Eliza was sitting at the kitchen table one morning while Arthur was gone, watching Isaac reach for his daddy's hat. After they'd shared breakfast, she'd sat him on the tabletop before her, and now he was preoccupied with the black leather cowboy hat resting to his right.
"You miss him?" She leaned back in her chair and smiled as she watched him reach and take it in both of his little hands. "Me too."
He inspected it inside and out, turning it over, fumbling with the tawny leather braid that adorned the brim. He finally put it atop his own head, and it sunk over him, covering his face.
She chuckled and leaned forward. "You can't wear that out, buddy. Much too big for you." She lifted the brim and immediately gasped with a wide, bright grin when their eyes met. His face relaxed into a smile, and she scooped him off the table. "Come on. Time for church. Think we might actually make it today?"
She swaddled him and put a bonnet on his head, strapped him to her back, saddled up, and rode into town. They arrived at the little church on the opposite edge of town before the service. Most of the churchgoers were kind and happy to see both her and Isaac. She slipped into one of the back rows with Isaac on her lap.
As the preacher spoke, Isaac looked down and noticed his right foot was bare. He looked past it and saw his shoe on the ground. He went to get down, but his mother kept him still. He turned on his belly and squirmed, trying to get down, but she pulled him back up. Finally, he began to whimper and whine.
"Isaac, honey, shh," she whispered. As he grew louder, the other churchgoers turned to look in their direction. They weren't aggravated or angry, but she felt horrible for distracting from the sermon. "Sorry," she whispered while Isaac continued to strain in her lap. She finally sat him beside her on the pew.
Isaac looked up at her. "Soo, Mama!" He pointed his little finger down to the ground, drawing his elbow back and pointing again and again. "Soo, Mama! Soo! Mama, soo!"
"Oh." She reached and picked up his little moccasin, replacing it on his foot.
"Yeah. Yeah," he smiled and nodded vigorously.
Eliza looked up when the congregation laughed.
"Out of the mouths of babes…" the preacher said with a gentle smile.
She released a breath and let herself smile.
After the service, Eliza was standing outside with Isaac on her hip when she felt a tug from behind.
"I love your dress," she heard a soft little voice say.
She turned around and looked down to see a little girl with glasses, no more than five years old. "Oh, thank you."
As she turned, the girl's eyes went wide, and she took in a big gasp. "I love your baby!"
Eliza smiled and knelt before her. "This is Isaac." She looked at her son, who had a finger in his mouth. "Can you say hi, Isaac?"
He looked at the girl and turned his face into his mother's neck with a soft smile, a pink blush filling his cheeks.
"Oh, honey…" Eliza clucked her tongue and chuckled.
"He's darling. An angel," the little girl said quietly. "I bet his papa's an angel too, huh?"
Eliza paused at the words. She sniffed as the image of the little girl blurred before her and nodded. "Yeah," she smiled. "He is. He really is."
"You're so pretty," the girl said, gently taking a piece of Eliza's hair near her face that had fallen out of her bun.
"Am I?" She smiled at her. "You're prettier."
"And so nice. Some big people aren't very nice." She suddenly smiled, and it grew wide, like she had just realized something. "I wanna be just like you when I get big."
Eliza's smile slowly fell away, and she swallowed hard.
.
A little while later, Eliza was knocking on the door of the boarding house with Isaac on her hip. "Come on, please. Open up…" she whispered to herself.
When the door finally opened, Maude and Susie appeared in the doorway.
"Eliza!" they said with smiles.
"What are you doing here?" Maude whispered. "Kessler might see you."
"She can't hurt me now," Eliza said.
Susie gasped. "Who's this, your little one?" She rested a finger against the back of Isaac's hand.
"Yeah, Isaac," Eliza smiled. She stood on her tip-toes and looked past their shoulders. "I've gotta talk to somebody. Is Cleo here?"
"Cleo?" Maude raised her brows. "You want Cleo?"
"Is she here?"
"She's upstairs in her room," she pointed. "Wh—"
"Thank you." Eliza rushed past them and up the stairs with Isaac. Before she could knock, Cleo opened it.
"Eliza?" Her brows drew together. "Come inside!" she said, closing the door behind her and throwing her arms around her neck. "It's been so long!" She looked down at Isaac on her hip. "Is this your little guy?"
