"It'll be the usual sort of desperados—sick farmers, pregnant maids…"

- Arthur's journal

.

Arthur gripped the reins, his stomach roiling as he looked at the humble little cottage and thought on what he was about to do. What he had to do.

He knew it was all for the gang, his family. For Hosea. For Dutch. But still, he often wondered at thirty-four years of age, how he'd landed here. How his own life had betrayed him, giving him the worst job he could think of. The one he deserved, yet the one that in turn made him a worse, more blackened soul each time.

He did feel covered in soot. He always hated this. Every part of it. From looking at Strauss's grimy, weasely little face to the feeling of flesh bruising beneath his knuckles, to the sound of the coins jingling in his own pocket. More than anything, he hated that it got easier each time. He was more than a brute collector. He knew well enough that for many who looked back at him in terror, he might as well be the reaper come knocking.

Simple folk struggling to get by. Believing they can. And finally, it was a woman. He could feel the bile threatening its way up the back of his throat. He had no intentions of hitting a woman. None whatsoever. None at all. But what frightened him was the reality that sometimes, whatever intentions he had beforehand went out the window halfway through.

Yet again, he wondered if his reflection would've shifted a little by the end of the day.

As he surveyed the small property and eyed the shadow behind the white sheet hanging on the laundry line, he swallowed and dismounted Boadicea. He pushed past the little gate and walked up to the laundry swaying in the wind, clearing his throat once he got there.

"You Bethany Hammond?"

A hand reached for the edge of the sheet and pulled it back, and their eyes grew wide at the same time.

Pregnant. Very. And so young. Strauss hadn't told him. Hadn't even hinted.

"Y-yes?"

Only at the sound of her timid voice did he remember what the sight of him must mean to her, be doing to her, and he tried to stiffen.

"I… You, uh…" He cleared his throat again, and he found his body wouldn't obey. He just couldn't go down the usual brutish road. "I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am…" arose in his quiet, unimposing tone. And only after he heard it did he realize how it sounded. He hadn't meant to be quite so sheepish. "You borrowed some money from a Mr. Strauss? He's my business partner." He tipped his head to the side. "Sent me to collect."

"Oh," she swallowed as her hand went to her belly.

He watched her turn, her other hand wandering as she waddled and teetered a little.

"Here, here," he grabbed the big thatched basket nearby and dumped what was in it, sighing as fleeting remorse and annoyance at himself stomped though his head when he saw the folded linens and clothes in the soil and mud. He overturned the basket and had her sit on it. "Have you a seat there."

He eyed her as she sat atop it and let out a breath, the wicker creaking a bit beneath the weight of two. She had light auburn hair, tied up in a bun with bits dangling in her face. She couldn't be a day over twenty. Maybe as young as eighteen. And she wore a pale green sun frock, the waist let out to accommodate the baby in her belly.

She wiped the back of her wrist against her forehead as she looked forward. "I planned to have it for you. Really, I did. Except that…" she began. Her eyes darted up to him. "I been sweepin' for places, you see. The grocer, the millinery, the tailor. Even the gunsmith!"

He nodded. He wrangled his thoughts from straying to how her back must ache to sweep in her condition.

"Well, I can sew. And I been tellin' the tailor I could work for him. While I was there sweepin', I'd tell him, you know. Thought I'd advertise my skills a bit. Well, finally he let me step in and help with the fabrics. Not makin' any garments, but I was mendin' tears and helpin' with seams an' things. And then when it came time for wages, he'd only ever pay me for sweepin'." Her brows had drawn, her voice rising in disbelief and frustration.

He surprised himself at how quickly his hackles rose, on behalf of someone he didn't even know, a complete stranger.

"I…tried to believe the best of him," she looked down. "Thought it was a miscalculation. But when I asked him about it…" she sniffed, her voice growing quiet, "he said he wouldn't pay more than pennies to a slut. That I'd proved it's all I'm worth before I ever stepped through his door."

He clenched his teeth tight and looked away.

"Now I'm too big and uncomfortable to manage any work. Fit to burstin'. So you see…" she sniffed again, "I really did mean to have it for you. I'm sure you hear that all the time. But I really did. And I would've."

He stood there a few moments longer, but he already knew what he had to do.

He let out a sigh as he looked at her. "Tailor, you said?"

She nodded.

"In town there?"

This time, he nodded with her.

"All right." He turned and walked to Bo. "Be back in a bit."

.

And he was. The maggot had taken no more than a solid talking to and a swift lift off the floor by the collar.

As Arthur rode back up to her little gate, he didn't see her in the cottage's front yard. He went into his pocket and looked down at the handful of coins. It was too little, the weight of it too light in his hand. So without much thought, he went into his satchel for a stack of bills before dismounting.

He went through the gate and tentatively walked around to the back of the house when he heard sniffling and crying.

She was sitting on a bench reclining back against the house. She started a little when she saw him and quickly wiped at her cheeks. "Didn't think you'd be back so soon."

He reached out and handed her the wad of bills and coins, only then noticing how filthy the little crevices in the joints of his fingers were compared to hers. His nails were caked underneath with dirt, his knuckles scuffed and chapped, as they were most days. He quickly pulled his hand away, but her movements were already slow and timid.

She gazed up at him warily. "You didn't…hurt him, did you?"

"Naw," he said. "Unless his ego bruises. Gave him a few choice words. Ought not treat a lady that way."

"Oh," she sniffed. "That's mighty sweet a' you. But it…it's true, what he said. No ring on my finger, see."

He nodded as she looked down and fidgeted. "I did see that. Makes no difference."

