The next time Arthur came by, his jaw dropped when he walked through the front door to see Isaac pulling himself up on a chair leg and reaching for his mother, who sat on the sofa. "My little man's tryin'a walk already?!"

Eliza nodded with a big grin. "Has been for a while now. Bat your eyes, and he will be."

"No… Don't say so! He can't; I won't allow it," he said as he removed his satchel and went to him.

"He's on his way, Arthur. I can see it. For a while there I thought he might actually skip crawlin' altogether and go straight to walkin'. He wants to awful bad. Been grabbin' onto things and pullin' himself up like a regular champ."

"Well. At least he can't when I ain't around to see it," he said removing his boots and standing behind Isaac. "Come here, Isaac, up we go," he said taking him by the wrists and pulling him up. "Show me what you got goin' so far." He put a finger in each of Isaac's little grips and walked with him when he took off towards his mother.

"That's my good boy!" Eliza said when Arthur let go and Isaac stumbled for a few steps in quick succession into her lap.

"All right. I ain't helpin' 'im the whole way this time. I don't think he needs it," Arthur said.

Eliza nodded.

"Come here, Isaac. Let's try that again." Arthur took him by the hands and walked him back to where he'd started. He stood him facing Eliza and let go of his hands. "All right now, boy. Walk to your mama."

Isaac stood still as a statue, his feet planted firmly on the floor.

"Go on, you can do it," Arthur said.

"You got it, Isaac, come on!" Eliza said with her arms out to him.

Isaac looked up at his mother and took a wobbly first step.

"That's it, baby!" she said.

He quickly brought the other foot forward and took one more uncertain step before immediately tumbling to the floor.

"Oh, you did so good!" she said scooping him up. "You almost had it." She looked up at Arthur.

"He's close."

"He'll have it before long. Just needs time and practice."

"And you won't have a baby on your hands no more."

"Oh…" she looked down at Isaac. "He'll always be my baby."

.

Later that evening, the three of them were in the bedroom readying Isaac for a bath before bed.

"Come on now, hurry up, let's go," Arthur said sternly as he held his naked son on his forearm. The two of them were watching Eliza as she went back and forth across the room for things. "You can't get his clothes off and make him wait. He's shiverin'!"

"I'm makin' sure the water's warm enough," she chuckled as she leaned over the tub and dipped her hand in, flicking her fingers as she drew them out. She immediately reached back and shed her own clothing. "Come on, baby, in we go," she said as Arthur handed him to her, and she stepped into the tub with him.

Arthur sat and leaned back in a chair a little ways from the tub.

Isaac sat perched on her thigh and immediately began slapping the water and splashing.

"Oh, don't don't you wanna come lie back against mama?" Eliza said. "You're gettin' much too independent for mama's taste, that's for sure." No sooner had she said it, than Isaac caught sight of her chest and leaned forward with his mouth open. "Oh, no! No, no!" Eliza chuckled, and she and Arthur both laughed. "I guess I spoke too soon," she said with a smile at Isaac. "There's no more, baby, no more. It's all dried up. Oh…I know. Mama's sad too. That was somethin' real special between you and me, a mama and her baby," she cooed, stroking under his chin. "You just keep gettin' so big," she whispered. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up. Before we both get like wrinkly prunes."

She sat forward and reached, and Arthur turned and passed her the bar of soap. She washed Isaac, wet his hair, and got a suds going on his scalp all while he looked down and continued to be preoccupied playing with the water. She returned the soap bar to Arthur and repeatedly scooped handfuls of water, covering his face and slowly and carefully drenching him so the suds wouldn't reach his eyes.

"This is what I used to do when you were little itty bitty, except you'd kinda slump against me," she said, gesturing as if she had him against her shoulder. She looked up at Arthur. "I didn't do it while you were around. I was still sorta…shy around ya, I guess."

He smiled softly and nodded. He watched the two of them, mother and child in their natural state—completely at peace, familiar and comfortable with each other in a way only mother and child could be. It was something he knew not every person was lucky enough to witness. And somehow, it had been given to him—without question, without remorse.

