As Simon made his way to his food wagon, camp was quiet and the fire burned low. He lit his pipe and puffed at it, enjoying the peace of the early morning.
Susan was sitting at the table, having her own morning smoke and a coffee. She nodded in silent greeting and he returned with the same. Most days she was joined by Hosea, another early riser, but the old man had been sleeping in longer and longer as time passed.
At Simon's work table, was a deer carcass. It was cleaned and skinned so it must've been from Charles. He was always out in the early hours hunting. With him and Arthur hunting on the regular, the gang had been eating real decent for awhile. While Arthur dropped off his trophies in the middle of the day, Charles tended to leave his when no one was around. Almost like he wanted to avoid any gratitude.
Charles didn't say much, but the animals he brought back were always clean kills. Sometimes, Simon couldn't even find the killing wound.
Simon spent his morning cutting up the meat. He concentrated on this job for the next hour, as the sun rose higher and more people started waking up. When he finished slicing the meat, he set it aside. He cleaned up the blood and began chopping vegetables next.
However, he wasn't in any rush. Simon learned a long time ago that if he served the stew late in the afternoon, he only had to make one large meal for everyone everyday, instead of multiple. Some of them got angry or impatient over it, but they could fend for themselves the rest of the day if they were so hungry.
As he was setting up the cauldron over the fire, Tilly, Mary-Beth and Karen walked over and poured themselves coffee.
Mary-Beth was saying, "I'd be miffed she was making us look bad with all her volunteering, but she ain't no better than us. Maybe worse."
Karen answered with a grin, "Or maybe the woman's a genius and we shoulda been playin' stupid at chores a long time ago so we wouldn't be made to do them."
Tilly commented, "I think Miss Grimshaw's actually missing our help."
They giggled and moved on. Simon knew they were gossiping about Arthur's visitor. Uncle had told him all about it yesterday when he'd been grabbing his second bowl of stew. Simon didn't know what the fuss was all about.
While the stew heated up, Simon worked over the pelts Arthur and Charles dropped off in the last few days. He separated what he could use for the camp and what would be better sold off.
A little later, Susan strode up to him, looking harried, but that was how she was always looking these days.
"Mr. Pearson, do you need extra help with the cooking today?"
"Not really." He eyed her warily. He could always use help, but he thought he knew where this was going. "Who you trying to pawn off on me?"
She leaned in and said in a low voice, "Mr. Morgan's lady friend, Charlotte."
Simon shook his head vigorously. "Oh, no. Last time you gave me a woman for help, she nearly gutted me. I ain't workin' with no more fishwives."
He didn't realize Sadie was nearby until he heard her snicker. He turned a scowl on her.
"Don't act like it was me who made you afraid of women, Mr. Pearson," she mocked.
"I ain't afraid of women," he argued.
"Right." Her lips tilted upwards ever so slightly. "I'd nearly forgot all them suitors you have."
He frowned at her. What the hell was she going on about?
"This one's different, Mr. Pearson." Miss Grimshaw brought his attention around again. "She's a sweet girl, but she don't know the first thing about nothing and I ain't got the time to coddle her."
"And you think I do?"
"I think," Miss Grimshaw's words sharpened, "If you don't want your shirts and trousers two sizes too small the next time you put them on, you'll take the girl off my hands."
"I don't—"
"Miss Grimshaw," The woman in question was approaching them. "I've finished hanging the wet laundry. Are there any other tasks you need help with?"
"No, no." Susan grabbed the woman by the shoulders and pushed her towards him. "But Mr. Pearson is in desperate need of it."
Simon opened his mouth to object, but Charlotte turned to him and her pretty green eyes lit up with interest and recognition. "Ah, Mr. Pearson. I was hoping to run into you."
Flabbergasted, his mind went blank. "You were?"
"I wanted to thank you for the meal."
"Oh, sure," he responded, somewhat bewildered. He doubted literally anyone had ever thanked him for the meal. Even Susan, who scolded the younger ones making fun of it, held back from compliments, never expressing any passionate gratitude. He was thinking maybe Charlotte was mocking him too, but he said politely, "My pleasure, miss."
His doubts were laid to rest as she continued sincerely, "I'm a beginner in the cooking arts myself, but I'm well aware the hard work that goes into it. I can hardly make my own meals, let alone imagine making food for however many people you cook for."
"It's about two dozen." At least, it used to be. He puffed out his chest. "It ain't easy, but I manage."
