Charlotte stared between the two envelopes on the kitchen table, trying to determine if she should subject herself to her mother's letter first or take the coward's way out and read its contents tomorrow.
It was true, in the past few months since they'd made it back from Chicago, her mother's letters hadn't been as sharp or needling, but that didn't mean she chose to say nothing of her and Arthur's relationship in some form or another, now that she knew about the pregnancy.
Clark and Felicity's own unexpected baby announcement distracted her mother's focus for awhile, but she never stopped leaving a postscript with a passive aggressive question, usually asking when Arthur was going to do 'right by her.'
Charlotte knew that was her mother's way of saying she was ready to host another wedding. However, Charlotte was done with those kinds of events for herself, and there was no need to subject Arthur to high society again. Once they returned home, she found herself appreciating the pleasantness and quiet of her life even more.
Tranquility sounded more favorable today so Charlotte decided to set her mother's letter aside for the time being. She'd come at it tomorrow with a fresh resolve and sturdier frame of mind.
She turned her attention to the other letter, realizing for the first time this one was also postmarked from Chicago. For a brief moment, she feared her mother had caught onto the fact that she tended to postpone reading her notes and had sent another with no return addressee. But no. It was from from Mr. Mason and it contained a friendly message and a picture wrapped in brown paper.
She wasn't surprised to find it was the photograph Mr. Mason had taken of her and Arthur during Clark's party. Nevertheless, she remained in awe of its quality. In her experience, the expression of the subjects in portraits nearly always turned out either angry or brooding. But Mr. Mason was a true genius behind the lens.
Somehow, he'd captured the affection she'd directed at Arthur as he reciprocated with a warm smile and clasped her hands. They gazed into each other's eyes so completely enamored, as if it had been their wedding celebrations that day and not her brother's.
Charlotte set the picture in the side table by the door for safe-keeping and looked around the kitchen for something else for which to keep herself occupied. Arthur and Karen had gone into town together this afternoon and Charlotte was on strict orders not to do any work.
She rested her hand on her stomach now, which had grown to a size and shape that was easily recognizable as a baby in residence. Since their unexpected gunfight in Annesburg, everything had settled, but she wouldn't necessarily say it had all gone back to normal.
These days, she wasn't allowed to do much else than think and she had another month of daily mulling to struggle through. Daylong bed rest would soon become the norm and she wasn't looking forward to it.
Certainly, she had enough books to keep her mind occupied, but perhaps the other two could be convinced of a nightly card game to pass the time. She needed something to fill the evening now that Arthur had finished telling her most of his past.
It was her request to hear about who might come after Arthur some day, but at first, he'd seemed at a loss on where to begin. So, instead of asking about all the people he'd wronged, she'd asked him gently of his mother. It worked to help Arthur start to unravel his past. Every night, for an hour before they fell asleep, he shared a few stories.
During that first week, she heard fully of his childhood. He'd spoken of his mother with a soft loving tone, telling Charlotte of a game they'd used to play where she'd hide little scrapped paper of sketched animals around the house for him to find. Then later, more somberly, when he'd watched her fade away with an unknown illness.
He told her little of his father, but his jaw clenched as he admitted his father had been an outlaw and the one to edge him toward a life of crime when he was only nine. He didn't spend much time speaking of his years growing up and surviving on his own. Only that he'd been in more than a few scrapes of his own before he crossed paths with Dutch and Hosea, two men Charlotte knew to be part of the notorious Van der Linde gang. Taken in by the dream of 'true freedom', the two had taught him everything he knew from then on out. There was no mistaking Arthur's gratitude when he earnestly asserted that they'd saved him.
It was here she expected his stories to darken, that he would reluctantly confess to murdering innocents, shooting up towns and whatever other atrocious acts outlaw gangs got up to. She'd prepared herself mentally for the worst.
Rather than tales that seemed only out of wild west novels, out came anecdotes of Dutch and Hosea with their numerous clever scams against other swindlers and criminals. They built themselves from the ground up, founding a moral code in order to help those that they could. This is when Arthur got further sidetracked as he went on to explain the other people they enlisted.
Arthur told her of those who'd passed on: soft-spoken Bessie and playful Annabelle, young Jenny, rowdy brothers Davey and Mac, loudmouth Sean, poor Kieran, plucky Lenny, desperate Molly, ornery Miss Grimshaw (a woman Charlotte had heard Karen mutter about under her breath once or twice).
