had found a good piece of wood that evening and was sitting in front of the fire on a crate, carving away at it. His mother knew that he was up to something, as did his father, but neither one of them said a word to him. He was content to sit by the fire and carve a piece of wood.

Tolbert had done Bud's chores for him since he was in Pikeville most of the day, so Ran'l had no qualms with letting the boy sit and carve wood. He knew Bud had started the tradition of carving wooden dolls for Trinnie, Addie, and Fanny, but he knew it was too soon for him to be starting on that. Well... it was too soon unless he was planning to try something completely different with them.

Wood shavings fell at his feet, but Bud paid them no mind. He continued to carefully glide his knife along the wood.

"What d' ya think he's up to, Sally?" Ran'l asked softly so he wouldn't hear.

"I dunno. Ain't seen him that happy in a while, though, so it's best not t' say anythin', Ran'l. Reckon we'll find out when he gets it done."

"I can't figure out why he won't talk t' none of us. Bud's never been that way."

"He'll come 'round eventually. Just give him time."

"You know what it is?" Ran'l looked at his wife.

"No," she shook her head slightly, "I'm afraid I don't. He's never said n I never asked. He had a good day, though. He enjoyed goin' t' Pikeville."

"I'm glad he did," Ran'l gave a small smile. "I think that whatever happened with him n Tolbert has helped a little. He's talkin' ta you now, Sally."

"That he is," Sally nodded in agreement. "I'm not sure what's happened to him, Ran'l. All I know is that my baby boy is more content alone than he is with his family right now. It worries me."

Bud looked up when the door opened, revealing Perry Cline. He didn't say anything, but his face fell and the happiness vanished. His eyes — which had been bright again — became dull and he focused on the wood in front of him. He wouldn't say anything to Perry; Perry had been nothing but cruel ever since Bud had told Roseanna what the boys were up to.

His parents noticed the change in his mood. Sally stood and made her way over to him, moving the rocking chair to where she sat directly beside him. He could hear Ran'l and Perry conversing quietly; too quiet to make out what they were saying.

"Whatcha doin'?" Sally asked, looking at him curiously.

"Makin' somethin'," was his response. "I got t' thinkin'. Ali's got more than 'nough books, Mama. I think she's gettin' tired of gettin' those. So I's gonna make her somethin' diff'rent."

"Oh, really?" Sally kept her voice low. "What're ya makin' her?"

"Somethin' like the ones in that shop. Gonna try my best at it, anyways. I gotta figure out what t' do for Tolbert this year, too, since they're both s' close with their birthdays," he mused, glancing at Sally.

"That they are," she nodded slightly. "Very close."

"With Ali bein' on the tenth of June n Tolbert bein' on the sixteenth. Bet you just love havin' t' bake two pies in the same week."

"It ain't all that bad," she laughed. "Least we get somethin' sweet."

"Yeah, that's true. I like sweets." A soft smile spread across his face. "Like sweets a whole lot."

"Oh, I know. Ya love cookies an awful lot, Buddy."

"They're good," he shrugged. "Ain't my fault ya bake good cookies, Mama."

Sally burst into a fit of laughter, her eyes alight with mirth while she laughed at her son's comment.

"Well, I thank ya. Glad ya like 'em, baby."

"Mama, I ain't a baby," he playfully rolled his eyes. The only time they ever bantered, it was playful, and Bud could keep it going so long as Sally didn't stop him. He had a sharp witty tongue, and he rarely used it against his family. But when he did, the comments were something you couldn't help but laugh at.

"Alright then, what are ya?"

"I'm almost a grown man, Mama! Y' know that as well as I do!"

"I dunno," Sally scratched the back of her neck. "Sometimes I think yer still a baby."

"Mama!" Bud exclaimed, earning a peal of laughter from her and odd looks from Perry and Ran'l. "I ain't no baby."

"Alright, so ya ain't a baby. But yer still my baby. Yer my baby boy, ya know that. I love ya a whole lot, darlin'."

"I know that, Mama. I love ya a whole lot too. I love ev'rybody, I really do, but... but I can't, Mama."

"Ya can't what?"

"Never mind," he shook his head. "Reckon I'm just thinkin' too much 'gain."

Sally sighed. She knew that he would tell her eventually. She just had to be patient.

Bud never enjoyed getting around his father when he was drunk. And most of the time, it was just because Bud had either forgotten something downstairs or he wanted a glass of water.

On this particular night — March nineteenth — Bud had asked Sally if he could stay downstairs and work on his newest wooden figure. Sally had agreed and had told him to wake her if he needed anything. So Bud stayed up, seated in front of the fireplace, carefully carving the wood.

Thunder cracked and lightning flashed, rain pounding against the roof. Bud paid it no mind; Tolbert had told him that storms were common throughout March and April and that it helped to soften the ground after it froze in the winter months. Bud supposed that his brother had a point, that at the very least, he'd been right about that, but he wasn't too sure.

He had just set his knife and the wood down to take a small break, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He grunted and let his hands fall, looking up when the front door opened. It was Ran'l, as Ran'l was the only one who'd been crazy enough to go out in the storm, so Bud was less than surprised to see him. He was less than surprised to find that his father was drunk as well. Bud averted his gaze.

"Wha're y' doin' up?" Ran'l slurred, giving the boy a glare.

"Mama said I could stay up n work on this," Bud answered honestly, his thumb rubbing the wood.

"Wha' fer?"

"I dunno. I asked n she said I could, s' I'm workin' on it."

"C'mere."

Bud grimaced and did as he was told. He wasn't stupid enough to go against Ran'l when he was in a drunken state. Bud didn't fight against him when Ran'l wrapped his hand around Bud's arm in an iron grip, leading him toward the kitchen. Bud was less than surprised when his father roughly shoved him against the wall.

He could see the fury in Ran'l's eyes. Bud's heart sunk a little when he realized that he'd only seen Ran'l look that way at him. He never looked that way at any of the others when he got mad at them.

"Y'know, yer Mama don't love ya, Bud. She don't hate ya like I do, but she don't love ya. No one in this fam'ly loves you, Bud."

Bud didn't flinch. He didn't react in any way.

"Ya ain't no son of mine, Bud McCoy. The only reason yer still livin' in this house is 'cause of yer mother, but believe me when I tell ya she don't love ya. Why would anyone be stupid enough ta love someone like you?"

Bud watched as Ran'l moved away from him. His brows furrowed in confusion. Ran'l had never just walked away.

Bud hesitantly followed him, finding him in front of the fire, holding the doll that Bud was working on. Ran'l's eyes met Bud's and he threw the doll into the fire, Bud making a noise in the back of his throat. Ran'l didn't say a word; he just went on to bed, leaving Bud alone, staring at the fire.

He didn't sleep that night. He'd knelt down beside the crate that he'd set the doll on and had exhaled deeply through his nostrils. He didn't understand why Ran'l had done that to him. His father had seen the work he'd put into it, had seen how long it had taken Bud to carve the little bit that he had.

And now he had to start all over.

Sally and Ran'l were the first ones up. They found their son sitting on his knees, staring down at the crate. The fire had died hours ago, but Bud hadn't bothered to keep it going. There was no sense to; he wouldn't pay it any mind. Not anymore, at least.