"Well, this is…" she said, her voice rising in pitch as she inspected the cash, "this is more than I made. I'm sure of it."

"Guess he felt poorly about what he did then."

Her brows came together as she eyed him. "I swept three months for that man. And then he cheated me. He ain't bent towards charity." After a few more moments, "You did hurt him…didn't you?"

He swallowed as he grabbed his gun belt and looked away. When he chanced a glance back from the side of his eyes, he saw her begin to count the coins in her palm.

"Here," she said holding them out. "What I owe."

"Oh, naw," he held up a hand, "don't worry about it. Consider it over an' done with."

She looked up at him and let her shoulders go slack. "You've treated me with more kindness than anybody. Mister…"

"Morgan."

"Mr. Morgan." A little smile tinged the corner of her mouth as she said it, and she rubbed her big belly. "Hm. It's a nice name. Fits a boy or a girl, you know."

He smirked and gave his chin a single jab to the side. "Never thought much of it."

As she looked out at the rolling hills of tall green grass swaying in the wind, the same breeze came and caught her stray hair. "No, you have shown me more kindness than anybody. Even my baby's father…" she whispered with a quiet sniff and briefly glanced at him. "He's good though, you know. Really."

He tried to nod, but the effort made the gesture slow and syrupy. "I'm sure you think so."

A whimper escaped her throat at his words.

He dipped his head and peered at her from beneath the brim of his hat, though she kept her eyes out at the hills. "I take it…he ain't around?"

Another whimper, and she shook her head and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. He could see a rim of tears had collected at the base of her eyes as she turned and looked into his. "He ain't comin' back…" she shook her head, "is he?"

When he hesitated, she burst into tears, causing him to go stiff with panic. For the first time he wondered why he was still here. As her nose and eyes grew pink, he frantically searched his satchel for a handkerchief.

When he handed it to her, her crying rose in volume. "See? You are kind."

"Jesus…" he muttered under his breath. He surprised himself even further when he hitched a tentative step forward and sat beside her on the other end of the bench. He was relieved when her breathing calmed and began to level out as he did it.

"I love him," she finally sighed. "And I was so excited when we got pregnant. Now all I am is terrified." She lifted the hankie and let her hand drop again to her lap. "What was I thinkin'? I don't know how to be a mama. What if I'm horrible at it? What if my baby wishes she had a different one?"

After a few moments, he nodded and cleared his throat, squinting in the sunlight as he kept his eyes forward.

"From what I've seen…it all comes to ya when you hold that little one in your arms." He felt a smile begin to prick at him as he huffed a little chuckle through his nose. "Might even feel you didn't quite know what love was, before."

She dabbed under her eyes and looked over at him. "Do you have children, Mr. Morgan?"

He looked away and clenched his jaw as he shook his head, slowly at first, then more confidently.

"I was hopin' you could give me some advice," she tried to chuckle.

"Hold 'em to you," he said, his voice quiet. "Don't let go. Not for nothin'." He looked back at her beside him. "'Cause ain't nothin' worth it." When he was sure he had her eyes, he added again, "Nothin'."

When he noticed her swallow, he dipped his chin. "All these big things you're feelin' right now…" he squinted an eye, "it's just a lot a' change. You seem a good kid. You won't have any problems with that bit, what you said. Just love 'em, like they oughta be loved."

He watched her look down at her belly. "You got any family? Friends? Folk to look out for you when it comes time for the babe?"

She nodded. "A couple people."

"Good. You'll be all right."

She looked up at him with a sniff and started to smile. "I oughta borrow from your friend more often."

"No, no," he wheezed a chuckle, a smile cracking across his face. "Don't make a habit a' that neither."

A chuffed little laugh came out from under the roof of her mouth.

"My only other bit of advice," he added in a mumble.

They sat there looking into each other's eyes for a couple more moments.

"You'd make a wonderful father. It's only been a couple minutes. My tears haven't even dried. And I hardly remember crying." She looked down and fiddled with the handkerchief. "Your voice, it's…almost like a lullaby."

"Christ," his smirk went wobbly, and he brought his hand up to furiously rub the back of his neck. "Ain't ever heard nothin' like that last part from anybody."

"But someone's told you you'd be a good father?" Her voice was quiet, calling him to stillness.

"One someone," he finally relinquished.

"Add me to the list. You would." She suddenly gasped and looked down at her belly, rubbing a specific spot.

He panicked and went rigid when she quickly grabbed his hand and held it there under hers. A fluttering bump beneath her skin sent chills up and down his back.

"Feel that?" her eyes popped up at him with a breathless smile. "Ain't nothin' like it. Huh?" She gazed back down with a rosy look in her eyes. "Oh, baby… Thank you for remindin' me. I love you already."

He swallowed hard, and his breathing was unsteady. "I once…h-had a…" It was lower than a whisper, more of a thing that left him involuntarily, and he hoped she hadn't heard. When he felt her turn to look at his face, a boulder lodged itself painfully in his throat. It was all too much—the reminder that he'd missed his chance to do this with his own.

As he slowly withdrew his hand, he was reminded too that he never should have been surprised when they were taken from him, those whom he hadn't held onto. "I…best get goin'."

He stood and gave a single nod, the brim of his black hat casting a shadow over his eyes. "All the best to you, miss. To you both."

"And to you. M-mister Morgan…" She watched him walk away. And the knowledge settled over her that she would not be seeing him again.

As Arthur rounded the house, walked through the little gate and mounted Bo, he was flooded with memories of that one someone. And all it left him with was a flimsy, hollow hope. That wherever she was, she was proud of what he'd just done.