August 9th 1876
Dear Al,
I write you this letter and yet I confess as to be unsure as to its purpose. I suppose perhaps there are words said better on paper than in person and I wanted to make an account of myself to you before leaving the camp.
I have loved you, perhaps more than you have deserved. I have revelled in your looks and your touch and your desire for me. In that, perhaps I have been no better than a whore, yet I make no apology for it. You, who at one time I could not have imagined caring for as I do, became everything to me, the reason for my being. Despite all that I now know, despite all that you have shared with me about deeds long past, I feel that for you still. I regret the path taken. I regret actions undertaken. I regret all of it. My decision to leave the camp was one made in the aftermath of your declaration that we could no longer be united and that I would require to live, to all effect and purpose, without you. I cannot do that. I cannot remain where you are and not be a part of you, as you are a part of me. I cannot walk the thoroughfare and look up at the balcony. I cannot imagine who might sleep within the bedchamber I once called my own. I cannot live as I once did.
So, I make good my escape. I take the opportunity offered to me not only by Mr Hearst but by your own hand in giving me my share of what was ours. And yet, I am afraid. I am afraid of what the future holds and the people with whom I have chosen to share it. I am afraid of so many things to the point where I question if the course I have chosen is the right one, or if instead, I am simply heading towards disaster.
I ask this of you. Be honest in your feelings, your true feelings for me, not the feelings you think are best for me. Do this now, before I take a course I may be unable to alter. I beg you.
Yours,
Catherine
Catherine finished writing her words, signed her name and then slid the paper into the envelope, sealing it and ascribing Al's name to the front. Sitting back in the chair, she let out a long breath and gazed down at the many crumpled balls on the floor at her feet. It had taken hours to commit what she wanted to say to paper, brief though it was, and she felt exhausted from the effort. There had seemed little point in attempting to sleep given the thoughts in her head and, as dawn now started to break over the camp, she rose and stretched, glancing at her coat and purse laid neatly on the bed. Her remaining possessions, few though they were, had already been transported to the hotel by Charlie Utter, a favour she had asked, and he had been more than willing to grant. She had considered asking Silas, but somehow aligning herself with anyone too closely connected to the Gem at this point seemed only liable to cause further pain.
The clock on the wall showed that she had but less than an hour before she too was due at the hotel to climb aboard the stagecoach that would take her far away from Deadwood, far away from Al, and to the beginning of a new life. Unless…she slid the letter into her pocket and stepped outside into the humid morning air. Locking the door behind her, she made her way from Shaughnessy's into the main thoroughfare, contemplating her options.
She couldn't go to the Gem herself and there were few people that she would trust to deliver the letter in her stead or impose the task upon. Having quarrelled with both Doc and Trixie the previous day it would seem insincere to ask either of them to perform the task she required, and Jewel rarely ventured outside so as to be put upon. As she stood on the corner, she saw E.B. come out of the hotel and disappear in the direction of Chinks Alley. He was out of the question as a potential messenger too, for she wouldn't have trusted him not to read the letter himself before delivery. Him being absent from the hotel however gave her an idea and she hurried towards the main door, lest he quickly return.
"Why Miss McCord!" she froze at the doorway as Hearst came down the stairs towards her, the same smile on his face that he had worn the previous day. "You are certainly keen to leave this camp, are you not?"
"I…"
"You're but an hour early. Won't you join me for some breakfast before we depart?"
"No, thank you," she replied. "I was just…looking for someone is all."
"Mr Farnum left but moments ago."
"He wasn't the one I sought. Please excuse me." She moved past him through into the kitchen area where she came upon Richardson scuttling back and forth carrying plates. "Richardson?"
He paused at her voice and quickly lowered his eyes. "Yes Ma'am."
"Richardson…" she stepped forwards. "I was hoping that you might be able to assist me in a matter of great importance." He said nothing. "I require this letter to be delivered to Al…Mr Swearengen…at the Gem."
