"Mood" music for the chapter, specifically the scene at the river:
"The Old Favourite" by The Gloaming
youtu .be/AEUJ_so2HH8
If you do listen, I hope you enjoy it. Including the links to songs is something I'll be doing for a few scenes in future.
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On Arthur's next visit a little less than a month later, Eliza woke one morning to see him sitting at the vanity putting pomade in his hair. Still in her nightgown, she smiled and went to him, sliding her hands down over his chest and kissing his neck.
"Watch out," he said low with a smirk when she got in the way.
She snickered against his skin. "Payback for when you pestered me the other day while I was bakin'."
"Yeah, yeah. Wait—" he stopped short. "Would we call that pesterin'? I seem to recall we ended up havin' ourselves a fine time in the kitchen," he said as he returned his gaze to the mirror and continued combing his hair.
A laugh rumbled through her nose. She looked at him in the mirror. "You want some coffee?" she whispered and placed a last kiss on his cheek.
"Sure."
"'Course you do!" she said with a pat on his chest as she straightened. "You're Arthur 'Coffee-Guzzler' Morgan!" She ruffled his hair, and he swatted.
"Ah!" he grumbled low, rushing to fix his hair. "Eliza… Waist of good pomade."
She chuckled.
He started smoothing over his hair. He layered the bottom half of his face with shaving suds and opened up his razor. As he did, he lazily watched her through the mirror as she went to the wardrobe on the other side of the bed and removed her nightgown, pulling out a pale green frock. It was another of his favorites on her, since it matched her eyes. He watched the muscles in her back tense as she reached for it, and he eyed the long vertical dip down the center and the dimples adorning the small of her back. He watched her breasts disappear as she pulled the fabric up her arms, over her shoulders, and over her head. It wasn't just that he was aroused at the sight—he was something closer to grateful, that someone in his life felt this comfortable with him. When she left the room, he realized he had yet to even begin shaving.
After a few minutes' worth of shaving, he heard her voice from the sitting room and glanced through the door to see his naked son toddle and run across the floor with a cackle as she chased after him, her back hunched and her hands holding out a cloth diaper. "No, no, come back here! I set you down for one moment! I have to get your nappy on before you— Oh no…"
Arthur snorted a little laugh. "He's a streaker, huh?"
"I hear most babies are at this age. I guess I can't blame him." She went into a high pitch, and Isaac giggled, probably from her tickles. "If I had a precious little tummy and bottom like that, I might show them off too," she laughed.
"A little self-awareness never hurt," Arthur mumbled beneath his breath.
"Huh?"
"I didn't say a thing, darlin'."
"Anyways, I'd hate to wear this thing. But…" her voice returned to normal, and he heard her grunt and imagined her stooping to clean his piss up off the floor. "it's here for a reason. Isaac, come back here, honey."
A few more minutes of quiet, and Arthur went back to shaving.
"Arthur…" she said in a drawn-out, sing-song tone as she came into view through the bedroom door with Isaac on her hip.
He looked up to see a slippery, knowing grin on her face. "You've got a hankerin' for trout, ain't you?" he said.
Her grin grew as her chin dipped.
"You want me to catch you that trout, don't you?"
She kept her eyes on him as her smile brightened.
"All right, let me finish up here, and I'll go get you that fish."
"Thank you, Arthur," she said, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. "Mm…soft," she said as she pulled back.
He looked at her and swiped the suds from the side of her lip. "Get outta here!" he grinned, waving a hand.
She smiled and left the room, but after a few minutes she returned. "Hey, Arthur…what do you think about takin' Isaac? I bet he'd like that."
"Aw, it ain't like I don't want him with me. But as soon as he whines and cries, he'll spook the fish." He noticed her dejected nod. "I'll take him and teach him when he's older. Promise."
She left and returned again after several seconds, and he set his razor back down before it had ever touched his face.
"Well, forget the fish," she said. "Why don't we all go together? He's never been to see the river. We could make a morning of it."
He saw the latent hopeful smile she was holding back beneath her eyes as she looked at him. "All right, let me finish up here, and we'll all go to the creek together. That satisfy?" He offered a wink as she grinned and nodded.
.
When the three of them arrived at the creekside in the bright of day amidst the sound of rushing water and the lush green earth, Arthur watched Eliza bend to remove her boots. With their son on his forearm, he listened to her hum to herself as she took the hand he offered to help her step from stone to stone into the river. He watched the toes of her bare feet spread across the stones as she hopped seamlessly across them, holding her skirt high with the other hand.
