Mary had paid upfront for her room at the Hotel Grand until the end of the week. The cost of it was more than the room she'd rented in Valentine, but she'd initially spent the money for Daddy's sake, to be close to him and save him from putting himself into more debt. While she was by no means rich, her husband Barry had left her well off enough for a few unexpected expenses after his death.

But it was the end of the month now and time for her to move on. She had only her cosmetics left to pack. She planned to depart in the morning.

Why had she bothered to stick around in Saint Denis? She'd asked herself this question every day since Daddy had found her at the hotel. He'd apologized profusely over selling Mother's brooch. Though he seemed remorseful, it was an act he tended to play after he'd run out of money, or was kicked from the gambling halls. She'd marched him straight to the train station and made sure the next stop would be home. Truthfully, there hadn't been a good reason for her not to join him. So, what had compelled her to remain?

Was she fooling herself by lingering? Arthur had told her he was on his way out of the gang. It wasn't the most tangible of vows, but he'd been at his most sincere when he'd taken her hand and promised her they could be together soon. She hadn't seen that sort of conviction from him since he'd nearly convinced her to elope with him.

Mary sighed, remorse hitting her hard today. She should have run away with him all those years ago, before Daddy forbade the relationship and she turned her back on the only period in her whole drab life she'd felt true happiness.

She stayed because she held onto the hope Arthur had meant what he said as he saw her off on the trolley that day. She waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But it wasn't to be. Then she'd read in the newspaper about the failed bank heist and the little bit of hope left flickered out. Arthur was either dead, captured or forgetful of his promise to her. The latter being the most likely, as he always became caught up with crime, no matter how many times he claimed he sought a way out.

At that point, Mary couldn't handle the unresolved uncertainty between them anymore. So, she sat down and constructed a letter straight from the heart. A letter that bespoke her honest feelings and severed their ties to each other completely. She rid herself of any keepsakes that reminded her of him. She couldn't bear to pawn the ring or throw away the one photograph they'd managed to take together so she choose to mail those too.

She'd sent it out days ago and she wasn't sure if he'd ever see it with all the traveling he did, but it had done much to ease the burden of her heavy heart.

There was a knock at the door, startling her out of her reverie. Mary set down a hairbrush she'd been using back on the vanity table. She was expecting the bellhop today to remind her of the upcoming end of her stay.

As if she'd summoned him with her wandering mind, there he stood before her. Not a bellhop, but Arthur. Her heart leapt as she released a soft gasp, unable to stop the quickening of her pulse at his appearance.

For an instant, time stopped and all those discarded hopes and dreams flooded back to her as if they'd never left. He was alive. He was here. Finally here. He truly had meant it when he'd said he'd escape with her.

"Mary," he murmured, his voice cracking as his eyes locked on hers.

"Arthur," she whispered, the volume of her own voice diminishing. "You're here."

"Yes, Mary." A familiar half smile tugged at his lips, one that had never failed to send her heart skittering. "I'm here."

She stepped to the side, wordless, as she opened the door wide to allow him in. She closed the door and faced him, in a terrible state of shock. Fearing she may faint, she took a seat in the lone chair by the vanity. Arthur remained standing in the center of the room.

"How..." he cleared his throat, shuffled uncomfortably and removed his hat, circling it between his fingers in a nervous manner. "How you keepin'?"

"Well," she answered because she didn't know what else she could say. "And you?"

Arthur nodded as a response and Mary stared at him. His clothes were freshly dusted, as if he'd only ridden in a moment ago. A few flecks of something that resembled black ash littered his hair, though his face was clean enough. His beard needed trimming. She never did like it when he grew it out. It made him look older with no resemblance to the vigorous spirit she remembered of their youth. She glanced away before she noticed any more flaws.

"How's Jamie?"

His question over her brother was a welcome distraction. Graciously, she informed him, "He's doing well, thanks to you. Although, he has some strange notion about working on an apple orchard."

A smile broke through Arthur's nervousness. "That so?"

She accused in a teasing tone, "Did you have anything to do with that?"

"Mighta been something I said, but I only pushed him to think for himself so he'd get his head out of worshipping that turtle religion."

"Daddy's planning on getting the help he needs too."

Arthur's jaw tightened in reaction and his mood soured instantly. "Good for him."

