Dear Sweet, Dedicated Readers,
Please take a breath before reading this chapter. 1. It is quite a long chapter. The longest yet. I considered chopping it into multiple chapters, but I couldn't find it in my heart to do so. I tried to break it up with quotes. 2. By nature, it is also a jam-packed and weighty chapter. Please don't neglect that breath.
What I'd also like to note at the top here is that I've shared links with you to two songs I've included that mean a lot to me, had a lot to do with the creation of this chapter, and that I feel go very well with the chapter and/or corresponding scenes. By no means do you have to listen to the songs, but they're there if you'd like to.
I also included a just a sketch of my own as a concept of a moment in one of the scenes. It is featured as part of the chapter on Ao3: archive of our own works/22767514/chapters/61234234
Thank you again so much for being here. I'll check back in with you at the end of the chapter.
- Rosie
.
"We can't decide if we have fallen
because every single call is a chance
to realize we're dependent
on the fate of our circumstance.
.
We've been living minute to minute.
We've been holding onto every breath.
Somehow our hearts are still in it,
but all our innocence has left.
.
I am done with waiting
on the creek to rise,
'cause there's more to life.
.
We're in for nasty weather,
and I'll ride it out with you.
We won't be riding highs and lows
like tides of ocean blue.
.
We won't be here forever—
just a moment, then we're through.
We can't be shifting with the sands
like seasons always do."
.
- Needtobreathe, "Seasons"
you tu . be /-gtt5Cd6qjo
As Arthur rode up to the homestead one morning after a long absence, Eliza froze where she stood as Isaac played with his blocks and wooden puzzles on the porch. Arthur stepped up the porch steps, and when he came towards her, he saw that she was drained of color, and her eyes were wide and frozen stiff.
"You're here," she said in a ragged breath, nearly reaching out and taking him by the collar, though she restrained herself. Her brows were drawn up, and her eyes were wet. "You came back!"
"'Course," he almost chuckled, his brows coming together. "'Course I did." He paused and eyed her. "You hear about that shootout west of here? Were you thinkin' I got caught up in that?" He shook his head. "Weren't us. Wasn't there."
Eliza slowly drew back and studied him as he knelt to greet Isaac. She sniffed and quickly wiped a silent tear away while he wasn't looking. "You were gone a whole two months this time."
He looked up at her from where he was squatted. "I know. I couldn't get away," he said before looking back down at Isaac. The tone of the last syllable had a downward slope to it.
She nodded, licking her lips as she sat back down on the porch swing.
.
That night as she lied in bed in her nightgown facing the opposite way, she felt Arthur come close, propping himself over her on the bed with an arm on either side of her. He gently kissed under her ear, nuzzling her under her hair. When she turned her head to him, he immediately kissed her on the mouth. She felt a rolling ache swell low in her belly and knew it was her longing for him; but when a stone rose in her throat, she knew she had to stop him before the tears showed themselves. She hadn't decided if she would talk to him yet; and even if she did, she was going to put it off for as long as possible.
"I… I'm tired, Arthur," she whispered, patting his forearm.
Pulling back, he looked at her and nodded.
As she turned her head back to rest her cheek on the pillow, his arm accidentally brushed against her breast as he drew it back from around her; and she knew the two of them were at least very close and comfortable with each other, despite how he tried to deny it.
It was confirmed to her when she felt him place a kiss on her cheek. It wasn't a quick peck—he lingered there and even remained close for a moment or two when he was done. And it was only after she'd turned him down. It was a kiss for no other reason than to give her the feeling of his lips against her skin and to let her know that he was thinking of her, at least in that moment.
She felt her insides leap even more forcefully with yearning. As he lied down beside her, her brows drew together, and she bit her lip to keep from crying.
.
The next morning after Eliza cooked breakfast and sat at the table with Isaac and Arthur, she put her cheek on the heel of her hand as she raked her fork through her scrambled eggs. She sighed and finally opened her mouth, but it wasn't to eat; it was to speak.
"Arthur?"
"Huh," he said from across the table, focused on Isaac.
"Am I just a waitress?" she said quietly.
He looked up at her. "What? What the hell you talkin' about? Why're you askin' me that…"
She looked away and slumped her shoulders, stuffing her hands down into her lap. He was flustered, but he wouldn't answer her. "I've just been thinkin'…a lot lately… You know, you might've really loved some ladies before me. But none of them ever bore your children…did they? It turned out to be me. It was lil ol' waitress me…wasn't it? And I just think that…maybe…maybe you'd be where you wanna be now, if…if I hadn't been bor—"
"I ain't listenin' to this," he stood abruptly, the feet of his wooden chair scraping the floor. He picked Isaac up from his little cubby seat.
"But ain't it true?" she looked up at him with a wrinkled forehead. "You'd be able to…be with whoever you wanna be with, go wherever you wanna go… Wouldn't be tied down."
"No, it ain't true. Wouldn't have Isaac," he brought a hand to Isaac's back.
She gave a little nod and looked forward, her eyes still.
"Didn't you ask me that a while ago? Asked me if I felt stuck. Told you I don't feel that way. Why're you talkin' like this now?" He watched her swallow and shake her head as he pushed his chair in. "We're goin' out to the garden, pick some things. You come out and join us when you get right."
.
A little while later when the three of them were in the fenced garden area, Eliza stood watching Arthur smile down at Isaac from where he stood. He was in his full rugged getup, complete with a stalk of grain hanging out of the side of his mouth, and he'd donned his black hat before leaving the house. Isaac was sitting in the soft dirt, pulling with all his might at a carrot top. As she watched their son, she felt her throat tighten.
Arthur eyed her and lazily moved the grain with his tongue until he could grind the stalk between his molars. "What's wrong with you?"
"I…" Her lip trembled as she looked away. "Nothing."
"Eliza," he said firmly and sighed, shifting his weight as he removed the grain from his mouth and tossed it away. "Somethin' ain't right. I can feel it."
"I… You didn't…" She brought her brows together and shook her head. "You really didn't get my letter, did you?"
"What letter?"
She tried to take a breath and looked down. "Mr. Stork came by again." She sniffed and looked up to catch sight of him squinting at her.
She took another breath. It was something she hadn't thought she'd have to do—say it out loud to him. Something about the word was laid bare and vulnerable—in the moment, it somehow felt more vulnerable than being naked before him. Speaking aloud that they'd been alone together in the dark and quiet; that they'd done what husbands and wives, what men and women do; that they'd known the tender, secret parts of each other. Admitting, if only to the birds and trees, that the two who now stood in the sun—this scarred, hard outlaw and this honey-haired little girl—had been one.
That she had been bold enough. That he had been gentle enough.
"I got pregnant again, Arthur." She watched his eyes slowly grow wide as he brought his hand up to his forehead. "I think it was back…when it was rainin' real hard. That thunder storm. You remember?"
"I remember."
She swallowed and hurriedly looked down before whispering, "We didn't know we had two babies with us that day at the creekside." She kept her face down but tried to watch for his reaction.
He swallowed and shook his head. "Well, maybe…this time…maybe it'll be different for you, than the first time, since I…I can come round every so often like I been doin'." He wagged his head and brought his hand over his forehead and eyes. "Shit…"
She intently watched what was uncovered of his face and noticed the tiniest sliver of a curl appear on the corner of his mouth. "You're smilin'!"
"What?" he said removing his hand and looking at her. "Nooo…"
"You're smilin'!" she pointed.
"I ain't."
"You are! Oh god!" she shook her head and covered her face with both hands. "Oh, god! I can't do this! This might really put me in my grave!"
"What? Eliza." He tried to pry one of her hands away. "Eliza… You got somethin' else to tell me?"