"Isaac," she said with a smile.
Cleo looked at her. "What're you doing here? I can't imagine why you'd ever come back here if you didn't have to."
"I…I just wanted to see a friendly face, is all," she said quietly.
"Well, come sit." Cleo shooed her to a wooden chair against the wall and sat on the side of the bed across from her.
As soon as Eliza sat with Isaac on her lap, he arched his back, slipped through her hands, and got down. He quietly began walking around the room.
"How does he even walk? His feet are so tiny!" Cleo gushed. "Oh, look at those little moccasins!"
Eliza softly grinned as she watched him silently roam and explore. When he reached out for something on a low shelf of Cleo's bookshelf, he turned with it in his hands. "Isaac, I don't think Cleo would like you touching her things. At least we better ask before—"
"It's all right," Cleo chuckled gently.
Eliza smiled, touched by her graciousness as Isaac walked over with the item, his plump cheeks downcast and tucked above his chest as he tinkered with it while he walked. He came and held it out for his mother.
"Oh, thank you." Eliza leaned forward and planted both elbows on her knees, holding her palms out.
Without hesitation, he rested it in her hands: a steel pen. When he turned to continue exploring about the room, Eliza handed it to Cleo, and they both quietly laughed. He returned periodically to place random items in his mother's hands.
"Ba, ba, ba," he began singing to himself, "sha, sha, sa see, ba bee, bo…bocca-bee." He turned to his mother. "Mama. A-bocca-bee?"
"No, I don't have any with me, baby," she said softly.
He turned to continue inspecting the trinket he had without a fuss.
"Can you wait 'til we get home?"
At the upward lilt in her voice signaling a question, he answered quietly, still looking down at what he had in his hands, "Yeah."
Cleo smiled at her. "He's beautiful. Really. Just beautiful."
"Thank you," she smirked. "There's so much of his daddy in him."
"There's you in him too. You can't see it?"
She grinned softly and nodded. "Yeah." She held her hand out as Isaac returned to place a pocket mirror in her palm. "He'll be two in a little over four months. I just can't believe it."
Cleo took the mirror as she handed it to her. "And truly, he's well-behaved. You must be so proud. You're doing a wonderful job, Eliza. I hope someone's told you that."
Eliza's grin slowly brightened, and she looked down for a moment. "Just Arthur. But it's always nice to hear." She shrugged one shoulder as she looked back up at her. "So, how've you been?"
"Uh," she sighed, "nothin' new to speak of. Still stuck in this place. Kessler's the same ol' hag. No, I wanna hear about you. Why'd you really come back?"
Eliza peered up at her, one shoulder still shrugged up against her cheek. "Well, I…"
"Come on, let's have it."
"I just have to talk to somebody, Cleo," she finally said. "I'm about ready to burst at the seams, and there just ain't anyone I can really talk to about it."
Cleo smirked and grabbed a pillow from behind her, hugging it to her chest. "All right, you've come to the right place. Get it all out. Let's hear it."
At Camp
"Wake up," Hosea said low and quiet, roughly nudging and kicking Arthur in the shin with his boot, even though it was the middle of the night. "Wake up, you imp; you'll out yourself to the whole damn camp."
Arthur startled awake where he sat on a crate reclined against another tower of crates. "Wha…what? What's…problem?" he mumbled as he straightened. "What're you talkin' about, out myself?"
"Oh, I don't know," Hosea sat across from him with a bowl of stew in his hand and a chunk of bread on the rim. "You've just come from a certain ranch… I can't for the life of me guess who it is you could possibly be hollerin' out for in your sleep."
Arthur's face slowly went flat, and his eyes weren't half-mast from having just been woken as he smirked at him and sat forward.
Hosea held out the bowl. "Here. Noticed you all but forgot to eat today. Wish I could say it's so unlike you." He smirked as Arthur took it. "Now, about this uncustomary, needless ruckus you're makin'…"
"Can't hardly blame me. We're always runnin'. Don't get to see him but once every so often I can get over there."
Hosea softly lifted his brows and watched as Arthur dove into the stew. "That would be nice. 'Cept it wasn't just the boy you were callin' out for."
