One day while Arthur was away, Eliza wrapped Isaac up, strapped him with his back to hers, and rode into town to meet Mr. Andrews for their monthly outing of passing out goods, meals, and hot coffee to the homeless and vagrants on the corner of Misty Willow's main thoroughfare. She helped Mr. Andrews prepare a number of cold sandwiches and brew the coffee beforehand, and they both stood at the booth at their normal time as a little crowd began to gather.

"Dry deli cuts and cheddar on a buttermilk roll today," Mr. Andrews said to the faces of the men and women who came up to the booth. "But don't let that scare ya; once the hands of Eliza here pass over any food, any food at all, it miraculously transforms into somethin' else entirely." He grinned over at her to his left.

"Oh, stop it!" she laughed with a wave. "Ain't nothin' but a spread I've been tryin' to get right, and workin' on cannin' it. You folks'll just have to tell me if it's any good," she smiled as a woman opened the wax paper and took a bashful bite. Her smile brightened in time with the woman's as she looked up at her with bright eyes. "I guess that's approval."

After they doled out the fresh food and coffee and moved on to canned food, Isaac took his cue to squat, reach into their burlap sack, and walk over to pass his mother can after can.

"Thanks for your patience," she said with a blush to the newest person at the front of the line. "He can only manage to hold one at a time, but it's his favorite part."

"Oh, no patience needed, ma'am," the man said. "Angels can take their sweet time. He just likes helpin' his mama."

She smiled and looked down to rustle Isaac's soft blonde hair before he turned around to go back to the burlap sack. "You do like helpin' mama, don't you?" She turned back with a smile and handed the man a few cans. "Corn, green beans, and salmon."

"Many thanks, Misses," he nodded before turning to leave.

"Oh, I'm not—" she began to shake her head. But he was already on his way. And there was no point anyway.

They'd been there for a couple hours passing things out, and the crowd was beginning to dwindle. They were thinking of starting to pack up, and Eliza was nervous that she hadn't seen one person she'd really been hoping to see today. She rose on her tip-toes to look for him over heads and was disappointed when he wasn't there. When they were finally beginning to pack up the bags and table, she turned to see him slowly walking up with a limp.

"Jedidiah," she smiled.

"How are you today, Miss Eliza?"

"We're doin' just fine; how are you fairin' these days?"

"Eh, you know… Some days better than others," the old man in thread-barren clothes said with a small grin. "Hope I didn't cause you to wait on my account."

"I hoped I'd see you today, but I didn't know if you'd make it," she said. Though she'd never met him before these monthly outings, he'd become a regular. And she didn't know everything about his situation, but she knew he was down on his luck in ways that seemed to crash upon him and keep him down. She bent and held up a sandwich and cans she'd saved for him. "Coffee's cold now, but I brought this from my home." She handed him a red-and-white striped crocheted blanket. "Hope you like it."

"My goodness, it's downright lovely, Miss Eliza," he said as she passed it to him.

"Oh, and I have this for you too." She went into the pocket of her apron and pulled out the little brown bottle, taking his hand and placing it in his palm.

Mr. Andrews eyed the label, reading the words 'Nutritional Supplement' as it passed between them.

When Jedidiah saw it, his scraggly brows knitted together. "I can't take this. I can't take this," the hoarse words arose through his haggard beard as he tried to hand it back to her.

"No, no. I want you to have it," she closed his fingers over the bottle, reassuring him over his syllables of continued protest. "Jedidiah." She'd finally managed to get him to pause and look up at her again. "You need it more than I do." She was arrested by the sight of his entire face crumpling immediately, his deeply wrinkled eyelids completely covering his eyes for a moment.

When he finally opened his eyes and looked back up into hers, they were filled to the brim. He set the other things down on the table and covered her hand with his other one. "Bless you," he said, taking another breath. "Bless you."

As he gently shook her closed hand again, nodded, and walked away with all she'd given him, Eliza's vision blurred, and a stinging feeling bloomed in her chest. Though no precise words were in her mind, her emotions were filled with pained empathy—that his circumstances must be so low for him to be so grateful for something so small; and helplessness—that they both knew she'd done the very most she could for him.