"Bud, honey, ain't you been t' bed?" Sally asked softly.

Bud just kept staring at the crate. She didn't love him either, so why answer?

"Bud?"

"Bud, why don't ya answer yer mother?"

Bud clenched his jaw. What right did Ran'l have to say anything to him after what he'd done? He could remember every word his father had uttered while he was drunk; he remembered every hurtful word that was hurled at him for the last two months.

"Randolph McCoy, Junior, I swear, ya better answer yer mother!"

He'd had enough. What right did Ran'l have to act like he was in the wrong when Bud hadn't done a single thing?

"Maybe you was a mistake." He looked up at Ran'l, his hazel eyes burning with anger. "Maybe I made it givin' ya my name, I don't know, but you were a mistake, Randolph McCoy, Junior. You're too weak, too soft t' be a son of mine. I don't love you. I hate you almost as much as I hate the Hatfields. Ya've never done anythin' t' make me proud. You're a shame t' the family, a disgrace."

"What are you—"

"Ya ain't done nothin' but disappoint me since ya've been alive. Even yer best ain't good enough. I wonder why I let ya stay here n keep my name, ya ain't good for nothin'. Your Mama don't love ya. She don't hate ya like I do, but she don't love ya. No one in this family loves ya. Ya ain't no son of mine, Bud McCoy. The only reason you're still livin' in this house is 'cause of your mother, but believe me when I tell ya she don't love ya. Why would anyone be stupid enough t' love someone like you?"

Bud's voice was trembling terribly. His parents stared at him in shock.

"Ya r'member that, Poppy?"

He heard someone come down the stairs and turned his head. Tolbert made his way over to them, looking confused.

"What's—"

"And you. I hate you. I hate you so much I wish ya'd die," Bud threw the words Tolbert had screamed at him right back. "Maybe I should just kill ya now. Y-ya ain't never done nothin' fer this fam'ly anyways. S' why should I believe for one second that ya'd ever change that?"

Tolbert blinked, staring at his youngest brother in shock.

"You remember that, Tolbert? You remember tellin' me ya hate me s' much you wish I'd die?!"

"Bud, what...?"

"None of you love me. Not a single one of you love me. No one who can sit and watch me work on somethin' an' then just throw it in the fire can sit and say they love me!"

Bud burst into a heart-wrenching sob, ducking his head and pulling at his hair.

Sally was the first to snap out of shock. She moved and knelt beside him, gently pulling him into an embrace. Bud didn't fight her; he had given up.

"Oh my God," Ran'l breathed. "Bud, I didn't—"

"What's goin' on?" Calvin asked as he joined Tolbert, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"God, you're so stupid. Do ya even have a brain in that head o' yours, Bud? What ever made ya think that was a good idea? You're stupid, Bud! You're a stupid idiotic moron," Bud forced out, refusing to lift his gaze.

Calvin flinched. He'd been so mad at Bud that he hadn't cared what he said to him. Clearly, whatever had been bothering Bud had made it worse and now the words were back again.

"Bud, I didn't—"

"Don't you say ya didn't mean it!" Bud cut him off, moving away from Sally. He stood up. "Ya meant it. Ya meant every dagon word of it. You know ya did. Don't start actin' like ya love me now, Calvin."

Bud shoved him roughly, causing him to stumble into Pharmer, who grunted when he was knocked off balance. He caught himself, and held Calvin up as well, mumbling under his breath. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Tolbert knew that almost everyone had said something to Bud over the last few months, whether it be over him telling Roseanna what they were doing or something else entirely, but almost every one of the McCoys had hurt him in some way over the last few months. He only hoped Pharmer's hadn't cut as deep as any of the others so far.

"Bud?" Pharmer looked at him, his eyes shining with concern.

"You're so stupid. I swear, sometimes I think ya ain't got a brain in your head. Ya ain't got no sense, least ya ain't got no good sense, anyway. So why don't ya do us all a favor and just keep your mouth shut?"

Pharmer blanched. He didn't think Bud remembered that. He saw the funny look in Bud's eyes; the one that made Bud's eyes look so dull that they were almost lifeless. And he didn't know what he could possibly do.

Bud looked at Ran'l again. He noticed that sally had moved from the floor and sat on the crate.

"I'm real sorry, Poppy. If it helps any, I wish I weren't born. I wish Tolbert woulda killed me that night he nearly did. I wish I never woulda told Roseanna and they went through with it, and the Hatfields thought it was me n killed me 'stead of them. I wish I'd die. I do, I just wish I would die. I pray ev'ry night, ask God t' just let me die and not wake up, but every day I wake up. And I'm so sorry. I'm too yellow t' kill m'self. I'm sorry I'm weak. I'm sorry I'm not who ya want me t' be, Poppy."

"Ya cryin', Bud? Ya gonna sit here n cry like a little baby like ya always do? Are ya s' weak that ya can't take what I say t' ya, Bud? Huh?"

Ran'l's words echoed in Bud's ears, and he tried his hardest not to let it show. Sure, Bud was weak, but he wasn't that weak. He wasn't going to cry, no matter how much he wanted to. Bud would not cry. Especially in front of Ran'l.

"I'm sorry I ain't no good. I know — I know yer real dis'pointed in me an' ya wish ya never woulda gave me yer name. I know I ain't ever made ya proud, Poppy. But I try. I really do. That ain't enough either."

He could remember what Alifair had said to him the last time she got mad at him.

"My God, everywhere ya go, everythin' ya do, ya make a mess! Who needs bad luck when they got someone like you around?"

She'd been mad, had apologized for it later on, but it still hurt. And Bud knew that she was right; that he was nothing but bad luck and he still stayed.

"Bud?" Tolbert gently touched his shoulder. "Ya listenin' t' me?"

"Yeah," Bud mumbled, his gaze focused on the floor while he shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to distract himself. He didn't want to look anyone in the eye.

"I didn't mean a word of it. I don't hate ya; I love ya. Love ya a whole lot, Buddy. We all do, n we all want ya alive, too. I'm sorry I said that t' ya, darlin'. I don't even remember comin' home that night."

"It's okay," Bud said quickly. "You don't have t' apologize, Tolbert. Really, ya woulda been doin' ev'ryone a favor."

"Bud, ya quit talkin' like that," Sally chided gently.

"Well, it's true, Mama! I ain't been nothin' but a burden on this fam'ly for sixteen years. I'm sorry for it, I really am." Quieter, in a whisper that only his brothers heard, he said, "I wish I woulda died the second I was born."

Tolbert moved and tightly wrapped his arms around him in a hug. Bud didn't move. Tolbert pressed a kiss to Bud's cheek, tears rolling down his face while he embraced his baby brother. Bud didn't understand that. Tolbert wasn't weak — he was one of the strongest people Bud knew.

Tolbert let go, bringing his hands up and wiping his eyes.

"Oh, Bud," he breathed, suddenly understanding why the boy had pushed everyone away from him. He was just trying to keep from getting hurt. "Bud."

He was still fighting against the tears; fighting to keep his composure. His hands and legs trembled, but Bud was fine. He had no choice but to be fine.

