As the last bit of sunshine from the crouching sun warms your cheek, you stand in camp with your arm around a bucket of dried corn and seed. You sink your hand into the feed and bring it out, scattering the handful onto the ground for the boisterous chickens before you. You repeat the action, this time leaving your hand in the bucket a moment longer and savoring the feeling of the cool beads of corn enveloping your hand.

When you scatter the feed again, you smile as the tiny yellow chicks scurry out from under the hen, past tentativeness and giving into their hunger. It wasn't the worst chore; you'd learned to look for life's little pleasures to help you get through. But you'd forgotten to do it this morning amongst your other chores and were just now getting to it.

You'd been running with the Van der Linde gang for a couple years when they settled at Horseshoe Overlook. Most of your fellow gang members had become closer than friends—more like family. And up until recent events, you'd settled into a nice rhythm of getting by, simply grateful to have what you could call something close to a family around you.

Before Dutch and Hosea picked you up, getting by was the very best term anyone could use for what you'd been doing. Holed up all on your own in an abandoned shack on the edge of an old mining town, hardly ever seeing a human face, much less a friendly one. You'd taken to small odd jobs—sweeping the little local general store, mucking out barns and stables, mending tears at the tailor's. But for the most part, you'd kept to yourself, since you hadn't known anyone at all in the area.

You'd had a normal life once. But that felt like lifetimes ago now. Your mother had succumbed to illness when you were eleven, and you'd always stuck by your father's side after that, even well into your twenties. You liked to think of it as supporting him since the sorrow of losing your mother had almost taken him to an early grave. But maybe you'd been a bit of a crutch to each other. The truth was you'd never seemed to be able to make friends that stuck; and you'd never once had a man show any type of romantic interest in you in the slightest, so marriage and family of your own was nigh an impossibility.

Then after years of your father attempting to make a decent living in numerous industries, he had decided to move the two of you and try his hand at mining, despite your protests. And it wasn't long before he and a group of a few other men got themselves killed in a blast. A part of you wondered if he hadn't been just fine with risking his life that way. But he'd left you alone, and you'd resigned yourself to just getting by, just getting through life.

In a moment of weakness and near delirium, you'd tried stealing a jar of fine pearl buttons from the tailor—the only thing of worth in the place—and just before you got away and never looked back, you were caught. Dutch had happened to be in the shop at just the right moment and smooth-talked the whole thing over for you like nothing you'd ever seen.

And the rest was your history. You were here now, still just getting by, but with others who were doing the same and many of whom often found reasons to smile and help you smile too. Dutch and Hosea were like fathers, the rest of the gang like cousins and siblings. Arthur was a close friend and had become almost like a brother. Almost.

From the moment you'd first met him, you'd been transfixed by just how beautiful he was; you didn't even shy away from the word in your mind—beautiful was exactly what he was. Sturdy and big. Strong, tough, and brawny, with eyes like bright sapphires and a smile that made your knees turn to water. And the more you got to know him, you saw he was just as beautiful inside too—thoughtful, kind, sharp as a tack, protective, witty, even gentle more times than not. You'd never admit it to anyone—you hated to do so even in your own head because you knew it would only hurt you to spend your time hoping—but your thoughts for him were far from that of a sister's.

But every time your mind ventured down that path, you inevitably scrunched up your nose, rolled your eyes, and shook your head in disgust at yourself, quickly cutting away that line of thought. There was nothing special about you, and you knew it well. Nothing interesting, nothing to draw people, nothing beautiful whatsoever. Rather, you found yourself disgusting. In fact, you'd begun loathing mirrors at about age fifteen. You'd never been thin, and you were even somewhere past plump. You couldn't even claim a curvy hourglass figure, not with the way corsets buckled and cried for mercy around your waist. Your body—from your face right down to your big feet—just hadn't ever seemed to want to emulate the dainty examples of feminine loveliness found on cigarette cards and in the women's section of clothing catalogues.