Isaac. Still with his soft baby skin and dimples in his knuckles and elbows, rolls on his arms and thighs—all softer than anything he'd ever felt. His plump cheeks and lips; his tucked, pointed wisp of blonde hair in the little valley at the nape of his neck that his mother obsessively played with. His button nose with feather-light freckles danced across it, and lashes that were sure to spur swoons someday. His round doe eyes with a dew-drop gleam to them, and the way they could look straight into your soul with no apprehension or hesitation whatsoever, filled with nothing but adoration and wonder, innocence and limitless potential. Eyes that secretly held the truth of it all. He was like his mother in more ways than one.

Eliza. With a name that rolled like honey off the tongue and skin almost as soft as her son's—somehow both smooth as glass and velvety as a rose petal. The bow of her lips like pink satin against parcel paper. Her smile that could shame the rays of the sun as it peeked over the horizon, if for no other reason than she meant it. A soul that oozed attentiveness and forbearance. Warm in both heart and embrace. As he watched her, he realized concretely that there was no other woman in this role for his son or himself, no other Eliza.

Somehow they'd appeared in his life, like sprites of the legends of old. He began to feel the urge to get up and do something for the two of them, to give them something in return. He didn't want to miss out on them while he was here. But the longer he sat there, knowing just who he was, he also began to feel out of place in the room.

Finally, he decided to go outside and chop firewood, even with the light rain. As he stood at the stump bringing the hatchet down time and again, it started to rain much harder; but he continued. He thought back over the warm scene of the two of them in the house. They'd been given to him. Him—a man who, on every other day, used his hands to steal and rob, brawl and strangle, and above all—to shoot. After everything he'd lived through, he knew it to be all in the name of achieving justice, or some form of it.

Shooting… The way he did it, was it nothing more than standing afar off in a cold, impersonal way and sending a cold, impersonal scrap of metal through the flesh of someone else, maybe someone who'd once been held by his own mother that way?

He stood upright, squinted, and wiped the sweat from his brow under his hat with his wet fingers as the rain poured loudly around him. It was a thought he'd never ever had, a thought that he hoped never to have again when he next stood looking down the barrel of another man's gun.

As Eliza finished her and Isaac's bath, she looked up to find Arthur's seat empty. With Isaac in her arms, she stepped out and wrapped a big towel around the both of them, rubbing Isaac's back to dry him off. "Where's daddy, huh? Let's go find him." She took him and walked out through the sitting room, looking around. When she heard the chopping sound of a hatchet, she went to the window. "Ah, there he is." With the towel up over his head, Isaac rested a pudgy hand on the cold glass as they both gazed out. She kissed him on the cheek, but her eye was caught by how feverishly Arthur was working to finish the load of wood, even though the rain had gotten much harder.

A man in the house. A man. And not just any man—him. The cracks in the faded leather of his tawny jacket. The musky, smoky scent he brought with him. The stubble on his strong jaw and neck. The burgeoning crows' feet around his eyes and the sun tan between them. The hair on his forearms, the veins on the backs of his big, rugged hands. The bulk of his broad shoulders and back that spoke of power and might. The sounds of his boots' firm steps and the accompanying jingle of his spurs.

Completeness. Wholeness. Every time, everything about him was everything she found they'd so needed and wanted and had gone without for the past weeks and weeks. It was in the way he filled the house with a deep sense of calm and protection. The way he could often look at both of them when he thought she didn't notice. The way he'd sometimes do things to serve them without being asked. Like now, when he'd donned his jacket and hat to chop firewood—even in the hard, driving rain.

She kissed Isaac again and turned to ready him for bed.

When Arthur finally finished the pile, he went inside and hung his jacket.

"Started comin' down hard outta nowhere," he said without looking up as he hunched his shoulders and breathed into his hands and rubbed them together, thinking Eliza had finished putting Isaac to bed by now. He stepped to the kitchen and began pouring himself a mug of coffee when he felt a gentle tug on the underside of his rear and gave a little jump. He turned to see Eliza looking back into his eyes with a smile as she walked away towards the bedroom. She looked forward, and when she passed the threshold, she let the satin shawl she'd had around her slip away to reveal her bare back and the rest of her just before disappearing into the room.

