Author's Note: For once in my life I actually have a story that's completed before I post it. This is a take on a stranger mission, both from an OCs and Arthur's POV. It's my first time delving into a male character like this, and I'm hoping to do him at least a little bit of justice.
The chapters kind of fluctuate in length. I'm thinking I might wait a few days to see if anyone's interested, but then I'll update two or three times a week. So let me know if you like it!
I listened a whole lot to ''Honest Life'', by Courtney Marie Andrews when writing this, if anyone's interested in reading to music.
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dead Redemption
The land was ablaze under the scorching sun. A cooling breeze swept through the trees, bringing with it clouds on the sky, closing in on a farm where some people were hard at work. There were four of them– three men and a woman. She was singing; her clear voice carried by the wind.
''Back in Dundalk there's a girl I call my own, my darling Dilly-Dee. She smiles so bright and loves me so, my darling Dilly-Dee.''
''Gracie girl, you're breaking my heart.''
''I thought you didn't have a heart, James, what with all the lovely women you've proclaimed the love of your life. Are there any pieces left of it?''
''Only one,'' James said. ''I'm saving it for you.''
The woman named Grace laughed. ''Keep it.''
''Oh! She got me good now fellas,'' James said, gripping his chest tightly, letting out strangled noises of anguish and hurt. ''I think ya broke it.''
''It's just I'd rather have you alive than dead, James,'' Grace replied, the smile dying down on her lips.
''Fair enough,'' he grinned.
''Now, quit lallygagging and go fix that gate.''
''Yes, ma'am.''
Grace O'Neill wiped some sweat off her forehead and sat down on the bale of hay she'd just brought into the barn. Sometimes she wondered if she was getting too crass, living by herself with nothing but men. Shrugging it off, she tried to remind herself that it was necessary. She couldn't walk around like a fresh faced debutant on a farm. Besides, James, Thomas and Lloyd had been with the family since she was a small child. They knew her, and she knew them – they were practically family.
''Hey Grace?'' Thomas peeked in through the barn doors. She'd never admit to it out loud, but she liked him best. In the absence of her brother, he had been the closest to that she'd had.
''Yes?''
''I was thinking of going into town, 'cause I need to replace that hammer. You wanna come?''
Grace smiled. ''Sure thing. You get the wagon ready, I'll be right there.''
Thomas nodded, and left Grace alone with her thoughts again. She hadn't heard from Finn in over six months. Sure, she knew he was gone for long periods of time every time he left, but he would always send letters every now and then. She hadn't received even one.
Finn had left, more or less permanently, for the road when their father passed four years ago. Grace had been nineteen years old then, and Finn twenty-three. Grace knew she was approaching the verge of being titled an old maid, but most of the time she couldn't care less. She had her responsibilities, she had the farm, and she was fine. It was only on especially cold winter nights or when she looked at the picture of her parents that she had to convince herself that she was.
Grace got on her feet, and walked outside and over to the creek to clean up a bit. Well, maybe it was more of a ditch than a creek. Crouching down, she pulled her shoes off and let the water cool her aching feet. She'd been up earlier than usual, preparing for the storm that seemed to be on its way. They'd gotten all the cattle in from grazing and locked them up in the barn. Having one of the cows struck by lightning out in the field was the last thing she wanted. It had happened to over at the Crawford's a few years back, and it wasn't pretty nor profitable.
Her gaze swept across the land before her. It wasn't an overly big farm, but it came with a few acres. Her family home was in the middle of a bundle of buildings. There was a large barn, a stable, along with a workshop and quite a few sheds. Grace, of course, knew every little piece of the land by hand, almost to the point that she'd notice if a grain of sand was out of place.
When she heard Thomas holler, she quickly put her shoes back on and dusted of her skirts. He had their big, chestnut, Suffolk punch hitched up to the wagon by the stables.
''You ready?'' Thomas asked when she approached.