Eliza pulled up the front of her skirts and tucked them into Arthur's belt that she wore tied around her waist, so only her pantaloons were visible from the front. "This is why I asked to borrow your belt. It won't hold up the whole of my skirts, but it helps. It should keep a lot of it from gettin' wet." When she turned back, he was already ridding Isaac of his clothing. She reached to help pull the fabric of his little tunic up while Arthur managed to get his nappy off, tossing it over his shoulder onto the grass. Isaac's head disappeared for a moment, hidden in the fabric of his shirt as she lifted it off his soft, pudgy arms. When it was all the way off, Isaac whipped around to take in the vast wilderness from where he was perched on his father's arm.
"Nekked as a jay bird," Arthur beamed as he passed their son to her.
"Naked as the day you born," she said with a bright chuckle as she took him into her arms. She turned and squatted with him, planting his little feet into the river.
"Ooo…" Isaac grimaced and puckered while his parents laughed. He immediately scrambled to scrunch his legs back up, forcing her to continue to hold him.
"I know, it's cold!" Eliza said. "But you'll get used to it."
He looked down at the water and held his thighs up tight to his belly like a frog, not budging when she lowered him again and again. "No, no. Nah! Mama!" he whimpered.
"Oh, come on. Just give it a try. I know you'll like it. My little water baby."
He finally dipped his feet back in one at a time until he was standing, though she still held him under the arms. His bottom bounced up and down in severe hesitation to let it all the way down into the water. "Oo-ooo!" he shouted, taking an inward hiss at the end when he finally relented, sitting with a plop. He shivered feverishly for a minute, and his father squirmed a bit.
"You might take 'im out. He ain't managin'. He hates it."
From where she was squatted in front of him, she watched Isaac involuntarily let out a stream of urine as the water rushed around him, his little shoulders giving one last shiver before relaxing. "He's all right," she smiled as he began to splash and play. "That's my good boy. I knew you'd like it here. See? Mama knows you."
Arthur noticed the way the skirt of her pale green frock ballooned pleasantly around her, the air sweeping under it as she stooped before their son in the stream. He watched as she began to pick pebbles out of the clear water to show him the different textures and colors, and he was clearly mesmerized.
"Pebble," she said.
"Pebba," he immediately tried to repeat. When she smiled, he beamed up at her and almost blushed, tucking his chin in to the side in modest pride.
"Moss," she pointed.
"Mossss."
"Water."
"Wawa." He pointed at her. "Mama!"
She smiled and nodded, touching his chest. "Isaac!"
He beamed again, and she scooped him up, hugging him tight to her chest back and forth. "Mmm… Mama loves you, Isaac." She sat him back down before her, and he grinned as he slapped the surface of the water.
She gasped and reached her hands into the shallow water near a smooth rock. "Look, Isaac! It's a salamander!" When she pulled out a long, shiny black being and held it out to him, he leaned forward to look at it closely, ever the curious one. He jerked his head back a little and smirked a half-frown when its arm moved in her hand. It wasn't like the pebbles.
"It's not poisonous, is it?" Arthur asked.
"No, it doesn't have any colors on it. It's harmless. Go on! Give it a hug," she grinned, holding it out again.
She smiled as he reached out the tip of his finger to touch it, and when he realized it was slimy, he immediately popped his head up at her with a scrunched nose while pulling his hand away.
She threw her head back and released a throaty cackle. She looked over at Arthur. "He's afraid of the salamander."
Isaac went back to splashing, apparently his favorite thing, as his mother returned the salamander and joined him in the festivities, the two of them making a messy uproar.
Arthur stood a short way off on dry land with his hands on his gun belt, watching for water snakes. Just when his mind had drifted to consider that this was where he was meant to be—protecting them and looking out for them rather than a part of them—he heard Eliza's voice beckoning him into the stream.
"Come on in with us!"
He glanced at her with a twist to his brows before looking away. Bless her, it didn't deter her.
"Get in here, Arthur! Get your boots off!" she said. As she stood, the balloon of air under her skirts disappeared, and the wet fabric clung tightly to her legs. She flicked her wrist, sending a wave of water his direction.
"I think I'm all right where I am," he said, ducking to the side to deftly dodge the splash.
"Get in here before I fill your boots with water."
He sighed and looked at her flatly. "Please don't."
"Come on!" she stomped, sending another wave dangerously close to his boots and causing him to swiftly lift a leg to avert it.
"All right, all right! Just calm down, give me a second, all right?" He craned his foot up and removed one boot, then hopped on his other foot as he removed the opposite one, tossing them back on the grass with his black hat. He mumbled an aagh under his breath as he reluctantly removed his gun belt and holsters, setting them down on the grass by his boots. He rolled his pant legs and sleeves up as far as they would go, eyeing her with a wry smirk. "You might come to regret that, little lady."
"What does that mean? You won't drench me."
"What? You're splashin' at me! Why can't I splash back?"
"Because it's like you said," she grinned sweetly, lifting her chin and failing miserably to stifle a laugh, "I'm a lady."