"Oh no," Richardson shook his head. "I couldn't do that."
"I'm not asking you to speak with him directly. I'm only asking that you take the letter there and pass it to Jewel. You know Jewel, don't you?" He nodded. "Well then. If you could pass the letter to her and ask her to thereafter pass it to Mr Swearengen, I would be most grateful." She reached into her purse and pulled out some coins. "Most grateful."
He took the money from her, slid it into his pocket and then held out his hand for the letter. "I'll take your letter."
"Thank you." She handed it to him. "Will you go now?"
"Mr Farnum don't like me leaving."
"Mr Farnum ain't here right now. I saw him leave but moments before I entered. Please," she pressed. "I would be grateful if you could go now." After a long moment, he nodded and then moved past her out of the kitchen. "Thank you," she called after him. Slowly, so as not to draw any association between them, she followed his path and made her way back outside into the thoroughfare. She watched as he scuttled across the way and approached the door of the Gem, before turning and returning to Shaughnessy's.
XXXX
Dan had just sat down to breakfast when the knock came at the front door. He ignored it, preferring instead to fill his stomach and hoping that whoever it was would realise it was too early to be drinking or fucking and would desist. But the knocking continued, until he felt forced to throw down his cutlery, stride over to the door and throw it open. "What the fuck do you want?" To his surprise, he saw Richardson on the other side of the threshold, his head down, holding up what looked suspiciously like a letter. "Richardson. Bit early for you, ain't it?"
"I've to give this to Jewel," the other man said.
"What, this letter?" Dan plucked it out of his hand and, turning it over, saw that it was addressed to Al. "It ain't for her."
"I've to give it to Jewel to give to Mr Swearengen."
Dan paused. "Who's it from? E.B? Hearst?"
"Mrs Swearengen."
"You mean Miss McCord," Dan corrected him. "They ain't wed no more. What the fuck is she doing asking you to deliver messages to Al through Jewel?"
"I don't know. She just asked me," Richardson replied, his head still down.
Dan glanced around the thoroughfare, but could see no sign of the woman in question. "All right. I'll take it."
"I've to give it to Jewel," he repeated.
"And I'll give it to fucking Jewel, now get the fuck back to the hotel." He slammed the door before the other man could say anything else and then turned the letter over in his hand again. A letter from Catherine to Al. What information could it impart? He held it up to the light in the vain hope of being able to read her prose, but was left wanting.
As he stood, contemplating what action he should take, Jewel came shuffling out of the kitchen carrying a coffee pot. "Who was doing all the hollering at the door?" she asked.
"No-one," Dan replied, stuffing the letter into his back pocket. "No-one at all."
XXXX
He wasn't sure why he was there and yet he had made the journey at daybreak anyway. Memories of his past visits were fresh in his mind. Visions of how he had begged for her life to be spared even in the belief that there was no afterlife and that a mound of earth could do nothing to assist in times of peril, had plagued him the previous night and he had been unable to help wondering if relaying his thoughts once more to his oldest friend might, in some small way, change the course of what was to come.
"You find me here again," he said upon approaching the grave. "I guess you might have thought my last visit to you would have been my last given that, at that time, I felt you had offered no sign of assistance in a time of trouble. But, when I returned to the Gem after our last conversation, she turned a corner. She came back to us, hence my coming to you once more." He paused. "She's leaving the camp. Sees fortune and opportunity elsewhere, though she goes with a man of little character that would commend him and every fucking opportunity in the world to harm her. So, what should I do? Should I, as the whore suggested, tell her my true feelings? Tell her that I care for her more than she will ever understand? That words said were uttered out of fear for her life?"