Arthur froze mid-bite and slowly sat back with a sigh through his nose. "Stew's cold," he said, tossing the spoon back into the bowl and setting it down on the grass.
"Well, that's what you get when you wait until one in the morning to eat."
"Bread's stale."
"Arthur."
"What do you want from me, Hosea?" he said flatly, lackadaisically shaking his tilted head. "What do you want me to say? That you got me? That they're…nice to be around?" he shrugged, his overzealous efforts to appear nonchalant betraying him. "Yeah, they're nice to be around."
"Quite a pathetic response."
"What do you know about it? Huh? You don't know nothin' about it!" he said, keeping his strained voice quiet.
"So tell me, Arthur!" He locked eyes with him. "Tell me. Tell your ol' friend Hosea about it." He rested his hand on his knee. "Hm?"
Arthur's brows drew together as he looked at him and sighed, struggling to know whether it was safe to unlock the vault and unleash the mess inside he'd been holding back for so long.
Cleo's Room
"My god," Cleo mumbled quietly, dazed and gazing off in the corner.
"Yeah," Eliza said, the redness in her eyes still calming down from the crying she'd finally gotten over minutes ago while finishing her tale. She hunched over again with her elbows on her knees and palms up as Isaac returned with another knickknack. The sweet little thing had been sad to see her cry, pausing and frowning with a whimpered, "Ah, Ma, Mama…" But at his age, he was easily distracted by the furnishings and things around him; and Eliza was thankful for it.
Cleo lifted a hand. "So you—"
"Mm-hmm."
"And he—?"
"Yup," Eliza nodded.
"Wow," she sighed.
Eliza licked her lips and looked over at her. "I came to you 'cause I… Well, I knew you'd understand. Probably the only person who might not judge me. And I figured I could trust you…not to tell…what he is."
Cleo snapped out of it and looked at her. "Oh, oh, of course not. I won't ever tell a soul, I swear."
Eliza nodded and sniffed, looking down at the floor. "I don't mean to say I regret anything, but I never thought it would feel this way. It's like I have what I want, but I don't. It's like it's very far from me, and I can't ever really have it. It's like torture. Bein' so alone. But at the same time, I don't feel I have any right to complain." She looked up at her. "He takes care of us. He gives us a good life. I've got a beautiful son, a beautiful home, and I get to see him. The one man I adore." She frowned. "Even if he doesn't adore me."
Cleo pursed her lips. "'No right to complain…' He ever hit you?"
Eliza's eyes went wide. "No, no! He's never ever laid a hand on me like that. He never would." She swallowed, her brows still drawn up at the thought. "He's so big and tall and strong, I…I'm sure he could intimidate and bully anybody into doing what he wants, and I'm certain he knows that about himself. But he's never been that way with us. I've never seen it. He puts that away when he comes home. It's almost easy for him, like gentle is just another part of who he is." She licked her lips and looked down. "I know what he does is wrong. Believe me, I know. I just can't seem to square it with the man I know." She looked back up at her in earnest. "He's gentle. He's good and sweet and gentle. He only ever touches me when invited."
"It's a sign of respect," Cleo smirked softly. "It's more than most men give."
"And I know he's at least keen to be near me." She swallowed, her eyes flitting away for a moment. "You know…all the little things on our bodies we worry about as women, that we're sure a man would never like. Even the things we feel are…less than desirable…" She slowly looked back up at her, fighting the flush she knew was appearing on her cheeks, reminding herself that she was talking to a fellow woman. She shrugged sheepishly. "He doesn't seem to mind." She looked into Cleo's eyes and knew she understood. "And when we make love…" She closed her eyes for a moment and put a hand to her chest, then raised it to swipe her hair from her temple, quickly becoming flustered and warm at her own thoughts. "Cleo, it's like… It's like we're the only two people in the whole world for a while. It's like we're mingled in more than just—"
"I know, you said," Cleo grinned sincerely.
"He makes me feel like he has to love me. He just has to."
Cleo nodded, a soft smile still on her face. "He good at it? Lovemaking?"
"Yeah," Eliza scoffed, then caught herself and grew quiet. "Yeah, he's good at it."
"That why you love him?"
"No! No, of course not!"
"Then why do you?"