And to make matters worse, he felt that his breaking point had been stupid. His breaking point had been the instant Ran'l threw the doll he was carving for Alifair into the fire. That was what made Bud break.

"Buddy...?" Pharmer cautiously laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Buddy, please don't say that."

"Oh God, Bud," Calvin mumbled. He was still trying to process everything and found it hard to believe that his sixteen-year-old brother wanted to die. He found it hard to believe that he wished he'd never been born, or that he would be killed, or that he would've died the second he was born. Calvin didn't think it was right for a sixteen-year-old to wish that.

Bud lifted his gaze. He saw the heartbroken expression on Tolbert's face and he just broke. He fell to the floor and cried. Tolbert was down in front of him in an instant, wrapping his arms tightly around him while Pharmer mumbled something to Calvin. Calvin nodded before taking off up the stairs.

Ran'l was beside Tolbert, and Sally had gone to their room to fetch something — she'd said what it was, but it had been so quiet and it had been said so quickly that Tolbert hadn't caught what it was.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," Tolbert murmured, holding the boy while he cried. Ran'l looked like he was fighting his own tears, and opted to rub his son's back in silence. Tolbert had a feeling that he'd be taking Bud somewhere more private to talk to him once he'd calmed down a little.

Calvin returned with a quilt. He unfolded it and wrapped it around Bud, Tolbert moving his arms so they laid on top of it and held it in place.

"What's goin' on?" Alifair queried as she stepped out of the room she shared with the younger children.

"It's all a mess, Alifair. Ya best keep the little ones in there a while," Pharmer replied. Alifair only nodded before sending her youngest brother a sympathetic glance, slipping back inside the room.

Bud's arms had wrapped around Tolbert, clenching the fabric of Tolbert's undershirt. His head laid on Tolbert's shoulder, and for a moment, Pharmer would have believed that Tolbert was just helping the boy calm down from a terrible bad dream. But he knew that wasn't the case; that Tolbert was actually trying to comfort their baby brother after he confessed that he wanted to die.

Sally returned then, huffing while she handed Ran'l a white handkerchief. He nodded his thanks and suggested that she helped Alifair with the younger children, who were bound to grow curious at some point and try to peek out to see what was going on. Sally agreed to it and went to their room.

Pharmer and Calvin — after discussing it for a moment — knelt to Bud's right and to his left, as he had his legs stretched out behind him.

"Bud..."

He peered up at Tolbert, who looked like he was on the verge of tears again.

"Please don't ask God t' let ya die anymore," Tolbert pleaded. Bud silently nodded. He wouldn't do it anymore. He'd live the rest of his life, no matter how miserable he might've been. He hummed when Tolbert started to play with his hair.

It had been so long since Bud had felt like he could actually trust someone to touch him that he supposed he was to the point that he didn't care. He'd just thrown Tolbert's own hurtful words back in his face, and now he was in Tolbert's embrace, letting him comfort him. Ran'l was there, too, gently rubbing his back without saying a word. Bud didn't mind it — it felt rather nice.

He'd grown so accustomed to the way Ran'l had been when he was drunk that he'd forgotten how loving his father could be. He'd forgotten the Ran'l that he'd loved his entire life. He was so used to Ran'l always hurling insults at him and hitting him until Bud was begging for it to stop that he didn't see how his father could be so different when he was sober.

Bud was so very tired. He was tired of living, tired of fighting, tired of the insults and the beatings. He was tired of everything. He nuzzled the crook of Tolbert's neck, tears still falling. He really hoped that Ran'l didn't get drunk again for a long while.

Tolbert hadn't drunk any moonshine since the incident the month before. Bud knew that, but he still avoided Tolbert as though he were the Devil himself. It was wrong of him, he knew that, but he hadn't talked to anyone but Sally for the last month.

His eyes burned and his head hurt. Bud had cried too much. Bud should've kept it all to himself, he could handle it. But he'd snapped because of a wooden doll that he'd been working on.

It was a petty thing to get mad over, but it was one that was so intricate, Bud honestly didn't know if he would be able to restart and get it done in enough time, despite Alifair's birthday being in June. It had taken him quite a while to get the little bit of progress he had on it, but it was fine. He supposed Alifair would receive another dime novel this year.

"What's goin' on in that head of yours?" Tolbert asked teasingly, trying to bring the boy out of his sullen mood.

"Gon' have t' get Alifair a dime novel this year," he whispered hoarsely. "Don't think I got 'nough time t' restart."

The doll.

It was for Alifair. It wasn't something that he was using as a way to avoid them like they'd originally thought. He'd set out to make Alifair a gift this year and it had been destroyed.

"Why not?" Pharmer's brows pinched together.

"'S too complicated," Bud laughed bitterly. "It took me two weeks to get the little bit I had done. I was stupid for even tryin' that or thinkin' Alifair would want a doll."

"I think she woulda liked it," Tolbert murmured, pulling his fingers through Bud's thick locks of honey-brown hair. "Why don't ya try again, hm?"

"I don't... it ain't worth it, Tol. It'll get ruined too."

"No, it won't. We'll find ya a better piece of wood n let ya carve it however ya want."

"I'm sorry," Bud mumbled. "Reckon I just ain't no good."

"You are plenty of good, Buddy."

"Bud, can I talk to ya a minute?"

Bud's heart stopped. Oh God, he was as good as dead, wasn't he? Ran'l wanted to talk to him. That couldn't be good, not after what he'd done.

"Yeah, Poppy," he agreed quietly, standing and following his father to the bedroom. He blanched when Ran'l closed the door.

"Bud, why didn't ya tell me 'bout any of that?" Ran'l asked softly.

"I dunno. Figured ya knew," Bud shrugged, not meeting his father's eye. "I understand it. Yer right, after all. Ain't done nothin' but caused trouble an' I ain't ever done nothin' t' make ya proud of me. I'm — I'm sorry ya got stuck with me."

"Oh God," Ran'l breathed. He'd hurt his son terribly. "I never... I never—"

"Ya did, but it wa'n't no worse than a bruise or two," Bud spoke quickly. "Didn't hurt too bad, Poppy."

"All them bruises?"

"...Yeah."

"Oh my God. I am — oh God, son, I'm s' sorry."

"Ya don't r'member any of it?" Bud asked meekly. He hoped Ran'l didn't; he hoped he didn't remember the way Bud looked so terrified of him, or the way Bud would scream and cry and beg him to stop.

"No, I don't," Ran'l shook his head. "I know words won't do no good, but I'm sorry, Bud. I'm not the nicest person when I get drunk n I talk outta my head. 'S why yer Mama hates it when I go out drinkin'."

"You don't have t—"

"Yes, I do," Ran'l cut him off, but he kept his voice soft and gentle. He gently grasped Bud's biceps, and he noticed how the boy tensed. "Did I hurt ya last night?"

"No. Y' didn't do anythin' but talk n throw the doll in the fire. Then ya went t' bed like nothin' happened."

"Oh dear Lord," Ran'l murmured, pulling his son into a tight hug. "I'm so sorry, Bud. I didn't mean a word of it, no matter what I said t' ya. I love ya. I do. I love ya more than you'll ever know, son. Ya don't disappoint me n I don't regret givin' ya my name. Ya ain't no mistake either. You're my son, my youngest one at that, an' I love you very much, Randolph McCoy, Junior."