Of those he'd lost track of: slippery Trelawny, blustering Bill, suave Javier, ruthless Mr. Strauss.
Of those Arthur hoped went on to do well for themselves: grumpy Mr. Pearson (the only one so far who she could put a face to a name), hopeless Reverend Swanson, Uncle, Tilly and daydreaming Mary-Beth.
And of those he missed the most: Abigail, little Jack, Charles, Sadie and of course, John, whose mention either irked or humored Arthur, depending on the story.
These outlaws, con men, thieves...Arthur spoke of each one, not as if they would come for revenge, but as if they were his family and he wished to run into them again.
Arthur did eventually bring up the train, coach and bank robberies they had pulled off. The actions of which should appall her. But Charlotte couldn't quite make the connection between Arthur the outlaw and Arthur the man.
She'd seen Arthur angry and violent, but she found it difficult to consolidate that image with the man she knew, even though she didn't doubt all the stories he told were true. It was undeniable he was an outlaw and had done bad things, but he saw himself as cold, cruel, and brutal.
But...
Would a cold man feel shame of crimes he'd done between now and over two decades ago? Or feel regret over the people he'd robbed or hurt?
Would a cruel man take so much time and meticulous care for his horses? Allow a silly cat to jump in his lap and demand his attention?
Would a brutal man rub her shoulders when they were aching, comfort her when her emotions overflowed, or drop her a kiss just because she was near?
Arthur was not the same person as this dark villain he described. Even then, Charlotte had a hard time believing he was so different back then than he was now. Surely shimmers of his true nature were obvious before he started on his road to forgiveness for his sins?
In any case, when he had brought up the name Blackwater, his expression shuttered while his voice became grave. He was willing to forge on, but the nights he did recount awful times to her, he struggled to sleep and turned over restlessly when he did.
Seeing him one morning, haggard, pale and with what looked like deep bruises under his eyes, she decided she'd heard enough. Charlotte didn't see a point to these stories anymore. As much as she wanted to hear and learn everything, she didn't need to. These nighttime stories were only serving to sate her curiosity and that wasn't enough of a reason for her to warrant his discomfort.
So, they stopped their nightly ritual and held each other, talking of the future instead of the past. It made for calmer and more light-hearted evenings and she was content with that.
The doorknob turned and the door opened behind Charlotte, startling her out of her musings. Arthur and Karen entered the house, in the middle of some disagreement about getting another horse.
"I don't need one," Karen said, clearly vexed. "Quit pushing the issue, Arthur. You're pissing me off."
"You ain't got to worry about paying for it," Arthur argued.
"And I ain't," she snapped back.
"Then what's the issue?"
Karen moved to Charlotte's side, forcing her in the middle of the discussion. "Charlotte, tell him I don't need a horse."
Charlotte glanced between the two of them and tried to be fair in her response. "I can't ride Jane right now, Arthur, so I'm afraid it does seem a moot point."
"He just wants another baby to coddle in that stable we put up," Karen teased, shedding her irritation.
Charlotte hid a smile. It was plausible. The little stall that had been behind the house and only meant to hood a trough had been expanded last week. A few men in town had offered their assistance and the stable had grown twice its size with a new door and, curiously, a third stall.
With some mischief and a smile Arthur's way, Charlotte commented, "Certainly, an additional horse couldn't hurt anything..."
"Alright, alright," he grumbled as he caught her humor. "I won't push it no more."
Karen bumped her shoulder with hers lightly in greeting before moving to the kitchen cupboards and pulling out a tin of biscuits. "How'd you hold up while we were out?"
"Well enough," Charlotte answered. "How did the sale of the pelts go?"
"The what?" Arthur asked, which confused her.
"Real smooth, Morgan," Karen commented wryly.
Arthur cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. Fine."
Charlotte eyed him quizzically as he rubbed the back of his neck. She expected an explanation on what was obviously a ruse, but instead Arthur asked, "Charlotte, you okay for a walk?"
It would be a normal request except he averted his gaze, which only raised her concern. She looked to Karen as she followed him to the door, but Karen only rolled her eyes, keeping quiet for once.