He didn't realize he was still staring off in that direction until he felt the sting of hot coffee spilling onto his hand. "Shit," he mumbled quietly as he quickly looked forward and shook his hand, setting the percolator down.

"You comin' to get warm, Arthur?" he heard her softly call.

"Ye—" He cleared his throat a couple times. "Yes, ma'am. I'm comin'."

In no time at all he was undressed and smiling as he rushed to her where she stood beside the bed with the light of a candle behind her and a smile of her own. When he slipped his arms around her middle, she brought her arms atop his and gently rested her hands on either side of his neck under his jaw while he kissed her softly. He realized that these days whenever he got around her, every time, he shifted to a gentleness he didn't know he had in him. She was something entirely other—from what existed, from what took place every other day of his life; both she and Isaac were. He couldn't help it, it was second nature to be gentle with them; he didn't even have to think about it.

Eliza ran her hands under his jaw and down either side of his neck, tracing the dip of his throat through his stubble before sliding her hands over his chest. She felt him broaden his hands to the flat of her back, drawing her closer. Don't, she heard a quiet voice say in her heart. Don't touch me if you don't mean it. Please. I can hardly take any more. It was the first time she'd heard it in words. She immediately stomped it and stuffed it away.

She closed her eyes and felt him kiss her slowly and smoothly, surprised at how quickly he was deepening the kiss all the while. She felt her body react just to being wanted.

The two of them stood there, both pressing themselves closely and tightly together as they kissed. There was something they understood about each other that no one else in the world did: what it was to love their little boy. And every touch they gave each other, every little sound they let out, every soft breath—it was something they showed no one else.

She felt his fingers press gently into the vertical valley of her back while his other hand slid down her side and slipped to the top of her thigh where it met her bottom, and he lazily slipped his hand down further and stroked up and down the inside of her thigh. She hopped up and brought her legs around his waist, and he immediately caught her to him with his hands on the undersides of her thighs as she kissed him. She felt one of his hands leave her as he walked them to wall, pressing her gently up against it along with his hand. "The bed," she whispered as she broke away from his mouth, trying to catch her breath and pointing carelessly. "The bed, Arthur, the bed."

He took her to the bed and gently dropped her there with a bounce. He looked down at her as she lied with her head on the pillow. He brought his hand to her abdomen and slid his fingers around slowly in big, broad circles over and over again, watching her squirm and moan each time he passed over her lower abdomen.

"Enough," she finally whispered, looking up at him. "It's enough, Arthur. Come to me. Come here."

He watched the flush creep over her body—over her chest, up her neck, and into her cheeks. "Did anyone ever tell you you're a stunner?"

She stilled and looked up into his eyes, a grin growing on her mouth as she shook her head. "Why would they? I told you…" she said quietly, almost under her breath. She took one of his hands. "Don't you know by now? You're the only one who's ever seen me like this."

The corner of his mouth curled up slightly, and he licked his thumb and forefinger and reached out to douse the flame of the candle on the nightstand, leaving them in nothing but the pale moonlight that came through the window. He slowly climbed over top of her, placing his knees between hers, and kissed her.

With the rain pounding hard against the house and the thunder booming, he pressed her hands against the bedspread and made love to her, their fingers interlacing. Eliza felt her lower half slowly rock in tandem with him. She arched her back a moment and let her head hang back, immediately feeling his mouth on the base of her neck before gently collapsing against the bed. She listened to the sounds of their quiet kisses, sighs, and soft moans, comparing them to the continual angry, boisterous growls of thunder outside. It was more than enough to do her in.