Charlotte glanced at Susan making a hasty retreat and frowned. "I'm afraid I've blundered my way through the chores this morning."
Simon offered, "Susan is a strict taskmaster."
She sighed, pressing her fingers to her forehead. "I failed every task she set in front of me. Perhaps I should stop trying to help and wait for Arthur to wake."
Simon couldn't say he didn't think it was a good idea. Last thing he needed was her mixing something in his stew, getting someone sick and being blamed for it. But he had a soft spot for a sorrowful, pretty face.
"I'm sure I can find something to keep you occupied for awhile."
"Are you sure?" she asked, voicing his fears. "I certainly don't want to mess up the meals."
"Food's cooking, but there are some dishes that need washing. How do you feel about that?"
She perked up and her smile warmed him. "I think it's something I can manage."
While he continued his pelts, she started wiping the dishes in the wash bin. She was pleasant company, humming some number. Beethoven, maybe. He wasn't too familiar with the classics, but it cheered him up. Got him to thinking about how he needed to settle down one of these days.
"So, uh," Simon asked at one point, "You ain't married, are you?
The smile she gave him was polite and nothing more. He could tell. He could always tell.
"No," she said carefully, "but I'm afraid I'm not in the market for another husband."
Widow. Yeah, they always seemed to get real hard-hearted after losing a man. He'd seen it plenty of times. Mrs. Adler was a great example of a jaded woman. Pretty enough, but she had claws.
The door to the house slammed open and Simon looked up at Arthur charging his way over. He looked furious and Simon froze for a moment, but his anger was directed at Charlotte.
Arthur stopped in front of her, where she was cleaning. "What in the hell are you doin'?"
Unperturbed, Charlotte continued washing. "Hello, Arthur. How was your nap?"
"It's almost noon! You said you'd wake me after a couple of hours."
"Well, I don't have a watch."
"Charlotte..."
She set down the dishes and gave him her full attention. "I'm sorry, Arthur, but I didn't see any harm in it and it was clear as day you needed rest."
He inhaled deeply and then released a long exhale, as if reining in his anger. "Let's go."
She wiped her hands dry and moved to Arthur's side. "Oh, alright. I only wanted to be of some help around here."
"Trust me, these reprobates need more help than you can give," Arthur told her and added in a mutter, "Myself, included."
She tutted, as if scolding him, "No one is beyond help, as long as they're willing to ask for it."
Their back and forth was cut short as Dutch made his exit from the house, calling out, "Gather 'round, everybody. Gather 'round."
Dutch stopped in front of the fountain, waiting for everyone to drop what they were doing and pay attention.
"Is that Dutch?" Charlotte whispered, peering around the wagon.
"Yes," Arthur answered through gritted teeth.
Simon cut a sharp look at the reverend as he passed by. Swanson got squirrelly and hid on the other side of Uncle. As if that lazy bum was any defense.
"Everyone, a moment of your time, please." Dutch waited another minute, as the girls stood and came over to listen. Finally, he continued, "I know there's been some whisperings about people leaving..."
Simon looked around with interest. He hadn't heard nothing about that. Who was missing?
"Now, Josiah, well, he's never been one to stick around when he's sniffed out a lead and that's all there is to that."
"As for Miss O'Shea," an edge crept into his speech, "I know what happened to her. She lost the faith." He shook his head, grimacing. "People, we have to stick together. It's the only way for us to survive. We need each other. A lone wolf won't last long by itself on the plains."
"Like we ain't heard that line more than once," Arthur muttered.
"I hope she starves," Bill commented about Molly.
Micah added, "Never liked that uppity bitch anyway, Dutch."
"Miss O'Shea will find out soon enough the penalty for abandoning us. She thinks she's free now, but she has not had the capacity to see further than her own fear. She had not yet been taught to see. America is a land of action and we are those actions, and the reflections of them."
Those closest to Dutch were nodding in agreement: Lenny, Javier, Bill and Micah. Simon wasn't exactly sure what they were supposed to be nodding about, but he followed suit when Dutch's gaze roved his direction.
"Who said that?" Charlotte, standing beside Simon, asked under her breath.
Arthur turned to her. "Said what?"
"Those words." Her brow furrowed before clearing suddenly. She declared a little too loudly, "Ah, yes! Evelyn Miller, right?"
"We will get through this..." Dutch had been continuing his words of encouragement, but Charlotte's announcement stopped him dead. Everyone turned to her and she straightened, likely not expecting the attention.