You blink in the marigold sunset rays and struggle to keep from looking down at yourself. Voluptuous was probably the very best descriptor you could think of, but you were certain it still wasn't in any attractive sort of way. You knew for a fact you were far from what men found desirable; you'd learned so as early as the schoolhouse. You'd developed and rounded out faster than the other girls, and the older you got, the comparison had become starker rather than fading away. The boys had avoided you like the plague, becoming more blatant as time went on in their whispering, jeering, and making jokes amongst themselves at your expense. Your assumptions were only proven correct when a beau never came knocking as you passed through adolescence and into adulthood, now approaching your thirties.

Tiny, coarse little hairs had appeared under your chin, making you shudder at the thought of a man bringing his hand up to touch you there and finding it a bit rough rather than soft and smooth. To top all of it off, you'd struggled almost your entire life with bouts of blemishes—painful to experience and to look at—that sprang up every now and then and left little marks to remind you that you were no sumptuous beauty. Nothing close. You could completely understand why your appearance had incurred laughs and derision. And you couldn't imagine a man ever being able to ignore the outside of you, ever pursuing you or considering you precious. You were simply no dream.

Love and children seemed to come easy to most people. Seemed to just happen to them. To happen every day, all around you. But not for you. You'd sometimes wondered to yourself if you would end up dying a friendless, childless old maid. So you'd kept to yourself, convincing yourself that the very best you could manage in life was to survive and to find people who were just okay with being around you. It had its good and bad days, but on the whole, it was exactly what this gang had turned out to be, and you were grateful. It was more meaningful human interaction from more people than you'd had probably your whole life. You very well might still die a childless old maid, but you thought you could be okay with that, now that you had friends.

But tonight wasn't the brightest of moments of gang life. As it grew dim, the other members had begun retiring to their tents and lean-tos, with a few of the men remaining up and gathering around the campfire. And you could hear them talking from where you stood, still a way off with your back to them.

"What's a feller gotta do to get a peck or a roll in the hay round here, huh? What's with all these uptight women, anyway?"

Micah's voice. You roll your eyes.

"Maybe they don't like the idea of cozyin' up to a cactus, prickly and nasty as you are."

Arthur. A grin slowly replaces your scowl.

"Oh, like you're much better, cowpoke."

"Oh, no, no," Arthur wheezes. "Don't try an' make this about me. You don't see me slatherin' over 'em like you do. Least I treat 'em like human bein's."

You can imagine him bringing his big fingers up and taking a puff from his cigarette.

"Who was it you had your eye on?" Javier asks.

"Well, I don't know," Micah responds, his tone of voice both annoyed and syrupy. "Any you know be up for a good time?"

"Karen's free, far as I know," Javier says.

"Too much of a spitfire for my taste," Bill chimes in.

"Adler's a no," Micah laments.

"And I know you'd never go near Tilly," Javier says.

"Wouldn't be caught dea—"

"And you shouldn't," Arthur sharply cuts him off.

You smile again at Arthur's protectiveness and the awkward stillness clearly left in its wake.

"Mary Beth?" Javier suggests, finally breaking the silence.

"Too good for you. Too sweet," Bill says.

"They're all too good for you," Arthur insists again.

When you suddenly hear your own name preceded by what you're sure had been the words 'what' and 'about', you go stiff.

You go stiff. You'd thought this discussion coarse, shallow, abhorrent, and pathetic, but now you suddenly couldn't pull yourself away if you tried, no matter how you dread these next moments.

Micah suddenly bursts into raucous laughter, and it peters off after several seconds. "You can't be… You ain't… You're jokin', right? Tell me you're pullin' my leg."

Silence.

"Well, 'course not! Who'd ever wanna be with that?! You can't try tellin' me any a' you ever would."

Silence. You try to swallow, feeling as if you might actually vomit. As the tears swamp in your eyes and your throat tightens, you slowly set the bucket down to try to keep from making a sound.

"Clown-faced pig… Riskin' sickness with a whore'd be better. I'm surprised you all think quite so little of me. I don't hate myself," Micah begins to chuckle his weasely chuckle. "Her face might not be cause for retchin', but the rest of her sure is," you hear as the bottom of the bucket finally makes contact with the ground.

You shut your eyes tight and gingerly take a step, praying your boots don't crunch in the dirt.

"Best she's ever gonna get is a sirin' session out with the mules or hogs," Micah laughs.

And you take your chances, hurrying as you half-run the agonizing distance to the girls' lean-to.