Bud clung to his father, a sob tearing from his throat.

"'M sorry, Poppy."

"Don't be. Ya ain't done nothin' wrong, Bud."

"I wanna be better, I really do. I just — I can't. I only went n told Roseanna 'cause I knew they'd get killed if they killed him, Poppy. I didn't know she was gonna go t' the Hatfields, honest I didn't! I—I thought she'd knock some sense int' 'em or somethin'."

"I know. Ya did the right thing, Buddy."

"I'm s' sorry, Poppy," he sobbed into Ran'l's shoulder.

"Shh... shh, it's okay," Ran'l cooed, trying to calm his son down. "You're a'ight, everythin's a'ight. I promise ya, Buddy, everythin's okay."

"'M sorry I ain't good 'nough, Poppy. I don't — I don't wanna live. I wanna die, Poppy."

"I know. I don't want ya t' die, Bud. I want you t' live. Ya listenin' t' me? I want ya t' grow up, find ya a purdy girl n git married to 'er. Have ya a fam'ly. Do what ya want with yer life, Bud, and don't ya let no one stop ya. You live 'til yer old n grey. An' when ya look back on yer life, I want ya t' be happy with the choices ya made, no matter how many regrets ya've got. I want ya t' be happy, son. I really do want that for ya. I don't want ya dead, Bud. I love ya."

"Love ya too, Poppy," he whispered softly, his head laying on Ran'l's shoulder. "Love ya a whole lot."

"That right?" Ran'l looked down at his youngest son, a small smile on his lips.

"Mhm. I think yer a great man, Poppy. Even when ya are mean n drunk."

Ran'l laughed a little, hugging his son tightly. And without giving it a second thought, Ran'l kissed his son's temple.

"I love you."

"I love ya too, Poppy."

October 1881

The fall harvest had just begun, and Bud was already sick of getting up before the sun.

"Hey, c'mon, we gotta git up," Tolbert slapped Bud's arm as he got up.

"No," Bud moaned, pulling the blanket over his head. "Leave me 'lone."

"Bud, ya know Poppy'll kill us both if we don't get downstairs." Tolbert jerked the blanket off of Bud.

"Let him!" Bud retaliated, jerking the blanket out of Tolbert's hand and covering up again.

"Ya best git yer hide outta bed, Bud. We got work t' do."

Bud grunted and held tight to the blanket, keeping it pulled over his head.

"Oh, come on! This is ridiculous, Bud! Ya really don't want me t' send Poppy up here, do ya?"

"Most he'll do is what you did, an' you see how well that worked out."

"Fine. I'm goin' t' tell Poppy ya won't git yer hide outta bed. Don't ya blame me if drags ya out by yer hair."

Bud huffed, curling up under the blanket. He could deal with Tolbert telling Ran'l that he wouldn't get up. That just meant Bud had about five extra minutes to sleep. He heard the door open and close, but he paid it no mind. Tolbert never did anything that would really get Bud in trouble.

Everything had gone back to normal in the McCoy household. Bud liked it that way. He liked talking to everyone and telling them that he loved them. With the feud going on between his family and the Hatfields, Bud felt like he had to tell them each time they left the house, or even if he left the house. He never knew if he would come back or if they would come back. He didn't want to risk that.

"Hey, Bud. Heard yer givin' Tol trouble this mornin'," Ran'l spoke as he entered the room. Bud grunted in response. Ran'l laughed heartily at him, his laugh bouncing off the walls. "What ya wanna stay in bed fer, son?"

"Don't feel s' good," Bud grumbled.

"What's the matter wit'cha?"

"I dunno. I jus' don't feel s' good."

"Ya ain't secretly drinkin', are ya?"

"Oh God, no," Bud made a disgusted face. "Did that once n ain't ever doin' it again."

"When'd ya do that?"

"Mmm... Feb'ary?" Bud guessed. "Ya saw me come in."

"Oh, that is right. I ended up drinkin' a little too much that day n after I woke up, you came in n were s' drunk ya could barely stand."

"Yeah... Regretted it, too."

"I'd say ya did after ya woke up. Find out the hard way ya get sick?"

"Mhm."

Ran'l huffed in amusement, shaking his head.

"Wanna tell me what's wrong wit'cha now?"

"'S jus' a headache. M' stomach hurts, too, but I'm fine, Poppy. I'll be up in a minute, I swear."

"Ya sure? Ya ain't gonna throw up, are ya?"

"Nah, 'm okay," Bud pulled the blanket down. "Prob'ly where I didn't eat much yes'day."

"Why didn't ya eat much?"

"Had things t' do," Bud shrugged as he sat up, gazing at his father with tired eyes. "I'm fine though, Poppy. Just didn't wanna get up yet 's all."

"Yeah, I know. Ain't fun gettin' up this early, is it?"

"No, sir," Bud chuckled. "I'll be down in a minute. I promise."

"A'ight. If you ain't downstairs in five minutes, I'm sendin' Tolbert an' the other boys up here. They'll gladly drag ya outta bed."

"Don't I know it," Bud rolled his eyes, earning a laugh from Ran'l. "I'll be down in three, I swear. Ain't no need t' send them up here."

"I'm holdin' ya to that, son."

Bud visited Roseanna more often now that she had had her baby. Well, she'd had Sarah Elizabeth back in February, but Bud hadn't been doing much of anything then. The baby was eight months old and she was an absolute angel in Bud's eyes. He didn't see how anyone could hate a baby, no matter who their father was.

A baby didn't have the choice of being born. If Bud had had that choice, he wouldn't have been born. He didn't know a lot, but he knew that he still wanted to die. He just kept it to himself and didn't dare to say anything to anybody about it.

Entering Aunt Betty's home, he greeted his aunt before moving to the living room, where Roseanna sat on the sofa, an arm draped over her eyes. His sister had been sickly before she had the baby, but she'd recovered and was as happy as could be with her new baby. Sarah Elizabeth had literally been Roseanna's saving grace.

"Howdy, Rose," Bud greeted, startling his older sister.

"Oh, good heavens!" She moved her arm and shot the boy a playful glare. "Howdy. Please let someone know when ya enter a room, Bud."

"I did. I said howdy."

"Whatever," she sighed tiredly, leaning back again.

"She any better?"

"Not really, no. Jus' got her t' sleep 'bout twenty minutes 'go," Roseanna told him. "Y' can hold her if ya want."

Sarah Elizabeth had gotten sick. She'd contracted the measles and on top of that, she'd contracted pneumonia as well. Bud had stopped in more and more often out of fear that the infant wouldn't survive, and he wanted to spend what time he had with his niece.

Bud approached the cradle, bending down and scooping the baby up in his arms. That was when he noticed something was wrong. Something was so terribly wrong. Her skin was so cold. Bud looked down at her, his brows furrowed while he tried to piece together what was wrong.

Roseanna hadn't noticed. She was still leaned against the back of the sofa, half-asleep. Bud knew that she hadn't slept much since Sarah Elizabeth got sick, as she had been extremely restless and cried almost every hour of the day and night.

