Oh, my love, my darling
I've hungered for your touch
A long, lonely time
And time goes by so slowly
And time can do so much
Are you still mine?
I need your love
I need your love
God speed your love to me
Lonely rivers flow
To the sea, to the sea
To the open arms of the sea
Lonely rivers sigh
"Wait for me, wait for me"
I'll be coming home, wait for me.
- Righteous Brothers
"Listen up," said Arthur. "I gotta talk to ya about somethin' real quick, before we get back to camp."
Rane glanced at him from Eli's back, suspicious. They were riding side by side through the woods, ducking beneath the lower-hanging pine branches, heading back to Dutch and the rest of them (Arthur had insisted on staying off the road, citing the Murfree brood once again - Rane was beginning to feel a little curious about them, the way everyone was carrying on). After their brief moment of repose on the beach, they'd strayed into the forest beyond to find some game, with the intent of lubricating their reentry (and following through with Arthur's excuse about leaving camp to go hunting). They hadn't been terribly lucky - Arthur had only managed to shoot a possum from the hip, and its scrawny carcass now hung from his saddle - but it would be enough to assuage Dutch, who was doubtless imagining them conspiring against him together someplace in their absence.
"Oh, boy." Rane's voice was deadpan and wary. "I should certainly hope we're reached our quota today for unpleasant surprises, between the yelling and the murder and the crying and what-have-you -"
"Well, it's a couple things, matter of fact," Arthur amended, looking a little rueful.
"I'm afraid to ask."
"We got a job when we get back. It's goin' down this evening. Me, you and John, I think, now he's back. Was gonna be me and Micah and Javier, but I'd rather you two and not those couple hotheads. So we're gonna need to -"
"Whoa, whoa, hang on, let's back up a tick - you want me, you and John to do a job together?" said Rane, scoffing. "Together?"
"Why? Is it awkward for you or somethin'? Kinda uncomfortable?" Arthur's voice was light, his gaze on the wood ahead and his eyebrows high. Rane snorted sardonically.
"I feel like you might be making fun of me, but your sense of humor is so subtle and nuanced and mature and sophisticated that it's tough to tell -"
"Look, John might make you all weak around the knees, Rane, with them -" Arthur gestured at his face, grinning. "Them big ol' sparkly eyes, and those mushy lips, and that - that dark, silky hair, and all them big muscles, and those jeans, oh boy, them jeans he's always wearin' a size or three too small to show off the goods, and all that chest hair, I know girls like that -"
"Fall off a bridge, please."
"- but, he's a good fighter and he's comin' with us. That's the end of it, so make your peace."
Rane sighed. She gestured at the possum. "And what does Dutch think about all this? You think a dead rat is going to mend our friendship?"
"Well, he doesn't have a say, because I'm the one who organized the whole damn thing," said Arthur grimly. "And as such, I get to yoke up whoever I please. I got a little bit of sway in all this yet, believe it or not. And that ain't a rat."
"So what you're saying is that he doesn't know you're planning on bringing me and John along, and you're not going to tell him."
Arthur shrugged, readjusting his grip on the reins. "Call it what ya want."
"Dutch was about two heartbeats away from clocking me in the face this morning, Arthur, the dude isn't pleased with me as it is. Maybe I should sit this one out."
Arthur gave her a slightly impatient look, ducking beneath a branch. "So what, you'd rather hang around at camp with him and Micah, with me miles away?" he asked.
"Are you implying that I can't take care of myself?" asked Rane, a trifle haughtily.
"I'm implyin' that we outta let sleeping dogs lie. 'Specially when it comes to Dutch and Micah, just this very moment."
Rane scoffed loudly. "If it came down to me against Dutch and Micah -"
"Listen, you don't wanna go toe to toe with Dutch, you can trust me on that, he didn't get to the top by shinin' shoes. And say what ya will about Micah - I know I sure do, every chance I get - but he's one of the fastest hands we ever had in the gang in all the twenty-odd years I been with 'em. Dare I say it, maybe even as fast as your cocky ass is," He added, eyeing her.