Without taking his eyes off hers, his grin slowly widened as he stepped into the creek. "You know, you're exactly right," he nodded and tipped a finger as if from his hat. "You are a lady." In an instant his grin transformed into a devilish smirk. "But that don't mean I can't do this." He swiftly reached down and flipped a big splash her way. He watched her squeal, shut her eyes, and hold up her hands.
"For once I'm gonna get you back," she grinned, sputtering as she reached down for the water and sent a splatter right up into his face.
"Oh, you're gonna pay for that," he spat.
Back and forth they went, Isaac giggling and clapping from his seat a safe distance from the entertainment as the two of them proceeded to soak each other in stages.
"Enough a' this," Arthur finally mumbled, preparing himself in a stance to tackle her.
"Oh, no," she shook her head. "You wouldn't dare." As she watched him come at her, a little scream left her throat. "Arthur!"
He grabbed her by the waist and took her down with him into the stream.
She sputtered and fumbled as she tried to crawl away from him, reaching up a hand amidst the tinkling spray of water in every direction and the rising hum of Arthur's gravelly laugh. "Isaac! Help me!" she smiled at him, keeping her chin above the water. She couldn't help but join Arthur in laughter. She looked back to see him in the middle of grabbing a fistful of her gown's fabric. "No, no fair," came a lilting nervous laugh from her lungs. She turned, scrambling and clawing before a relentless tug pulled her backwards. She turned back and immediately brought her hand to the back of his head, pushing his face under the rushing water for just a moment.
"Shhi…" she heard him mumble when he came back up, snorting and clearing his nose. She didn't need to hear the end of the word.
She stumbled a couple times as she struggled to get back up to her feet, though glancing back once more was her downfall. A laugh rumbled up through her chest at his expression, and it gave him the moment he needed to finally capture her.
"Get back here, you," he jeered as he slung an arm around her waist.
As she turned on her side in the water, his smiling mouth met hers for a sloppy kiss while a mumbled chuckle arose from her. He drew back and held her gaze for a moment before standing and extending a hand to help her up. They were both soaked to the bone, their clothing clinging to them. She reached up and realized her hair was an awful, tattered mix of wet and dry—mostly wet—and she began to run her fingers through it to comb it.
"'Magine we could lie on the grass in the sun for a bit to dry off," he said as he trudged through the water towards the shore.
"Sounds perfect," she said, stooping to scoop their son up out of the creek. "What do you think, Isaac? Your clothes are still nice and dry on the river banks. Lookee there," she pointed. "Lucky duck." She kissed him on the temple as Arthur retrieved his clothes, and they dressed him.
They walked over to a dense patch of soft green grass and lied down on their backs side by side, with Isaac sitting on her lap leaning back against her propped thighs.
Arthur took his son's soft little ear lobe between his thumb and index finger. "He looks like you."
"He doesn't. He looks like you!"
Isaac's eyes followed their faces back and forth with their voices.
"Have you looked in the mirror lately?" he asked.
"Arthur, he's your spittin' image!"
"No, no. Look at his nose. He's got your nose. Thankfully."
"He's certainly got your eyes."
"Maybe in color. But the shape is you. And his chin. That's yours too, darlin'."
"Well, his lips and mouth are all you."
"What about his hair?"
She paused. "Well, I guess that's mine." She reached up and ruffled his light goldenrod hair with a smile.
Arthur smiled and stroked the back of his finger across Isaac's cheek and under his chin. "Sometimes I think… I don't know what I think," he mumbled. He did know his own dark and heavy thoughts, knew them well; but he didn't want to damper the moment's light mood by airing them aloud. He was wondering how she could possibly be so happy, since he'd left his bastard inside her, then had forced her to carry every burden, to go through every tough moment alone—right down to worrisome thoughts of the future. She should've had him there, to talk with, to help.
If he had known about it and if she had been…Mary…he would've begged and pleaded with her to come live with him in the gang. If she'd been a fellow gang member, he would've secretly ducked into her tent in the middle of the night to hold her until very early morning, when he'd sneak back out so no one would know until she started to show.
But she wasn't anybody else. She was Eliza. Good and sweet and young. An innocent civilian. He guessed that it was almost his way of honoring her, not involving her in his life any further than she needed to be. And Isaac could never come in contact with any part of his way of life. Never ever. So this was just the way things had to be. And poor Eliza. She was caught in a horrible stalemate: she wouldn't leave, and she couldn't come. Required to go on raising their bastard son alone.
And Isaac. The most beautiful, precious thing that had ever appeared on the face of the earth. He was thinking Isaac didn't deserve to be thought of as a bastard, deserved to have parents who loved each other and always had, deserved to know he was the result of that love. He almost bitterly scoffed aloud at himself, wondering just how many people in the world really had that. He was thinking that he desperately wished Isaac wasn't a bastard. And his eyes floated back up to Eliza.