As she let him pull her hands away, she noted his concern when he saw what her face looked like.
"Eliza, what the hell is goin' on? The whole of it, now."
She sniffed. "It's true; I got pregnant again. Except this time…I miscarried our baby, Arthur. She came out of me too early." Her chin trembled again. "Much, much too early." She watched his expression teeter back and forth between shock, pain, confusion, frustration, and fear. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," she huffed quickly, her nervous, feverish thoughts at his reaction to finding out in the first place finally boiling over. She hadn't been able to keep from imagining his disappointment, frustration, even anger. "I didn't mean to get pregnant again, honest. I swear it. I swear. I'm usually very good about keepin' track. But she came," her voice broke, and her face crumpled, "and then she…" She swallowed, shaking her head. "Back when I was staying with Addie, she said it could happen to anybody, losin' a baby. She said it could happen, and it wouldn't be anybody's fault. And I think I know that. But I just…" She looked up at him as she cried. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
"Eliza, stop. Stop, now," he said, catching her by the wrists. "I don't wanna hear that outta your mouth again. We were stupid, the both of us. Playin' roulette like that. As if Isaac himself weren't warning enough." He looked down at her as she cried. "It… She… She was…a little girl, you said?"
She nodded, her tears overflowing. "She was just big enough. About the size of a strawberry. I buried her under the flower bushes you planted out front."
He grimaced and let his head sag back a bit. Only then had it hit him what a bloody, tragic mess it must've been. And yet again she'd gone through it all alone. He was sick to his stomach at the thought.
"I didn't know…they were so intricate, on the…inside. I know I probably sound demented to you, but…she was so perfect, Arthur. So beautiful. Even in death. I wish I could've gotten a photograph of her for you. So you could know her." She sniffed deep and let out a sob, her voice pinching. "She deserves to be remembered. All who pass on do. Don't you think so, Arthur? And not everyone gets to be."
His eyes sagged at the corners as he took a deep breath. "Were you in much pain?"
She nodded slowly, then confidently. "But not as much as when I had Isaac," she mumbled. "And not as much as I have here now," she cried out, putting a hand to her chest.
He swallowed, his eyes crinkling together as she sobbed miserably. He shook his head. "No more foolin' around. No more," he said, his voice slowly rising. "No more, damn it. Hear me?" he said to himself as much as to her.
She shook her head and wiped at her eyes. "You really think we can go on livin' as nothin' more than acquaintances? After everything? Arthur, how's that ever going to work?"
"Don't matter how. We'll make it work."
"You can't keep yourself from me like that, Arthur! You just can't!"
"And what if it were to happen again? You'd need assurances from me I can't give you! Goddamn it, Eliza! You can see that, can't you? You're not stupid, I know you ain't! You gotta stand up for yourself—in this maybe more than anything else. And here I am tryin'a do it for you!"
"It's not about that! It ain't!"
"Well, it oughta be." He swallowed, thinking about how it had all started on one of his early visits with a kiss, how it was only ever meant to be a kiss. How it should've stayed that way, if anything at all. And now here they were, and it was much worse. He moaned. "We ought to've had exactly this conversation a long time ago." He frowned, his mouth tight as he looked at her. "The other option is that I just flat out stay away."
Her brows drew up as she gave her head a little shake, and her shoulders shook as she sobbed.
"Well then no more. No more foolin' around. I'm endin' it. I can hardly stand to see you like this."
She let out a deep groan between sobs. "I never should've told you."
"For chrissakes, Eliza… Nobody can keep that kinda thing bottled up… What you musta seen…" He looked down. "'Sides. I had a right to know. You woulda been selfish to keep it from me. And you ain't." His eyes slid back up to her. "When did this happen?"
She sniffed and pulled her top lip in for a moment. "About a month ago."
"And you been carryin' on since then, just like normal?"
"I had to. Had no choice."
"Jesus…" he sighed.
"It happened only after I wrote to you about bein' pregnant."
"I never got any letter."
"I thought you'd either come right away or never come back at all. I tried to believe you'd come, so when you didn't, I was real worried about you."
"Worried— You were worried—about me?" He brought his hand over his eyes, then looked back at her. "Eliza. How… When it ha-happened… Are you all right now?"
She swallowed as she was taken back to when she'd first realized she was pregnant again, with missing her monthly and beginning to vomit. How she'd been filled with both excitement at the thought of another child, and dread—that Arthur would think she'd done it on purpose, that she'd have to get through to him that she hadn't, and how badly that alone would hurt. She remembered hunching over the kitchen table, quietly crying as she finally put pen to paper to write him the letter. Mailing it, hoping with all her might, hoping maybe beyond hope, that he'd open it and would immediately jump on his horse in a flurry and fly to her.
But somehow, despite all the terrible nerves, despite fearing she would be made to feel like she'd failed, failed again at doing the one thing a woman should be held accountable for in their world—not getting pregnant—despite all of that, she'd felt that her little body was still so pleased with itself. That while they'd only been doing what men and women do, her body had only done what it was meant to do.
She remembered excitedly standing to the side before her oval, stand-alone full-length mirror every evening, pulling up her nightgown to check and see whether her belly had grown at all. It never did grow much past what she normally looked like.
She remembered waking one night to an awful, sharp pain in her lower abdomen, tossing a little before finally pulling herself out of bed. Weakly stumbling for the lamp on the dresser and turning it on. Pressing her fingers between her thighs and drawing back the dreaded sign: thick, bright red blood. Whispering, "No, baby, no. Please, no," before panic gripped her chest as another severe pang ripped through her—bad enough that she suddenly and shakily clutched for the dresser, causing the lamp to tumble with a crash to the floor and causing Isaac to wake with a wail. Stepping through the glass and leaving a trail of blood from two places on her as she walked to Isaac's room and tried to bounce and shush him back to sleep, unintentionally smearing blood in his hair and trying to choke back her tears along with him as she determined before long that she was still losing blood and other things. Setting him back in his crib as he grasped the rails and continued to cry. Wincing as she sank into her empty tub to pass the rest. Weeping uncontrollably. Thinking that this was the agonizing side of life, and that no matter how she tried, she'd never get used to it. Death.
But that wasn't even the worst of it. The worst had been after—being tempted to neglect her living child. Wanting nothing more than to crawl up in a ball on her bed and sink into the mattress, disappearing forever. The worst had been truncating her grief, pulling herself up against the weight of it with everything she had in her, and being a mother again. Even with the mental and physical pain and exhaustion.
But even through the darkness that had crushed in on her, she'd discovered a glimmer of light in her son's eyes. She'd realized she wasn't empty-handed. Not by a long shot. He was a gift that had been left for her in advance, to see her through.
She blinked her eyes as she stood before Arthur in the daylight, bringing herself back to his question about her physical well-being. How could she begin to explain to him all she'd gone through when he wasn't there? The physical trauma had only been a fraction, had almost seemed the least of her worries.
She swallowed past the painful lump in her throat. "It's all real delicate, what goes on inside me. All I know is I bled for near two weeks."
"No…" he breathed, immediately sliding his hands over his face and rubbing his temples.
"I was so exhausted. I've never been so exhausted in all my life, not even during the short time I was nursing Isaac and havin' my monthly at the same time. At first, I…" She was so ashamed to say it. "I was a little scared I might not be able to take care of him properly. When I finally got up enough strength, I went to see Addie. She was real upset with both you and me, but she looked me over and said I was okay."
"Why didn't I get that damn letter…" he said, though it was muffled through his hands.
"I don't know," she cried and sniffled, "but I really needed you, Arthur. I really needed you."