Grace climbed up next to him, getting as comfortable as she could on the wooden seat, looking over her shoulder to make sure the basket she used for shopping was still there. ''Yes.''
Thomas clicked his tongue, and the old mare strode forward.
''Have you heard anything from Finn yet?'' Thomas asked. Grace shook her head, and he frowned. ''Hm.''
''Hm indeed,'' Grace replied quietly, taking in the sights around her. She never quite got tired of them, no matter how many times she'd been on this road back and forth.
Thomas started whistling cheerily, and Grace smiled when she could hear the robins chirp in reply. ''Maybe I should start calling you Birdman,'' she said, looking over at Thomas.
''Please don't,'' he laughed.
''Why not?'' she joked. ''Norman – Birdman, not that much of a difference?''
''I can't get you to call me Tom, but that? The boys'll never let me hear the end of it.''
''That would only be because they'd feel left out.''
''You're not calling me Birdman, Grace.''
''Alright, alright.'' Grace looked ahead, the smile on her lips turned into a happy grin.
The last stretch to Valentine was spent in silence, with the exception of occasional humming and whistling from the both of them.
''This town really is muddy,'' Grace muttered when she saw their horse already covered almost up to the shoulders.
''I'll wash her off when we get back,'' Thomas promised. ''Otherwise that's in there to stay. You going to the doctor?''
Grace nodded. ''I'll pass by the general store too, we're running low on flour.''
Thomas saw her off with a tip of his hat, and went off in the opposite direction. Grace walked down the road through the small town and waved a few hellos to people she knew.
''Miss O'Neill!'' the resident doctor exclaimed when she entered the shop. ''How lovely to be blessed by your fine company.''
''Good day, Mr. Calloway,'' Grace replied, offering him a polite smile.
''A refill of the usual?''
Grace nodded. ''If you would.''
She let her eyes sweep across the shelves, looking at all the bottles and tonics on display. Most of those things she had absolutely no idea what they were. While the doctor walked around grabbing her order, she leaned in and took a closer look at a health tonic that caught her eye. She wondered how someone had even come to think of using yarrow to bring down fevers. They had plenty of it growing around the farm, but never would she have thought of picking it for medicinal purposes.
''There we go,'' Mr. Calloway said, putting a few bottles and packages on the counter. Grace handed him the money to pay for it before she put everything in her basket.
''Now you take care, Miss O'Neill,'' he said seriously. ''I'd rather not see you coming here to replenish, you know, no matter how lovely a lady you are.''
Grace laughed. ''I try to keep myself and the boys out of trouble, Mr. Calloway. Have a nice day!''
''I know you do, Miss O'Neill, I know you do,'' he smiled.
After getting everything she needed from the general store as well, Grace made her way back to the wagon. Thomas wasn't there yet, so she climbed up on the back and waited. There were some men passed out outside the saloon, as per usual. The house that had started being built was getting along well, too.
''Howdy, Grace!''
Grace smiled and waved at the familiar face of one of the stablehands. Valentine might be muddy to the point of hair-pulling annoyance, but it was home. Most of the time, they were bereaved of trouble. People around there didn't call single drunkards with guns on their belts trouble – they had plenty of those. Shots were fired every now and then, duels fought – but all under the watchful eye of the sheriff. It never got too bad. Last time something big had happened, was several months back, when some gang had too much to drink at the saloon and got trigger happy.
The storm clouds were getting closer and darker. Grace thought that if Thomas didn't show up soon, she'd leave him here and go back by herself. How long could it take to get a hammer?
Speak of the devil, she thought to herself, when the man came slowly running towards her.
''Sorry Grace,'' Thomas said, taking a deep breath. ''I ran into Jedediah.''
''Okay,'' she replied. ''But we've gotta go.''
''Right.'' Thomas threw the things he was carrying in the back of the wagon and got in the driver's seat, and Grace hurried up and joined him up front.
The ride back was as uneventful as the ride there, but the drizzling rain that had started falling from the sky had Thomas urge the horse on a little more than perhaps was necessary.