"Or maybe if the circus comes into town, she'll have a chance with one a' the apes. Or maybe an elephant…" is the last thing you hear before you reach the lean-to and clap your hands over your face in mortified horror, lie your head against the pillow, and begin quietly sobbing yourself to sleep.

And you think that maybe your curse of homeliness is actually a blessing in disguise, that there isn't a man kind or patient enough left in the world, and maybe all you've really been is spared.

What you didn't hear was Arthur standing abruptly and slicing him a new one with, "Shut your goddamn filthy mouth, you sorry sack a' shit."

And John overlapping his words from where he stood leaning against a tree: "You got a black heart hardly a mother could love, you snake."

Arthur still reaming him with, "You're lucky I got just enough self-control to keep from tearin' your throat out, you barbarous waste of breath."

And Lenny adding, "Better not let us catch you talkin' like that again, Micah."

"I do, and I'll have half a mind to slit you and grind you into mulch, and it'll be the best thing you ever did for anybody, you sick, twisted son of a bitch," Arthur breathily tacked on for good measure with a snarl before huffing off towards his covered wagon.

.

The next morning you wake to the usual sight of the other girls getting up and dressing. You were the only one who always kept her day clothes on through the night every night. Even Sadie, a recent widow, always stripped down to her nightgown before bed. But you were more comfortable with more clothing, and less comfortable with less.

You groggily rub the crust that last night's tears had left on your eyes as you turn over. But when you do, your eyes land on the small bundle of wildflowers that had been left on a nearby crate about a week ago. When you'd first seen it, you'd completely disregarded it without a second thought, certain it wasn't meant for you. Now it was dry and brittle, flattened to the shape of the crate where it sat untouched. You think it a shame none of the other girls had put them in water and discovered who had left them for one of them. But as you lie there another few seconds, you start to feel resentment at ladies who so easily received attention and compliments like that and could leave them to gather dust as if a nuisance.

You sit up, immediately get coffee, and go to work feeding the chickens, determined not to forget and risk a repeat of last night. When you finish, you decide today you'd make your usual trip to the waterfall. While the other ladies made a habit of washing themselves down river with at least one of them, usually Miss Grimshaw, standing guard to prevent onlookers, that was nowhere near good enough for you. When the gang had first arrived at Horseshoe Overlook, you'd taken your horse and scouted the area for a water source hidden away. And you'd finally found just the thing: a waterfall modest in size, bigger than a spring and not so big that the water would pound over you. And even though it was part of a creek, it was mostly hidden by trees and brush. You decided to make it your private bathing hole, and you'd been going there ever since.

So you mount your horse and take off at a trot towards it. When you get there, you make double sure no one is around before disrobing, grabbing your bar of soap, and stepping under the waterfall. When you finish, you dry off, dress, and return to camp.

Later that afternoon when you're scooping a bowl of stew from the community pot for your supper, Arthur comes and stands beside you with a smile.

You do your best to smile in return, but find it difficult.

"How ya farin'?" he finally asks as he holds his mug of coffee before his chest. "Stew bite ya back yet?"

You duck your head with a snicker through your nose. "Should I even ask what you brought back to go in it, with a comment like that?"

"Nah. Unless you'd be happy with alligator," he says with a smirk as he lifts the mug to his lips again.

You can't help but smile at his wry expression. "I ain't picky," you say as you take a bite. "I mean," you replace your spoon to the edge of the bowl as you swallow, making a wide sweeping gesture over yourself and letting your arm drop, "that's clear, right?"

His brows come together for a moment as he watches you. He swallows his coffee and smacks his lips a little to savor it. "Not a one of us can afford to be picky right now. Just gotta take whatever we can get as it comes."

"Right," you nod strongly as you swallow another bite, the brusqueness of your tone a little more sarcastic than you'd meant it.

You watch as his demeanor curiously begins to change: his hand comes up to rub behind his neck, only one side of his mouth curls up, and he's needlessly clearing his throat. It's almost like he's itchy. Or nervous.

"So, uh…" he clears his throat yet again. "You didn't…didn't like the flowers?"

Your heart stops along with your chewing as your eyes grow wide, and you swallow what was in your mouth. And without even really being able to explain why, you're suddenly filled with equal measures of agony and anger. The sight of him blurs before you, and you immediately drop the bowl of stew with a clatter and begin to walk off.