He took his hand away from his face and looked at her. "I'm here now." He came close and wrapped his arm around her. "I'm here." He patted her arm as he drew her into a hug, guiding her head under his chin. "She woulda been just like you, I know it. Golden waves, bright smile…and just a tad mischievous," he smirked down at her. "Truth is, one kid in the world with me as their daddy is probably too many. Poor Isaac's got a time of it."
A louder sob escaped her, and she shook her head.
"Hey…" he said softly. "No more tears, huh? You're about to break my heart. Ain't every day I get to see you two. And we only have so much time. Could you cheer up for me a bit?" he said, gently patting her arm again and trying to catch her downcast eyes. "Hm?"
She weakly nodded again and tried to sniff back her tears.
"Atta girl."
.
That evening after they'd put Isaac to sleep in his crib, Eliza stood at the bedside brushing her hair in her nightgown when Arthur silently walked in. She glanced at him and slowly and sullenly looked away again. He didn't utter a word as he shed his clothing down to his long-johns. Eliza turned out the lamp, and the two of them quietly climbed into bed next to each other.
Arthur looked up at the ceiling as she turned on her side away from him. Before long, he heard a dreadful sound coming from her and looked over at her. Her shoulders were jostling and trembling. She was literally quietly hiccupping to keep from crying. He looked back up at the ceiling and wondered how much she'd slept in the past month. Wondered too if he was only making it worse by being there.
.
The next morning Arthur cooked oatmeal for the three of them, and when Eliza came and sat Isaac in his chair and sat down herself, he set the bowls before them.
"Mornin'," he said.
She gave a little nod as he sat down to eat across from her.
In the middle of eating from his own bowl, he gently took the spoon from her hand when she began to feed Isaac. "Here, I'll feed him." He watched her sit back in her chair and eye the bowl of food before her. Only then did he realize he hadn't seen her eat a single bite since he'd been there. He reached out and nudged the bowl toward her a couple times.
Still feeding Isaac, he kept his eyes on her as she leaned forward to fold her forearms on the table. She brought one wrist up to her temple for a moment before replacing it flat against the table again, all while staring at the oatmeal. Fidgeting. It wasn't a good sign. He nudged the bowl toward her one more time, and she finally picked up the spoon. She pulled it lazily through the sludge and brought a small scoop up to her mouth and between her lips. He watched her throat gulp it down, but no sooner had she done it, than it started to convulse and come back up. He quickly dropped the spoon he was feeding Isaac with, stood, and scrambled for the porcelain bowl the water pitcher sat in, placing it before her just in time for her to regurgitate, though she tried to cover her mouth.
"Food's that bad, huh?" he said with a smirk.
She shook her head and scoffed a little chuckle, dropping her head in her hands.
"'S a…bad joke," he mumbled as he took her bowl away. "Been this way the whole time?"
She shook her head and sat back. "It comes and goes. Sometimes it hurts. Like a rock."
"I know it. But you gotta eat, darlin'. Look at me." He waited until he had her by the eyes. "You got to."
.
That night was the same as the night before—Arthur lied on his back while Eliza lied on her side facing away, hiccupping to try to keep from crying. He swiped his hand across his forehead and down the side of his face and held back his sigh. Before he knew it, Eliza had turned to him, her eyes still closed and cheeks wet. She reached her hands out for him and took hold of his shirt. As she tried to slip her arms around his middle, he pulled back and scooted away.
"Don't. Eliza. Hun. Don't," he said, hurriedly trying to peel her hands off.
Still she came close, trying to hug and clutch to him.
"Don't, don't. Eliza. Don't. Quit it. Stop it. Eliza!" When she didn't relent, he finally scurried up out of the bed.
She looked dazed and dumbfounded at him where he stood. "You won't even hold me? You won't…you won't even touch me?!"
"I… I c… Oh, Jesus, you gonna make me say it? I can't, you understand? I can't! I can't…can't risk it. You're lucky I'm even in the bed. I told you I ain't…doin' this. I won't. It ain't right. I won't do it to you. So I…I can't." He watched a look of terror flutter into her eyes as she realized his full meaning, and she covered her mouth tightly and let out a tiny muffled scream.
"Oh my god! I'm cursed! I'm cursed!" She shut her eyes tight as she let out a little cluster of sobs. "Never again? You won't even hold me…"
A horrible streak of nerves coursed through him as he watched her unravel, turning her head and crying into the pillow. Still in his long johns, he hurriedly grabbed his cigarettes and matches and left the room. He went outside and stood on the front porch, leaning back against the house as he struck a match. He looked down as he proceeded to bring the lit match to the end of his cigarette and paused. It was shaking in his hand.
.
The next day during an early supper, Arthur watched her forlornly from across the table as she stared off at nothing. She wasn't trying to appear interested in her food, wasn't even trying to pay attention to Isaac. It was almost like she didn't have space in her fatigued, haggard mind to notice anyone else was in the room. Her eyes were sagged and sullen, and it was clear to him that all she was trying to do was keep from crying. As she abruptly stood and walked off into the corner, he finished feeding Isaac and put him to bed in his crib.
He came to her and gently put a hand to her back. "Come here." He brought her close when she turned. "Come on with me." He took her outside, and when she realized where they were standing, her face crumpled. He looked down with her at the dainty pink and purple flower bushes at the bottom of the porch as she cried. Rivers appeared on her cheeks, and before long, she was collapsing to the ground. He went down with her, determined to continue holding her through it. He watched without a word as she wept and reached out a hand to the soft earth beneath the flowers. Without care that she was making her hand filthy. Without care that she'd cake her nails with dirt.
He held her close and felt her shake with sobs as she wept and wept—more than he'd ever seen a person weep. Never had he felt for someone more. She was so young, so alive. And yet she'd known more of death than a person should. Her father, her mother, even the silly cow. And now this. He let his eyes slide over to her, not afraid of what he knew he'd see. He gently brought her head close to his chest as he looked back up at the flowers with her. He felt her pain seep into his own chest, felt himself grieve along with her.
He thought back to his time with Mary, how the two of them had been so young and carefree in their time together. As he felt Eliza shake against him, he knew this was nothing like that. This was different. This was as grown up as it got. She needed him. He looked down at her and stroked her hair.
One thing he wished more than anything was that he'd never told her to stop crying. How selfish and oblivious—even juvenile it sounded to him now. You cry, Eliza, he thought. You cry to me.
He brought his hand down to her back and gently rubbed. He was wrestling with the idea of asking her something, with whether the question itself would help or make it worse for her, more painful. He finally decided to ask it and let her respond however was for the best.
"Did you…have a name?"
She sniffed and nodded. "My mama's name," she quietly cried. "Hope."
He felt his insides stiffen with a quiet panic. No, he thought. Anything but that, anything but a name that meant their hope was dead in the ground.
He swallowed hard. "That's beautiful, darlin'."
They sat there hunched together for a while longer, until the sun started to dip down behind the horizon. He felt her melt against him like butter. There was no integrity to her frame, hardly any energy left in her body. He gently took her face in his hands to look into her eyes, though she was limp enough that the skin of her cheeks slid against his palms. Her face was soft and tender, her nose red, her eyes emptied of everything.
He slipped his arms through hers and around her waist and pulled her up to her feet with him, though he intentionally took the majority of her weight. With his arms still around her, he brought her close and allowed her to lean on him as he half-carried her back into the house and to the bedroom.
He gently sat her on the bed and poured some water into the porcelain bowl, bringing it over with the bar of soap and washing the dirt from her hands. Still in a fog, she quietly sniffed and watched him as he dried them with a towel.
He stooped and untied her boots, sliding them off one by one and setting them in the corner. He pulled her back up by the hands to a standing position and undid her stays, removing her gown by slipping the sleeves down her arms and pulling it up over her head. He averted his eyes from her bare skin as he went to one of the dresser drawers and pulled out a white cotton nightgown, slipping it over her head and arms.