''James!'' Thomas called as soon as they were back. ''Everything set?''
The dark-haired man saluted a yes from where he stood by the barn. Grace grabbed all the things quick as she could, including the new hammer, and ran through the now pouring rain towards the house, while Thomas brought the horse to the stable.
Just as she stepped through the front door, a roll of thunder was heard.
''The cattle's fine in thunder, Miss,'' a voice rang from down the hall. ''And I've checked on 'em.''
''Good,'' Grace said to Lloyd, and stepped out slightly only to wring her hair.
When her father had lived, the hands had slept in one of the larger sheds, but since he'd been gone both Grace and Finn had decided that they might just move into the big house. It was safer for all of them, for one; and besides, they stayed on the main floor.
Grace would very much have liked to change into something dry, but if she didn't start with supper now she knew she'd probably never get it done on time. Most of the time, she was on her own in the kitchen, and she didn't mind. That's how it was supposed to be, anyways. She just had a lot to get done, sometimes.
The sky let out another angry roar, and a few seconds later she flinched at the lightning. She wasn't scared of the loud noise; but more so anxious of lightning striking and setting something on fire.
She set the table while the stew was boiling, constantly keeping an eye out the window as if something were to happen. When she was putting down the final plate, Thomas stepped through the front door, hanging up his coat and stepping out of his muddy boots. Dust inside was fine, in Grace's eyes, but never mud. It was such a pain to clean out, and it got the floor wet.
As if he'd sensed her worry, Thomas said: ''Everything's fine out there.''
Grace hummed in response, tending to the stew and still gazing out the window.
''The others will be right in,'' he continued, and she could feel his eyes on her.
Someone opened the door and stomped inside. James stopped in the doorway looked between the two of them, an amused smile playing on his lips. ''What, you finally proposed?''
''Shut up,'' Thomas replied, his brow furrowed. ''She's just worried 'bout the land, that's all.''
''It'll be fine, Gracie,'' James said cheerily, taking a seat by the table. ''You're always so worried when a storm hits, and ain't nothin' ever happened yet.''
Thomas threw him a glare that passed Grace by, but she finally pulled out of her brooding and brought the pot to the table.
''This looks good, Grace,'' Lloyd piped in, and she smiled at his attempt to lighten up the mood.
''Thanks, Lloyd.''
With James at the table, suppers were rarely a quiet occasion; but, tonight, he seemed to leave it up to the raging weather while he ate his meal silently.
''We gotta clear the paddock of all that rubble so we can let the horses out again,'' Grace said, absentmindedly chewing. ''And we need to make sure the fence held through the storm.''
''Sure thing, Grace,'' Thomas smiled.
''We should see that the leak Lloyd fixed holds up, too,'' she continued.
''Grace,'' James spoke up, breaking his silence, ''there ain't nothin' we can do 'bout all that now.''
''James,'' Thomas began, earning a glare from the other man. Lloyd eyed them silently.
''She ain't got nothin' to worry 'bout, that's all I'm sayin,'' James continued. ''I don't see why she's gotta worry 'bout stuff when there's nothin' we can do 'bout them.''
''Well, you ain't helping,'' Thomas retorted.
James looked at him for a few seconds without speaking. ''You really gotta step it up.''
Lloyd snorted, and Thomas looked angry, but Grace had no idea what was going on. She pushed the thought of losing her livelihood and everything her family had worked for to the back of her mind.
''Alright,'' she said to break it up, whatever it was. ''I'm not worrying. Let's just eat.''
A week after the storm, everything at the O'Neill's farm was back to normal. The sun was shining, the cattle were out grazing and the flooded parts of the land had turned dry. Life was quiet again.
A sweet breeze swept across the field, grabbing hold of Grace's skirts and hair. She was out walking on the path that went through the only sown land they had. Most of it yielded extra hay for the cows, but part of it was reserved for a small amount of crops.