How could she possibly be so happy? Then again, he knew her to have her fair share of pain and struggle. Maybe it was work to be happy, and she'd gotten so good at it, that she could make it seem as though it came easy. He took notice of the twinkle in her green eyes—something like pale emeralds, if there were such things, he didn't know—and he knew that was wrong. He knew her smiles and laughter just came out of her, like natural. She had no pretenses. And anyway, any need for them had disappeared from her life. She lived her every moment with no one but a baby. He'd bet that she had no habits of façade, and that however she was every other day was the way she'd continue to be when he came round.
No, he wouldn't waste the mood by thinking out loud. For the moment the three of them were close together in the mild wilderness, Arthur and Eliza lying on their backs, and the sweet, luscious scent of the soft green grass filling their nostrils as they looked up at a perfectly bright blue sky bordered by the swaying branches and leaves of nearby trees.
"What do you think, Arthur?" Taking Isaac off her lap for just a moment and sitting him between them, she propped herself up on her elbow and put her cheek in her hand as she looked down at Arthur. She reached over and slipped her fingers back through his hair.
He looked at her. "I think…" His eyes traveled down over her as he tried to come up with something to say. "I think you should just wear my breeches when you need to get dirty. Be easier for ya. You're already borrowin' a belt." His mind filled with the image of her brushing the horse he'd gotten her in a pair of his brown trousers, his belt tied in a knot around her waist to cinch them up. He could make out her plump tush beneath her waves of long blonde hair as she turned to him with a smile. Mm. It was an image he wanted in reality before him, sooner rather than later. "I'll leave a couple pairs for ya."
"Okay. Thank you, that would make some of my work around the place a lot easier, actually." She returned to her back and brought Isaac back to sit against her propped thighs. She began to hum again, joining the trills of the birds. "Do you hear that, baby?" she whispered warmly. "It's the Whippoorwills…"
Arthur watched her fingers dance above them on the breeze as she hummed a slow, cheery melody. Isaac was entranced, and he had four of his fingers in his slobbery little mouth as he watched and listened to her. Arthur couldn't blame his son; her voice was even better than the birdsong. As she opened her mouth to sing, Arthur found that he himself was swept up by her smooth voice and drawn away by the lyrics:
.
"Have you seen my little Whippoorwill?
Have you seen my little love?
She sings her song for only me.
She sings her song in sky above.
.
Have you seen my little Whippoorwill?
Her tune lends my soul a rest.
With her melody a sweet peace
Swells plentiful in my chest.
.
Have you seen my little Whippoorwill?
She knows no selfish thought.
She sings for me until she's spent
And her lungs are overwrought.
.
Have you seen my little Whippoorwill?
She's never missed a meeting,
Our chance to knit our hearts in love,
Despite how brief and fleeting.
.
Have you seen my little Whippoorwill?
I'll admit by gold was I ensnared
And for my precious little love
Showed how precious little I cared.
.
Have you seen my little Whippoorwill?
Oh, for her sweet tune I long.
What a short while to be with her,
Oh, what a long time to be gone.
.
Have you seen my little Whippoorwill?
I'll lie and make my bed of grass.
I'll lie all night, morn, and day
In wait for the clouds to pass.
.
Have you seen my little Whippoorwill?
Say she's no prey to the hawk as it flies.
Say my love's heart still beats pure.
Dare not, tell me no devil's horrid lies."
.
Arthur turned his head and looked at her. "That's awful! Don't sing that!"
"Why? W—"
"Don't sing that! It's horrible!"
"It's one of my favorites. Don't you like the tune?"
"Sure. Actually, I like it a lot. But…the words are just awful!" he said with a sour face.
She looked at him aghast from the corner of her eyes, a little grin appearing on her mouth. "Well, I'm a little surprised at you, Arthur."
"Why?!" he said the breathily, his brows scrunched up in protest. "For not wantin' my son to hear a full-on, goddamn tragedy?!"
"No…" she shrugged meekly. "Just that you reacted so strongly yourself."
His eyes shot wide with incredulity and indignation. "Here I was, waitin' on baited breath to hear what happened, and then…that?! Anyone would hate that damn song!"
"You're a real romantic at heart. I think I knew it all along."
He grumbled, swatting a hand briefly in the air and making a show of rolling his eyes as he looked away. When he looked back at her, her eyes were closed as she took in the warmth of the sun. He looked back up at the sky.
After a few minutes of quiet, Eliza opened her eyes and looked at Isaac. Without turning, she asked, "Do you remember your mama, Arthur?"
He took a few seconds to answer quietly, "A little."
"What was she like?"