As her and Arthur walked, heading down the hill, her hand on his arm, his silence started to worry her. It wasn't the usual comfortable silence between them that occurred over their morning coffee. It was tense, as if they were strangers.
"Mr. Mason's picture of us arrived with the mail," she commented, wanting to break the quiet. She waited a moment, giving him a chance to respond, but he didn't. She offered, "We should find a frame for it next time we're in town."
Arthur nodded, his attention far off, aimed at the direction of the river. "Sure."
Because of the direction of her musings from earlier, she wondered if he worried over someone of his past and was trying to build himself up right now to warn her. After all his life stories, there was one person he'd been adamant she was aware of.
"If there's one man I reckon you should keep an eye out for, it's Micah Bell."
"What's he look like?" She'd heard Arthur mention that name before. So, too, had Sadie brought him up with a vicious glint in her eye.
Arthur had described Micah and a fuzzy memory drifted to the surface of Charlotte's mind. "I believe I have seen that man actually."
His eyes had widened and he'd given her a sharp look. "What?When?"
She'd closed her eyes to concentrate. "Yes. The morning Johnny and I went looking for you. He was running away from the cliffs." She opened her eyes again. "I only saw him for a brief moment before he was chased into the woods by agents."
His hands had dropped to her shoulders and his eyes blazed with intensity. "You ever see that bastard again, you shoot first or you run. Don't give him no chance to claim he was any friend of mine."
"You fear this man?"
"No." Arthur had scowled. "But he doesn't fight like a man. He'll kill you just as soon as me if he knew what we had here."
In the present, her and Arthur reached the riverbank. The sun was setting prettily, the purples and oranges colliding gently to complement the skies. Only a few whitetail deer were in sight across the water today.
Charlotte could either confront Arthur now for his strangeness or wait for him to bring it up. As much patience as she had, she liked better when things were in the open between them.
"Arthur." Charlotte couldn't hold her curiosity in any longer as she faced him. "What's going on?"
He took her hands and exhaled. "This ain't easy to say."
She frowned worriedly. Her heart started hammering as she grew more anxious at Arthur's demeanor.
"I ain't never cared too much for normal. Living free was all I wanted, but the life never wanted to let me go."
Charlotte put on a smile, but she was uncertain of what he was getting at.
Arthur continued, "I tried. Just when I thought I'd settle down, the girl I wanted didn't want me no more. So, I gave up on all that nonsense for good. I focused on where I was wanted and left it at that."
Charlotte didn't like where this was going at all. Arthur had had this notion once before, where he'd believed he was wrong to stay. That it would be burdensome and put her in danger. She thought his promise in Chicago had meant he was past these misgivings.
"The thing is, I don't rightly deserve the good that's come my way. With you, a child, a home. I want to keep you safe." He paused to swallow. "And that means only one thing can happen."
"Don't leave," she blurted.
"I—leave?" said Arthur, bewildered.
"I don't know what's come about to make you see that as an option again, but there are no valid reasons to justify it."
"That ain't...Christ." He exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Goddamnit." He took her hands in his again. His calloused palms were warm now and she wondered at his nervousness.
"What I'm tryin' to say is, all that nastiness and trouble in the road led me to you somehow."
She blinked. "Oh."
"Even before we was together, I found myself dreamin' of things I had no right to be dreamin' about at all." His eyes were fixed on her hands, his thumb smoothing over her skin. "Just knowin' you was here then and willin' to invite in a wretch like me...it was enough. Your company makes it easy to forget the bad going on everywhere else."
"I feel the same way," she murmured.
Arthur released her hands to remove his hat and that's when Charlotte observed what she should have noticed the moment he'd returned home. He'd pomaded his hair back, which she'd never seen before from him. Perhaps she could be forgiven missing that detail because it had been mostly hidden by his hat, but his beard had been trimmed recently and the shirt he wore was a white long-sleeve that he'd buttoned up to the top.
Her mouth parted open as she was only now beginning to realize the significance behind the unexpected trip to town, the ironed shirt, the nervous attitude and the stilted conversation.
Arthur reached into his hat and pulled out a small, velvet pouch. He replaced his hat on his head and picked up one of her hands again. "Charlotte, you didn't have to take on the mess that I am, but you did. You didn't have to love me back, but you do that too." He swallowed. "Now, I reckon we won't ever be able to marry..."