They hadn't lost a harvest in a few years, and Grace was determined to never let that happen again, if she could. That's why she often spent time walking around the fields, checking for damaging bugs or signs of wilting.
A horse whinnied in the distance. Grace put her hand over her eyes and squinted towards the sun, and at first saw nothing, but when the sun slipped behind a passing cloud the animal came into view. At first, she saw no rider. Then, upon closer inspection, she realised there was someone slumped against the back of the horse.
''Oh dear,'' she mumbled to herself, gathered her skirts, and made her way across the field.
The horse wasn't startled when she came closer, but looked at her almost expectantly. The man on its back seemed beyond death, but as she put her fingers on his wrist and then again on his neck to confirm, she knew that he was in fact alive.
She couldn't tell how old he was. He seemed well built and rugged, though, so perhaps he was a travelling man. Hot sun and harsh winds could add ten years to any young man's face if he was out in it long enough.
She grabbed the reins and led the horse back to the house.
''James!'' she shouted when she saw the man exit the stables. ''I need help!''
He let out a low whistle. ''What'ya dragged in this time?''
''Help me get him inside,'' she ordered James, ignoring his remark. By joined forces, they managed to get the man into the house and onto Thomas' bed. James had abruptly refused to use his cot, and Grace didn't have time to argue. Thomas would be okay with it.
People must be heavier when they were unconscious, Grace thought, and stretched her arms after they'd put him down. ''I'll need a lot of hot water,'' she said. ''And clean cloth.''
''What, no please?'' James huffed.
''It was implied, James,'' she said. ''Please, hurry.''
''There ya go,'' James grinned cheekily and disappeared out the door, much less concerned about the whole ordeal than she was.
The man was a bloody mess. At first glance, he was dirty, and had tears in his underclothes. He was covered in bruises and scratches. Not to mention his feet. They looked awful. He had no shoes on.
Grace had just taken a closer look at what seemed to be a bullet wound in his shoulder when James returned.
''Here ya go,'' he said, putting cloth and a bucket of water next to her.
''Someone's cauterised it,'' she mumbled.
''Ca-what?''
''Burned it close,'' she explained absentmindedly, as she looked him over.
''Ouch,'' James shuddered.
''Thank you,'' Grace said, and soaked a piece of cloth in the hot water. She figured the first thing to do should be to clean him up. From what she could see, he wasn't bleeding anywhere, but he might have a sprained ankle and wrists, because they seemed awfully swollen, and warm at the touch. She didn't think they were broken, though.
''You need anythin' else?''
''No, it's alright, James, thank you,'' Grace replied, focused on the man in the bed in front of her.
'''Aight, well, I'll be around if ya need me.''
So, Grace was left alone with the man, and her thoughts. She wondered what had happened to him. It sure didn't look like something nice. She wondered if he deserved it or not. She wondered what would happen when he woke up, because she was certain that he would, given time.
He didn't have a weapon on him. Well, Grace thought, he barely had any clothes on him, and certainly nowhere to stash a gun.
''What happened to you,'' she mumbled, dabbing the cloth against his face to wipe off all the grime. She only washed clean the parts of him that were visible, his face, his arms, feet and ankles, and his chest. If nothing was bleeding she wouldn't go any further.
After a good wash, she could look at him in another light. He looked to be older than her, probably by a good ten years or so, but his hair hadn't gone grey yet, nor his beard. A highwayman, she thought. Or a wrangler, perhaps, caught in between the livestock and some rustlers.
Grace never meant to be a dreamer, but somehow she always dreamed up things. She knew there was no good in imagining this man's profession, but for some unknown, godforsaken reason she did it anyway. She shook her head. Her mother wouldn't approve. She had always been a straight to the point, no nonsense woman. She never worried, Grace reminded herself, so Grace wouldn't worry too much about what this man was, and how he might behave when he woke up.
Pulling a thin blanket over his body to provide him some warmth and comfort, Grace then left to go see how James had fared.