Dutch stepped towards her. "What did you say?"
"The quote..." Charlotte explained hesitantly. "'We are the actions and the reflections upon those actions'. You've paraphrased it from Mr. Miller's book, The American Inferno."
Dutch narrowed his eyes on her. "You must be Arthur's new friend."
"Yes, I suppose I am." She smoothed her skirt down and then stuck out her hand. "Mrs. Charlotte Balfour."
Instead of shaking her hand, Dutch eclipsed it between both of his. "I've heard you've made yourself quite at home here."
Charlotte seemed uncomfortable at the prolonged capture of her hand, but she answered politely enough, "Only through the others' generosity. I hoped to repay the kindness by helping out where I can before my departure."
"She's been wonderful, Dutch," Susan spoke up, which surprised Simon since she'd been quick enough to dump Charlotte onto him.
"Has she now?" At last, Dutch released his hold on Charlotte and she couldn't seem to help taking a step back.
Dutch faced Simon and maybe he was seeing what Susan had spotted in his dark eyes, why she felt the need to defend a stranger she'd refused to coddle earlier. The shine in Dutch's dark eyes reminded Simon of the boys who took sick at sea, whose fevers had manifested phantoms no one else but the afflicted could see.
Simon agreed quickly, "Yes, sir."
"We got a little saying around here, Mrs. Balfour. We shoot those that need shootin', save those that need savin', and feed those that need feedin'."
"Not in that order, I hope."
Dutch stared at her, his glare cold while Arthur visibly tensed.
As if he wasn't offended, Dutch belatedly released a loud chuckle, but anyone could see the humor didn't fully reach his eyes. "You've brought in another comedian, I see."
Arthur shrugged.
"In any case, Arthur, I hope you're ready."
"Ready?"
Over his shoulder, Dutch hollered, "John! Bill! Lenny! Saddle up! We got business in Saint Denis."
"We really doin' this?" Dutch made to stride away, but Arthur stopped him. "Dutch, hold up. Can this job wait 'til tomorrow? I'm takin' Charlotte home today."
Dutch's face reddened and he clenched his teeth. "No, Arthur, this cannot wait. This needs to be done today so that we can plan for tomorrow. She can handle another night here."
"Come on, Dutch," Arthur argued. "She don't got to do that. Let me take her home and we'll be done with it."
"Please, Arthur," Dutch gestured at Susan and Simon, an odd gleam in his eye. "If you all claim she has our interests at heart, she won't mind." Dutch faced Charlotte fully once more. "What's one more evening to you, miss?"
She glanced at Arthur, hesitating. "I wouldn't want to impose on any of you anymore than I already have."
Dutch raised a brow. "Arthur?"
Arthur sighed and turned to her. "Would you mind stayin' just one more night, Charlotte?"
"Since it's you asking," she said breezily, "Not at all."
That settled, Dutch's attention strayed across the camp to the horses where Bill and Lenny were waiting. "Where the hell's John?"
Abigail, at the table, said, "He's still in bed."
"Forget Marston. What about me, boss?" Micah asked. "Ain't no one wants to see that Bronte feller eat shit more than I do."
"I love your tenacity, son, but this job is gonna require a more subtle touch than your usual methods."
Micah scowled, but clamped his mouth shut and skulked off.
Dutch ordered, "Arthur, wake John and meet the rest of us over in Lagras."
"'Course, Dutch." Once Dutch was out of hearing, Arthur told Charlotte, "I'm sorry to get you mixed up further in all of this. If you want, I can see if Charles will—"
Charlotte interrupted, "What is so important that needs to be done right now?"
Simon popped the tab off his beer bottle and watched the two of them go back and forth with interest.
"Er..." Arthur avoided making eye contact. "Best you don't know the answer to that, ma'am."
"Does this have something to do with why you were mucking through the swamps last night?"
Arthur gritted his teeth. "It don't concern you, Charlotte, so leave it."
She narrowed her eyes. "I don't have a good feeling about it, whatever it is."
"Nor do I," Arthur muttered and said firmly, "But it's business."
"Business? And what does that entail?"
"Nothin'."
For a woman who claimed not to be on the market for a husband, Simon thought Charlotte was sure taking a lot of interest in Arthur's actions.
"Alright," Charlotte relented. "Keep your secrets, if you must."