Eliza thought for a moment and swallowed. "You won't really understand me when I say this, but it's really just because he's Arthur." She matched Cleo's blossoming smile. "There's so much to love about him. Doesn't matter what life throws at him, he still manages to be Arthur. Kind and tender and generous. He's real tough and coarse—fierce even. But at the same time, he's meek and mild, childlike. I've seen it. I always wanted to give him a fair shake, 'cause I saw somethin' inside him he couldn't hide. The good in him. I don't think most have seen it. He's very thoughtful. He's got a heart that looks for ways to serve us, when I never asked him to."
Cleo rested her cheek on the heel of her hand.
Eliza looked down and grinned to herself. "This last time he was home, after I told him, you know…about losing our baby, and after…we made love…that next morning, he made me oatmeal." A broken little laugh erupted from her lips, and she dipped her head. "Oatmeal." She closed her eyes with a smile and brought her forearms around her midsection. "And I swear, I could feel love in the warmth in my belly. Even if he didn't mean it that way." She opened her eyes. "He's sharp as a tack. Sarcastic, witty. Makes me smile and laugh. He's very protective too. He wants the best for us, really." She looked down at her son. "And the way he loves Isaac…" she smiled and slowly shook her head, her eyes growing wet. "You should see it." She smiled softly. "He's not like most people are around him, you know? He talks to him like he's a real person, not just a toy doll."
Cleo grinned as she listened to her.
Eliza flattened her hands and stuffed them between her thighs. "He actually talks with me too. He actually listens. He wants to hear me out, what I'm feeling. He's not perfect. No one is. But he cares enough to make things right. To try. To stick around and try when things get hard. He's got that in him. We've gone through thick and thin together." She swallowed. "It's funny, I…and I know it probably sounds ridiculous and childish to you, but…at this point, I think he knows me better than anyone livin'."
Cleo nodded, but her smile fell as she studied her. "Why do you think he don't love you?"
She licked her lips and shrugged one shoulder, feeling the corners of her mouth tug down fast in a frown. "It's hard to explain… He's never said one way or the other, but he's strongly alluded to not returnin' my feelings. A couple times now, in the night as he lies beside me, I've told him I love him. But he has his face turned. And in the morning, he gets up and goes right to work about the grounds, pretending he didn't ever hear me, but I know he did." She tilted her head and picked at a snag in her skirt. "Way back when, he told me outright that he's got no love in his heart. He's had a lot of hard things happen to him, Cleo." She slouched and looked down at her fingers, struggling not to let her chin tremble.
"You have too. And look at you. You keep right on with all your compassion. It's no excuse for a complete lack of love."
Eliza nodded. "Anyways, I knew it was an out and out lie, because I'd already seen his love for Isaac. But Isaac's his blood. Without question, he'd love him; it's easy for him to love him. I think it's just me he doesn't love."
Cleo squinted and shook her head. "Somethin' ain't right about this."
Eliza sniffed and watched Isaac walk about the room, kneeling to look closely at the cracks in the wood grain of the floor, continuing in soft unintelligible song to himself every now and then. "He just thinks so little of himself, it breaks my heart. He once told me he thinks all the good in Isaac came from me."
Cleo scoffed. "Well, there you go! He thinks the world of you, Eliza!"
Eliza stilled. She'd only ever thought of the comment in the negative, viewing what it meant he thought of himself, rather than of her. She slowly shook her head and wrinkled her nose. "No, it's not the same thing. I want more than that. I want more than just to be…just someone he thinks highly of."
Cleo groaned and rubbed her temple.
"But beggars can't be choosers, right?" Eliza huffed and laughed in spite of herself, shrugging and letting her arms fall. "It's just, I fall so hard for him when he comes home. And he's so so good to us. And I just feel like there's a chance, that he might really truly love me. And every time he leaves and I'm left so alone for so long and hurtin', it makes me second guess everything all over again." She looked at her, her eyes filling, and wrinkled her nose again, tighter than before. "I don't wanna be pathetic, Cleo. I don't wanna be that woman who thinks there's more between us than there really is, and it turns out to be nothin' but a self-conjured trick of the eye, a fool's hope. I don't wanna be pinin' after a man who just can't find it—love, I mean real love—in his heart to give me. Either he has it, or he doesn't. I can't make it be there." Her eyes filled as she sniffed and looked down. "I try to…put myself in his place. And when it comes right down to it, what's he got to gain by loving me? I mean, I'm just a girl, I'm just…" she looked back up at her and gave a little shrug, her chin trembling, "me."