"She was…kind. Only person ever showed me any kindness until Dutch. Probably the only reason I know what kindness is." He sighed. "She was good and kind."
"Mamas are good like that, aren't they?"
He heard the smile in her voice and looked over at her. "Yeah… Mamas are good like that." He watched her bring her hand back around Isaac's head and come forward over his little chest.
"Mamas are good because…all anyone ever wants is to be precious to someone. And even when the whole world…tells you…you ain't, and leaves you empty and alone…at least you know you once were to someone. And that someone was your mama."
He looked back up at her face and caught sight of her swallow. She didn't look at him as she sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her finger before finally managing to flash up a brief smile his way. He wanted to hold her. Tell her all the things she wanted to hear. Wanted to be that someone to somebody. To her. But he didn't want to go over all the reasons in his mind again that he couldn't. He had to keep space between them in moments like this.
At least he could try to cheer her up, take her mind off it. "Mine had this flower she liked, her favorite. I keep one bottled up with me."
"You really are a romantic," she croaked with a smile, nudging him in the arm. "Severely so."
He huffed a chuckle and wagged his head. "What was yours again?"
"Lily of the valley. It's white, got these little hangin' buds on it. Like a flurry of tiny little pearls. Except the petals are curled on the ends."
"That's right," he smiled. "I've seen 'em. Woulda thought your favorite would be somethin' brighter, happier."
"They are happy," she smiled over at him. "Just a…quiet happy. God made other flowers to be bright. He made the lily of the valley to bring peace."
He nodded with a soft grin. "What's your favorite critter? Animal, I mean."
"Pff… All of 'em."
"Nah, nah. Gotta pick one."
She smirked. "Whippoorwills."
He dramatically rolled his eyes once again, but with a grin beneath them all the while.
"Hmm… Favorite food," she said.
"Huh," he chuffed. "I don't know. Coffee count?"
She smiled brightly, almost laughing. "Sure."
"What about you?" He was surprised when she blushed.
"No, you'll laugh at me."
He dropped his head to the side. "Oh, now you have to tell me."
"Fine." She pressed her lips tight together in reluctance. "Pickles. Anything pickled, really."
His eyebrows darted up, and he started to snicker. "Ha…you're kiddin'."
She shook her head. "Daddy always said it was on account of me being too sweet, and I needed a dose of vinegar to balance me out," she grinned.
He eyed her, trying not to chuckle. "Yeah, I'd say that's about right."
"What—a daddy lyin' to make you feel good?"
"No, what he said!" He finally let out a full laugh.
She swatted his arm. "I told you you'd laugh at me! You're laughing!"
"Pickles? Really, come on."
"What can I say?" she sighed. "All right…favorite fruit?"
He squinted. "Peaches."
"Mm… I used to eat 'em sliced in a warm bowl of milk. I should make you some preserves. Or a cobbler. I found a tree out back."
"You?"
"Pears."
"And him?"
"Oh, boysenberries," she smiled at Isaac. "Definitely boysenberries." She stroked his chin and stuck a finger in his neck, causing him to recoil and cackle. "Huh, baby boy? And you make a mess all over your face every time." She glanced at Arthur. "He's got a bit of a sweet tooth."
He smiled as he watched the two of them. "Me too." He rose up on his elbow and pressed a kiss to her lips.
She closed her eyes, enjoying the sudden spark of sweetness. "Mm…" She opened her eyes and looked at him. "What was that for?"
"For giving us him," he said with a tilt of his head at Isaac.
"Is that what all your kisses are for?"
"A lot of them."
She smiled. When he returned for another kiss, she pressed a hand to his chest. "Arthur! He's right there," she mumbled through gritted teeth.
He turned and looked back at him. "You don't mind, do ya, bud?" he said with a grin. Nah, you won't remember this. He turned back to her. "He says he don't mind." He kissed her smiling mouth again, this time slowly deepening the kiss. But he pulled back with his brows furrowed tight when his tongue met her closed teeth. "What— What the hell is this?"
"What is what?" she said, trying not to grin.
"You got lockjaw or somethin'? You got a cut in your mouth? What's goin' on here?"
"No, no! 'Course not! I'm fine! Look!" she said, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue.
"Well, why're you doin' that to me?" he chuckled breathily.
"No reason," she smirked.
"Ah, I see," he said low, leaning back a little. "It's your turn to play a joke on me; is that it?"
"Maybe," she said sweetly, her smile finally allowed to blossom.
"Uh-huh…" he said leaning back on his elbow and looking away, trying to appear nonchalant.
"You wanna try again?"
He looked at her with a grin and came close, pressing his lips against hers. "I can feel when your jaw's closed," he said in a low tone between kisses, tugging gently on her chin with his thumb as mumbled chuckle rattled through her. "Open up…" Again his tongue met a firm wall in her closed teeth. He immediately pulled back. "That's it," he said lying down beside her. "I ain't doin' it again. That's it."