"Don't make fun of me. Not you," is the only quiet murmur you can manage.

But he runs out in front of you to stop you. "What're you talkin' about?" he tries to chuckle.

You look up into his eyes. "You're gettin' real good at playin' dumb, Arthur." When he still doesn't own up, you squint in frustration, and the tears threaten to spill. "I heard it. All of it."

His eyes search yours, looking to understand, until suddenly his expression smoothes and the blood drains from his face. "My god… I'm…I'm sorry you did." His frown is limp, and he swallows as his eyes float down. But just as soon, they pop back up to you. "Wait. How much'd you hear?"

"I told you. All of it." Your frown twitches as you struggle with all your might to keep from bursting into tears right then and there. You step past him, deciding you need at least a good hour alone in the woods. Maybe you'd sit with your feet in the river, your favorite place to think.

"Well then you heard me rip into 'im too," he calls after you, causing you to stop as you fight to put the pieces of this new and seemingly impossible puzzle together.

You hear his footsteps approach again as you look down at the soft green grass.

He whispers as he comes close, the sound of your name from his lips beckoning you to look up at him. He waits until you're eye to eye, and you see that his expression is earnest as he reaches out for your hand. "Ya gotta know I'm sweet on ya by now."

The words are as good to you as a foreign language; you can't make sense of a single part of it. And all you're left with is an inward tug-of-war between two things, neither of which you can quite bring yourself to believe: that Arthur as he stands before you is just as cruel as every other man, or that as he says, there's something in you he wants.

It's too much crashing in on you at once, and you pull your hand away, closing your eyes as you walk away. "You can't. You can't be."

You ride to your river, and when you get there, you dismount, remove your boots, and sit on the bank, folding up your knees and letting your toes and feet dip under the crisp, cool water.

You feel horrible for leaving Arthur standing there. You couldn't speak for him and say you were his best friend, but without a doubt he was yours, and you were always honest and talked things out with each other.

Either Arthur has a cruel streak, or he's truly sweet on you. Of course, the third possible explanation for his behavior is that he pities you. When that pops into your head, you honestly can't tell which of the three scares you the most.

You know Arthur well. You know he isn't cruel.

You reach up and run your fingertips through your hair, letting your nails scratch your scalp for a moment before finally resting your elbow on your thigh and your cheek on the heel of your hand. You clench your eyes shut as you dare to think back on the painful, vile comments from the night before, and the silence they'd been met with. Of course you couldn't have seen their faces, but you'd been certain it had meant quiet agreement from the group.

It doesn't make sense to you why Arthur would've remained silent towards such comments if he felt differently. You close your eyes and take a breath as the water rushes over your toes. You do know Arthur as a very private person, and you also know that relations between some in the gang are tense and precarious.

And if Arthur had stood up for you, if he'd been the one to leave the flowers, and they were meant for you… If he felt about you the way he said he did…

With your eyes still closed, you swallow and swipe your hand over your forehead. You'd have to talk to him. You'd have to clear this up, get the notion out of his head before it hurt you both.

Seemingly on cue, you hear a rustling in the bushes to your left and look over to see Arthur walking towards you. He knew this was your special place for contemplation.

Knowing your eyes and nose must be hideously red and puffy, you dip your face into your folded arms and turn to look the other way as he comes and sits beside you. And the two of you are quiet for a little while.

"Wanna tell me why you had to run off?" he finally says.

You sniff and answer without turning to him. "Camp is a little hard to be around these days. Didn't wanna break down and have it out in front of everybody." You can imagine him nodding in his understanding and comforting way.

"I just meant…why'd what I said make you so skittish?"

You shrug one shoulder and finally turn to face him. "No short answer. Don't exactly have an ocean of suitors linin' up for me."

"Their loss," he says with a grin.

Feeling you can't quite match his grin, you swallow. "See…I don't even have the experience to tell me whether you're bein' sweet or a smartass."

His brows come together, but his grin remains. "So cynical."

He's finally succeeded at eliciting a brief, chortled scoff of a laugh from you as you rest your chin on your forearm. "I don't mean to be. I guess I've…just learned to always be on the lookout for reality bein' different than what I might…hope for."

