"I'm afraid my jewelry collection is limited these days," said Charlotte to Karen as she led her to the bedroom, "but I may have a piece or two that will suit you."

In fact, Charlotte's box of jewelry was in a state of disuse lately. There seemed to be no point in a daily beauty presentation when her days were usually filled with chores and no visitors. The box was so neglected she had to recover it from the dresser's bottom drawer, beneath clothes she currently had no use for.

Karen studied the contents on the dresser while Charlotte sorted through hair accessories. Arthur's hat lay over his thin, sketch journal. The leather bound one he gifted her was next to it, the baby stockings arranged on top, side by side, but Karen didn't take any notice of them. The box of paints and brushes occupied the rest of the space. After this party, Charlotte would have to tidy up and find better homes for these items.

Karen commented, "Living way out in woods like this, how the hell did Arthur come across you?"

Her lips turned upward in memory of Arthur's eventual confession. "Would you believe he originally meant to rob me?"

Karen tilted her head, a thin blonde eyebrow lifting. "I'd say that's how most normal folk meet someone like him."

"Is that so?" Charlotte chose a french comb encrusted with amethysts that she thought might compliment the lighter color tone of Karen's hair.

"What, he ain't told you how much of a dirty criminal he is?"

"Mm...some." Charlotte moved a chair to face her mirror and gestured for Karen to sit. "Let me comb out your hair and see if I remember how to braid."

Karen took the seat and snorted. "Arthur ain't much of a talker, is he?"

"Only when he wants to be," Charlotte admitted, gliding a brush over Karen's blonde hair. "He has his secrets, but that isn't to say we haven't made progress."

Arthur seemed to find it easier to speak of the tragedies that happened to him rather than admitting his own direct actions. "That being said, would you mind lending some context for me?"

"Like what?"

"Well..." Charlotte started her braiding. "I'd like to hear more about Arthur's time in the gang."

"What do you want to know?"

In the mirror, she saw her own eyes reflect a sudden spark of intense interest. "Everything."

Karen laughed at her. "You say that now, but he ain't no saint. Make no mistake about that."

"I am aware of certain details, but he's kept his experiences close to his chest." Charlotte pondered over what she wanted to know most of all. "What role did he serve in this gang?"

"He was Dutch's enforcer." At Charlotte's furrowed brow, Karen elaborated, "You need to get someone to talk, you sic Arthur on him. Need someone to collect a debt? Send out Arthur. An extra gun on a raid, robbery or burglary? Arthur. He was the muscle and a gun, and he'd beat the shit out of anyone Dutch wanted him to."

Oh my. Karen had less reservations about what to reveal than even Mrs. Adler.

Karen continued, "That what you wanted to hear? That he was the gang's number one thug?"

Charlotte admitted, "It does explain quite a lot, in fact."

She contemplated this new information pensively. Out of Arthur's own mouth she'd heard him refer to himself in a negative light. However, it wasn't the only aspect that existed of the life he wanted to forget. She'd seen a sample of the people he associated with and his interactions with them.

Sadie, Charles, even Karen. None of them were evil. They were his friends and respected him. That was without mentioning the people they'd come across who had relayed narratives of his kind actions.

Thug?

Or protector?

"I don't say it to scare you off," Karen offered over her silence. "That's just who he is."

"That isn't how I see it," Charlotte's murmured.

Arthur was more than the damning words printed on his wanted posters. He was a person with regret and guilt like anyone else. Her attention turned to Karen's profile in the mirror. Did she feel the same sorts of regrets over her life?

"Our actions define us, certainly, but our intentions behind them give context."

Karen rolled her eyes. "What's the context for shootin' a man dead?"

"Well..." Charlotte twisted the two braids she'd made, pinning them together to crown Karen as she took a moment to choose her words carefully. "I'd say, you both have lived desperate lives, and with that it has required you to resort to desperate measures in certain situations."

"You trying to say it ain't our fault we had to kill to survive sometimes?"

"Not exactly. Let me put it another way." She crinkled her nose, thinking further. "Given the opportunity to pursue an alternate life path, what would you choose to do, Miss Jones?"

Karen met her gaze stubbornly in the mirror and stated, "I like being an outlaw."

Charlotte studied her right back. "Why?"

"It's a thrill, it's freedom, it's...it's..." Karen's eyes darted as she scoured her brain for another reason. "...what I know."

"What you know..." Charlotte murmured. "Hmm..."

What if Karen could know another life? Would that change her opinion? Or would she reject the idea entirely?

"Not too damn bad," Karen commented as she turned her head to inspect the braided updo and hairpiece nestled atop it. "Your turn."

"My turn?" Charlotte lost her train of thought for a moment. She hadn't expected for Karen to return the favor. Before Charlotte knew how to react, Karen was standing and switching spots with her, immediately pulling her hair out of her usual chignon.

Hers was longer than Karen's and needed more attention being brushed out. Yet Karen combed through her dark strands as if she'd had plenty experience in doing it. Charlotte didn't have sisters, but she imagined it must feel something like this. She wondered if Karen had any sisters herself or if she'd done this countless times with the other women of the gang.