"Look here, Arthur Morgan," said Rane, sounding supremely disdainful, holding her head high and squaring her shoulders, "there's a lot I don't know about this mortal coil, but one thing I do know, beyond any shadow of doubt, is that I am most definitely and assuredly faster than Micah Bell."
Arthur chewed his lip for a moment, watching her from beneath his hat, then turned. "Nah. I'm puttin' my foot down on this one. If you wanna sweeten Dutch down, you oughta try and make yourself seem useful, and goin' out and gettin' things done seems a lot more useful than lounging around mean-muggin' him all day. And furthermore," he added, his voice rising imperatively, still not looking at her, "I don't want us separated no more, after everything that's happened. Even for a little while. I'd feel a hell of a lot better if you were by my side, whether it's for a score or whatever else."
Rane watched his profile a moment longer, frowning, then nodded. "Fine. But not because I think you're right," she added, scowling. "About that Micah thing. I'm way quicker than he is. Way. Like, so much quicker -"
"Oh, would ya lookit me, I'm the cat who walks by herself," Roland intoned in a mocking falsetto, waggling both hands in the air before him and popping his eyes. "All places are alike to me. I got a spine like a lightning rod, I got skin like steel wool, nothin' scares me, blah blah blah -!"
"I don't sound like that," Rane muttered crossly, flushed, glaring over Eli's mane. Arthur was laughing openly.
"If you quit bein' so damn proud for a second, we'll get outta this quicker. Just hush and follow my lead on this one for a change."
Rane lapsed into silence, her face still a little pink. The horses passed out of the pine forest at last, tossing their heads at the welcome openness. Here, so much closer to Beaver Hollow, Arthur seemed content enough to follow the trail outright. Rane, who wore pine needles in her hair and scratches along her forearms, was glad for it. It was still cloudy, the light low, carmine and strangely portentous.
"I hope it doesn't rain anymore," Rane murmured, squinting upwards.
"Well, so do I!" said Arthur. "Say, you wanna know why? Go on, ask me why I hope it don't rain."
Rane glared off sullenly. "Why don't you want it to rain, Arthur."
"Because we," he said expansively, "are gonna blow up a bridge tonight."
Rane sucked her teeth, wincing. "We are?"
"Yep."
"And why, prithee tell, will we be blowing up a bridge, Arthur Morgan?"
"Well, Rane Roth, I'll tell ya why." Arthur resettled his weight on his horse, letting one hand dangle at his side. "There's a train comin' through this evening that belongs to the United States Army, and on that train is a whooole hell of a lot of money. You see where I'm goin' with this?"
Rane yanked Eli to a sudden stop, glaring at him. "What?"
Arthur heeled his horse, too. "What what?"
"I thought Dutch wanted to keep things quiet so y'all could get away from Lemoyne!" Rane's voice was shrill and accusatory. "Now you wanna rob the damn government? I mean, why don't you just strip down naked and ride a fucking penny-farthing around the sheriff's office playing La Bamba on a damn accordion or something -?"
Arthur scoffed, looking a little insulted. "Rane, there's untold cash ridin' through Saint Denis on that train, it's enough to get us all outta the state and someplace where we ain't gettin' dogged by Pinkertons at every turn -"
"That's Dutch talking." Rane was glaring at him from beneath her brows. "That's his voice coming right out of your own mouth."
"Look, you think you understand this sort of business, Rane, but lemme assure ya, you don't," said Arthur, steeling himself and allowing his voice to grow a little scolding. He thumbed his chest, his mouth thin beneath the shade of his hat. "I been doin' this since I was hardly old enough to jack off, pardon the expression -"
"Wait, what does jacking off have to do with anything?" Rane remarked, laughing a little in spite of herself.
