While Arthur tended to a meal in bed, Charlotte tidied up the room of their clothing from last night. She started to fold Arthur's dinner jacket when she remembered him slipping in the photos Mr. Mason had gifted. He'd put them away before she'd gotten a chance to peek at them.
She opened the jacket and lifted them out of his inside pocket, setting the coat aside. They were brilliantly captured, as Arthur had said. Mr. Mason had certainly been close enough to the animals to encapsulate their true natures in good faith.
The wild horses dashed with majestic grace across the prairie, their run framed by mountains. A deadly gleam shone in the devilish eyes of an alligator as its glance slanted towards the cameraman. One could nearly hear the snarls and snapping of the wolves headed for their next meal. Or perhaps, her imagination was too vivid after the multiple run-ins she'd had at the cabin.
Either way, it had her wondering how exactly Mr. Mason had survived such encounters. Had Arthur been present to assist Mr. Mason for each one, as he'd implied?
Unexpectedly, as if to answer her unspoken question, the last picture was Arthur. She paused, shuffling the other photos behind this one. He was garbed in his old jacket she'd repaired multiple times, a hat she remembered him wearing in their first meetings and a rugged beard overtook his chin and jaw. Albert Mason had caught him with an expression of pure curiosity, tilting his head with interest, and clearly not expecting to be photographed in the middle of the wild. Still, the forest trees as a backdrop suited him well.
On the back of the photo, there was handwritten: Arthur Morgan, June 1899.
A month or so before she'd met him, nearly a year ago. So much had changed since then, for the both of them.
"What are you lookin' at over there?" Arthur asked from behind her.
Charlotte turned with a smile and lifted the photos for him to see. "I'm appreciating the talent of Mr. Mason."
Arthur drifted over, buttoning his shirt up as he did so. "They turned out alright, didn't they?"
Charlotte shuffled the stack in order of how she found it and set it on the dresser. She remarked, "I truly admire you the freedom you've had, to see so much of this beautiful country."
"Sure," he said, a note of regret in his voice, "but most of that time didn't come without a price."
Charlotte lessened the distance between them, studying him carefully. She brushed the backs of her fingers along his jaw and commented, "You're looking better this morning."
"I'm fine," he told her gruffly.
She raised an eyebrow at his harsh tone. "As I saw it, that faint came out of nowhere so you can't dismiss my fretting so easily this time."
"Did I..." He caught her hand and cleared his throat. "...make a real spectacle of myself?"
"Mmm, some," she admitted. "You certainly know how to draw attention."
"Always been my downfall really."
She lifted a shoulder. "Mama managed the guests well enough."
"Surprised your daddy didn't leave me for dead on the floor."
"Father takes his job very seriously," she explained. "First and foremost, he is a doctor, no matter his personal feelings on the individual in need."
"I s'pose he's gotta keep that reputation of his from suffering. It'd look pretty damning for a guest to die of TB in the middle of his fancy ballroom."
His answer had her frowning. "Arthur, it wasn't your TB that had you in a faint."
"It weren't?"
"No." She straightened and regarded him with all seriousness. "Tell me honestly, what's the last meal you ate?"
"Before now?" His face went blank as he thought. "I s'pose, nothin' much since we left home."
"Arthur."
He stared back in disbelief. "You're tellin' me, I fell over 'cause I was hungry?"
"That's what Father determined. You weren't coughing when it happened and neither did you seem to be having any trouble breathing. But if you haven't eaten for two days..."
"Shit."
"You need to take care of yourself." She tried to keep her tone light so as not to sound as if she were nagging him. But she'd been stricken with near panic at the sight of his collapse. It'd been a shock after he'd sparred with her father only moments before.
"I'm sorry," he told her with a furrowed brow and a little shake of his head. "Can't hardly believe it is all. As a kid, I used to go for weeks only livin' off scraps when my daddy was too drunk to do much providin'."
"How awful," she murmured, rubbing a comforting hand along his arm.
"That's how it goes. Living's always been hard. Rough. Nothing like...any of this."
She lowered her hands. "No, I suppose it wouldn't be."
"You..." he hesitated. "...don't wanna come back to this, do you?"
Charlotte blinked, taken aback. "What makes you think that I would?"
"I don't know." He didn't meet her eyes. "Reckon you'd have an easier time of it, if we lived here. You and the baby would have plenty of others to watch over you."
"Too many eyes, in fact." Why had he brought this up? "Besides, living in the country benefits you as greatly as it benefits me."
He swallowed. "You got everything in Chicago."
She placed her hands on either side of his bearded face, met his eyes and assured firmly, "I've got everything right here."
"What about when that ain't the case no more?"