He sat her back down on the edge of the bed and sat beside her, desperately trying to remember the things he'd seen her do before bed so many times. He looked around for her hairbrush and took it from the nightstand, gently pulling it across her gold hair. He watched her eyes close at the feeling, and he made certain to get every piece of her hair. He watched the waves go taught then spring back to life as he pulled the brush all the way through, and he smiled. When he was finished, he ran his hand through her hair and thought it was no wonder she did this every night: it was like he'd polished her every strand. Silken was a word too weak.
He returned the brush to the nightstand and looked her over, realizing she still had her stockings on. He prepared to somehow pull them off without touching her and slowly knelt before her knees. When he heard her take a quiet breath and hold it, he looked up at her. He swallowed and tried not to smirk as he reached his hands up under her nightgown and pulled her stockings off her calves, making sure to never so much as graze her skin with his fingers. He stood and placed the stockings in a drawer in the dresser. He decided to leave her undergarments exactly where they were and came to sit beside her again on the bed.
He took a breath. "You want a bath? I could lift you into the tub and…" He didn't know how to finish the sentence, because he was realizing as the words came out of his mouth that there was no way to avoid touching her with that one. He was thankful when he saw her shake her head, and he silently nodded.
The quiet sounds of sobbing began to arise from her again. He looked over at her from where he sat beside her. Please don't cry, he wanted to say; but the thought struck him that apparently he couldn't make up his mind about her crying. All he knew was that in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and kiss all the pain away.
But he knew that if he kissed her, he wouldn't be able to stop. And as of yet, he hadn't reconciled the thought of risking getting her pregnant again. Any other form of love-making seemed a world away, out of place in the moment. And he was going back and forth in his mind as to whether love-making itself had a place in this moment at all. Perhaps his touch in that way would hurt her, physically or emotionally. Perhaps it would bring up dreaded memories of losing their baby. Perhaps even if she didn't think it would at the start, the memories would flood her midway through anyway. Perhaps she would panic once she realized she was risking getting pregnant again. And of course, they would be. There were so many reasons not to.
But as he watched her cry, he felt something deep in his bones draw to her like rain to earth. Like nail to beam. It was almost as though once the nail had pierced the wood, it had to be hammered all the way flush. There was no going back, no separating them. They were each other's comforter in this way, and they couldn't stop—certainly not now.
If ever he could allow himself to admit to himself that he thought of her as his little woman, now was the time.
Before he even realized what he was doing, he found himself taking her face in his hands, leaning forward for her mouth. He brought a hand to the side of her neck under her ear and felt her breathing catch when his lips gently met hers. He pressed his mouth fully to hers, lingering there and listening to the quiet click of their kiss. When he drew back to look at her, a tiny thread of saliva stretched between them for just a moment. Her eyes gently rose to his, and he could see that she hadn't mistaken him.
She hiccupped from all the crying. "I thought you said—"
"I know what I said." He chuckled softly. "Eliza… You gonna hold my feet to the fire on that one?"
Eliza shook her head. When he gently tucked her hair behind her ear, she closed her eyes. Every single time he did that, it was like he was touching her very soul.
She opened her eyes when he spoke again.
"I guess we'll just have to trust that everything in that area'll work out the way it's meant to." When she looked down, he dipped his head and looked up at her, catching her eyes again. He tucked his chin and slowly shook his head as he spoke. "Unless you tell me…just the thought is…too painful for you."
The tears fell from her eyes, and her chin trembled again. "Arthur…" she breathed slowly. "It would be much worse," she managed to whisper as her voice broke.
He drew back.
She took a breath and looked up into his eyes. "The thought of going through it without you is much worse," she sobbed.
Arthur looked at her and resolved right then that for once he would give her all the sweet, tender loving a good man would do in the same circumstance.
He brought his hands gently to her neck and kissed her forehead. "Don't cry," he finally whispered aloud. "Please don't cry."
Eliza felt her breathing steady when he pressed his lips to her cheeks, kissing the tears away, almost like a dear friend. She closed her eyes and cupped her hand behind his jaw when he tilted his head and his mouth found hers, and she knew they had to be more than friends.
He drew back and stood, and she watched him pull his shirt up over his head, unbuckle his belt, and remove his breeches, leaving him in just his long-johns. Soon enough, that was on the floor too. He came and sat beside her and slowly slipped his hands up her thighs, and she realized she still had on the nightgown he'd dressed her in. She lifted her arms as he pulled it up and over her head. It was so much like the first time they'd made love in this room. But everything was different now.
She looked down and saw his hands begin to untie her underthings. She'd seen the same big, rough hands handle the smallest of things in the gentlest way: holding fragile cigarettes without crushing them, tying a knot in fine fishing line, taking a newborn's hand between his own fingers. And now they were undoing the lacy tie in the waist of her knickers. And she noticed then that in all his efforts to attend to her and help her prepare for bed, he'd left in place the piece of clothing she normally never slept in. Until now.
When Arthur removed her linen pantaloons, they were totally bare to each other, as they had been several times before. But for once he wasn't looking at her with lust or for self-gratification. For once he just wanted to comfort her.
He came close and kissed her, bringing his palms to her back, and at first she was like a puddle in his hands. He watched her slowly recline in the bed, and again he fought against the railing in his head that this was wrong.
He followed her and kissed her neck and chest. He made his way down her chest to her abdomen and kissed her belly, where their baby would've been. He kissed her there softly, gently, over and over again. Her belly moved slightly with each breath that she took, but it didn't deter him.
When Eliza closed her eyes at his touch, her eyelids pushed tears onto her cheeks. She opened them and looked down at him, lifting his chin to bring his eyes up to hers.
When Arthur saw the state of her eyes, he returned to her and kissed her on the mouth. As he did, he traced his fingertips up the inside of her thigh and was relieved when they weren't tense or resistant, but loose around him. What surprised him even further and caused him to break away from her mouth and look into her eyes was briefly touching inside her and finding that she was just as ready as he was. He slowly brought both hands up the outsides of her thighs as he leaned in close, and they began to make love.
Before long, he was kissing her again. Her chin; her beautiful jaw; the corner of her mouth; her soft, smooth throat—some of his favorite parts of her body—he couldn't stop pressing his lips to them.
He felt and watched her body respond to him wherever he touched her. But without realizing it, he was responding to her touch too. He felt her long, dainty fingers move on the underside of his back, beneath his arm. He kept trying to make it about her, but somehow at the same time she was making it about him. Even as weary as he knew her heart to be, there was something like quiet lightning in her fingertips, and his entire body was quickly filling with it. She was clinging onto him for dear life, with everything she had in her, and he found he didn't mind. He felt himself clinging onto her right back.
It had never been like this before, and somehow he knew it would never be the same after either.
As he heard both their breathing quietly quicken and felt her chest rise and fall beneath him, he softly kissed her on the mouth again and again, sliding forward to kiss her cheek when he felt her tremble and clutch his shoulder, trying to catch her breath.
"Arthur…" came the name from her lips. It wasn't a whisper; it was hardly even a breath.
He drew back and looked at her face, swiping his hand back over her hairline a few times.
That was it. His commitment to abstain had lasted all of a day. He'd opened them up to the possibility of getting pregnant yet again, for the third time. He cursed himself inwardly. They were fools. Damn fools. But if they were, at least they wouldn't be alone in it.
Propping himself further up, he looked into her eyes and was glad to see a glimpse of the Eliza he knew returning to him—her eyes clear and dry, her body limp and relaxed, her breath easy, her mind sound and well.