"Shut up, that ain't - look, I know what I'm doin'!" Arthur said angrily, flushing a little. "And you don't know shit about robbin' and takin' what ain't yours like I do, alright? We're doin' it," he added, straightening his hat a little decorously and snapping the reins of his horse, starting back up the trail. "That's the end of it, so quit bellyachin'."
Rane glowered after him, then spurred Eli on. "So when are we leaving for this big -"
"Fast. Right off, if we can get away without a big yammerin'. You're gonna go talk to John, and I'm gonna go talk to . . . " Arthur wilted a little, clearing his throat gruffly. "I'm gonna talk to Swanson."
Rane nodded, a little chastened. In the midst of their banter she'd nearly forgotten. They'd planned on asking Swanson to marry them the following day.
"Is it still -?"
"I dunno." Arthur shrugged, glancing at her. He looked a little subdued himself, clearly thinking the same thing. "I ain't asked him yet. Nobody knows except me and you -"
"And Sadie."
"You told Sadie?" Arthur glanced at her, chewing the insides of his mouth, trying not to burst into a grin. "Why'd ya do that?"
"I wanted to tell someone," Rane admitted, flushing crimson, not looking at him.
"You wanted to brag about marryin' some big dumb bastard like me?"
Rane laughed, shrugging, looking abashed. "I dunno. Look, what do I need to tell John?"
Arthur eyeballed her profile another moment, still struggling with a broad smile, then turned his eyes back to the trail, feeling a little taller, somehow. "Tell him we need to get movin' with the train job. He'll know what you're talkin' about, we discussed it a couple weeks before he went to jail. Just don't let Dutch overhear ya. I don't wan't him knowin' you're coming along." He sighed grimly, his smile dying away. "If he spots ya, it's gonna take more than a possum to take the stinger outta his ass."
SWANSON was sitting on a boulder near the edge of the camp when Arthur strode in, and he was happy to note this relative seclusion. He'd cast about for Dutch with an instinctiveness that bordered on paranoia (and his heart was a little sad to note the sensation, despite it all), but neither he nor Micah were in evidence, and that was just fine with him. Rane, her long hair wafting behind her as she strode across camp with her usual rapid cadence, was making for John, who was holed up with Abigail and Jack on the other end. Arthur eyed her a moment as she did, a little unnerved; unlike him, she wasn't looking around for Dutch at all. She was walking around like she owned the place, and that was liable to get her in trouble. He was going to have to make this quick.
"Swanson! Hey, Swanson!"
The man himself turned, looking surprised. When his eyes met Arthur's his face relaxed into a delicate smile.
"Arthur!" He moved aside on the boulder, patting at his side. "Good to see you, my boy! Sit down, please, join me. I was just taking in this lovely -"
"Ah, I wish I could, Reverend, but I got some business elsewhere I gotta see to shortly here," Arthur said, shoving his hands into his pockets and standing before Swanson. "I got a . . . well, I got somethin' to ask ya. You got a second?"
Swanson spread his arms. "Of course, Arthur, anything for you."
"Alright, well." Arthur scoffed, shifting his weight, feeling abruptly clumsy. He had ruminated on this moment in his future since he'd asked her, of course, but the actual execution of it had never fully occurred to him, and now he found himself feeling almost bashful. "Well, I, uh . . . hell, this is awkward. I got a favor to ask, a bit of an unusual favor. A big one. And I'd appreciate it if we could keep it between the two of us."
Swanson looked intrigued, crossing his legs and looking up at Arthur raptly. "A favor? Of what sort?"
"Well -" Arthur scoffed again, feeling the warmth rising into his cheeks. His eyes swept around the camp briefly over Swanson's shoulders and he was relieved to see that the closest one was Uncle, who was leaning against a wagon wheel, dead to the world, his arms crossed and his head lolling. "Well, so you're . . . well, you're a reverend, right, obviously?"
Swanson looked bewildered. "Well, yes, of course."