He moved his right hand to where it laid on her torso, his heart skipping a beat. She wasn't breathing. There was no heartbeat, either.

"Oh God, no," he muttered under his breath. "Oh nononono, no, breathe, c'mon!"

He looked over his shoulder at his sister, who still hadn't noticed something was wrong.

"Nonono, Sally, wake up, please," Bud mumbled lowly. "Sally."

"Somethin' wrong, Bud?"

"Huh? No," he shook his head swiftly. "No, no, it's fine! Ev'rythin — ev'rythin's fine! I'm gonna go get some water, be right back."

Bud rushed out of the living room and found Aunt Betty in the kitchen, stitching a bright colored quilt.

"Aunt Betty, Aunt Betty, I can't get 'er t' wake up!" Bud passed the baby to the older woman. Panic seized his heart and squeezed it tightly, words that he'd long forgotten ringing in his ears again.

Who needs bad luck when they have someone like you?

Aunt Betty lifted her gaze after a moment and shook her head. Bud felt like the breath had been knocked out of him; he felt like someone had wrenched his heart out of his chest and stomped on it right in front of him, and that they had just laughed in his face after doing so.

"Reckon I better tell Rose," he whispered, taking the still infant back into his arms.

Bud didn't want to tell her. He should've known to stay away — nothing good ever happened when he was around. Bud did nothing but cause trouble and bring bad luck.

Entering the living room a second time, he found Roseanna sitting on the sofa, just as she had been before, only now she didn't have her arm thrown over her eyes.

"Bud... ya look awful pale. Is somethin' wrong?" Roseanna asked, her face pinched in a concerned expression.

He didn't want to tell her. He didn't want to tell her that her baby girl, a babe that was only eight months old, was dead.

"Rose..."

"What? Bud, what're ya actin' s' strange for?"

"She's dead, Rose. I'm so sorry."

"Bud, stop messin' with me," she stated shakily as she stood up. She crossed over to him and took Sarah Elizabeth out of his arms.

Bud stepped back. Oh God, what had he done? He'd gotten around the baby too much and now... now she was dead and it was all his fault. Bud was nothing but bad luck, he knew that, and he still got around Sarah Elizabeth like he was a normal person. A normal person who didn't bring bad luck everywhere he went.

Roseanna cradled her daughter in her arms, looking up at Bud when she realized he'd been telling the truth. And then Roseanna screamed. She screamed and cried and clutched Sarah Elizabeth to her chest, begging her daughter to wake up, to take a breath. But the baby didn't stir.

Sarah Elizabeth had been perfectly healthy before Bud started coming around. Then she caught the measles, and was doing better when she caught pneumonia. That was what killed her. The baby had been miserable for a long while now, but they had hope that she was going to pull through, that she would survive. She'd been doing a little better, so what happened?

Bud didn't even think. He just turned and ran. He ran and he didn't look back, too afraid that Roseanna would say something. He unhitched his horse and mounted, flicking the reins and urging her to run as fast as she could.

Bud dismounted and hitched Midnight to the post in front of the porch before dashing inside.

She was dead, she was dead, it was all his fault.

He ran upstairs, entering his room and finding Tolbert on the bed, mumbling to himself while he wrote something. Tolbert looked up when he entered the room and set the pen down, giving him an odd look.

"Bud?"

Bud leaned against the closed door, his head falling against it with a thump and his eyes closing.

"She's dead."

"Who's dead?"

"Sarah 'Lizabeth. She was so cold, Tolbert. She — she wouldn't wake up. She wa'n't breathin' n she didn't have a heartbeat. She's dead."

Tolbert stared at his baby brother for a second, processing what he'd told him. Their niece — an innocent baby — was dead.

"Went t' see her. R-Rose said she'd jus' got her t' sleep 'bout twenty minutes 'go n that I could hold her. So I picked her up. She was cold, Tolbert. Got scared when she wouldn't wake n took her t' Aunt Betty... She didn't make it. Roseanna screamed. I — I took off, I didn't even think. Oh my God, I shouldn't've left, I shoulda—"

"No, no, you did the right thing. Roseanna needs t' grieve."

"It's all my fault," he whispered. "She was perfectly fine 'til I started goin' 'round her."

"What? Bud, there's no way this is your—"

"I bring bad luck n trouble. It's just what I do. I... I start goin' 'round Sarah 'Lizabeth an' — an' now she's gone. She's gone an' it's my fault. She never got sick 'til I started goin' 'round her. Then, then she got the measles n not too long after that, she got pneumonia. N now she's — she's dead n it's my fault. I ruin ev'rything."

"No, you don't," Tolbert stated firmly, standing and walking over to him. "Here... you need t' rest right now. Get some rest. It'll help ya think clearly n you'll see that none of this was yer fault."

Bud didn't fight his older brother when he started unbuttoning his shirt. He wrestled it off of Bud's shoulders, setting it on the floor before pulling his baby brother into a tight embrace. Bud didn't cry. He didn't speak, he didn't cry, he didn't move.

Tolbert figured the boy was in shock. After all, he'd held the baby and noticed something wasn't right, and he'd been the one to notice that she wasn't breathing anymore.

"Think Poppy'll care?" he queried, pulling out of Tolbert's hug and pulling his boots off.

"Yes, I think so," Tolbert nodded ever so slightly, getting back on the bed. He got on his side of it and turned onto his side, just so he could face Bud.

Bud got in bed, spreading the quilt over both of them before he curled up against Tolbert. Tolbert wrapped his arms around him, bending down and planting a kiss on his temple.

"I ruined her," he whispered. "I'm nothin' but bad luck, I know that, an' I still went 'round her, Tolbert. She was such a good baby. Hardly made a sound 'fore she got sick. 'S all my fault."

"It's not yer fault, honey. Sometimes... sometimes bad things happen t' good people. Sometimes those people are the lil babies God blesses us with, 'cause sometimes He wants 'em back. I've always been told it was this way; when ya go out n pick a flower, which one are ya gonna pick?"

"The purdiest," Bud mumbled.

"An' if we think of it that way, that God picks the purdiest flower to bring home t' Heaven, it don't seem nearly as bad, does it?"

"Reckon not," he sniffled. "That don't change this, though."

"You had nothin' t' do with it. There was an outbreak of measles down on Stringtown wit' the chil'ren there, you know that. Sarah 'Lizabeth is s' young that she can't fight it. So when she caught pneumonia, she was jus' too weak, honey. It had nothin' t' do with you."

"I shouldn't've left," Bud croaked.

"Yes, ya should've. Ya did the right thing comin' home."

"No."

"Yes."

"I'm real sorry for all the trouble, Tol. I'm — oh God, Tol, she's dead," Bud rasped, his eyes filling with tears. "She's dead!"

Tolbert held him and shushed him, trying to comfort him. He only hoped Bud would see that it wasn't his fault.

Sally sighed as she marched up the stairs, preparing to give Tolbert and Bud a good scolding for ignoring her shouts. She knew they had to hear her; there was no way they couldn't. Ran'l had heard her out near the barn, shouting that it was time for supper. But her two sons hadn't come downstairs.