Sniffing, she turned and knelt with a lump in her throat. "Isaac. Can I have a hug, baby?" Her voice was more strained and airy than she'd wished. "Mama needs a hug."

He looked up at her and dropped the can he'd been holding, immediately walking over to her with his arms out.

She took him in her arms and pressed her cheek against his, holding the back of his head as he rested his little chin in the crook of her neck. He was perfectly content to let her hold him for a couple minutes; and when she finally let go, she sniffed back her tears and wiped under her eyes.

Mr. Andrews watched her stand and turn back to the table, beginning to clean it and fold up the gingham tablecloth.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked plainly.

She looked at him, and when she realized what he was referring to, she looked back down at the tablecloth in her hands. "I swept the tailor's for Mrs. Michaels the other day—"

"I didn't say how. I said where," he eyed her. "I don't sell it in my shop."

She continued folding without a word.

"Eliza…" he sighed, his eyebrows pinching up. "You've still got him comin' round?"

She avoided his eyes. "Can't see what the problem is," she said, surprised at her own shortness. "It's a nutritional aid he gave me, isn't it? Shows he cares. But it's only noticeable if you don't write him off right away. Anyways, I…" she swallowed, "I don't see how it's anyone's business but mine. Isaac's and mine." She glanced at him from the side of her eyes with a more disappointed look than she'd first felt capable of as she turned and picked up Isaac, resting him on her hip.

She watched him nod, his head finally sagging as he began loading the bags of leftover cans into his wagon. She sighed, her brows drawing up in regret. "You know how thankful we are to you, Mr. Andrews, for everything. It's just a hard-enough situation as it is, and through all of it, plenty of folks have given me nothin' but gruff for the little they know about it. I've gotten used to having to defend myself, at least in my mind. I'm just not prepared to have to do so with the few people left in the world who know me."

He hefted the last burlap sack into his wagon and turned to her. "I had a little girl once… Don't know if you remember her."

She nodded. "Beth." She took a breath, beginning to fit the pieces of his perspective together. "Oh, please forgive me, Mr. Andrews."

He smirked a painful half-frown. "I watched her suffer and pass from the fever, just like your mama and papa did."

Her eyes began to water just at the mention of them.

"She was the sweetest, gentlest person. Just like you. It's a mean world in lots a' ways. I guess I…just wanna make sure you're all right, Miss Eliza. Taken care of."

"We are," she nodded with a slight smile. "He's a good man. He is."

He tipped his head down. "Beggin' yer pardon, but…if you say so, and if he's so good, it…makes me wonder why he won't stay with ya."

Her smile faltered. "He is a good man, Mr. Andrews. Truly. You don't know him like I do. I don't think anyone does."

He nodded. "Just hope he…knows what a good woman it is that's given him her heart."

She watched as he got up into the wagon seat and drove the horses back to his store. She'd made a habit of pulling herself back to reality and reminding herself that she did know Arthur, that she'd seen his kind and gentle heart firsthand. Seen him run himself ragged to serve them. Seen him take time to listen and understand her. Seen him hold their son and softly pat him to sleep.

But it was true—as well as she believed that she and Arthur knew each other, there were still things they kept hidden. Things like today, what she regularly did with his money. Things like whatever he did when he was away. Things that felt small, but she knew were bigger than she liked to admit. And if she let herself dwell on it too much, it scared her to think that even after everything, she might not really know him, and that maybe he couldn't possibly love her if he didn't really know her. It worried her to think that she was kidding herself, dreaming up more of a something between them than was even possible. When she closed her eyes, she could see the two of them lying together, face to face, and it hurt to think that she still didn't quite know whom it was she was she'd taken into her bed. That Arthur didn't quite know whom it was he touching, whom it was he was watching lose her breath. That he couldn't possibly be wanting to show her with each touch how he loved her. When all she wanted was to truly know him and love him, and for him to deeply know her and love her too.

She guessed it was those fears that kept her from requiring more of him.

"Miss Eliza!" a hasty young voice called her from her daydream.