"So you can marry folk. If the fancy took ya, I mean."
Swanson looked confused. "Well, yes, of course, as a reverend I am still able to be married, if I were to meet someone, I suppose -"
"No, I mean -" Arthur sighed. "I mean can you marry two people together? Can ya preside over it? You see what I'm askin'?"
Swanson eyed him a little shrewdly. "Yes, Arthur, I am able to wed a couple before God."
"I want you to marry me and Rane," Arthur said in a rush, his voice barely more than a whisper. "The girl that showed up at camp with the fancy sword, y'know who I mean?"
"The pretty one." Swanson was nodding, smiling a little. "Dark hair, funny accent."
Arthur was nodding. "Can ya? I can . . . I dunno, give ya money, or -?"
"Mister Morgan, I had no idea you were involved with the young lady!" Swanson stood abruptly and took Arthur's hand in both his own, shaking it rigorously and beaming. "I'm so happy, Arthur, so happy for you -!"
"Shhh!" Arthur flapped a hand, looking abashed. "Don't nobody know 'cept you, and I wanna keep it that way, so keep your voice down, would ya?"
"Oh! Yes, yes, of course!" Swanson dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. He was still shaking Arthur's hand rigorously. "Arthur, this is good news, great news, no one is more deserving of -!"
"Yeah, alright, alright!" Arthur pried his hand away with an effort. "Will ya do it or not, Reverend? We gotta get a jump on it, if we're to -"
"Yes! Yes, of course I will!" Swanson was casting about, his eyes fervent. "I'll need a Bible, of course, and a tie, and of course we'll need to establish the locale -"
"No, no, we ain't got time for all that." Arthur waved a hand impatiently. "We gotta get it done and dusted quick, Swanson, just the bare bones."
"Very well, very well - a Bible, then, and a few witnesses -"
"Witnesses?" Arthur looked a tad alarmed at this. "You need witnesses? What for?"
"Oh, my dear boy, I'm sure I don't know," said Swanson, waving a hand, still looking quite delighted. "Tradition, all that. One or two will suffice. Surely you must have someone you can trust?"
Arthur cast about. John sprung right to mind, followed closely by Abigail and Sadie. He could hash out those details later, surely, think on it tonight. "Sure, I guess so. When's the soonest you can do it?"
"Well, where is the bride?" Swanson stared around him. "I'm happy to do it now, if you'd like."
Arthur stared at Swanson a long moment, aware that his heart had doubled its pace beneath his chest. He could hear Rane speaking to John on the other end of the camp, just audible over the birdsong, their words morphing into formless sounds.
"No, no," he said after a moment, shaking his hand, a trifle unsteadily. "No, we'll wanna do it once we get back, we got a job tonight. Will ya be here? Can we count on it? I don't know no other holy men," Arthur added, looking a trifle sheepish. "I wouldn't even know where to start. This is a little bit odd for me, all this."
"Yes, yes, of course," said Swanson, flapping a hand. "You have a ring, I presume?"
Arthur hesitated. "I might could, yeah -"
"Well, you must have a ring, Mister Morgan, otherwise the bond is not recognized by the Holy -"
"Alright, fine, let it go 'til I get back." Arthur was watching him anxiously. "What else do I need? Anything?"
"Only your love." Swanson was watching him almost fondly. Arthur cared for this expression not at all. "Oh, Mister Morgan, I'm so very pleased to -!"
"Alright, Christ." Arthur turned, shoving his hat over his head. "Don't mention that to nobody, if it ain't too much trouble, Reverend, I'll be back tomorrow day."
He strode away without another word, feeling Swanson's eyes following him. Rane and John were already at the edge of camp, both clambering onto their horses.
"Arthur, you're as red as murder," John remarked, laughing.
"Well, I'm glad them wolves didn't eat away the part of your brain that can tell which color is what, at least," Arthur muttered, climbing onto his own horse. "Come on, let's get a move on, both you fools."