She pushed the door open, finding them sleeping, one with dried tear tracks and the other holding on tightly to his brother. She breathed a sigh and moved toward them, wondering what had happened to make Bud cry again. Bud didn't cry very often, but when he did, it was either because he'd snapped, he was in a lot of pain, something bad had happened, and/or he was so tired he just couldn't control his emotions.

Sally was hoping he was just tired.

She gently shook Tolbert's shoulder, her second-eldest son jerking awake and grasping her wrist. Once his hazy vision cleared enough that he realized it was Sally, he released her wrist from his grasp and wrapped his arm around Bud again.

"What's wrong wit' yer brother?" Sally questioned, keeping her voice down so she wouldn't wake him.

"Sarah 'Lizabeth died t'day. Bud was the one that figured it out."

"Oh God," Sally breathed.

"He cried like a baby, Mama. Cried s' much he put himself t' sleep. He thinks it's his fault... that he don't do nothin' but bring bad luck. Wha' you doin' up here?"

"It's time for supper. I shouted at you two 'bout five times b'fore I came up t' fetch ya."

"Oh..." Tolbert gently shook Bud. Bud groaned and stirred, slowly cracking a single eye open. "Hey, it's time for supper. Wanna get up now?"

Bud blinked owlishly for a few seconds, slowly processing what Tolbert had said. His brain was still foggy, as he was half-asleep, and he slowly nodded once he realized what Tolbert had asked him. He got up, not yet realizing that Sally was in the room. He pulled his shirt on and buttoned it, tucking it in after he did so.

"Hand me that shirt over there, will ya?" Tolbert murmured and pointed to the shirt right behind Sally. Sally handed it to him, watching her son get up and pull the shirt on over his head. "I'll get him downstairs... make sure he don't fall n bust his head open."

"A'ight. I'll keep 'em waitin' for ya."

Sally left without Bud realizing she'd ever been there. Bud did, however, look extremely confused.

"What're ya doin', Bud?" Tolbert snorted.

"I dunno," he sighed, shaking his head. "Think 'm half-'sleep."

"You are, but let's get downstairs b'fore Poppy comes up t' fetch us, hm?"

"Mkay."

Bud stared at the ground, watching as they slowly lowered the small coffin into the ground. He had been granted permission to stand by Roseanna, who turned and sobbed into his shoulder. Bud didn't say anything; he just held her. There was nothing he could have said at that moment to make it any better.

Roseanna was young — a young woman at the age of twenty-two — and she'd already lost her only child. She'd been disowned at the age of twenty-one, and really didn't have anyone but Bud and Aunt Betty to depend on. Bud always promised her that he would be the first one to come to her aid if he received word that she needed him.

"Bud, no," she whimpered. "She — she can't be gone."

"C'mon, Rose. Let's go back t' the house," Bud spoke softly, glancing at the grave one last time before leading his older sister away from it. He led her down the hill and to Aunt Betty's porch, where she wailed. Bud wrapped his arms around her tightly, swallowing the lump in his throat while he fought against his own tears.

It wasn't right for a man to cry in public. It meant they were weak and soft. Bud had always hated that assumption — that just because a man or boy cried in public, they were weak. In Bud's mind, the strongest people were the ones who did cry in public.

"I want her back."

"I know," he whispered. "I know you do."

And you'd still have her if it weren't for me, he added in his head. Bud wouldn't dare to say that aloud; everyone was starting to come down the hill again.

"I want my baby," Roseanna cried.

"I know, Rose, I know. But... but she's not sufferin' anymore," Bud tried to comfort her, tried to repeat the words that had been uttered to him to bring him reassurance. "She didn't d'serve t' die, though."

A single tear rolled down Bud's face. He swiftly wiped it away, sniffing and fighting to keep his composure.

It was a cold day for it to be mid-October. Autumn days were usually a little warm, sort of like a spring day, but on this day, it wasn't. Dark clouds loomed overhead, giving the impression of impending doom. Bud's eyes flicked back toward the mountains, noticing how it looked like it was going to storm.

"Wanna get inside? Looks like a storm's comin'."

"Ya gonna leave me?" Roseanna peered up at him with red-rimmed eyes, her face paler than a ghost's.

"No, I ain't gonna leave ya," he promised. "I'll stay right with ya as long as ya want me to."

"Best prepare t' be with me all day, then."

Bud wiped the tears off of Roseanna's face and gave a weak smile. He opened the door and allowed her to go in first, following behind her.

Aunt Betty came out of the living room. She'd stayed at home due to the steepness of the hill, and had promised that the house would be ready for guests once the funeral was over. And it was.

Bud followed his sister to the living room and sat down beside her, spotting the cradle in his peripheral vision. It was in the same spot it had been the day Sarah Elizabeth died.

"I couldn't throw it out," Roseanna uttered, trying to give some type of explanation for the cradle that wasn't needed. "It was hers. I can't get rid of it now, Bud. You understand, don't ya?"

"Yes, I understand, Roseanna. You don't have t' throw it out if ya don't want to."

"Why'd she have t' die, Bud?" Roseanna asked, her voice hoarse.

"I dunno, Roseanna," he answered, his voice trembling. He looked over when he heard someone enter, seeing Tolbert.

"Oh God, Rose, I'm so sorry," Tolbert muttered, his blue eyes filled with an emotion that Bud couldn't name. "She was right purdy, an' ya gave her a good life d'spite ev'rything that happened t' ya. I'm sorry you lost her so soon."

"I thank ya, Tolbert," Roseanna whispered.

Bud fished his handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her, watching her as she dabbed at her eyes. He looked at Tolbert, who knew that Bud was struggling with the loss as well. Tolbert walked over to them, crouching down and planting a kiss on Roseanna's pale cheek.

"I love you, Roseanna McCoy. You're one of the strongest women I know."

August 1882

Bud's heart sunk as the cold, dark feeling of dread washed over him. He'd done it again; he'd brought bad luck.

Their father had talked to Devil Anse. All they knew was that he'd gone to the house and on the way back toward the Tug, while they cried out to him and banged on the boards to the old barn they were held in at that point, he raised his hand before going on his way.

Bud lost all hope then.

Pharmer swore that Ran'l would come back. And even now, in an abandoned schoolhouse on Mate Creek, Pharmer still swore that Ran'l wouldn't abandon them.

But Bud knew better. Despite being the youngest of the three, he felt that he was the only one with enough sense to be realistic at the moment. The other two were holding onto every shred of hope that they could, but Bud knew how it was going to end.

They were going to die. Bud was involved in it, the token of bad luck of the McCoy family. There was no other outcome for it. They were going to die and it would be his fault.

He'd had a sinking feeling in his gut the entire day. He'd felt the terrible sense of impending doom, and now he understood why. He and his brothers were doomed. If — well, when they returned home, they wouldn't be doing so alive.

The Hatfields weren't going to let them return home alive whether Ellison died or not. Their goal was to kill as many McCoys as they possibly could, and Bud knew they weren't stupid enough to let any of them go free. Not even the one who hadn't stabbed or shot Ellison.

If they did offer that, he would turn it down. He knew how it would end — they'd shoot him in the back like the yellow cowards they were. Bud wouldn't care to tell them that if the opportunity presented itself, but he doubted it would.