With Isaac still on her hip, she turned towards the sound to see four little boys running up to her in play clothes and carrying sticks and little pointed wooden planks.

"Miss Eliza!" the oldest one, maybe seven or eight years old, said as he and the others stopped before her in a huff. "Are you and baby Isaac busy right now?"

"No… We were just about to head home. Why?"

"Well, see…" he began to smirk and fidget as he spoke in a hurry. "We're puttin' on a play. Treasure Island. Not a real one—just for fun. But we still like to make it as good as we can! And we need a Jim Hawkins. And, well…you see…we're all about the same height. And we need somebody shorter, since Jim is younger. And…we all wanna be the pirates anyways," he shrugged with an airy little laugh. "We were sorta wonderin' if you'd let baby Isaac play Jim for us. He don't need to say the words; we can say 'em for him and pretend. He could wear his own clothes, and even though Jim doesn't wear one, I could give him an eye patch, so he don't feel left out and doesn't cry." He quickly held up a hand. "Of course you could stay and watch."

"Come on, please!" the other boys pressed their hands together and begged.

"You'd be doin' us a huge favor! Ain't a one of us short enough—baby Isaac's perfect for the role!" the first boy said.

Eliza slowly smiled, only then realizing what their strange tricorn hats and wooden apparatuses were meant for. "We'd love to help you. Wouldn't we, Isaac?" she bounced him on her arm.

"Yeah!" he grinned big amidst the excitement of the boys' clapping and whooping, having no idea what he was agreeing to.

"On one condition," she paused them, and they all looked at her. "Nobody's allowed to have swords on the stage at the same time as Isaac." She looked around at them, meeting each of their eyes. "No swords around Isaac at all, okay?"

"Okay!" they said.

"Yeah, that works!"

"It's actually called a cutlass," the older boy mumbled as they began leading her to their secret hideout. "But no problem!"

When they all arrived at the little makeshift stage that sat in the grass under the shade of a few trees at the outskirts of town, they directed her to one of two little benches.

"No play is a good play unless you have at least two seats in the audience, even if they aren't filled with people," one of them said.

Eliza quietly obeyed, taking a seat as she set Isaac on his feet in the grass. She watched him slowly and uncertainly follow the other boys behind the stage and the little sheet they had hung for a curtain. She listened to bouts of mumbling and anxious giggles from behind the curtain.

"All right, boys," someone whispered. "We got a real live person this time. Remember all your parts from rehearsal?"

It was another several minutes before the curtain was drawn back, and they announced the commencement of the play with great fanfare. Isaac was gently nudged onto the stage in the very first scene with a black eyepatch strapped over one eye.

"Go on, baby. There ya go," the boy behind the curtain whispered as Isaac walked out to join the pirate who was already onstage and looked around.

Eliza held back a snicker when Isaac immediately flipped the eyepatch up onto his forehead.

"Hi, Mama," he smiled and waved when he saw her.

She grinned and waved her fingers.

The pirate to his left hesitated and cleared his throat. "Me name's Long John Silver, boy!" he proclaimed with the deepest voice he could muster. "And don't you forget it!"

A few minutes later Isaac was whisked away, and a couple other pirates came onstage for a little scuffle scene. When they were nearing the end of it, Isaac was brought back out by the hand, and the oldest boy whispered to the other pirates, "Go put the cutlasses away in the back! Isaac—" he cleared his throat, "I mean, Jim's comin' out for the finale!"

As they all began to sway and dance and sing, Eliza's grin widened. "Oh, it's a musical!" She clapped her hands as Isaac smiled wide, mumbling unintelligibly and loudly above the others, bouncing and stomping his feet—seemingly haphazardly to anybody else, but she knew in his mind, he was stepping right in time with the others.

She laughed outright at the sweet, darling sight. Smiling softly, she slowly looked to her right and imagined Arthur sitting there in the seat beside her, laughing and nodding along. How she wished he could see this.

Before their song was finished, she noticed Isaac stop and stand stock still, hold his breath, clench his eyes tight, and scrunch up his face, his cheeks going bright pink for a moment. "Oh. Um…I think…" she tried to point. She brought her hand up to her mouth and tried not to laugh when the other boys obliviously continued with their song.