"Noo!" she said with a soft laugh as she propped herself up on her elbow. "Ohh, no! Come on!"
"Naw! That's it!"
"Arthur. Come on. Come try one more time," she said with a bright smile. "It'll be different. I promise."
He looked at her and couldn't help but let his grin grow when he saw the gleam in her eyes. It was probably true that he could trust her better than she could trust an outlaw. He rose back up on his elbow and came over her again as she reclined underneath him. He came awfully close but kept his lips from touching hers. He met her eyes and held them. It better be. He heard her laugh and felt her breath against his lips, and he closed the gap. He wasted no time this go, and he met no resistance. He felt her hand come gently to the back of his neck.
"Better?" she said when she managed to pull away for just a moment.
"Much better." He enjoyed her breathy laugh when their smiles met again. "Mmm…" he mumbled against her. "I swear, the…bees oughtta…be swarmin' around your mouth…if they knew what was good for 'em." She was in the middle of laughing even louder when he stopped her mouth with his, but her chest and shoulders still jostled with the effects.
They heard Isaac begin to babble to himself behind him, and soon he was calling for her as he rested his little hands on his father's back. "Mama, mama, mamamamamamamam ama ama mam mam mam…"
"Shh-shh," Arthur waved a hand. "Mama's busy. God, one minute, just gimme one damn minute, just one! You can have her all the others, just gimme this one." He finally plucked a dandelion from nearby and handed it to him with a small sigh. "Here." Isaac took it and studied it between his stubby little fingers. He looked back at her and wheezed. "That oughtta give us one turn a' the long hand around the clock face."
"If that," she smiled.
"Well, Jesus, let's don't waste it then!" He kissed her deep and hasty, and she took a deep breath, bringing her hand to his back.
Arthur slid a hand down to her waist until it rested atop her hip bone. He heard a soft little moan rise out of her throat and smiled against her lips. "Hmmm…you like doin' this outdoors. I'll have to remember that." He brought his hand back up gently to her neck and trailed it down the inside of her bodice. "Wish I could have you outta these clothes right here and now." He unbuttoned the top button and pressed his hand past the cloth to the right side of her chest.
"Arthur…"
At that moment they heard a rustling that prompted them both to sit up, and Arthur turned in the direction of the noise.
It was a lone, dark wolf several yards off—growling and creeping up slowly through the long heather, readying for the killing pounce.
All in the matter of moments, Arthur glanced down at his hip and realized with sinking dread that he was not in possession of his gun. Not even a knife to speak of. He heard Eliza's breathing pick up behind him as the wolf continued to press closer. His eyes darted to where his holsters lied in the yonder grass where he'd left them before stepping into the creek—a couple feet from his reach.
The briefest moment's consideration about whether he could reach it in time. "Oh, goddamn it." He leapt up and dove for one of his guns as the wolf simultaneously sprang into action. He got his hand around it and his finger on the trigger just in time to put a shot through the wolf's head, sending it sprawling on the ground. He immediately rose to his feet and popped a few more rounds into its dead body.
Gasping, he looked over to see Eliza's colorless, rattled expression and wide eyes, one hand holding Isaac's face tight to her neck, the other nervously and absentmindedly clutching her bodice closed.
He looked down as he caught his breath, sweat trickling down his neck and back. He hadn't thought of himself. Only of them.
Eliza watched as he hung his head in fatigue, the hand holding the gun limp at his side. He'd jumped up and got a shot off quicker than almost anything she'd seen in her life; she thought he might've been just as quick as lightning. He'd beat a wolf, after all. And what was even more impressed upon her mind was the fiery flash of fury across his face, pure and terrible, unlike anything she'd ever seen on him before. She'd caught a glimpse of what he must've been like when he was away: quick and fierce, deadly and cold—like lightning. And still, it wasn't fear she felt. Because he'd never shown it to her. No, it was something else entirely: something like amazement, astonishment.
But the lightning had dissipated. At the moment his eyes were wide, his breathing ragged and shallow.
"Never. Never again," he said.
"Never what?" As she watched him, she started to understand what he'd meant. "You have to be able to live your life, Arthur."
As he stood with his left side to her, he sighed and sagged his head back for just a moment before looking forward again. "You have to understand, Eliza." Still holding his gun pointed away, he gently pressed the heel of his hand into his eye socket. "It's the worst feeling in the world, at least for me…bein' caught unawares without a weapon. And I know better."
Eliza was arrested by the still earnestness in his eyes as they connected with hers.
He took a silent breath, keeping their eyes locked. "Good things have to be protected…every moment. It's just the nature of the world we live in."
.