Unlike herself, who often couldn't keep from letting out a moan or a cry when they made love, he was usually very quiet. But this time she heard him unleash a sound into her hair, louder than anything she'd heard from him before, though it still wasn't terribly loud: something almost like a disappointed groan that mingled in the air with her own gasps as he spent himself inside her. And at the end of it all was her favorite thing—when with her eyes closed, her hands would search for him while she hastily caught her breath, shaking and trembling as she came back down the mountain with him; and all the while he would plant a half dozen or so soft kisses on her cheek—almost sweeter and more intimate to her than the love-making itself, because he saw her in her most vulnerable state, when she was completely unable to withhold anything, and still he kissed her.

As he pulled away from her and lied on his side, propping himself up on his hand, they went quiet, with nothing but the sound of the rain filling the air. She looked in the opposite direction and ever so slowly let her eyes meander back to him. When their gaze met, and they realized they'd both just done the same thing, they let out a laugh, feeling somehow like schoolchildren for a moment. She was always amazed that they could still find small ways to be timid with each other every once in a while.

She smiled as she reached up a hand to brush his hair away from his eyes. "Your hair's longer every time I see you."

"Naw, I have it cut now and then." His eyes closed a moment as her fingertips flitted across his forehead. "You don't like it?"

She grinned and nodded.

He brought a hand up and sunk his fingers back into her golden hair, feeling the silky coolness between his fingers as he pulled his hand back, gently bringing her hair with it. "I like yours down like this." He smirked at her. "Yours seems to get longer every time I see you too." He felt his smile widen as he watched her chuckle; but as she looked down, her grin slowly fell away, and he felt his smile leave him with hers.

Just as he opened his mouth, a white flash of lightning sparked and flooded through the windows, the crash of thunder following nearly immediately, sounding closer and angrier than it had all night. They heard Isaac's high-pitched cry, and she threw on her nightgown and ran to his room.

"Isaac, honey," she cooed as she picked him up out of his crib and sat with him in her lap on the bed. "It's all right. Mama's here." She was holding him to her and stroking his head as he cried when Arthur came into view in only his trousers, still buttoning them as he leaned lazily against the threshold. "I know it's frightening. Shh. It's just thunder; it can't get you."

Arthur came and sat on the bed beside her. "Let me." He reached out and took hold of Isaac's little foot. "Hey, Isaac. You know how they tell you the lightning is the devil talkin' to the God, and the thunder is God answerin' back? Or that it's a giant livin' up there…like in that nursery rhyme or…?" He looked up at her. "What is it, help me out here…"

"'Jack and the Beanstalk.' It's a fairytale," she said with a smile.

"Sure. Anyway," he said looking back at Isaac, who was already slowly calming down as he watched his father with his forefinger in his mouth. "Don't let them lie to you. Don't listen to a word of it. It ain't nothin' but a big man with a big gun."

"Arthur…"

"But big don't mean nothin' unless you're quick. And your d—" he stopped himself abruptly and swallowed. He'd been about to say daddy, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't quite put a finger on why. "Your ol' pal Arthur is the quickest draw there is. He'll protect you. Don't you worry."

Eliza was certain Isaac couldn't have understood most of what he'd said; but even still, she watched in shock as his tears began to dry on his face, and a grin slowly appeared on his mouth as he blinked. "Uh, wha…how…" she breathed. "How did that…work?"

Isaac leaned forward and reached his arms out for his father, who brought him into his lap.

"Aw, that's a good boy. You're a good boy," he whispered as he stroked his back.

When they'd managed to get Isaac back to sleep and laid in his crib, Arthur noticed the rickety nature of the crib's rail and bars.

"How old is this thing?" he said, rattling it a little.

"I'm not sure. Must be pretty old," she whispered.

"I'll get you a new one."

They quietly closed the door and returned to the other room.

Eliza sat on the bed with one leg curled up and the other hanging off the side. "I can't believe what I just saw," she said to him as he came around to the other side of the bed. "You have a way with him, you know. Like only a daddy would," she smiled.

He rubbed his neck as he sat. "You know, I… I think I… I think I need to talk to you about that." He looked up at her. "I'm thinkin' we shouldn't have him call me 'daddy.'"