Cleo slowly wagged her head. "You just got through tellin' me how you love him just because he's him. That's what love is, Eliza. No one's supposed to have to prove their worth to anyone, not when it comes to love."
Eliza sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, blinking and shrugging. "Of course, I don't want to pile him with things like this when he gets home, so…here I am." She shook her head. "I don't really ever ask him to stay. It's not like he could change it anyway."
"Why not?" Cleo squinted at her. "You've given him a child, another that you lost. Even your heart, which you didn't have to give. Why not? Why can't he change it for you?"
"It's just…" Eliza sniffed and swayed.
"It's wrong of him to leave, and it's wrong of you to let him," Cleo said quietly.
"I know." Eliza looked down.
"Why can't he change it for you?"
Eliza went still. "Actually, I don't know, exactly." She wiped her cheek and shrugged. "He's always runnin' from the law. He can't rightly stay in one place. He'd get caught. Which I told you, it's one of my biggest fears—"
"I know…" Cleo quietly sighed. "I just don't see why the three of you couldn't get good and lost, if it came to it. It's a big country. Hit the breeze, ya know?"
"I tried to bring it up last time he was home." She wagged her head. "He's so smart, Cleo. He's so smart. He doesn't know it, doesn't believe it, but he is. And he's seen some of the worst. And maybe if he thinks ill would befall us," she shrugged one shoulder to her cheek, her brows pulling up, "well then, maybe—"
"You gotta start gettin' better answers," she shook her head.
"I know it," Eliza said quietly as she bowed her head. She finally lifted her eyes back up. "Like I said, I don't wanna nag him. I can't lose him, Cleo."
"Didn't he tell you he'd always come back?"
She nodded. "What I really mean is pushing him away." She licked her lips and shook her head, nearly covering her face in her hands. "I don't know… What would you do?"
"Ah…" Cleo sighed. "I'm the last one you want advice from." She looked off in the corner for a long while. "Celtic souls…" she wagged her head. "You know what I'd give for that? I mean, most of us—people, I mean—we go our whole lives thinkin' things like that just don't exist." She finally looked back at her and met her eyes. "If I ever found mine, there wouldn't be nothin' on heaven or earth could keep me from 'em."
.
"Hold onto hope if you got it.
Don't let it go for nobody.
They say that dreamin' is free,
But I wouldn't care what it cost me."
- Paramore, "26"
.
At Camp
"My god." Hosea sat stock still with his brows lifted, nearly teetering on the crate.
"Yeah." Arthur briefly rubbed the side of his chin with his thumb, watching his reaction forlornly.
"And you… And they…"
"Yeah," he sighed.
"Jesus." Hosea slowly shook his head.
Arthur leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. "You know she let me sit beside her and watch as she nursed him while he was itty bitty? Can you believe that?" He looked up at him for a moment, trying to chuckle, and looked back at the ground. "In the quiet, just the three of us. All we could hear was his breathin'. Trusted me. Kept me in the room, kept me by her side. Like…like I was meant to be there. Like we were longtime lovers, or…husband and wife. Like…" He reached up for his phantom hat, and when he remembered where it was, he instead raked his hand through his hair. "Like I was his father."
Hosea turned and looked at him with a smirk. "I've got news for you, Arthur…"
Arthur's eyes popped up at him. "You know what I mean."
"You've told me all about your time with them," Hosea said. "Now tell me how it is you feel about 'em."
"What?" Arthur's brows furrowed.
"Arthur, you're a smart kid. You're bright, handsome, and capable. You know what I like to say about you: 'course but competent.' But knockin' up a civvie…" he gave his head a single shake, squinting sourly at him. "Well, it's probably the most irresponsible thing you've ever done. Throwin' your weight around like you—"
"Well, just hold on now—"
"I wasn't finished."
Arthur sat back against the crates and swallowed.