After several seconds, Isaac opened his eyes and held his hands out for her. "Mama," he said as he began to walk forward. "Mama."

"Shh," the oldest boy whispered gently, stepping over and kneeling to him as their singing petered off. "Pirates, swashbucklers, and scallywags don't say 'mama,' Isaac." When he got near him though, he suddenly scrunched his nose and made a face. "Oh," he said looking up at her. "I think he's stinky."

"Yeah," she stood and reached out for Isaac as he walked towards her. "That's what I thought." She scooped him up and gently laid him on the grass, going into her satchel for a clean cloth diaper. "Thank you all for the lovely play," she said as she finished changing him. "It was beautiful."

"Beautiful!" the oldest boy took exception with his brows in a twist as he hopped down from the wooden platform. "It ain't supposed to be beautiful; it's supposed to be dastardly!"

"Oh, silly me," she sang with a wry grin as she lifted Isaac onto her hip. "I just thought the sight of all you boys including little Isaac here was downright beautiful." She watched every single one of them smile and shrug bashfully.

"Oh. Yeah… Guess it was kinda nice, wasn't it?" the oldest said. He looked up and stuck his finger into Isaac's little hand. "He's a good baby. A good kid, I mean. Ain't he, fellers?"

"You bet!"

"Uh-huh!"

"Sure is!" they all said.

Eliza's smile brightened, and she planted a big kiss on Isaac's cheek.

.

That Same Week, Further West

Arthur was aware of the flat surface of the back of the butt of his rifle pressing into him as he braced it against his right shoulder. He held his breath while he adjusted his elbow and forearm, knowing a little cloud of dust would arise before his face. He was far from a fan of the dry, flat, arid lands they now roamed and found himself longing for the lush forests, meandering creeks, rolling hills, indigo mountains, and crickets and lightning bugs of Misty Willow.

As he lied belly down in the dirt, one knee bent just a little, he looked down from his spot hidden atop a low mesa over the remains of what, from the looks of it, appeared to be nearly a ghost town, a shell of what it once had been. Each business front looked like nothing more than a plywood stand, every sign like wiped chalk. It was as if the wind had nipped them clean. The town's main street was only sparsely alive, with a few townsfolk dotting the rust-colored dust, walking this way and that.

"You're the best shot among us, Arthur," Hosea said from where he lied to his right. "Best man for the job. Perfect for it, really."

Arthur tilted his head to the right and peered into his scope, nestling his cheek against the wood grain until he felt comfortable.

"Remember what Dutch said," Hosea's nasally voice brought to mind. "Just have to cover him."

Arthur gave the best nod of acknowledgement he could, with his cheek already pinned.

Dutch had planned a discreet first meeting with Bill Doolin, leader of a gang who had found themselves further west than they normally were and were cropping up into the Van der Linde gang's heists and operations more often than was wished. But from the sounds of it, the Doolin gang was a bit more in numbers.

The two gang leaders had agreed to meet out in the open—at least, as open as could be managed on short notice and with the nearest town being as old and near depleted of folk as it was—as a sign of good faith. With Dutch hoping it would lead to further meetings to stake out mutual territory and relations of at least a stand-offish nature, the meeting was arranged. "Discreet" had been explained away by Dutch as "disguised in plain sight, amongst average citizens."

Arthur peered through the scope and shifted the rifle in his hands until he saw Dutch, loitering nonchalantly near the end of a boardwalk. Arthur took a breath and slowly scanned the entirety of the nearby area for Doolin henchmen, making sure to check balconies and the tops of each building for enemy sharpshooters.

His view snagged on a scuffle beginning to emerge between two people in the alley on the opposite end of the building Dutch was loitering near.

"What's goin' on here?" Arthur mumbled, stretching his finger so it hovered over the trigger.

It was a greasy feller beginning to grab at a young woman with fair chestnut hair who was clearly uninterested in and spurning his advances. Arthur rolled his eyes and half-smirked in disgust as he shifted the rifle back. He brought his finger closer to the trigger when he saw a tall gangly feller in a green and black checkered flat cap approach Dutch and stand nearby without looking at him, and the two began to inconspicuously talk.