As if he wanted to divert the conversation, Arthur asked half-jokingly, "What'd you think of ol' Dutch?"
Charlotte spared a glance at Simon. "I'm not certain you want my honest opinion on him, Arthur."
His smile slipped. "What you mean?"
"You care deeply for this man and my opinion may upset you."
Arthur protested, "You only just set your eyes on him."
Maybe Arthur didn't want to hear it, but Simon's curiosity got the better of him. "What did you think, ma'am?"
Charlotte drew her arms in, holding herself as she told them, "Dutch wasn't being truthful concerning Miss O'Shea. When I spoke with her, she wasn't afraid, but she was incredibly angry and hurt."
"He weren't lying," Arthur said defensively. "She's been losing it since...well, for awhile now. She ain't cut out for this life."
"I gathered that, but, well..." She blew out a breath. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."
"Charlotte," Hosea called from the table. "You ready for that rematch? Or would you rather stand there arguing with that knucklehead?"
She turned a smile his way, clearing the concern from her expression. "I'll be right over." She faced Arthur again and placed a hand on his arm. "Please be careful today, Arthur."
"You don't got to worry over me none."
Simon frowned as the two shared a silent gaze. Finally, Charlotte went on her way, joining Hosea in some card game.
"What are you so worried about, Mr. Morgan?" Simon asked when Arthur sighed.
"Dutch ain't...he ain't been himself since Blackwater."
"It's been tough." Simon shrugged. "We got a lot of heat on us, more than we're used to. It can certainly make a person over stressed."
"Yeah, you're probably right."
Following Arthur's worried glance at Charlotte, Simon offered, "If you want, I'll watch out for her, Mr. Morgan."
"Thanks, Pearson." Arthur nodded. "Before I wake Sleeping Beauty, I gotta ask a favor from the girls." He strode off in the direction of the women sitting together.
Simon shook his head. Arthur usually left with some parting remark or another, but today he was distracted. At least when he was angry, Arthur wasn't spiteful or nasty with his words like some of the others.
And Simon deserved some insults his way from Arthur. He hadn't shaken his guilt over his involvement for the failed parley with the O'Driscolls.
Simon had been surprised by the initial encounter, when he'd run into those two O'Driscolls on the road. He'd sorta thought the whole thing laughable. His disbelief at their antics had him telling the first person he ran into all about it when he'd returned to camp. Unfortunately, that person had turned out to be Micah.
Micah got him to thinking the O'Driscolls had been serious in their offer and pushed him to bring it up to Dutch. Simon would have thought nothing more of the incident otherwise.
After the meeting occurred, when only Dutch and Micah returned, Simon had practically fallen sick with guilt. Dutch had berated him seven ways to Sunday, but that had been the extent of his punishment.
Simon heard Charles had tried tracking the O'Driscolls down, but had come up short when the gang had split up into multiple groups. Charles could follow the sets of tracks, but had no way of knowing which group of riders had taken Arthur with them and Colm had hideouts all over the country.
Despite the impossibility it all, Simon had been ready to volunteer for whatever rescue mission Dutch had planned. But that plan never formed. A couple days passed and still the troops weren't rallied.
When Arthur, looking half dead, had ridden back and collapsed into camp nearly a week later, Simon had been beyond grateful he hadn't cost the man his life.
Everyone carried on back to normal, but the guilt ate at Simon every time he saw Arthur during his weeks of healing. Every bruise, every cut gave Simon a punch to the gut. The strangest thing in all of it was Arthur didn't seem to hold his mistake against him. It was something Simon respected and felt grateful for.
Everyone else seemed to forget Dutch had chosen to wait instead of act, but Simon hadn't and it still didn't sit right with him when he thought of it again now. Arthur had run with the gang for twenty years and Dutch hadn't managed to come up with a single plan to save him?
They'd gone back for John in the mountains.
They'd gone back for Sean from the bounty hunters.
They'd gone back for Jack from the Braithwaites.
They'd even gone back for that weasel Micah in jail. So, why not Arthur?
It got him wondering things he'd never thought about before. It's when Simon came to realize Arthur was the one going back for those left behind or taken. Dutch may have had a say in their rescues, but he'd not been involved in their return.
If the Navy had taught him nothing else, it was that you didn't abandon your comrades. A great leader was supposed to protect his men the best he could. Whether that was from sickness, injury or war. If that couldn't be accomplished by a competent leader, the situation only left one option for the crew.
Mutiny.