Later that afternoon when they were back at the ranch and Eliza was standing near the barn, Arthur walked up to her with a rifle slung over his shoulder. When he stood before her and looked down, she followed his gaze to see a revolver in his hand.
"Time for lessons," he said.
Her head popped up at him. "Oh no. You can't mean…"
"I mean exactly what I said." He watched her begin to shake her head. "Ah, nah, come on, don't give me this. It's time! It's way past time! Shoulda done this from the beginning."
"No. I won't," she shook her head, taking a step back.
"What? You ain't one a' them… What are they called? Shakers…?"
"Quakers. No, I'm not. But I…I won't."
He groaned and rolled his head to the side.
"I won't even touch it, Arthur. Please. Don't make me."
"Oh, god, Eliza—"
"I-I had a nightmare about it!" She swallowed, watching him pause and eye her. "You weren't there."
He didn't know if she meant he wasn't lying next to her in bed when she'd had the dream, or if he wasn't present in her dream. He was too afraid to ask which.
"Listen to me, now. This is one of the reasons I've got to go, and stay away as long as I do: every day I'm here is just more risk for the two of you. Risk someone'll find me here and hurt you in the process." He shook his head. "I couldn't live with myself, Eliza." He looked down, then back up into her eyes. "You remember what I told you by the banks of the river?"
She swallowed and nodded. "Good things have to be protected, every moment." How could she forget? He'd called her a good thing. It was the best she'd ever gotten out of him, and the closest to love. Her poor, pathetic heart had clung to it for dear life.
He nodded. "That's right. I won't let you live and die for me, Eliza. I won't. Not for me. I ain't worth it."
She watched him look down as he turned the gun in his hand. She hadn't noticed until then how beautifully ornate it was: silver with gold filigree.
"I've got both you and Isaac to think about. You'd need to be able to take up a gun and defend yourself. Wolf taught us that today. I know you got fears, and there ain't nothin' I can do about that. Except teach you, show you. And maybe that'll take some of 'em away. I promise, I won't leave a gun. Not this time. But at least let me show you how to operate one."
She was about to comply when his eyes returned to hers.
"Please," he pleaded. "If you won't do it for me, do it for Isaac."
She quietly and briefly nodded.
He held up the revolver and quickly popped out the cylinder, loading it with bullets. She listened to its rolling clacks as he swiftly spun the cylinder and returned it back to its place. All in one smooth motion, all within what seemed half a second. Her eyes went wide. She hadn't thought she could be any more attracted to him.
He noticed her expression and paused. "What, suddenly you're intimidated?"
"No, it's…not quite that," she winced and swallowed.
He looked back at the gun and held it up. "See how I did that? That'll be you. You're gonna know your way around a couple different kinds of guns by the time we're done. Revolver like this, and a rifle." He met her eye. "You're gonna show me, like I don't know."
She nodded.
He looked down at his gun in his hand, pointed down and away as it was. "Now. There are a few rules—"
"Rules? You put rules on yourself?"
He looked back up at her. "Sure," he almost laughed. "Every good gun owner better follow basic rules. Ain't no point havin' a gun and bein' stupid about it." He glanced back down and opened his hand so it rested atop his big palm. "Number one: treat every gun like it's loaded. Now, you just saw me load this one, but you get the idea. Better safe than sorry. Two: always keep your finger off the trigger—that's this here—"
"I know what a trigger is," she chuckled.
He grinned. "All right. Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire. Remember, you control it; it don't control you. You don't want it goin' off before you say so. Three: never point it at anything you ain't ready and willing to kill. Got that? You don't point, and then hesitate. And you also don't ever mindlessly swing it around. Ever. I hate it when people do that. So stupid. And with a rifle," he gestured to the one swung over his shoulder, "you don't lean on it like an umbrella or a cane either. You aim only at what you already know you're willin' to destroy. In your case, it's self-defense. Or huntin'."
She nodded gravely.
"Lastly: I want you to always be sure of your target, and what's behind it, before you fire. Let's say…a closed door. You wouldn't wanna do that. Could be anything or anyone you didn't intend to harm behind it. Bullets don't often stop at the first thing they hit. Dependin' on what it is, they go through it. Make sense?"
She nodded again.
"I know you don't like this," he grimaced.
"No, no, it's okay," she whispered.
He took her through the parts of the revolver and showed her how they worked together. "Today we're gonna aim at that paper I've nailed to the tree over there." He finally held the gun out to her, and she hesitated a moment.
As she reached up for it and touched her fingers to it, she panicked. "Where's the baby?"
"He's inside! Nappin' in his crib. Come on." He held out his other hand and gestured by gently flicking his fingers back.
She slowly took it, and he had her show him the parts as if he were the student.
"Now start over as if you just picked it up. I want you to check the chamber. Good."