He said it with no sincerity and she continued as if she hadn't seen the shift in his attitude. "He intends to work hard at being a devoted father again."

"Sure," Arthur continued, heavy sarcasm dripping from that single word. "Or maybe he'll sell the family home next."

"Stop that," she snapped, though truthfully the idea had been a real fear of hers. She thought Daddy had more sense, but his recent actions made her doubt his intentions of late. She'd moved back home months ago, after her husband had died, as she couldn't afford to live on her own. If Daddy was unwise, it wouldn't be only himself he'd be displacing.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, sounding actually regretful this time. "You know my feelings on him and they ain't nice." He spun his hat in his hands again. "And I ain't come to fight with you. Some things have happened that's made me see sense. That's made me see what I shoulda seen a long time ago."

Mary met his eyes and she wanted to believe it was true, that he wouldn't disappoint her again. These confessions lifted her heart, made it sing, and strengthened her resolve that she was right to have clung onto her love for him all these years. But something was off. Arthur had never sounded so sure of himself. She'd waited years to hear him choose her over his outlaw life, but what had changed his mind?

While she wanted nothing more than to blind herself with a welcome fairy tale, she learned a few things after he'd bruised her heart time and again. There had been too many letdowns in the past for her not to question his sudden appearance.

After all, the timing of it didn't make sense to her. What had prompted this visit? Her letter? She'd thought she'd made herself brutally clear when she'd sent the ring back to him. If he was devoted to the outlaw lifestyle and those people, he couldn't be devoted to her. Really, he acted as if—

With a sinking realization, the truth fell into her lap then. All her flowering hopes and dreams at the possibility of Arthur being here to whisk her away shriveled and died in an instant.

"Mary?"

She looked up and he was waiting, waiting for her to respond to some unknown question she hadn't heard. She asked abruptly, "Arthur, did you receive my most recent letter?"

His brow furrowed and it told her all she needed as he said, "What letter?"

He hadn't read it, hadn't seen the words she'd poured her heart into, where she'd finally given up on them. And now, though he spoke of leaving with her, he provided no time frame, no guaranteed commitment, and no admittance of leaving the dangerous life he led.

She said helplessly, "If you'd just read my letter, I made myself clear for us moving forward."

"Mary, I'm sorry. I ain't seen it yet, but I'm here now. What did you want me to know?"

Now it was her turn to shift awkwardly. "Everything I wanted to say is in the letter."

"I can't read what I ain't never got."

"Arthur," she said instead of explaining, "what is your reason for coming here today?"

"Uh..." An unexpected expression of guilt emerged. "I need your help."

"Me?" He'd thrown her completely. He'd never come to her for help.

"A friend of mine, to be particular," he amended.

"What sort of friend of yours do you think I'd want to associate with—"

"No, no," Arthur said quickly, raising his hands. "She ain't part of the gang."

She? Instantly and irrationally, Mary felt incensed, and perhaps, jealous.

Arthur didn't notice her temper and continued, "Er, maybe she is, after all that's happened, but I don't want her caught up any more in the mess we caused her. Thought maybe if she kept company with you, she wouldn't draw much attention."

He went on about this mysterious woman and Hosea being right about something, but Mary heard nothing else. She was furious and hurt.

Arthur hadn't come here to run away. He hadn't even come here for her. It was the gang. Again. His first, and seemingly only, priority.

What he wanted from her, what he was asking was for her to protect one of his own. A stranger to her. What kind of respectable woman lived with outlaws anyway? Mary knew too well the sorts of girls they collected and she didn't know a polite term for them.

Arthur moved suddenly to kneel in front of her and took her hand in his. "Listen, Mary, once this is done, once I've got everyone out safe, it can happen. I can get out too." He squeezed her hands. "Let me get my family out."

She'd fallen for his earnestness too many times to accept it so readily. "If I grant this favor of yours, you'll be out once and for all?"

A clear cut 'yes' was the only acceptable answer, but he hesitated and she broke in before he could manifest an excuse, "You've said these things before, Arthur. You've made promises and time and again you're drawn back into that life like some siren's call you can't resist."

"Mary, I'm leavin'," he insisted and added, "This time I ain't got much of a choice."