When he was satisfied it was going relatively well, Arthur shifted his view again to find that the lowlife had thrown the young woman up against the wall and was beginning to rough her up.

"What're you lookin' at?" Hosea asked. When he saw what it was, he added, "You're just supposed to cover him. You of all people hate when anyone has to get hurt."

And he knew Hosea to be telling him that if he were to interfere, it would ruin the entire operation, all of their plans for coexistence with the Doolin gang. Whatever Doolin gang members were in the vicinity would come out of the woodwork, and they'd have an all-out shootout on their hands. Most pressing of all, he would undoubtedly be putting Dutch's life in immediate jeopardy, no matter how well he felt he himself could sweep a shootout from his vantage point. And he knew Hosea was right.

Even so, he felt his pulse quicken and the vein in his neck strain as he watched the scene play out, watched the guy bully and brutalize her as she pushed and tried to fight back. He felt helpless as the guy began to pin her and go after what she'd refused to give him. But he wasn't helpless.

It took everything in him to pull his gaze back to Dutch and Doolin. Things seemed to be going just fine—calm and according to plan.

Arthur felt the edge of the trigger gently graze the second pad of his finger. After a couple minutes and when Hosea looked away, he couldn't help but quickly change his gaze one last time. Almost on cue, Hosea turned his face back again.

"Don't take the shot, Arthur," he said. "Don't take the goddamn shot."

But it was too late. Arthur had seen a sharp flash of metal in the man's fist.

"He's got a knife." And that was all the decision-making assistance he required.

It happened so quickly. Arthur took the slightest action with his finger, and the lowlife's head exploded, causing the young woman to jump and sending a red spray all over her face as his limp remains fell to the ground—all in half an instant. For just a moment he watched her stand there, rigid and completely dumbstruck, a traumatized look on her blood-painted face.

"Yeah…but you're alive, lady," Arthur mumbled.

At the sound of gunfire popping off, Arthur hurriedly scanned his scope to the left, his pulse thumbing wildly. He saw Dutch running to duck behind a nearby barrel with his pistol in his hand.

Arthur immediately followed the direction Doolin had gone and shot him dead, quickly moving on to the handful of Doolin gang members and sharpshooters on the nearby rooftops and balconies that had finally shown themselves and scanning the other alley in the process to see the young woman successfully running for her life. At the volley of shots ringing out, the few townsfolk screamed and scurried inside. He continued to pick the enemy gunmen off one by one until the whole place was quiet.

"Jesus, Arthur…" Hosea breathed a sigh.

Arthur brought his scope back to see Dutch alive and without a scrape, but he swallowed when Dutch shot a look of pure contention and disapproval up in his direction at the top of the mesa.

.

Later that evening, Hosea stood outside Dutch's tent to deter eavesdroppers as Dutch and Arthur exchanged words inside. He himself could only catch bits every now and then. Most of it was kept in a relatively even tone, but it was not lost on him how charged the words themselves were.

"…safety and security of this whole damn thing, all of us, at risk…"

"You're the one who always said we gotta help folk…"

"…the gang, this family, comes first."

"…wasn't about to let an innocent…"

"This is about that little girl…

"…wasn't…"

"…that little hussy, goddamnit."

"Quit callin' her that. Told you… Told you she's just a kid who didn't mean to get caught up in this life. And she's damn well payin' the price."

"If you… …belong here. …don't make me question your faith, your loyalty, Arthur…"

Just then Hosea noticed John lingering nearby in the darkness, finishing off a bowl of stew. They made eye contact, and John's brows came together in question. Hosea stepped towards him and swept his arm out, urging him to move along. Hosea resumed his place a step closer to the tent.

"…lest you forget… …where you came from, where you'd be… You know that. …if you can't get the job done, I'll just have John do it."

A pause.

"A sixteen-year-old kid."

A longer pause.

"The gang. comes. first. Arthur."

Hosea heard the flap of the tent open and watched Arthur leave and walk towards his own tent, only catching a glimpse of his face. Though his jaw was tense and flared, his expression was sullen and stoic.