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't he call you…" Her smile slowly dissipated, and she swallowed. "You don't…" Her head began to sag. "You don't want him to know you're his daddy…"

As their eyes met, he quickly began to justify the notion. "Think about it. The older he gets, and the more he understands… Think about how much harder it'd be on him. When I gotta go, for him to say goodbye. And then to go so long without me. If…if he…knew." He watched her head begin to hang lower as she processed his words, what he was proposing, and all that it meant.

"But for him to go without a father completely… Arthur, you haven't thought this through. That would be even worse for him."

"Naw, it wouldn't have to be. I mean…he'd never really know what he's missin'. He'll never even know the word 'daddy,' unless you tell 'im."

"He'll never hear you call him 'son.' And you…" She scrunched her brows and shook her head. "You're really all right with never hearin' him call you 'Daddy'? Never hearin' him say 'Papa' to you?" She was having trouble with just how forlorn the thought was making her. "Arthur, you should know: when he calls me 'Mama,' it's the most beautiful sound in the world. Not everybody gets to know that feeling."

He looked down and slowly nodded, swallowing. "I'll still get to see him. That's what matters. Reckon that's enough to do me."

She wagged her head in disbelief. There was so much wrong with this in her eyes. "Well, who's he gonna think you are, comin' round like you do?"

"A friend," he chuckled. "His friend. That's what I am."

She looked at his hand where it was flattened against the bedding. She slowly looked up at him and prepared to use her final play. "You know," she said quietly, "this means when he gets old enough to be inquisitive, you and I'd have to sneak around."

"Yeah…so…" he said with a high pitch and a saucy smirk. "Might be kinda fun."

She let out a breath and slumped her shoulders. He had an answer for everything.

He came close and murmured to her, brushing his nose and lips against her cheek. "Hey, come on, hun…"

With her brows drawn up, she squirmed and whined a couple broken syllables. "I don't like it, Arthur. I don't like it at all, not one bit."

"Well, you gotta go along with it for it to work," he said dispassionately. "It's gotta be this way."

"I just can't understand why you're so intent on it." She looked down and shook her head again.

"You're the one who'll have him while I'm away. Think of how much harder a time of it he'd have. You know what it's like. You've told me enough times."

Something in his voice caused her to slowly look up at him. It hadn't been annoyance, but a hint of remorse.

"You gotta swear it," he said quietly.

She swallowed past the painful lump in her throat and tried to let the sound of the drumming rain soothe her. But it was no use. He was giving her no choice. Even so, she thought of the sunshine of her every day dreaming sweetly in the next room, and her heart shattered for him. It was in that moment that she realized she'd probably never come to the end of the layers of pain this life had in store for her. As she dipped her head, his came down with hers. "You really know how to break a girl's heart, Arthur Morgan."

When he felt her look up again, he was forced to look into her wet eyes.

"Kiss me once," she struggled to whisper, "just once, like you love me. Like you really love me. And I'll swear to you." She watched his eyes register her request. They looked away for a moment, then down. When he finally brought them back up, they looked a little different. As he drew close, she took in some air when his mouth missed hers entirely and he rose up to press his lips softly against her forehead, lingering there a few moments. When his face came back into view, it was a blur.

He watched her face pinch and a vein start to emerge in her forehead as she nodded.

"You have my word," she whispered, her voice breaking a little.

"Come on to bed now," he said, pulling her gently with him as he lied back. "Come on."

They both lied down facing each other, Eliza putting her flattened hands under the pillow as he reached out and stroked her arm. A few seconds later there was another streak of lightning close enough to send the white flash through the windows again, with almost no time between it and the following boom of thunder. They immediately heard Isaac wail, and Eliza rushed out to his room as Arthur turned onto his back.

Arthur heard Isaac's door open, then a quiet use of his own name, quiet enough that the distance muffled it. He immediately got up and came to see why she'd called for him. She looked up at him with what he could only decipher as a calm mixture of shock, disbelief, and excitement.

"He walked," she said quietly with a dazed smile on her face, pointing. "I saw him."

He looked into the room to see one of the crib's bars broken and in two pieces on the floor, and his gaze came down to find Isaac standing before them, whimpering with his arms raised to him.