"Now I've never said this to ya, because I don't imagine you need me to. You've always carried your fair weight of things and more. And you've always had an aversion to airing your feelings. Well now, right here and now, I'm going to require it of you."
"I don't want to," he mumbled.
"You're—"
"I don't want to."
"Why not?"
"Because what good would it do, huh?" he sat up and strained in a harried whisper, his brows knotted tight together. "What good would it be for me to tell you he might as well be the sun, moon, and stars!" He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, craning his face up to him. "That he looks at me like I'm heaven itself! That he's helpless and needy and fragile, but all he's ever had to do was exist, and I was a goner, I was wrapped around his tiny little finger!" He looked down and away. "But really, all he is is his mother," he huffed, lifting a hand and dropping it as he pressed the fingers of his other hand to his forehead, "bottled up in the form of a perfect dewdrop," he chuckled sardonically. "And she…she's…well, she's…" he swallowed, growing quiet, "like honey on a hot day. Sweet and soft and warm…just who she is. She's got no pretense to her. Gives herself just exactly how she is. And the way she loves him, it's like nothin' I've ever seen. Got eyes like gemstones and a heart to match. Smile that makes my knees wanna buckle out from under me." He closed his eyes and turned his face away. "Her skin melts into mine, and I swear to god, I could want for nothin'."
Arthur sat in the quiet for a moment, and he finally turned back to see Hosea steadily eyeing him. "But it ain't all good, y'know…" Arthur said coolly and sat up straight. "She can have a one-track mind about things. And she'll forgive you—don't matter what you say to her, she'll just forgive you. And she only thinks of everybody else—never herself! And her blonde hair…" he looked down with a half-frown and open palms, "there's so much of it, it just gets everywhere. Just everywhere."
Hosea squinted at him with a subtle smirk and took a hand away from his chin to point at him. "Were you…trying to complain about her?"
Arthur closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh as he slumped forward with his elbows on his knees, wiping both hands down over his face.
Hosea smiled. "Got a good body?"
"Yeah," he huffed a laugh as he pulled his hands away. "Yeah, she…she's got nice long legs, and…" he briefly lifted his brows, "she's soft and round in all the right places. She don't even try." He pulled out a cigarette and eyed it, flirting with the idea of lighting it. "You know she was a maiden when we…when it happened? When we got pregnant with Isaac, I mean." He swallowed hard. "And I walked out on her. Literally. Walked out on her." He turned the cigarette between his two fingers. "I try to imagine the kinda trust it takes for her to…be with me. I mean really, to…open her legs to me." He lifted his eyes, but looked back down before pressing the cigarette between his lips. "Havin' trouble gettin' a good grasp on that kinda trust."
"She loves you." Hosea huffed a single chuckle through his nose with a nod, then a loose shake of his head. "And you're sittin' here. Youth really is wasted on the young." He peered up at him. "You love her?"
Arthur sat up and removed the unlit cigarette, squinting one eye and rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm gettin' damn tired a' that question."
"I can't imagine she's asked you one single solitary time. I know you, Arthur. You probably been gruff and callous with her at times. Poor thing's probably too afraid of what she'll hear."
"So why're you askin'?"
"Because it's a yes or no answer. And I'm willin' to call you on it," he said firmly and simply.
"Why's your nose where it don't belong?" he said in a high pitch, getting slightly louder. "Why you care so damn much?!"
"'Cause if it's a no, well, that makes you a slimy, seething, crafty, backbone-less maggot of a man. Which is just not at all who I raised you to be."
"Hosea…" came the name in a gravelly tone as he rested his elbows on his knees again. "It just ain't that simple."
"Enlighten me then. 'Cause from where I'm sittin', you've got a son, Arthur! A son! His life's only gonna happen once."
"I know," Arthur whispered looking down, his brows knitting together.
"And a bright, sweet, beautiful young woman who loves you."
"I know."
"Loves you deeply. So much, you said, she wanted to have your child again."
"I know!"
"And the truth is, you're head over heels," he dabbed his finger at his face as Arthur looked up at him and pushed himself up from his thigh. "You're in so goddamn deep for her, you couldn't see the top if you tried. Snuck up on ya."
"Naw, naw…" Arthur groaned quietly and half-frowned, quickly shaking his head.