As she held it up, he told her how to position it in her hand. She felt him lean away a moment and heard him quietly moan. "What? Am I doin' it wrong already?"
"You don't know just how smart you look with a gun in your hand."
Without glancing at him, she smirked.
"And you can hold it with two hands if you need to, if you're nervous or it gets too heavy on your arm. Cup your other hand under the grip. There you go. Jesus…" he muttered under his breath. "For now I want you to get used to it with one hand. And you won't be fannin' the hammer. You'll use it like a normal person. Not an outlaw." He watched her continue to follow his commands. "Cock it. Good. Again." When she'd done it a couple more times, he was satisfied. "All right, we're gonna put one on the paper now. Get a good footin'."
She felt him position her knees, keenly aware of his hand lingering on her hip.
"Remember where I told you the sight is? Good girl," he said when she brought her finger up and pointed to it on the tip of the barrel. "Time to use it. Take aim. Now comes maybe the most important part: breathin'."
She felt him come close and remain partly behind her, keeping his head beside hers.
"Focus. Pay no mind to distractions; there'll be plenty of 'em. Keep calm and steady, that includes breathin'. In and out. No hitchin'. No snatchin'." He took a deep breath and released it as he spoke. "Always pull the trigger…on empty lungs."
She felt his big hands press against the top of her back and slide down to each side of her rib cage at her back, where they rested as she took a breath.
"Let it out."
She released it and felt his hands hold her firmly in place.
"That's it. Don't draw it back in." He was so close he could hear her swallow. "Now."
She pulled the trigger and gasped at the feeling of the explosion in her hand. She looked at the target and saw that she'd hit the tree, but no paper.
"Not bad," he said.
"Not bad? At least I hit somethin'!"
"Do it again."
She did it twice more, hitting the tree both times.
"The paper, darlin'. You're aimin' for the paper," he chuckled. "Right?"
She clucked her tongue. "It's my first time. I'd say I'm doing pretty well."
"You are," he laughed. "Time to learn the rifle." He took the revolver from her and holstered it, pulling the rifle off his shoulder. He showed her the mechanisms.
When he gave it to her, it sank in her hands, and she pulled it up. "Oof. It's heavy."
"'Course. Heavier than a pistol. Now show me like you did with the revolver."
He listened to her show him again like she was the teacher, pointing and repeating the things he'd just shown her. "Time for shootin'. Now hold the butt flush against your shoulder. Brace it there. I mean really brace it. Good. If you don't, you'll have a bad bruise for days. Might even pop your shoulder outta socket." He nearly laughed when she looked at him with furrowed brows. "Don't worry. I'm here to teach you how to do it right, remember?"
As she held it up with both hands and took aim, she felt him come even closer than before, bringing an arm around to set her up for the shot. He didn't use any words this time, trusting her to remember what he'd said about footing, aiming, and breathing. She eyed her target and slowly released a breath, trying to ignore his finger sliding under her hair at her neck and gently pulling it back. Just when she was in the middle of pulling the trigger, she felt his lips press against her cheek, and the bullet left the gun.
"Arthur!" she whined as she turned to him. He wasn't looking at her. He was smiling brightly, looking off towards the tree. She turned back to see what he saw: that she'd finally hit the paper. Her eyes went wide, and she almost jumped up in exuberance. "Put that page in your journal."
"Oh, I will."
It was unlike any feeling she'd had, different even than catching a fish. She turned back and leaned forward, wanting to kiss him, but she hitched up and hesitated when she realized she still had the rifle in her hands.
He was already removing his gun belt. "Here," he said with a hand out for the rifle. No sooner had he set the gun belt and rifle down, than she was on him.
This chapter is accompanied by screencaps as inspiration for Eliza in the last scene on Ao3: archive ofourown works/22767514/chapters/60106792
Dear Sweet Readers (if there are any of you left 😬😅),
The song Eliza sings was lyrics I wrote, inspired very loosely by another song. It's not really an old folk song, so there's no music to it. I trust it's very nice in your imagination. 😊
I realize my fic is more wordy and a lot less smutty than the average fic. I know it will only attract a few people to begin with for that reason. But I hope I haven't bored you to death with the inner monologues of the last couple chapters. I think it's how I work through what the characters are experiencing.
If you're still here, I'm very impressed. And thankful. I bet there are still a few. Even if nobody reads this whole series, I have to get it all out. I have to.
I'm realizing that being a fic writer (and probably a writer of anything) is very special: it's both a blessing and a curse. Probably no one, no reader, can say it means as much to them as it does to you. But it's still wonderful, without a doubt. That's why I have to get it out. 💛
If you ARE still here, I won't waste it. Trust me. The next chapter will be the most dense to date. Maybe the most emotional for me so far. A lot happens.
Thank you again, from one Arthur-lover to another,
Rosie