Bud should have stopped that fight. He was strong enough to stop it and he hadn't; he'd encouraged it by joining it.

"When ya think Poppy's goin' t' git us?" Pharmer nervously glanced at his brothers.

"Poppy ain't gonna do squat," Bud spat before Tolbert had the chance to give an answer to him. "He can't. He don't even know where we are! Better spend yer time prayin' 'stead of waitin' for Poppy t' show up."

"Bud!" Tolbert shot him a warning look. "Don't ya talk that way. We're gonna get outta this alive—"

"How? How are we gonna get outta this alive when you two morons stabbed him over n over, an' then ya shot him?! So tell me, Tolbert, how are we gonna get outta it?"

"Poppy'll go t—"

"Poppy, Poppy, Poppy! All you're hopin' for is Poppy! Poppy can't do anything! He's gonna get himself killed if he goes a-lookin' for us. Him n anyone else that's with him. I'd rather die than have Poppy die 'cause he was tryin' t' get t' us."

Tolbert and Pharmer fell silent, both gazing at the boy who had tucked himself in the far corner. If Bud was scared, he wasn't letting it show. Instead, he was giving the impression that he thought hoping they would make it out alive was stupid. Maybe it was, Tolbert didn't know, but he felt much better when he held on to the hope that they would make it out of that schoolhouse alive.

"Really think we have no hope, Bud?" Tolbert quirked a brow.

"I know we don't."

"Why?"

"I'm involved, ain't I?" Bud lifted his gaze and met Tolbert's. "I told ya before I ain't nothin' but bad luck, but ya wouldn't listen t' me. Now look where we are. All three of us 're gonna die. I'm sorry 'bout that."

"You ain't bad luck," Tolbert rolled his eyes, making his way over to Bud and sitting down beside him. "We'll be fine, you'll see."

"No," Bud disagreed, shaking his head vigorously. "I ruin everything. Nothin' bad happened t' either one of ya when I pushed ya away from me."

"Bud—"

"It didn't! I was close t' Roseanna and look at what happened t' her. She got disowned n shamed s' bad that she don't even go nowhere but t' the cemetery near Aunt Betty's. Got close t' Sarah 'Lizabeth n look where she is. She's in the ground. Still think I ain't bad luck?"

"You ain't. Ya can't help what Poppy did, and ya can't help that Sarah 'Lizabeth was poorly. She'd been poorly from the time she was born, Bud," Tolbert reminded him, though not unkindly. "Ya ain't bad luck."

"Well, I ain't got no good luck," Bud retaliated, shifting slightly. He tugged at his sleeve, his eyes focused on the floorboards. "Think they'll let Mama come see us?"

"Even the Devil's got a heart, Bud."

The next day was no better. There was no sign of Sally, no sign that Ellison was alive or dead. No sign that Ellison would live if he was alive. Just a bunch of Hatfields outside the schoolhouse carousing with each other, drinking moonshine and holding their rifles in case one of the boys got the notion to try to escape.

Bud had curled up beside Tolbert and used his shoulder for a pillow the night before, while Tolbert just leaned his head back against the wall. Pharmer had slept with his head on the table he was sitting at, which was where the other two moved to once they woke up.

Bud wanted to go home. He wanted to listen to his mother and father quarrel, he wanted to hear the laughter of Alifair and the younger children while they danced around and played with the dolls that Bud carved for them, he wanted to banter with Sally again. He hadn't done that in a while, not since the day they went to Pikeville together, and he longed to do it again.

He wanted to hear Missy howl in the middle of the night at absolutely nothing, he wanted to hear Calvin and Pharmer playfully fighting with each other in their room until one of them eventually surrendered. He wanted to hear his father pray again. He wanted to hear his mother pray, too.

"What's eatin' you up?" Tolbert's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Jus' thinkin'," he mumbled. Then, with his voice thick with emotion, Bud proclaimed, "I wanna go home."

"I know ya do." A slight pause. "I do too. That ol' room of ours don't seem s' bad now. Always complained 'bout wantin' a bigger room so both of us could have our own bed, but now that we're bein' held in a bigger room... well, havin' t' share a bed don't seem so bad anymore."

"Always wanted that, too," Pharmer piped up. "Me n Cal would get int' an argument n we'd have t' sleep in the same bed. Always thought it wa'n't right I had t' do that, but God, what I'd give t' do it now."

"I don't like it here. 'S too quiet. I sleep better when I hear Missy howlin' at absolutely nothin'. I know ev'eythin's alright that way. That I'm home n safe. I don't like bein' here."

"None of us do, Buddy," Tolbert gently squeezed Bud's shoulder. "Let's have some hope, though. Maybe a miracle will happen."

"At this point, we need a miracle," Bud remarked dryly.

The afternoon heat was sweltering hot and was even worse inside the schoolhouse. Bud wanted to curl up and die, just so he could escape the heat. At home, he could put a damp rag around his neck and it didn't seem nearly as bad, but being trapped in a schoolhouse with no water at all was absolutely miserable.

The boys were looking forward to the sun setting. That was when it became cool and bearable.

"Ya'd think those idiots would open a window or somethin' s' they could hear us," Tolbert grumbled, clearly agitated by the heat.

"They're too busy drinkin'," Bud huffed. "Lotta good they are as guards."

"But you bet as soon as one of us opened that door, we'd be shot dead."

"Nah, they'd let us run a bit. It's a game t' them, remember?" Pharmer quipped.

"Yeah, ya got yerself a point, Pharmer," Tolbert reluctantly agreed with him.

Bud rolled his sleeves up and unbuttoned the few buttons on his stained white shirt. He tugged at the collar, hoping it would cool him off a little.

"Why don't we know nothin'?" Bud asked softly. "If we're bein' held 'cause of Ell'son, why don't we get t' know what's goin' on with him?"

"'Cause it 'parently don't work that way," Tolbert replied. "We're McCoys; t' them, we're the demons. 'Stead it's the other way 'round. The Hatfields are the demons. They even got one here named Devil Anse; the patriarch, t' beat it all, an' he's as mean as the Devil, that's fer sure. We at least know not all of 'em are bad... Look at the ones that live on our side of the Tug. Like John, the deputy. He's a good man. Does his best t' do what's right, too. He don't care if you're Hatfield, McCoy, or even if ya ain't neither one. He'll arrest ya if he has to."

Bud pondered what his brother had said. To the Hatfields, the McCoys were the demons. To the McCoys, the Hatfields were the demons. Bud could see the reasoning for that since their Uncle Harmon had been murdered in cold blood by Bad Jim Vance, but he couldn't see where the Hatfields got that the McCoys were the demons. That is unless they use Bill Staton as an example, and that was self-defense.

Squirrel and Paris swore to him that it was. But Bud was often viewed as the gullible one in the family, so he didn't know if it was really self-defense or not.

Bud supposed he was gullible. He believed what he was told by his family, and he never questioned them. Not even when they told him that they hated him, or that they thought he was stupid, or when they said that he was worse than bad luck. Bud never had any qualms with believing what his family told him — or he didn't until he'd spotted Nancy talking to Johnse at the Election Day festival.