"A woman and child! What more does life have to hand you?!"
"I'm way ahead of you, old man!" he finally snapped. "But it ain't so damn simple, now! I'm in way over my head here!" He sat forward again and fiercely rubbed the back of his neck, finally bringing the same hand flat to the side of his face as he looked away. "Dutch, he…he's got a lot to say on the subject. Says if I cozy up to 'em, I'll be flighty when I'm here, less bold and certain. Too careful. Be checkin' over my shoulder one to many times. Won't be stickin' my neck out on the line. Concerned most with my own survival. And he says it'll risk the lives of the whole gang."
"That's a bit dramatic."
"He calls it 'playin' house.' One foot here in the gang, and one with them. Says I best make a choice. Says to just do one thing or the other, not be two people at once. Says it can only hurt everybody. The gang, and them…"
"And you," Hosea said, catching his eyes. He lifted his brows. "Well, he's got a point there."
Arthur swallowed and nodded. "When I'm here, I wanna be there, and…" he sighed, tilting his head and looking down into his hands, "when I'm there, I…think I probably shouldn't be." He began worrying the tip of the cigarette. "With Mary, I was…young and foolish. Willing to do anything, just to…be the one who…had a claim on her attention. I was hungry for it, hasty. Near rabid. Now, with Eliza, I… It's different. I might me young, but I ain't as foolish. Nowhere near. I know what good is. And she's good. So, so good," he breathed as his face pinched. "Too good for me, Hosea," he shook his head confidently. "Too good for me to have, and…too good to have me."
Hosea sighed and gently shook his head as he held out a hand for the demolished cigarette.
Arthur planted it in his palm and grimaced. "You know what it is we do. The life we lead. Robbin'. Killin'. Even if we don't set out to do it. Even if by accident." He flashed his eyes up at him. "She thinks she knows me, but she can't, can she? Not really." When Hosea didn't answer, he looked away and wagged his head bitterly. "I got no business bein' 'round 'em. Either of 'em. No business. Anyways, it…it's a life that snaps back, sharp and quick. You know that. You know how this is all gonna end for us. We been preparin' for it nearly our whole lives. We've made our bed. I'm doin' my utmost to protect 'em from it. So if I did love her—which I'm not sayin' I do—" he said firmly and slowly, looking up at him and holding up a hand before looking back down and saying softly, "wouldn't matter, would it? Or rather, I might just show it best by stayin' away."
Hosea pinched up his nose sourly. "God, kid. You really can make a mess when you set your mind to it."
"Oh, yeah?" He looked up at him and slowly sat up, taking out another cigarette, lighting it right away, and leaving it between his lips. "'F you're so smart, what is it you would do?"
Hosea's face smoothed, and he smirked as his lids fell half-mast. "You don't wanna hear it. 'Cause I've already done it. With Bessie."
"And how'd that work out for ya?" Arthur mumbled, the cigarette bobbing between his lips.
Hosea scoffed a chuckle and shook his head. "Maybe you oughta be an illusionist. You got a real knack for pulling answers for anything outta nothing."
As he reclined back against the crates, Arthur pulled the cigarette away and studied the glowing embers on the end. "When it comes right down to it, I want what's best for 'em. Even if that means stayin' away, much as possible."
Hosea strained and sighed as he stood. "Only you can leave a person feelin' worse after a talk, when all they wanted was to make you feel better."
"Sorry to disappoint ya," he said with a higher pitch for emphasis on the word 'disappoint' as Hosea walked away.
But just as soon, he turned back. "Oh, Arthur," he said, causing him to look up. "Where's your hat?"
Arthur looked upwards and caught himself, ducking gently and looking away. At his reaction, Hosea released and chuckle and shook his head, walking back to his tent.
.
"I can't seem to shake it yet, feeling that
Things may never change.
It always breaks my heart when broken parts
Ache to heal again.
.
So I will write it down, all the jagged edges
The ugliness I've seen
Until I change the truth, rearrange the letters
For beauty underneath.
.
Dear Hope,
If you can hear me, don't go.
I don't feel you now, but I know you're there.
Dear Hope,
I could really use you now.
Throw me a rope.
Throw me a rope.
Dear Hope."
- Sara Bareilles, "Dear Hope"
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