She rose up and gently took his mouth in hers again. When he dropped down onto the bed beside her, she turned onto her side and followed him, bringing both hands up to either side of his neck and continuing to kiss him as he brought a hand behind her and slipped his fingers along the dips in her bare back.
"And I need your love; I need you here with me.
And I don't care 'bout much else.
And I know it's hard for five million reasons,
but I don't think I could wait.
.
And I need someone to lay down beside me
'cause I can't sleep by myself.
And my poor ol' heart's in five million pieces.
Now I'm asking for your help.
.
When I'm feelin' your love is like a wind that blows,
I can't give up, and I can't let go.
I won't give up, I won't lose
when I'm broken down and I'm bruised.
I'm gonna get myself back home to you.
Only you."
.
- Parson James, "Only You"
you tu . be /rnPzo-rMpHM
Several minutes later with Arthur lying on his back, Eliza lied tight at his side with her cheek on his chest. He had his arm wrapped around her, trailing little circles lightly on her arm. They were alone in the still and quiet, left to nothing but each other and their thoughts.
It reminded Eliza a little of their very first night, all that time ago in the boarding house. They'd had to scrunch together in that tiny single bed of hers, and he'd fallen asleep in her arms. She'd watched him as he slept, fingering the hair dangling at his forehead. Little had she known she should've ditched him to the dung in the streets, for all she'd meant to him then. But by then, it didn't matter; it was too late. They'd already been tied together. She would watch him walk away and would carry his child alone.
She thought back to what it had been like to sleep in that same little bed all alone night after night—after knowing what it was to have him there with her—tossing and turning in longing for the very person who'd hurt her by leaving. Treading water amidst thoughts of how pathetic she'd been to give herself away to a stranger for nothing, and far more pathetic to be yearning after him once he'd left.
She couldn't have known then that it had been a foretaste of her life to come—to feel such empty, ravenous loneliness after having known the ecstasy of being so close to him, and to feel helpless to change it.
But he'd return. Oh, he would. And he'd fall so in love with their son; and he'd try to right some of his wrongs; and he'd inadvertently show her some the good he had stored up inside him. And every goodbye after that would only be harder, and harder still.
She felt a pain rise quickly through her chest to her throat and tears well in her eyes yet again at the thought. There was no possible way to measure just how hard this goodbye would be.
She took a quiet but unsteady breath. "Don't leave me this time, Arthur. Please. I can't take it."
With his hand gently to her back, Arthur looked down at her and saw the stock still expression in her eyes as she looked forward at the wall with her thumbnail in her mouth. His eyes sagged in concern for her. He could feel her tender little heart cracking and splitting into scattered pieces. It was plain to him that she needed him now more than ever.
"I'll stay through the end of the month, make sure you're all right." He brought a finger under the hair at her neck and gently pulled it so it was all at her back and kissed the top of her head. "Try to sleep."
At his words, she took her thumbnail from her mouth and brought her arm over his chest until her hand was at his other side.
He watched her eyelids slowly close as she drifted off.
"When the sadness leaves you broken in your bed,
I will hold you in the depths of your despair.
.
In the darkness, in the middle of the night,
In the silence, when there's no one by your side."
.
- Martin Garrix & Bebe Rexha, "In the Name of Love"
.
"Do you know how safe
a woman has to feel
to fall asleep in your arms?
If you find yourself there,
her listening to your heartbeat
with slowly closing eyes,
just know everything is okay,
and remember that moment."
- Nick Frederickson
They were in the same position when he woke the next morning. He looked down at her as she slept and remained in bed with her a little while; but he finally began gently removing her arms so he could get up.
When she blinked her eyes open and realized what was happening, still dazed she panicked and clutched at him, whimpering little half no's before her face crumpled and a single sob racked her chest.
"Hey," he whispered. "I'm just goin' to make coffee. You're gonna walk out to the kitchen in a few minutes, and I'll still be here. All right?" he whispered gently, stroking her arm.
She swallowed and sniffed back her tears, nodding her head as he gave her a kiss. She watched him dress and leave the room; and after several minutes, she donned her nightgown and went to crack open the bedroom door.
When she saw him standing sideways in the kitchen with Isaac perched on one of his forearms dressed in nothing but his diaper, the both of them looking forward at the stove, she quietly ventured out and leaned back against the door jamb to watch them. She admired the slope of the back of Isaac's head and little neck as he looked down, closely watching his daddy's every move.
"What're you thinkin' for the oatmeal today? Water, or milk?" Arthur said.
"Agah. Pthdggff. Ubidooyah," Isaac replied.
"Exactly what I was thinkin'. Milk."
She slowly smiled when he started to sing.
"Three scoops of oats in the pot… Stir it up good 'til it's hot…"
Isaac suddenly whipped his head up to him with a bright smile on his face, touching his little hands to his own rosy cheeks.
Arthur looked down at him. "D'you just toot?"
Isaac released a low, knowing giggle, and Eliza kept her laugh quiet.
"No more," Arthur chuckled, waving a hand. "You're gonna make me change your diaper, and we're gonna burn the oats! No more tootin'." He turned his head for something on the counter. "Now, what're we gonna sweeten this with today? What's she got here… Looks like we got…" he said, turning each jar, "sugar, molasses, or trusty ol' honey."
"Fbbdgb. Dubbiwoogahmah. Gsfsytu."
"Honey. You're my kinda kid." He removed the lid and drizzled a bit of honey into the pot with the honey dipper. "And…what're we gonna put on top? Cinnamon, or nutmeg?"
"Sho coe. Wkjfiskshs. Uppitoyah oosa."
"Cinnamon. I like the way you think."
Isaac watched him sprinkle a pinch of cinnamon into the pot and suddenly sneezed the sneeze of a perfect little year-and-a-half-old with a single abrupt nod of his head. "Uh-oh…" he sang.
"Oh…you got hayfever?" Arthur looked at him, taking the fabric of his own shirt in his hand and gently pinching his button nose clean. "Naw. Just a little rogue sneeze." Isaac jerked and pulled his head away a little. "Boy, tootin', sneezin'… You're just a mess this mornin', kid."
"A-bocca-bee."
Arthur refocused on the pot. "Sure, whatever that means."
"Acah, summ toopah, a-bocca-bee?" he held out a little hand.
Arthur looked back at him. "I don't…I don't know what that means, bud."
"Yoo goobah sham tapa skdhdgaj ha a-bocca-bee," he nodded very matter-of-factly.
"What is it…what is it you want, babe? I don't…I don't know…" he shook his head. He kept stirring the pot, and Isaac looked forward with him. "This is for mama."
"Mama…"
"Yeah. Hope she eats it this time." He scooped up a little bit on the end of the spoon. "You wanna try it for me? Make sure it tastes good?" He blew on the little mound of oatmeal and held it up to his mouth. "'Course, if it's good, you'll get your own bowl. Don't worry."
Isaac opened his mouth wide for the bite. "Mmmmm…" he smiled and nodded.
Arthur grinned and kissed him on the cheek. Just then his attention was grabbed by the sight of her at the threshold of the bedroom door. "Hey…There she is. Your beautiful mama."
"Mama!" Isaac said with a bright smile. It was clear he was content with his father when he didn't reach out his hands for her.
She came and stood beside Arthur, coming near to gently put both hands on either side of his neck and rest her cheek beside his, giving him a soft kiss near the back of his jaw. She felt him smile and slid a hand down to rest over his chest as she pulled away and looked into his eyes.
"Mama," Isaac said softly, leaning forward to look at her. "A-bocca-bee?"
"I don't know what he's sayin', darlin'," Arthur said, watching her as she went to the cabinet.