Marry. The word jolted through her even as she anticipated it. She covered her mouth as it dropped open. "Arthur, I—"
"We can't ever marry," he reiterated firmly. "Leastwise, not formal and proper with a bunch of witnesses. Might bring 'round the wrong sort of attention."
She was too stunned to argue the point, her heart beginning a drumming race.
"But I want to do this as right as we can so ain't no one ever looks at you sideways."
Arthur overturned the little bag in his palm and there it was. A ring. He offered it to her silently, but she couldn't look at it. Her gaze was fixed on his face. Time stopped and she had a moment to think before she accepted it.
She stuttered out, "I...I didn't know this was something you wanted."
"I didn't think I'd ever want to try again," he admitted and there was the slightest twitch on the corner of his mouth. "But, here I am at your mercy anyway."
When Charlotte didn't give him an immediate affirming answer, a hint of apprehension crept into his eyes, but she had to be sure this was something he wanted. "Arthur, there's no need to feel any pressure from my family. Nor do I want you to feel forced into anything."
"And I ain't tryin' to force you neither, if you don't want it. That ain't what this is about. All I want is for you to know what this ring should mean between us."
She stared in the depths of his eyes, where all his uncertainty had fled. "Which is?"
He lifted her hand, slid the ring on her finger and said with firm conviction, "That no matter what happens, you've convinced me I got more to live for here than to die for out there."
"Arthur." It was all she could manage before she choked on her words and tears blurred her sight.
His arms came around her and he rested his forehead on hers, closing his eyes as his breath fluttered across her cheeks. If she had any doubts remaining, he'd snuffed them out completely. He said nothing, allowing her a moment to get a hold of herself.
She was still overcome with emotion as she whispered, "You didn't have to do this."
His brows drew together in a half-formed glare. "Ain't you the one always doin' things you don't have to?"
She laughed, cutting off a building sob. "Perhaps."
He brushed his knuckles against her jaw lightly and asked in a quieter voice, "Did you really think I was gonna up and leave you?"
She winced apologetically. "I shall place all the blame on the fogginess of my brain of late."
"Uh-huh." He quirked a grin. "That excuse ain't gonna work for you much longer, ma'am." He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, his beard grazing her skin, but warming her down to her toes.
Once they pulled apart, she examined the ring for the first time, surprised to find she recognized it. The ring was slim with a silver band and a familiar detailed cameo on its round surface.
She asked with genuine interest, "Aunt Rosie gave you this, didn't she?"
"She said I'd know what to do with it when I saw it. Just took a little longer than I thought to find the courage." He wavered some in his resolve. "Do you like it?"
"Yes." Charlotte used a finger to trace the image of a sleeping white doe. "It's the one piece from her jewelry collection that I always admired."
"That so?"
Amusement arose as she recalled, "Rosie always said I could have it when I knew my place." She smiled up at him. "I always thought she'd been admonishing me. Now I see she was making me a promise."
Her heart swelled. Rosie hadn't given this ring to Arthur lightly. His having it meant she was offering her full approval. While not necessary, Charlotte was grateful she had the support, should she need it in the future.
She stood with Arthur, watching the sunset, resting her head on his shoulder, content as her emotions leveled out and her heart slowed to a happy, calm plodding. She was nothing less than fully blissful as to how the evening had turned out.
In fact, she was distracted so thoroughly in her elation that she wouldn't remember later when the micro pains actually began.
Charlotte first noticed the pressure in her abdomen as they walked up the hill. She thought it was caused by the effort from the steepness of the terrain. But as they passed through the wooden arch, she had to stop a moment.
She clutched her stomach with one hand as a sudden cramp pained her. Dread disrupted all her former peace. Not yet. There should be more time. She was sure she had a few more weeks at least.
"What is it?" Arthur asked, looking around as if expecting an attack. "What's wrong?"
"I think..." She clutched him tightly, feeling her skin heating up as her heart thumped in fear. "...it's the baby."
"Now?" Arthur gaped which would be comical if another pain didn't erupt over her and made her gasp.
He grasped her arm and said, "Let's get you to the house."
"Arthur." There was only one thought going through her head right now and it had her panicked more than the growing discomfort from her body. "Arthur. It's too early."