He looked out across the hills. "I fear lying with her, I fear having her with child and I fear hastening an end to her that she doesn't fucking deserve. But do those fears live in perpetuity? Could there be a way to overcome them? Should I be attempting to do so or should I remain resolute in my previous decision? Even if I were now to ask her to stay, would she agree? I told her the truth of what occurred that night, told her I was the instrument of her misfortune which she, unsurprisingly, took ill out. Would I simply be making a fool of myself were I to try and convince her that things are so altered now from what they were before and that I would kill anyone who laid hand to her?"
He crouched in front of the grave. "I should have taken knife to that cocksucker Hearst the moment he threatened her life. I should have forbidden her from having anything further to do with his wife. I should have stopped her from making fool-hardy decisions…" he sighed heavily. "There are so many things that I should have done. And now she leaves and, with you gone, I find myself without those I thought of as kin. Perhaps I am better off." He straightened up again. "I cannot ask her to stay. I cannot see the look in her eyes when she rejects me. No, she'll have to come to me. She'll have to tell me her truth, her real truth. That's the only way this plays out to a happy outcome." He turned back in the direction of the camp. "And I hope she fucking does."
XXXX
"What are you looking so fucking disconcerted about?" Silas asked as Dan walked back and forth in front of the bar. "You been pacing like a cat this last hour."
"Nothing."
"You sure? Seem awful agitated about something."
"I ain't agitated about anything, Adams," Dan shot back. "Quit with your fucking interrogation!"
"My apologies," Silas held up his hands. "I made an error."
"Yeah, you fucking did." Dan turned as Al walked back into the saloon. "Where you been, boss?"
"Up at Travis's grave, not that it's any of your fucking business," Al replied, pouring himself some coffee from the pot on the bar. "Anything I should know about in my absence?" It was an innocent enough question, but he knew the answer that he wanted.
"Not a goddamn thing."
"I'm pleased to hear it," he lied as Jewel came out of the kitchen. "Why are you dragging your fucking leg? Didn't Doc make you some sort of boot to stop you pissing me off with that thing?"
"It needs fixing," she replied. "And there was someone banging at the door earlier."
Al turned to look at Dan, attempting to keep his expression neutral. The other man shook his head. "It was nobody."
"Nobody? We got ghosts roaming the camp playing tricks on us now?"
"Well…it was just Richardson," Dan replied.
"Banging on the door? Was he seeking whisky or snatch?"
"Neither. He was just…I mean…" Dan floundered.
"Oh, fucking spare me," Al said, filling his cup again and heading for the stairs before pausing to look back. "No…other visitors that I should know about?"
"No boss, not a one."
"Fine. I'll be in my office and I only want to be disturbed by one person."
"Who's that then?" Dan asked.
"Don't worry," Al said, making his way along the balcony. "You'll know."
XXXX
It was time.
She had thought it might never come, had foolishly believed that upon delivery of her letter to Al he would have appeared at her door and given her every reason in the world to change her plans. There had been no visit, not from anyone and now, as the time came for her to depart, she looked at herself in the looking glass and wondered if she was doing the right fucking thing. Maybe she should stay, in spite of Al if not because of him and yet…the thought of living this life, her current life, cast out from what she had called home filled her with more dread than any journey with Hearst ever could.
Her knife was safely secreted once more in the lining of her dress, close at hand should she need it. Taking a breath she tried to push away Joanie's caution that he would repeat his advances towards her, that there may come a time when she would wound or kill him or have to acquiesce to his demands. The thought sent a shiver through her and she tried to focus on something more positive instead. A new life. A life away from Deadwood. A life filled with opportunities she would never have in the camp. The chance to meet and perhaps marry someone who loved her the way her father had loved her mother. Perhaps, there may even be children in her future. She was twenty-two. Only twenty-two. So much of life was still before her.
Shaughnessy barely looked at her as she returned her key and she knew that he was probably relieved at her leaving. Holding her head high she made the walk towards the hotel, clutching her purse tightly to avoid the obvious sight of her shaking hands. As she approached, Joanie emerged from the Bella Union and hurried over to greet her.
"I hate goodbyes," she said, "but I couldn't let you go without one."