She pulled down a jar. "That's how he says blackberry at the moment. Or boysenberry. Either will do." She unclasped the cap and held the jar out to him.
"A-bocca-bee!" he said as he reached for it.
"Wait," she pulled the jar back.
He immediately leaned forward with pursed lips.
She smiled and leaned in to meet him for a little smack of a kiss. "That's my boy."
When she returned the open jar before him, he smiled wide, diving his little hand and arm into the jar. "A-bocca-bee," he held one out for Arthur to see before immediately stuffing it into his own mouth and taking a few more into both hands.
"I see," Arthur smiled.
He looked up at his father's face and stuffed what he had in his hands into Arthur's mouth.
"Oh. Thank you," he mumbled. But Isaac kept shoving them into his mouth, one after the other, flattening his hands against his father's lips. "That's…that's plenty. 'S enough," he nodded.
She laughed. "He wants to share. Wants you to see how good they taste."
"Mm. 'S good. Real good," he grinned at him with a full mouth. His eyes went wide when he saw him start to squeeze the berries he had in his hands, concentrating hard on mashing his fists. "You don't have to squish 'em!"
"He always has to squish 'em," she rolled her eyes with a smile.
Arthur chuckled and shook his head. "Anyways," he said, turning as if just remembering. "Made you breakfast." He turned back and held out a bowl to her. He eyed her as she took it. He shifted Isaac's weight on his arm, watching her take the spoon in her hand and look away from the bowl for a moment. She finally took a bite, and he heard the spoon knock against her teeth. He watched her intently, waiting to see her swallow. When she finally did and it didn't come back up, she looked up at him with a hopeful curl on the corner of her mouth.
Arthur beamed. "Isaac, your mama just made me a very happy man. A very happy man," he said, turning to look at him and lift him up in the air. He slowly brought him back down into his arms, noticing the mess of berries all over his shirt that was beginning to transfer to his own. "And you're makin' me…a very messy one." He heard Eliza's short burst of laughter and turned to see her smile.
She set her bowl down and wet a washcloth with warm water leftover from one of the pots on the stove, wringing it until it was just damp. "Come here, Isaac," she said, taking him and sitting him on the tabletop. She brought the washcloth across his face, gently washing away the messy berries, all while he smiled back at her, closing and opening his eyes.
"When I did that kinda thing a little while ago, he turned and pulled away! Wasn't havin' any of it!" Arthur said.
"Who doesn't like a warmth cloth on their face?" she smiled.
"Mother's touch, is more like it." He watched as she knelt and brought her face close to Isaac's and the two smiled at each other, the morning sunlight coming in through the window behind them. Eliza kissed him, and he looked her right in the eyes, returning her adoration. It was nothing short of endearing to see the way she loved his son.
"He was already standin' up in his crib when I went in to get him this morning," he said as he folded his arms. "He was so excited, he was almost gigglin'. He reached out for me, and he was doin' this little bounce. You shoulda seen it."
"Oh, I've seen it," she said. "We made a very happy baby, you and I." She looked over at him and watched him smile. She turned back to Isaac to finish wiping his face. "He's never been quite so talkative with me."
Arthur lifted a hand to the back of his neck. "Ah, you heard that?"
"Saw it, actually."
"Yeah, he's my bud," he smirked and nodded. "Well, I promised him some oatmeal." He took him and turned back to the ladle in the pot.
Eliza picked up her bowl and spoon and continued to eat another spoonful, watching as he scooped a bowl for Isaac. She looked down at her food. "I'm sorry I clutched to you earlier." She let her eyes float up to see him turning back to her, before she returned her eyes to her bowl. "I know you don't like that. I know it makes me seem…"
"Eliza. Don't," he shook his head, looking into her eyes as she looked back up. "Don't. I won't be the person you apologize to anymore." He took a breath, his eyes heavy. "I've said some awful things to you over the past couple years, haven't I? Just awful things. Even in the past few days, without quite knowin' it." Gimme some time; knowing me, I'll come up with more in the future, he thought. He shook his head at himself again, his eyebrows pinching together. "If anyone should be sorry, it's me. Not you. Me."
Her eyes grew misty as she smiled. "I don't make a—"
"Habit a' holdin' grudges," he smiled with a nod. "I know. Oh, I know." He let out a single breath of a laugh, jostling his chest for a moment as he smirked at her and ran a hand across her temple to tuck her hair away. "Maybe you ought to every now and then."
.
That night they lied completely bare, in the same position that they had the night before, except they hadn't done anything this time. They hadn't made love. They just wanted to be close. And it didn't even feel strange.
Eliza brought her hand up and began tracing little paths over the veins on the back of his hand, then in his palm, then both their fingers began to dance and intertwine.
"Arthur?"
"Hm."
"Am I just a waitress?"
"No," this time he answered immediately.
She felt him wag his head, and it did her heart good.
After a minute, he adjusted his head on the pillow a bit. She heard him swallow before asking, "Am I just an outlaw?"
She shook her head. "No." She finally looked up at him, resting her chin on him as he immediately met her for a few short kisses. She looked into his eyes and felt the back of his fingers gently brush across her cheek before she rested the opposite one against his chest again. As she did, he slipped his forearm that wasn't against her back up under his head.
She took a deep breath. "My mama used to talk about… Have you ever heard of Celtic souls, Arthur?" When he remained quiet, she continued, "They're like… Have you ever seen a Celtic knot?" She felt him nod.
"My pa had one on a gold ring he wore on his little finger."
"They're like Celtic knots. They share a part of themselves; their very souls overlap with each other. It could be friends, a pair of lovers, a family. Out in the world, missing each other, going without each other, and they don't know it; and then they find each other, and they can't be separated. No matter what. Not really. And they could be different as night and day; but it doesn't mean they aren't connected—a part of each other. Knotted together. I used to think it was silly, a fairytale. Not so anymore. Not so at all. Maybe that's why it's so hard for us to part. For…the three of us…I mean…to part. And maybe it's one of the reasons it aches so when we're without each other."
He swallowed hard, feeling her under his chin. Then we might really be cursed, he thought.
"At least…" she mumbled, beginning to pull away, "that's how I feel…"
He quickly brought his hand to her back, keeping her from leaving his side.
She smiled and rested her hand on his chest beside her cheek. "What's California like?" she whispered.
He looked down at her and watched her eyelids float up and down as though she were daydreaming. He couldn't tell if she was fishing for clues about what filled his time when he was away. Since she'd gotten settled in the homestead, she'd never asked but once. He could always tell she wanted to know more. She'd ask to know things about him, but she was careful never to ask about his life once he stepped past the ranch. He could imagine her concern not only for his safety, but about who was warming his bed on lonesome nights. If it was one thing he could ease her mind about, he knew he should.
He opened his mouth to reassure her, but he couldn't bring himself to address it.
He cleared his throat. "It's…got a bit of everything. Seashore, orchards, desert, forest. Got these real tall trees with red trunks that seem to reach right up into the clouds. Meandering rivers, marshlands, lakes. The lakes are different at different times. In the day, they reflect the bright blue sky, and you can hardly tell the two apart. In the early mornin', they look dusty, with a veil of fog sittin' on top." He rubbed her bare back as she nestled in tighter with a soft grin, imagining the pictures he painted. "Critters of every kind, some I ain't ever seen before. Rolling hills and valleys. With the brush and shrubs scattered the way they are, the hills look like they've got freckles and birthmarks." He looked down at her with a subtle curl on the corner of his mouth and brought his hand up to her neck. "Like this." He touched the tips of his middle two fingers to her skin, and she looked down as he slowly and lightly traced a path over her shoulder, her arm, her waist, and down over the curve of her hip. He watched her cheeks pull up into a smile. "And the mountains… At night, they…catch the moonlight, and it's like they're lit from within. I swear it. In some places it's unkind, near inhospitable. In others, it's…the loveliest place I've ever seen. Wild and unruly. But just as beautiful."