Curious now, she asked, "How long were you in the gang?"

"I don't know," Karen shrugged and guessed, "Ten years, maybe less."

"And you were happy there?"

Karen frowned. "Sometimes. We had moral codes we lived by, if you can believe it. Not that it helped. There was always something ruining our way of life as soon as it was good for awhile."

Carefully, Charlotte put out there, "If there's anything specific you'd like to discuss, I'm a willing listener."

Karen's eyes narrowed on her. "What the hell did Arthur tell you?"

Caught out, she wouldn't deny it. As delicately as she could, she explained, "He mentioned a lover of yours who was killed."

Karen muttered an expletive under her breath before meeting her eyes in the mirror again. "He don't know shit about it and neither do you."

Charlotte held her tongue, but she was analyzing the response. Lashing out so quickly, her words must have hit a nerve of some sort.

"If you don't want to speak to me, I'd like to suggest you say something to Arthur about it at least."

Karen grimaced as if the thought physically pained her. "That man's expertise is shooting and killing. He ain't exactly the shoulder I'd pick to cry on."

Charlotte's eyebrows rose and she wondered if Karen realized she'd revealed she did indeed need a shoulder to cry on.

Instead of pointing this out, Charlotte said, "Arthur isn't as emotionally distant as you believe him to be. Give him a chance to listen. He might understand what you're going through."

"Sure," Karen answered doubtfully, her fingers moving to finish tying off a long braid.

Charlotte said seriously, "You both struggle over the same issue."

"And what's that?"

"A sense of belonging." Charlotte fingered the end of her sleeve at her wrist. "It's something I once struggled with too, when I lived in the city."

"What's wrong with the city?" Karen asked, clearly avoiding the true topic.

Charlotte allowed it, saying, "The life I had there could be, for lack of a better word, overwhelming."

"You're tellin' me, you don't like livin' rich?" Karen said accusingly, "Don't think I don't know your true wealth after hearing your brother go on about luxuries he don't realize no one around here has."

Charlotte smiled. "It's not entirely the pampered lifestyle you'd expect."

"Better than livin' rough, robbing the nearest bastard to get on, I'd bet."

"I'm quite certain, but my point is you're not at heart a bad person for those actions. You said yourself you had moral codes you lived by."

"Look, I don't know what you want to hear, but ain't none of us are 'good' by your standards. Ain't none of us are normal."

Charlotte opened her mouth to object to that statement when their conversation was interrupted by a sharp rapping on the door.

"Are you two still getting ready?" Ben complained from the other side. "We're going to miss all the excitement."

"We'll be out in a moment," Charlotte called back. To Karen, she made one last comment while they were alone. "Now that you have the opportunity, don't you think it's time for some changes?"

Karen didn't answer as they left the bedroom and Charlotte feared she may have pushed her too far with her questioning. In all honesty, it wasn't her business what Karen chose to do with her life, but Charlotte's meddling side couldn't help but offer guidance.

Outside, Arthur was talking to the horses in undertones. Every time she witnessed him doing so, it warmed her heart how affectionate he was. As much as he liked to claim how cold-blooded he once was, Arthur had a natural soft spot for animals like no other.

At their approach, he told them, "I reckon, you ladies ride with me on the wagon and Ben can take Jane down into Annesburg."

"Are you comfortable with that?" Charlotte asked her brother.

"My horse riding's fine." Benji gave her a little smirk. "It's you who was sick all over the hostler last time I saw you ride."

Charlotte felt her cheeks grow warm. "That was years ago."

"They still tell the story around the dinner table of Miss Charlotte and her extreme aversion to the saddle."

Horrified, she denied, "They do not."

He grinned in response and she fully expected him to reveal more unflattering stories of her youth. Really, he was getting as bad as Clark with his teasing.

Luckily, Arthur came in to save her from further erroneous denial. "I didn't tell you about my strange encounter with the barber."

"You didn't." His statement had her forgetting her embarrassment and substituting it with amusement. "How does one have a strange encounter at the barber exactly?"

Arthur glanced at Benji, likely deciding if it were fit for his ears. "It started in Rhodes, months ago. I was walkin' by the gunsmith, minding my own business, when I hear this voice whisperin' outta nowhere."

Benji distracted easily and was spellbound with the story already. "Who was it?"

"I didn't know 'til I looked down at the ground and saw this young man dressed in a goddamn sailor suit for children, speaking to me from a basement window. Odd as it was, I woulda walked away right then, but he claimed he was chained to a bed. That said, I needed an answer for curiosity's sake."

Charlotte couldn't resist asking, "It wasn't to help a poor young man escape imprisonment?"

"Or investigate a local mystery?" added Benji.

"Hush, you two, and let me tell it," Arthur scolded before continuing his story.

While Charlotte listened, she glanced back at Karen sitting in the wagon. The woman hadn't said a word since they'd left the house and Charlotte wanted to take it as a good sign. She hoped Karen took value from the words they'd exchanged, and that she'd said the right thing to have Karen believing she could yet have a future worth living.