He hadn't told anyone, and if he wanted someone to know about it, it would have to be Tolbert and Pharmer.

"Know who Jonce Hatfield spoke to yes'day?" Bud spoke up, causing his older brothers to look at him expectantly. "Nancy McCoy."

"You serious? Nancy? Talkin' to a Hatfield?" Tolbert gaped at him.

"Mhm. Even gently touched his arm n said somethin' to him with that sweet smile o' hers," Bud nodded in confirmation.

Tolbert and Pharmer knew they could trust what Bud said — Bud couldn't lie if his life depended on it. If he told them he saw it, they knew it was true. Bud wouldn't ever lie to them (or even attempt to lie to them) so they had no problem believing Bud when he told them something.

"Seemed like he already knew her, too. Like they'd talked b'fore, y'know? I've never known Nancy t' be that nice with someone she didn't already know."

"I've never known Nancy t' be that nice with someone she does know," Pharmer remarked, earning laughter from his brothers.

All three of them knew it was true — Nancy just wasn't a nice person. She'd been bitter her whole life and she really didn't make it easy for any man to talk to her. That was why she was still unmarried. Bud and Tolbert had witnessed her fighting one of the men that had asked her to court him, and she'd even broken the poor man's nose.

Nancy might have been pretty, but she was a force to be reckoned with if you even looked in her direction without a good cause for doing so.

"Now, Pharmer," Bud's voice took on a mocking tone, "be nice. She's kin, after all."

"I don't care if she's kin or not. That woman is insane!"

That earned another round of laughter from the three brothers.

"I didn't tell ya s' ya could make fun of her," Bud chuckled.

"Well... we insult each other, it's what we do. Tough love," Pharmer shrugged nonchalantly.

"Yeah. If we get outta here n she hears what you said, you're gonna see what tough love is with a broken nose and a broken arm," Tolbert quipped.

Pharmer took a moment to consider Tolbert's words.

"Ya know, on second thought, this schoolhouse really ain't that bad. Right, Bud?"

Bud couldn't help but laugh at him. He hoped the happiness they had created lingered for a little while longer.

The solemn mood and the despair and hopelessness returned that evening. There still hadn't been a word on either Ellison or word that Ran'l was planning to raid West Virginia to find his boys, so the boys had no idea as to what was going on.

They'd kept the happiness alive for most of the afternoon and evening, joking and telling their favorite memories that ended with something terribly funny happening. (Tolbert's was the time that Bud ran into a tree — he'd been three years old and had been spooked by a coyote howling off in the distance.)

Now, sitting in the dark schoolhouse, the boys sat in solemn silence. None of them dared to break it, and the others were fine with that. They heard the Hatfields outside switching out for the night, and they knew that the ones that left would be back first thing in the morning.

"Hope they let Mama see us," Bud finally spoke up. "If no one else, I wanna see Mama 'fore they kill me."

Bud's wish came true — Devil Anse allowed Sally to come see them.

Bud had been overjoyed when she opened the door to that cursed schoolhouse, his face lighting up the second he realized it was her.

"Mama!"

She smiled softly at her sons as they all scrambled to their feet, moving to where they stood in front of her. Bud wouldn't have noticed Reverend Garrett if Tolbert hadn't said, "Not now, Reverend."

Bud had been so happy to see Sally that it seemed that no one else but her and his brothers existed at that moment. And when she started listing the things she'd brought, he grabbed an apple before sitting down at the window. He wiped it on his shirt and bit into it.

He listened to her while she spoke, listened to Pharmer as he practically begged her to tell him that Ran'l was on his way to rescue them. Bud had caught on when Sally first started talking that something terrible had happened.

And it was that terrible realization that made him realize that Ellison Hatfield died.

Bud nearly dropped the apple in his hand, and stood up, gazing at his mother with sorrowful eyes. They had no chance of living now. Ellison was dead, so why would Devil Anse let them live? Bud believed that Devil Anse really was the Devil himself; why else would he have it in his name?

Sally pulled his head down and kissed his forehead before placing her hands on his arms, giving him a soft smile.

Oh God, someone had lied to her. He knew that the instant he saw the hope in her eyes. He looked at his brothers, both of whom were fighting their own tears, and watched as his mother left.

"Someone's lied to her," Bud stated. "She thinks we're comin' home."

"Ya don't know that," Tolbert sighed tiredly.

"Ya didn't see it? That look in her eye? Tol, she thinks we're gonna live," Bud insisted. "She thinks we're gonna be alive the next time we see her, but we're not. The Devil won't allow that."

The cool water of the Tug felt nice against Bud's sweaty skin, but he knew that it wasn't a good thing that they were crossing the Tug with armed Hatfields surrounding them. He especially knew it wasn't good when Devil Anse and Bad Jim were both involved with it.

Bud was terrified. He'd thought of everyone he loved on the journey from the schoolhouse to the river, had even glanced at his brothers. Tolbert was his favorite brother. Pharmer — who was loved dearly — was the one he always turned to when Tolbert did something stupid or they got into an argument. Pharmer was also the one on the receiving end of Bud's many jokes, and it was mostly because Bud found his reaction to be hilarious.

But nothing was hilarious now. Not even the fact that death was right within Bud's grasp, and he was about to take it whether he wanted it or not. He'd proclaimed a little over a year ago that he wanted to die; that he wished the Hatfields would've killed him.

Bud was getting his wish.

He was tied to a pawpaw tree, right between Pharmer and Tolbert. He glanced at Tolbert, who caught his eye and tried to give him a reassuring look. He knew when Bud was scared and when he wasn't, and Bud was so scared that Tolbert feared he might've tried something stupid.

But he didn't.

He stood there and let them tie him to the pawpaw tree. He didn't fight; he complied and did everything he was told. And once the men who had tied them to the trees took their places, Devil Anse approached them.

Bud's chest tightened. Fear had him in its unforgiving grasp, and for a moment, he thought that maybe his fear would kill him before the Hatfields did.

"You boys understand what's gonna happen here?" A rhetorical question. He pivoted on his heel, facing Bud. "You understand why?"

His eyes flicked over all three of them. Bud hung his head low, refusing to meet his gaze. And he gave the order, "Make yourselves ready."

Pharmer reached over and grasped his hand, and that only resulted in more tears. And for a moment — silence. Nothing but Bud quietly crying, as he hadn't been able to hold it back.

Tolbert leaned his head back against the tree, swallowing thickly. Bud shouldn't be there, tied to that tree. He was an innocent child that hadn't done more than throw a few punches in that stupid fight. He was a seventeen-year-old child fighting a forty-one-year-old man that happened to die because of Tolbert and Pharmer's actions. Bud was innocent.

Bud's quiet sobs seemed to echo around them. God, he didn't want to die. Bud wanted to live. He wanted to live to see each of his siblings find the happiness they deserved in life. He wanted to live to see his father and mother live out the rest of their lives with peace and happiness.

He'd never doubted that he wouldn't live long enough to see the end of the feud. Bud had sort of expected it. The fight had started when he was just five months old, so why should he expect to outlive it?

"Aim!" Devil Anse raised his voice. Bud subconsciously squeezed Pharmer's hand, and Pharmer squeezed his in return. "Harden your hearts."