She looked up at him with a wistful grin.
"You'd like it. It was practically made for you."
"Yeah? Really?" she smiled wide, flattening her hand against his chest and rising up a little to look down at his face.
He grinned and nodded.
"I thought you thought I wasn't an outdoorswoman…" she smirked.
He chuckled and nodded. "I noticed the bear rug in the sittin' room the other day. I looked at it, inspected it, thought to myself, 'You did this? This tanned up nicely. I guess we'll turn you into a right fine outdoorswoman yet.' Then I caught myself and realized, 'Nah, she already is.'"
Her smile brightened even more, and she came close and kissed him before slowly replacing her cheek on his chest once more. "Maybe I'll see it one day. Maybe you'll take us there." She brought her hand up to rest beside her face atop his chest. "Maybe… It's a nice word." She quieted for a moment and swallowed. "Maybe we'll be able to get far, far away."
He tried not to let the pain in his chest grow as he listened to her.
"Maybe we'll all live together someplace else. Some time else. Somewhere kinder to us."
When he heard her voice break, he realized she knew it would never happen.
He looked up at the ceiling and swallowed as he stroked her shoulder. He thought back to the night he'd met her, hounded her, and, like a wretch, left her lonesome. One thing he knew was he wasn't that same person anymore. Not quite. She'd done that. Even if she didn't know it. She and Isaac had. But it was almost too much to hope that he'd changed for the good, or that even if he had, he wouldn't end up changing again.
He looked back down at her. "Maybe…" he whispered slowly and quietly, "I ain't a bad man. Maybe we can give Isaac security, the life he deserves."
She turned her head to him and looked him with eyes full of tears.
As she turned away again to rest her head on him, he brought his hand from her shoulder up to her temple and stroked her hair as he kissed the top of her head. "We can say 'maybe' about anything you want to, just for tonight."
"Lying beside you,
here in the dark,
feeling your heart beat with mine.
Softly you whisper.
You're so sincere.
How could our love be so blind?"
- Journey, "Open Arms"
It was the longest he'd ever stayed: a full ten days. But he didn't regret it. The fresh, rosy color began to fill her cheeks again, and the sprightly spark gradually returned to her eyes, to the point that he felt she'd be okay when he had to leave again.
When that day finally came, they rose out of bed that morning to change, and she pulled the worn, softened collar of one of his pale blue button-downs closer around her neck. "Can I keep this?" she asked him. "I think it would help me sleep better when you aren't in the bed."
He took the open placket beneath the collar in both hands and softly smirked. "It suits you. Always has."
After they'd dressed, woken Isaac, and eaten breakfast together, Eliza watched Arthur slowly stand from the table. He was clad in his full rugged cowboy getup from his black leather hat to spurs—a sight to behold. Before she realized it, she was standing as well, at the opposite side of the table with both arms around Isaac as he perched on her hip.
The three of them were there for a moment, just gazing at each other until Arthur spoke.
"I know I…" He sighed and shook his head, looking down. He brought his head back up and peered at her. "You know I don't…mess around…when I'm away. Don't you?" He watched her cheeks rise with a smile as she blinked, raising a hand to her mouth.
"How could I know that, Arthur?"
With a grin on one side of his mouth, he lowered his head and rubbed his neck. "You know, I've never told you this, but…I had a lot of sleepless nights after I left you that very first time, way back when. If it means anything to ya—"
"It does." She nodded.
He breathed a chuckle and gave his head a little shake. "You had me tossin' and turnin', girl. You did."
As he looked at the two of them, he swallowed, and his smile slowly fell. He reached up and removed his hat. "Here. Take this." He held it between both hands. "You haven't ever seen me without it, have you? I mean, at least somewhere in my things. It's because it…well, I guess it's important to me. But it ain't—" He sighed. It ain't all there is. Ain't even close, was what he'd wanted to say as he looked up at the two of them. "I don't want you to ever worry that I won't come back. Though I'm sure hearin' that don't make it any easier on you. Take it," he said, placing it on the table and pushing it towards her. "At least until I'm next back. As assurance that I will be." He shook his head as he spoke. "I won't ever forget about you two. And I won't ever stay away. This I swear to you now, Eliza." He wasn't afraid to lock eyes with her to drive home his point, though hers were misty. When she reached out and took it, holding it against her chest and looking back up at him, he smirked. "Whenever I've got the sun in my eyes, I'll think of you two, and how I've gotta get back."
With her brows drawn up just a bit, she blinked, smiling softly and nodding.
He walked out the door, and she quietly followed with Isaac. When the three of them walked over to Boadicea in the sunshine, he stopped and turned around to them.
He took in the image of them as they both looked back at him. Eliza's hair was loose and hanging about her shoulders. She had her arm under Isaac's bottom with her free handing holding her own wrist for support, and Isaac was resting his head on her shoulder.
He came close and kissed Isaac on the cheek. With one hand still clinging to the back of his mother's neck, Isaac lifted his head, leaned forward, and reached out a hand to his father's face with puckered lips. Arthur chuckled, easily complying this time, which garnered a bright smile from his son. He ran his hand through his blonde hair and brought his finger down to stroke his cheek with a smile.
When his eyes slid over to Eliza's, she was already looking at him. She wasn't smiling or frowning—she was calm and quiet. They looked each other deep in the eyes, and he brought his fingers up to her cheek and jaw. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers ever so softly.
And it was the most tender goodbye they'd ever shared. Standing in the fresh, clean air, he held one hand to her waist with the other softly resting to the side of her neck as they kissed, and when he drew back, he even felt himself smile as he looked into her eyes again. There was something new and different, something light and wispy between them after this visit. It was almost like it had happened when they weren't looking.
His little woman. A golden-haired beauty in a pale pink frock with little red flowers on it, holding their son, standing in the sunlight, loving him. He felt her warm hand on his chest. And he turned and mounted his horse.
It had proven difficult to get her out of his mind after that. Several minutes later as he listened to the sound of his horse's hooves beating the dirt, he found he wished he was still standing there with her. He thought about turning back, and for once it wasn't for Isaac. When he realized that, it scared the hell out of him, and he pressed on.
Back at Camp, During His Absence
"I want a couple of boys over there to scope it out," Dutch said, pointing men to their horses. "Take young John with you; he needs to get some experience in. Come back by nightfall and let me know what you find." Glancing over at Hosea, he took a few firm steps toward his tent as the men left. "And Arthur—where the hell is he? Where the hell is he?" He lifted his arms and dropped them, lowering his voice. "If I find out he's with them, Hosea, I swear to god, I'll—"
"You'll what?" Hosea said. "You can't cast him out. It's his woman and child, Dutch. His woman and child. You're a lot of things, Dutch, but you're not cruel. Least I didn't know you to be."
"I would never cast him out. There's no question of that. He's just distracted. Needs to get his priorities straight."
"Tell me you're not throwing his loyalty into question." Hosea scrunched his eyebrows and went into a strained whisper. "He's got reason now to be more dedicated than any man here."
Dutch shot his eyes up at him. "Arthur's not a family man."
"What if he is? Or what if he could be? You don't know. And what would be so wrong with that, if he did decide to make a life with them?"
Dutch slowly lifted his head and peered at him. "I don't like the way you're soundin', Hosea. What would be so wrong with it? I could give you three things, just off the top of my head, and you both know them well. One is I pulled that kid outta the goddamn gutter," he pointed firmly to the ground. "He owes everything to me, owes me his very life." He held up two fingers. "Next is he, just like every one of us, is a part of something bigger than ourselves here. Make no mistake, we're changin' things, slowly but surely. He's integral. Absolutely essential. It's all part of the code. Outlaws for life."