From your place over your folded arms, your eyes travel over him, the way he's struggling to know how to sit in the soft dirt beside you—what to do with his legs and whether to rest his hands on his knees or on the ground. You've never noticed him behave this way before.

You clear your throat.

"I need to talk to you—"

"There's somethin' I gotta—"

You both begin at the same time.

He sighs with a smirk and nods. "Ladies first."

Licking your lips, you sit up, smoothing your skirt over your knees. You never thought you'd share such private thoughts with anyone as you were about to. So you take a breath and close your eyes for just a moment to steady yourself.

"Arthur…" you begin, looking up at his face, "I'm not…" You sigh, struggling to find the right words. "You don't want me. Okay?"

"I—"

"Let me finish. Please. I gotta get this out." You watch him nearly grumble and sigh as he relents. "You're…" Your eyes quickly fill, and your frown deepens, and you realize there was no way you were ever going to get through this without weeping and making more of a mess of yourself. "Arthur, you're gonna need someone who…who can satisfy you. You know? You deserve someone you can live with lookin' at day to day, someone you can want, someone you can get excited about and delight in. And I want that for you. Someone fresh-faced and beautiful, lovely and graceful and trim." A stinging pain quickly fills your chest as your chin trembles. "I've never been those things, even when I was younger."

"And…the physical s-side of things…" you continue, "it's a big part of it. It's supposed to come easy, supposed to be a way you show how much you love the other. How…" you swallow, "how're you ever gonna do that when…when I'm so repulsive and wretched?" You sniff again and wipe at your cheek. "I just couldn't live with it, couldn't bear it, if… It would just break my heart if I were to…disgust you…Arthur." You purse your lips as your frown goes wobbly. "And I know you'd make a wonderful father. How're you ever gonna…" you squint in pain, your tears overflowing as you go into a deeper whisper, "make babies, if you can't touch me?"

You look down and fiddle with a fold in your skirt. "'Sides. I'm sure I'd quickly get on your nerves, 'cause I'd always be so worried that all that was between us was pity. I mean look at ya, Arthur." You try for a playful, sarcastic scoff, but it comes out as more of a sniffed snort as you throw a glance his way. "I'd be in way over my head." You rest your left hand on the side of your face and shake your head as you look at him. "You're such a catch, I'm certain you could get any beauty you want. And you want somebody confident and bold, don't you? It ain't me. Don't waste it on me, all right?" You watch as he turns to face forward and his eyes sag. "No, I'm meant to be alone," you whisper, "and I've accepted that."

After a few more moments of quiet, a grin rises on his face and he suddenly starts to chuckle, his laughter slowly growing in ease and rising in tone.

Your heart stops cold, and your eyes grow wide in terror and panic—that you could've so thoroughly misread the character of your dear Arthur. That you could've forgotten for a moment just how farcical, how deserving of scornful laughter you are.

He lifts a hand and rubs the back of his neck with a shake of his head as his wheezing laughter subsides. "I shoulda gone first."

"Oh," you whimper as you move to get up and run away, really run away—maybe you could find a way to live on your own again—but he catches you by the wrist.

"Wait, wait! I wasn't… God." He sighs, lets out one last wheeze, and shakes his head at himself. "I really…bungled that up. That was not the moment for…" He sighs. "Forgive me?"

You eye him curiously. His eyes are clear and even gleaming, filled with something honest; and it comforts you.

"Is that what you want?" All his mirth has been replaced by a grave stillness and a deep concern.

"I want you to be happy, healthy, and loved."

"What about you."

You take a breath. "I gave up on wantin' things beyond bein' okay, Arthur."

Something slightly wry springs into his eyes. "I know when you're lyin'. I know you. And you're lyin'."

You sigh and tilt your head back a little in exasperation. "It ain't about what I want. It's about reality, what's real. Everything in my life, my whole life, has told me it just ain't possible." You force yourself to look him in the eyes, though you know yours are filling fast, and you try to steady yourself. "It hurts to want somethin' that don't exist, that'll never be, that can't be. You understand?" You follow his gaze to the ground.

He nods soberly and lets out a breath. "I shoulda gone first 'cause I…I need to tell you that I saw you. Earlier today."