The remark sounded odd and she questioned it immediately, "Why do you say it like that?"

He opened his mouth, closed it and rubbed her fingers between his, as if to soothe himself. "I ain't gonna lie to you. It ain't exactly gonna be the happy getaway we was hoping for."

"What do you mean?"

"I got bad news recently. Real bad."

She waited, stiff with tension all of the sudden.

"I saw a doctor. It ain't good."

He didn't appear injured in any way. "Are you...sick?"

"Yeah." Arthur exhaled. "TB."

Mary wasn't sure she heard him right. She asked faintly, "What?"

"It's true." He swallowed. "It ain't good and it's gonna get worse."

Her hand went to her neck, to the brooch he'd recovered for her when they were last together. "How long...until..."

"'Til I'm dead?" he asked her darkly and she could only stare at him, mildly horrified and trying not to show it. He admitted, "I don't know. A few days, a few months. Maybe more, if I can find a way to slow down."

"Oh, Arthur..." Mary covered her mouth, more than overwhelmed. She couldn't accept it. He was the strongest man she'd ever known, but now she observed the redness in his eyes, the sickly yellow pallor creeping over his cheeks and the new thinness to his frame. He looked worn and tired and old.

"I'm ready to leave, if you'll have me, sickness and all. It ain't much, I know, but it's made me see what I need to get done before it's too late." He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. "I was hopin'..."

He trailed off and she heard the unspoken request. He wanted her to care for him, to be present when he slipped away from her once and for all.

Arthur spoke of a future for them. Only now when death loomed did he feel ready to commit to her. Only now when he had nowhere else to turn. It wasn't willingly, but fate forcing his hand. And that wasn't what she wanted. It'd never been what she wanted.

His mention of death terrified her, in fact. She'd already played the part of grieving widow. She'd nursed Barry as best she could, but the more effort she'd put into saving him, the more he'd desperately gulped in his last gasps of life.

That whole period had been awful and she couldn't mentally survive witnessing another such devastation, especially over a man she truly had deep affection for.

Barry had died from pneumonia. Arthur's fate would be so much worse and take a worse toll on her. She loved Arthur deeply, but to see him waste away to nothing?

She...she couldn't manage that again.

Mary withdrew her hands from Arthur and stood, knowing this would be the hardest thing she'd have to say and wishing he'd never knocked on her door.

"Mary?"

She walked to the window, her back to him as she stared out at the city below. "You want things between us to work out, but it can't. Not anymore. Not if you're still with Dutch."

"I told you—"

She swung to face him."You can't just show up here making demands of me. It's not fair to me, Arthur."

"Demands?" He stood from his kneel, temper rising in his expression. "It ain't any worse of a request than anything I ever helped you with."

"This is different." What he asked of her was to watch the man she loved die.

It was all too much. The visit itself, the favor he asked, the promises he made, this woman he vouched for and now tuberculosis?

She squeezed her eyes shut, holding back an unexpected sob in her throat. Brokenly, she asked him, "What kind of life do you expect us to have together?"

He fell silent a moment before muttering, "I don't know."

"Well, I do." She opened her eyes. "I waited for you, Arthur. I did. I really thought you could change before it was too late, but I was wrong."

"Too late?"

"It's taken this..." she floundered, her words failing her. "...this illness for you to finally see a way out. But the way you want to go? It's not open anymore."

"If you think it's too late—"

"It is." Run away with me right now and don't look back. It'd been a spontaneous and reckless offer she'd made to him at the time, but she'd been feeling down, not looking forward to going home to a drunken father and naive enough to think Arthur would go for it. She should have known that he'd never change.

Arthur stared at her as if she'd said something shocking. But what did he expect from her? In this instance, he asked far too much.

"Mary," he pleaded and she had to look away, to hide her eyes from the pain in his expression.

"I think it would be best if you go now, Arthur."

She didn't hear him move and they stood with each other in that room in silence, letting her definitive command hang between them for a long while.

Eventually, in the sharp quietness of the room, Arthur asked, "What was in that letter, Mary?"

She turned away again, blinking back tears and didn't respond. She ordered herself not to yet break down as she heard him open and close the door, and tread down the hallway and away from her for the last time.

What was in her letter? He'd know soon enough and, maybe, she could finally be free.