She sighed, lowering her hands to rest on his chest. "It's entirely implausible, Arthur. This idea that the life of our child will signal the end of yours."
"I'm slow, I know it." He lifted his hands to her waist and continued before she could object, "But I'm listenin'. I'm comin' around and that ain't my way of thinkin' no more."
"Oh?"
"Last night, Karen...mentioned some things." He exhaled. "Tried to knock some sense into me, I reckon. Just ain't too sure I'm smart enough to get her meaning fully."
"What did she say?" Charlotte asked curiously.
"Said you've been noticing me, uh, not participating and stickin' to my journal instead."
"Oh." Charlotte hadn't meant for Karen to make anything of it. She'd only been concerned and wanted to voice her worry to someone. She admitted, "You do tend to write more when you're troubled."
"I do?" Arthur asked in surprise.
"Yes, and you turn to sketching when you're more at peace."
He frowned. "I didn't know I did that."
She met his eyes and informed him reluctantly, "I haven't seen you sketch much since I told you of the pregnancy."
His brow furrowed further and he seemed shocked at the admission. "Why ain't you said nothin' about it?"
She told him truthfully, "You needed to deal with what the future entails in your own way. I figured you'd come to me when you were ready to talk. Change is difficult. There are many trials ahead of us and certainly more than a few adjustments."
"No doubt, but it ain't fair to you to be keepin' all that worry to yourself," Arthur argued. "After Rhodes, we agreed to work on solvin' anything that was between us. Right?"
Surprised, she admitted, "That's true."
"Then there's something I wanna make clear." Arthur took up both of her hands and she watched him, curious and puzzled. He exhaled a deep breath and didn't speak right away. She waited patiently, her own nervousness building as he took his time to gather his thoughts.
"Listen, I know I ain't never gonna be the man your momma or daddy wants me to be. Even your brothers got their reservations these days."
"Arthur—"
"Now, hold on. Let me get this out." Arthur held her gaze. "Maybe I ain't been obvious about it, but I don't want you doubtin' no more where I wanna be over anywhere else."
Perhaps that idea did wander into Charlotte's thoughts on occasion. When Arthur chopped firewood or gathered water from the well, on occasion his eyes traveled towards the river. Sometimes, she imagined he sought to hop in and let it take him somewhere else for awhile.
Or the conversations Karen mentioned about 'the good old times', he'd drift off into memory. There was a small part of her that wondered if, whenever he rode out on one of the horses, something might draw him away, something that he still missed of his old life that he hadn't told her.
He lifted her hands to his lips, his eyes blazing with conviction. "I'm here for you, Charlotte. You and the child. And I swear, here on out, I'm gonna do my damnedest to keep on livin' for the both of you."
Charlotte felt tears rising and tried to blink them away too late as they spilled over. She hadn't known how much she'd wanted to hear him say those words out loud. Most days, Arthur seemed to grimly accept death as happening all too soon. Something truly had changed his view. Whatever it was, she was grateful for it.
"Don't cry," he grumbled, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. "The idea was to make you happy."
Charlotte laughed through a sob. "It does make me happy."
A knocking at the bedroom door startled them and Arthur briefly tightened his hold of her.
"Miss?" called a maid from the other side. "The lady of the house has asked to speak with you downstairs."
"Thank you, Madeline," Charlotte called and commented to Arthur, "That's odd. I wonder what Mama wants?"
"Another bribery attempt?" Arthur groused.
"I wouldn't put it past her, unfortunately," Charlotte said, disheartened. "Whatever it is, I hope it isn't a prolonged visit. We have an appointment to keep at Schofield."
"Shit!" Arthur swore suddenly. "Weren't we s'posed to head over this morning?"
"I had it postponed until this afternoon," she said evenly. "Before you say anything, Karen has gone on ahead for us."
He raised a brow. "Mighty kind of her to offer."
Charlotte smiled wryly. "One she might come to regret, I'm afraid. If I know Rosie, she's testing the limits of Karen's temperament."
"And if I know Karen, she's respondin' in kind."
Now that Charlotte thought about it, maybe he was right. Karen had no fear in snapping back when she felt threatened. Charlotte had had to intervene with more than a few standoffs between her and Arthur. While Rosie usually remained even-tempered, she rarely held her tongue and never missed an opportunity to rile up a stranger. Karen didn't cower and didn't bend. They'd be two battling personalities stuck in the same room.
Trying not to show her growing concern, Charlotte went for her jacket hanging up on a rack near the door. "Perhaps we shouldn't delay any longer."
When Charlotte and Arthur reached the bottom of the staircase, Madeline, the maid from earlier, approached them as if she'd been laying in wait for their appearance. She curtsied and said, "Miss, Lady Dorsch awaits you in the parlor room."