Outside the house, James had tended to the stranger's horse, and Lloyd was hard at work pulling nails from a board.
''What's this I'm hearing about you bringing home a stray?'' Lloyd asked when he saw Grace come step out on the porch.
Grace shot a look of annoyance towards, James, who only smirked. ''We don't know who he is,'' she said and turned to Lloyd. ''He's got some injuries, but not too bad. I think most of it's exhaustion, and he might've hit his head.''
''Did he have a gun?''
She shook her head. ''No gun.''
''Well, he might be dangerous anyways,'' Lloyd said, frowning at James who took the whole situation so lightly. Grace might get annoyed with it sometimes, but she knew she could count on him too.
''Let's not speculate,'' Grace shrugged it off, thinking back to her earlier reasoning. ''But keep an ear out if you hear him wake up, would ya?''
''What's goin' on?'' Thomas appeared from inside the barn with a confused look on his face.
''Grace finally brought home a man,'' James declared jokingly, winking at Thomas.
''James,'' Grace looked at him. ''Shut up.''
''Yes ma'am.''
Grace waved Thomas over. ''I found him passed out on his horse. He's been shot.''
''You've got a heart of gold, Grace O'Neill,'' Lloyd said and shook his head. ''I hope he ain't the bad sort.''
''Yeah,'' Grace replied. ''Me too.''
All she had thought was to help him. Whatever happened next could only be told by him regaining consciousness.
''We had to put him on the main floor, so Thomas, you'll take Finn's room,'' Grace decided.
''No, Grace,'' Thomas said, a look of almost terror went across his face. ''I can't do that.''
''Yes, you can, and you will,'' she said. ''There was no way we were gonna get him up the stairs.''
''But-''
''No buts, Thomas.''
He sighed, and mumbled: ''Okay.''
''James, how's the horse?''
James was leaning against the stable wall, chewing on a piece of straw and eyeing the situation before him with interest.
''That there's a fine horse, ma'am,'' he replied. ''I bettcha he paid a lot of money for 'er.''
Grace frowned. ''What kind of horse?'' She had to admit, she hadn't paid too much attention to it before, when she was busy figuring out if the man on its back was alive or not.
''I ain't no expert,'' James continued. ''But I can tell you it ain't no common man's horse. Way finer than Walker and Morgan.'' James had been on Grace's back for months about naming their new horses... and that's what he came up with.
''Well he sure doesn't look like a city gentleman,'' Grace said. ''But who knows.''
''Maybe he's on the run,'' Lloyd suggested.
''Then let's hope whatever is chasing him isn't coming here,'' Grace said and felt a shiver run down her spine. No matter who he was, what he had done – there was no way a man would willingly put himself through the kind of torment it would take to result in the injuries covering his body.
The man didn't wake for the whole afternoon. Grace had stayed near the house most of the day, just in case he did.
When they'd had their evening meal, Grace went into Thomas' room to check on the man, all the while humming on a tune that had been stuck in her head the last couple of hours.
His eyes were closed, but his breathing had sped up considerably. With a furrowing brow, Grace approached the bed. If he was waking up, perhaps she ought to call for one of the boys. The man had been peaceful when he was unconscious, but who could tell what he'd do when he came to?
She'd barely taken two steps when he started shaking and coughing like a madman. When he tried to reach for his throat, she told him to calm down. His wrists were still very swollen, and he didn't seem to be able to lift them at all. Of course, this couldn't be attributed only to his injuries, he'd probably not eaten in a while. She thought about ways to get some sustenance in his body. Soup was her first thought. Or milk. Something that would go down easily.
The man's eyes rolled back in his head and he went unconscious again. Grace gingerly leaned in close to him to check his pulse which was, thankfully, still there. She guessed the man would slip in and out of consciousness several times more.
She hadn't done anything to the wound in his shoulder, but she hoped to god that whoever had fixed it up had thought to remove the bullet first, because there was no exit wound to be found.