"Take care of yourself, Joanie," she said, hugging the other woman.
"And you," Joanie replied pointedly. "Don't trade one bad situation for another."
"I won't," she replied as brightly as she could. "I'll write to you."
"I look forward to it."
Writing. It clearly had had little effect in the camp and she purposefully kept her eyes away from the Gem balcony as the stagecoach horses skittered and pawed the ground outside the hotel. Hearst came striding out, deep in conversation with another man, followed closely by Phoebe, who lit up when she saw her and hurried forwards.
"Catherine, my dear! I am so delighted that we are making this journey together," she squeezed her arm affectionately. "I could barely sleep last night for thinking about it. Are all of your possessions on board?"
She looked at the trunks piled carefully onto the coach and recognised her own meagre offerings. "Yes, they're there."
"Wonderful. Well, I must say that I doubt I will miss this camp. I know it must cause you some melancholy to leave, but I promise you that once we are in San Francisco you will forget all about Deadwood and wonder why in the Lord's name you were ever content to settle here." She beamed as her husband approached them. "George, are we ready to depart."
"Yes, my dear. Allow me to assist you into the coach." He held out his arm and Phoebe grasped it. Catherine watched as he led her around to the open door and helped her inside. As he did so, she felt her gaze being pulled upwards, her heart hammering in her chest at what she might see when she looked upon the balcony.
He was there. He was there like he so often was, leaning against the balustrade, watching over the camp and all its activities. He was looking directly at her and her stomach churned as their gazes locked. He made no move, no sign, no flicker of emotion. He just watched her as she did him.
"Tell me to stay," she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else. "You read my letter. Tell me to stay. Tell me to stay and I will." He remained unmoving and she fought back hot tears of anger, frustration and grief.
As they stood, their eyes still upon each other, Hearst appeared at her side and followed her gaze upwards. "Mr Swearengen."
"Mr Hearst."
"I take my leave of the camp now, no doubt to your relief. I must say that I have found my time here most enlightening. I believe the camp will benefit greatly from my continued investment, not least of all in my ownership of the largest gold claim in the territory. And we, Mrs Hearst and myself, benefit greatly from the ongoing companionship of our new acquaintance." He turned back and held out his hand to her. "Miss McCord?"
She screamed silently, her eyes still on her former husband trying, and seemingly failing, to get him to understand, to act. He still made no move to opine either way on her chosen course.
"Catherine?" Phoebe called to her from within the coach and she broke her gaze with Al to glance towards her. "Is everything all right?"
There was clearly no other choice. "Yes, everything's fine." She accepted Hearst's proffered hand and allowed him to guide her over and into the coach where she sat, her back to the direction of travel, her eyes straying once more to the Gem balcony.
"Don't be downhearted my dear," Phoebe said, reaching across and patting her knee. "Out of sight, out of mind as they say."
"Yes. As they say."
She felt the coach sag as Hearst swung himself up to sit beside the driver and fought hard against the urge to wrench open the door and leap out to God only knew what. Al straightened up and she thought, for a brief moment, that he might make some move, some gesture. But the horses started to move and as she kept her eyes on him, he grew smaller and smaller in the distance until the balcony was obscured, and then they were leaving the camp and entering the hills and she watched until the very last vestige of Deadwood was gone.
XXXX
"I guess that's fucking that," Silas said, kicking the dirt with his boot.
"I guess it fucking is," Dan replied, his gaze on the rapidly disappearing stagecoach as it rumbled out of the camp and made west. When he could see it no longer, he looked up to the balcony where Al stood and watched as his boss turned, briefly met his gaze and then stepped back inside, slamming the balcony door behind him.
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the letter, slightly more crumpled than it had been, but still intact. He looked at it for a long moment, then wandered over to a nearby firepit and dropped it in.
"For the fucking best," he said, as the paper was consumed by the flames. "The absolute fucking best."
THE END
More to come!