"Thank you, Madeline," Charlotte said again to the maid and separated from Arthur. "Hopefully, this won't take but a moment. I'll be right back, Arthur."
"Actually, ma'am," the maid stopped her and continued apologetically, "Mr. Callahan's presence is also requested."
Charlotte shared a glance with Arthur, the start of unfounded unease arising. She tried to brush it off. There should be no reason to be on edge. If she wanted to involve Arthur, her mother likely only desired to send him off with a forewarning about Rosie. Mama had always been sensitive to Rosie's behavior being seen as reflective of the family as a whole.
However, at that moment, Karen's words of caution rose to mind: watch out for your pa today.
Charlotte led Arthur down the hall, the opposite direction of the front door. The door to the parlor was closed so she opened it and crossed over the threshold first.
As soon as she stepped in, Benji was at her side, saying speedily and without context, "I didn't say anything, sis, I swear!"
"About what?" Charlotte asked, clueless.
When she turned her head, her stomach dropped completely at the sight, even if she didn't yet understand what her and Arthur had walked into.
Benji retreated to a corner near the door. Her mother and Felicity sat together on a settee in the center of the room. Her mother sipped unhappily at her sherry, which was never a good sign when it wasn't done among her socialite friends.
Clark smoked a cigarette moodily near the window, acting as if he weren't involved with the situation at all. Lastly, her father stood beside a small side bar of bottled drinks, his arms behind his back.
The last time Charlotte had seen the family gather in a manner like this was when her and Cal had announced their intention to move. Arthur reached her side and stiffened in place worse than her, recognizing a well-laid trap just as easily as she had
"Charlotte, welcome to the family discussion," her father drawled in a tone indicating to her already he was entirely too pleased with himself.
So as not to call attention to it, she resisted the urge to stroke her stomach for comfort. "I would apologize, Father, but I hadn't known one was in progress."
"Go on," her father gestured at the empty chairs. "Have a seat."
"We prefer to stand," Charlotte stated firmly. "We're already late for our visit with Rosie so we can't linger long."
"Rose can wait."
He was always so dismissive of his own sister and it irked Charlotte into her first prickles of irritation. Forgoing any more courtesy, she demanded, "What is this about?"
Charlotte expected the same confrontational attitude he'd started at the party, with him demeaning Arthur and throwing insults until one stuck. She wouldn't put up with that sort of disrespect a second time.
"I'll cut to the quick, my dear." Her father straightened his jacket and scolded, "Since, as of late, you seem to have forgotten the meaning of respect."
"As of late," Charlotte shot back, "you have forgotten the meaning of shared respect."
He ignored her words as he approached them, taking up a position in front of Arthur. "The moment I heard of your existence, Mr. Callahan, I didn't trust you."
Arthur's voice dropped low and graveled. "The feeling's more than mutual, Doctor."
"So, I had some digging done."
"Oh, I don't doubt it." Beside her, Arthur's fists clenched, his elbows bending slightly as he took a defensive stance.
Her father sneered. "Ralph Balfour was most generous with his connections."
Charlotte stopped worrying over trying to calm Arthur and swung to stare at her father in absolute shock. "Balfour?"
While her mother always liked to play the victim, lamenting that she was the only reason Charlotte and Cal had left Chicago, it was only partially true. Mama could be overbearing, Father could be stifling, but Charlotte had always found Cal's parents to be worse.
The Balfours excelled at the expressionless mask and they dealt with all people in an odd transactional way. When Charlotte had finally found a telephone to use, she'd fought off sobs to inform them of their son's passing. While the grandparents mourned along with her, the parents spoke with little interest over Cal's death. Instead, they reminded Charlotte she would not be inheriting any of Cal's fortune because a child had not been produced.
It had been the farthest concern in her mind at the time. Her and Cal already had a shared banking account after all. Charlotte could come to terms with them casting blame in her direction of his death. But cold indifference?
"A retired detective was sent to me on Balfour's recommendation," her father broke her scattered thoughts. "Mr. Riggs has been gathering intelligence on you for the past six months."
Arthur shifted and Charlotte was too speechless to protest as her heart thumped loudly in growing panic.
"And do you know what he found?"
"I could take a guess."
"Oh, there's no longer any need for you to explain your past transgressions to us, Mr. Callahan." Father folded his hands behind his back and said smugly, "You'll have plenty of time to flounder with the four police officers waiting outside to take you away."
"What?" Arthur's question came out sounding like a bark.
"They have a few inquiries..." Her father's eyes locked on Arthur and he smiled, slowly and with unmasked malice. "...in regards to a certain robbery that occurred last year in the state of Lemoyne."