Your eyes slowly rise to see him looking out at the river.

"I didn't mean to, mind you. Didn't follow ya or nothin'. I was out on my mornin' ride, when I came across you."

As you put the pieces of his words together, your eyes widen.

"At first I didn't know who it was, then I realized it was you. Bathin' in the waterfall. Stark naked. I started to turn away outta decency, but I just…couldn't." A smile pricks up on the corner of his mouth. "'Cause you had to be the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen—person or creature. Simple. Nothin' but you, standin' there in your nethers." His smile widens as he takes a very deep breath, filling his chest, and letting it out as he speaks. "I'd already been sweet on ya for quite some time, but it made things…clearer somehow. Like you were meant for me and I was meant for you." He turns and looks at you, his eyes demanding yours. "You understand?"

Several things flood your head and your chest and your eyes all at once—shock, confusion, severe embarrassment, longing, hope, fear. "But-but—you didn't see me up close, Arthur! I got lumpy scars on my shoulders, wrinkles on my big fat thighs. I got thick ankles," you point down at your legs, "a-and…" you swallow when you realize he's come a little closer as you point up at your head, "dry scalp…" You look up into his eyes, your voice gone quiet. "Sometimes I smell bad."

"Don't we all?" he almost laughs, his brows fleetingly pulled together.

You can't do anything but give a staccato nod.

"Did you think we weren't all human? Are you…tryin'a come up with things now?" he squints with a smirk.

You swallow.

"Truth is, I like me a handful a' woman," he smiles.

You look back and forth between his eyes, still too unsure whether to take him seriously, whether this was a joke or a dream.

"Do you not…like me that way?" his expression falters a moment. "Is that it?"

"I love you, Arthur," you blurt out, your brows drawing up. "I have for a long time now." You bite your lip. "But you just can't want me. You can't."

"Why don't you let me tell you what I can and can't do," he says, his tone firm and matter-of-fact rather than curt and frustrated. "Jesus…" he sighs your name as he rubs his neck, harder than last time. "I don't know what it is gotcha so convinced you don't deserve love, but it's killin' me. Prob'ly too many Micah's out there…" he adds with a mumble as his eyes venture back over to you. "You can't be always wonderin' why you out of everybody. I want you 'cause you're the only one in the world with your heart. The only one."

He drops his hand and looks at you. "Now I know how you feel, lemme tell you how this is gonna go, if I have anything to say about it." He catches you by the eyes and speaks calmly and evenly. "Soon as you're ready, we're gonna get married, 'cause I'm tired a' wastin' time." When you suck in a breath, he reaches out and gently takes your hand, stroking it softly with his thumb. "And because you trust me, you're gonna let me make love to you on our weddin' night." Sensing your uneasiness and noticing your breathing pick up, he nods. "Might be real hard for you to trust; but you will. And it'll be wonderful." He lifts a hand and brushes a strand of hair away from your face as your tears threaten to overflow. "And we're gonna make those babies we're both wantin', that you were sure you'd never have."

That was enough to bring your tears spilling down, and you cover your crumbled face in your hands and sob desperately.

He clears his throat at the sight of you and brings his hand to your hunched back, gently rubbing big circles there. His voice has just a touch of hoarseness when he speaks again. "And you're gonna be an amazin' mama." He looks out at the water, then looks back down at you with a soft smile. "Wanna know how I know all this?"

Sniffing, you take your hands away just a bit and chance a look up at him.

"'Cause I already love you. And I always will, darlin'."

Something like a laugh mixed with a cry of joy jumps out of you through your sobs.

"And all this is gonna happen, just like I said. But it won't change what's goin' on inside you, won't make you believe it," he says. "It can't be dependent on somebody else; it's gotta come from you. All I can do is try to help you heal. Stick by you and love you through it. And I know you'll do the same for me. 'Cause you're a good woman. A good person, through and through. You're like treasure to me, sweetheart. The best I've ever found."

He brings his arm around you until his hand is on your right side and strokes your arm as he pulls you close to him.

You give in and rest your temple on his chest as you both look out at the sun setting in hues of pink and purple over the river.

"Ain't a one of us perfect," he says, softly voicing your name once again to assure you. "But I love you all the more for it. For exactly who you are. And who you are is beautiful."