Arthur looked up at her, and they both beamed at each other. He immediately scooped Isaac up into his arms and took him to their bedroom, his footsteps patting against the floor. Eliza quietly and giddily followed. They lied down in the bed, their son snuggled close between them. Isaac almost immediately ceased crying, falling asleep in a matter of minutes. His parents couldn't seem to close their eyes; they gazed at each other from their pillows above him with looks in their eyes and bright grins that said everything.

.

In the middle of the night after he'd finally fallen asleep, Arthur was awoken by something brushing his arm. He opened an eye to see Eliza dipping her long, slender fingers into a squat round jar, sliding them up the side, and leaning over to rub what looked like some kind of salve on his elbow. "What the hell…"

When she heard his mumble and realized he was awake, she gasped, closed the jar, and turned to quickly hide it away.

He propped himself up and eyed her. "Is that you? Is that you that's been doin' that?"

"Doin' what?" she whispered nervously. "I don't know what you're…"

"Puttin' shit on my elbows! They…they felt all…s-soft, and… I couldn't figure out what was happenin'! Jesus, it was you! It was you the whole damn time!"

"Oh!" she tisked her tongue, letting her shoulders drop in admission. "Arthur, they were so dry—even cracking! And it just looked so painful, I couldn't help it! This is what I use when my hands get chapped from washin' at the washboard."

"You gotta stop," he eyed her, shaking his head low and trying to keep from smirking.

"Don't it feel better?"

"Don't matter," he almost chuckled. "You gotta stop. I can't go around robbin' trains and holdin' up banks with supple, perfumed…lady elbows!"

"Shhh!" she held up a hand, panicking for a moment when Isaac stirred just a bit, though he smacked his lips and finally resumed deep slumber. "You'll wake him!" she whispered. She looked up at him again, this time flatly. "It doesn't have any perfume to it. It's functional—not decorative."

"Well then why do I always smell like flowers when I leave here?"

Her mouth tightened into a tiny, crescent-like knowing grin as her eyes pulsed wide for just a moment. Because you've had me all over you.

"Ha," he laughed almost nervously as he rubbed his neck. "Any chance you could quit smellin' like flowers?"

A single, small breath of a chuckle came through her nose. "My turn to ask: You don't like it?"

He nodded his head loosely with a grin, but ended up shaking his head with that same grin as he watched her smile widen.

"I bet it does feel better. Lots better," she said.

"Sure it does. Never said it don't. But you ever hear of an outlaw who pays attention to makin' their elbows neat 'n' pretty? Anybody in camp notices, and I'm a laughin' stock."

She scoffed a little chuckle, closing her eyes as she lied back on the pillow. "You ain't gettin' no guarantees outta me. I swore one thing to you already tonight, and it nearly broke me. That's all you get."

He watched her intently to ensure she was still smiling and was satisfied when he saw the subtlest curl at the corner of her mouth. Deciding she was right and that it wasn't worth arguing over, even realizing that she'd done it out of compassion for him, he lied back down and fell asleep.

.

When he woke to the warmth of sunshine breaking through the crack in the curtains, Arthur sat up and looked over to see Eliza and Isaac still soundly asleep like lumps on logs. They were both on their backs; Eliza's head was haphazardly tilted just a bit to the side, her arm extended down at her right around Isaac, who couldn't possibly look any more comfortable. His cheek was scrunched up against his mother's arm, his puffy little lips bunched up unnaturally.

He was almost a smaller version of her; Arthur had thought so for a while now. He had his mother's golden hair with flecks of light chestnut sprinkled throughout, his mother's darling little chin, his mother's good heart. And he was so much the better off for it. The two were meant for each other.

He softly chuckled to himself as he watched them breathe and dream, thinking on what a honey-sweet picture it was. Picture… He was glad the thought had occurred to him in time, and he reached off the bed and dove into his satchel, pulling out his leather journal and pencil. Wanting to preserve them before they stirred and woke, he quickly began sketching them, looking up and back down at the paper with a smile.