"Maybe that's not enough anymore."
Dutch's expression smoothed, and he straightened. "All right, fine. You wanna play that game? 'Oh, family changes everything, Dutch, and oh, how you can't understand it.' Horseshit. We're his family. Women come and go."
"You'd never say such a thing about Annabelle."
He stilled. "You're trying to tell me you think what he's got with that little girl is love?" He chuckled snidely, slowly shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Hosea, there's just no possible way."
"Oh—that reminds me," Hosea said, going into the inner pocket of his jacket. He pulled out an opened letter and handed it to him. "You'd better read this before I go and forget about it again. Came in for him about a month ago. When I saw it was from her, I thought you'd better see it."
Dutch sat on a stump, unfolded it, and read it, though the ink was splotched from drops of liquid in places:
"
Dearest Arthur,
How I wish I could call you 'my dearest Arthur'—just mine. I hope with all my heart that you're safe and well, wherever you are. You know we both miss you terribly.
This is the hardest letter I've ever had to write, and I've debated over and over again not writing it at all. But it was the worst feeling not being able to tell you about Isaac, and I told myself I wouldn't make the same mistake this time, since I've got a way to contact you now.
Arthur, I know I promised I would only allow us to make love when I knew it was during a time I was unlikely to get pregnant. But it seems I slipped up. I swear to you, on my mama's and daddy's graves, that I didn't mean for this to happen, Arthur. I never planned to entrap you again. Please, please don't hate me, Arthur! And please don't stay away. If you can't help but hate me, at least return for Isaac. He needs you. Oh, how he needs you. And we can go on with things just the same way they've been, if that's what you want. I can make it work on my own. I'm ready to go through all of it all over again, because I already love this baby. She comes from you and me.
We were there, Arthur. We were. You and me.
"
Dutch's eyes quickly drifted over the rest of the page where she went on to express her love for him.
"Shit," he spat. He looked up at Hosea, his jaw tensing as he spoke slowly and deliberately. "He's still sleeping with her."
Hosea nodded.
"Pair of fools. After knocking her up once, as if that weren't enough. Here he is, knocking her up, again," he held out the n and crumpled the letter in his hand. "The little hussy."
"Who—the girl, or Arthur?"
"Both!"
"Dutch…" Hosea's brows came together in sympathy. "She really must be young. An older woman would never put up with his leavin'. He's lucky."
"You know, just because she talks to him like that, doesn't mean he feels the same way."
Hosea shrugged and shook his head. "I can only go off what I'm given, Dutch." He looked at him. "Add up the evidence: this, his behavior… You remember how he turned down a night in the brothel those months ago? Although, now that we know he's still sleeping with her, I suppose it coulda just been that he didn't want to risk taking sickness home to her, but—"
"Home?" Dutch said, his head popping up at him. "His home isn't with her; it's here—wherever the gang is."
Hosea sighed. "You and I know Arthur better than anybody. You know the way he loves: as soon as he realizes it, he's devoted. Think of that Mary girl," he said with a nod of his head to the side. "She had to be the one to break it off with him."
Dutch's eyebrows rose. "He told it to me a different way."
Hosea tilted his head and shrugged one shoulder. "Love and loyalty are intertwined for Arthur. Think of the way he is with me, with you. Think of what he must feel for that kid."
"What are you getting at?"
"Maybe he knows that about himself. Maybe he's wrestlin' with it all." He looked at the letter in Dutch's hand. "And she seems like a sweet girl. If she is, how could he keep from loving her?"
"Well even if it is love, it doesn't matter one way or the other. It's pap. It's meaningless," Dutch said with a wave of his hand.
Hosea was quiet until Dutch looked back up at him. "You and I know what a woman can do to a man's soul. What we don't know is what a child can do."
Dutch let his head sag back. "Enough," he chuckled sourly. "I said there were at least three reasons stacked up against him stayin' with them. Know what the third is? It's that Arthur craves this life. You know it, I know it, and he knows it. He was made for it. Out there in the world he's seen as broken, misshapen; but here? Here he's important, he's needed. And he fits perfectly. That's what family is. Now tell me he's gonna turn his back on that for anything? He won't. No, sir. I won't let him." He shook his head as he stood.
"It's sticky, Dutch. It's delicate. It's life. What are you gonna do about it? There's nothin' to be done."
"He and I will just have a little chat when he gets back—catharsis of sorts."
"Go easy on him. You'll make him weak."
"Maybe weak is just what he needs to be for a little while."
"I'm serious, Dutch. You press too hard, you'll drive him away."
Dutch raised a hand. "I am nothing if not a gentleman. It'll be gentle, but stern. And above all, clear."
"And the last thing you can do is tell him to quit sleepin' with her. You'll out us for snooping into his letter."
"Oh, by the way, burn that," he said, handing him the crumpled letter. "The fine institution that is the United States Postal Service dropped the ball with that one and lost it in the mail."
"No way in hell I'm doing that," Hosea shook his head. "Burn it yourself. I feel bad enough as it is. Snoopin' is as far as I go."
Dutch tossed it into the nearby campfire, watching the flames disintegrate it.
Hosea's face smoothed. "You really must not have faith in him," he said quietly.
"It's not that," Dutch glanced at him as the light of the fire danced across his face. "It's just…" he looked back at the fire, "insurance."
Upon His Return to Camp
As Arthur tethered his horse and dismounted, Dutch and Hosea walked up.
"Arthur!" Dutch called. "My son!"
"I know, you don't have to tell me, I know," Arthur said, nodding and holding his hands up before letting them fall. He hung his head slightly and only got a few steps into camp before Dutch reached out and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
Dutch dipped his head and looked up into his face, keeping his warm voice low. "You've just come from heaven, haven't you? With two angels." As Arthur looked up, Dutch peered into his eyes. He nodded and patted his shoulder. "Well, welcome back to hell." He straightened and smiled, raising his voice to a normal level. "I'm glad to see you, son." Keeping his hand on his shoulder, he started to turn so they could walk forward together. "There's nothing like being back with your own kind after dreary days with a dumb, common broad." He sent a glance Hosea's way with the last few words.
Arthur immediately hitched up a step. "Hey—" When Dutch simply turned back to look at him, he softened just a tad. "Hey…come on, Dutch, don't…don't talk about her that way. She's just a kid. Well—she ain't just a kid. But she didn't ever intend to get caught up in all this. She's doing the very best she can with what she's been given."
With his arm still outstretched and his hand still on his shoulder, Dutch let his own shoulders go completely slack and hung his head, cursing under his breath.
Arthur caught a glimpse of Hosea stroking his chin.
Dutch patted his shoulder again as he looked up at him. "Come on, son." He turned and began taking him on a path out of camp. "Why don't you and I go for a little walk."
.
A note to readers:
First I need to say, please know that I am in no way trying to make light of miscarriage or what women go through inside and out when they experience it. I work somewhere where I've seen the effects it has on women—before, during, and long after—and I can say confidently that it is ONE of the most tragic things that can happen to a person. Everyone responds to this unique type of loss in different ways. But it is not easily erased; it stays with you. I don't mean to say that there's no room for hope or that it's life-ending. But it is certainly life-altering. Eliza will carry this for the rest of her life.
I hope that there's enough compassion, sweetness, and smiles even in this tough chapter to keep you. Hope. It's a theme around here.
I know this chapter has kept you waiting. I'm ever so thankful that you're sticking with me. Love you guys, and I'm always so glad and thankful to hear your thoughts when you choose to share them.
- Rosie