Oof, where to begin with this week! If this chapter seems a little off, I understand. I feel like I had a lot of things that I wanted to happen and didn't know where in the story to fit them in, so they all are in here. Plus, I was having a ton of trouble writing this week, especially since anything romance related is not my strong area. Work stress and the general 2020 feeling of impending doom decided to be extra difficult so my motivation was basically gone.

Now that I've gotten some setup and details out of the way in this chapter, hopefully the next few will read a little smoother.

Chapter 14: Sights of Saint Denis

Arthur scrambled to his feet, grabbing the cane and moving as fast as he was able to the door and down the stairs. But by the time he reached the street, it was too late. Albert was gone.

First, he tried looking in Albert's favorite places in the city. He tried to art supplier, which carried some items needed for his photography, then the studio where Albert sometimes offered his services. He went to the cafe that sold his favorite French pastries, but no one had seen him there. So he tried the main saloon, wondering if Albert had gone to get drunk, and when he wasn't there, Arthur trudged to Doyle's Tavern in the poorer section of town. It was never Albert's first place to suggest, but if the man was trying to avoid him and be unpredictable, he could have gone there. Plus, the tavern was more Arthur's scene compared to the fancy food and high buy-in poker games of Bastille Saloon, and Arthur desperately needed a drink.

Doyle's Tavern was empty, however, save for Doyle himself and a rather loud French man. Arthur took a seat and propped up his now aching leg, the muscles still not used to walking far. The French man noticed him and said, "Hey, buy me a drink, mon ami."

Arthur huffed, not much in the mood for company, but he knew he wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. "Sure, what you want?"

"Brandy!" the man said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Two brandies, bud," Arthur said to the bartender.

"It's two dollars a glass," the bartender said.

"Well, it better be good then," said Arthur as he forked over the bills. He would never get used to how expensive drinks were in this town.

"It's the best." The bartender slid them the glasses, and Arthur raised it with the French man before downing it in one go.

"It's quite a country you're building here, eh?" the man said.

Arthur raised his eyebrows at the man. "What, me personally?"

"I don't know, what do you do?"

"Nothing, I guess. I'm… between jobs at the moment. What do you do?"

"Ah, well, mostly I pose, I show off, I complain. You know, I have been all, I have seen the sights, and I have discovered the one eternal truth. That I am a prize, how do you say, whole ass!"

"Asshole?"

"That too!"

Arthur gave a weak laugh. Normally, meeting an interesting and enigmatic stranger would have been the highlight of his day, but his heart just wasn't in it.

The man noticed and said, "Why so sad? Problems with a woman? Only a lover could cause such distress."

"Eh, not quite."

"But it is someone, yes? What's your name?"

"Arthur."

"Charles."

"So this woman you are caught up on? You should tell her you want her. If she says no, bah! Forget her! This city is full of them!" As Charles talked, Arthur ducked his head a little and stared deep into his brandy. It didn't escape Charles' notice. As the bartender slipped to the back, he leaned in close to Arthur and whispered, "Ah, I see. It is a man!" Arthur whipped around, eyes wide, but Charles said, "Oh don't worry. I am not as close minded as these other Americans. Or the other artists in the salons of Paris. They didn't like what I painted in my little pictures, the women or the men, and thought I should go away, so I went away."

"You're a painter?"

"No, I'm a whole ass! I thought we had covered this!" That got a bigger laugh out of Arthur.

"You miss Paris?"

"That smelly, filthy place with old buildings and ghosts and shit and French people? I have that right here!"

"I guess so."

"You know, Arthur, don't believe in art, it's lies. The vagina, that is truth. Breasts is truth!" His voice dropped to a whisper, leaning in again. "The cock… truth! Art, it's for idiots."

"If you say so."

"Trust me, I've tried both." They finished off their brandies. "So, I must be boring you, but here." He slid over a paper.

"What is it?"

"It's just a little doodle." Arthur flipped the paper over to see a sketch of a naked woman, casually lounging on a chair with her breasts on full display. Strong lines formed the shape of her body, but the lack of detail in her face and her nakedness made her seem anonymous. "You know, entirely worthless unless you want to wipe your bottom with it but I wanted to say thank you for the drinks."

"Well, that's very kind, Charles. Good meeting you."

"No matter. Go, Arthur. Go find your truth!"

But upon leaving the saloon, even after a short distraction, Arthur still found that he had no idea where to look to find Albert. He walked down towards the market, lost in thought, and walked straight into a man with a shaved head wearing a dark brown robe.

"Sorry, excuse me," Arthur muttered.

"You are alright, kind sir," the monk said. "Will you help the poor?" He gestured to his donation cup. "There are so many who will hungry tonight."

"Sure," said Arthur, pulling a few coins from his pocket.

"Bless you, sir."

Arthur leaned against the wall, his leg throbbing slightly from the sudden impact of walking into another person. "How you getting on, anyhow?" he asked.

"These are a somewhat apathetic lot, I'm afraid."

"My uh… my old mentor," Arthur said, not really sure what to call Dutch these days, "said that America is designed to induce apathy in people."

"That's wonderful insight. He must be a wise man, your mentor."

Arthur just laughed. "Lately, he's been more of a downright fool. We kind of had a falling out recently."

"That is a shame," the monk said. "But the thing is I'm, well, poverty will always be with us. But slavery," the monk peeked over the brick wall to look towards one of the shops tucked into the corner. "I thought we had banished that. But Saint Denis is acting as a staging post for shipping slaves out to some of the islands."

"I don't believe you, it's 1899," Arthur said, but at the same time, he could see the depravity of some folks causing it to happen.

"Maybe you should take a look for yourself," the monk said. "I've heard that the pawnbroker down the block around the corner, the one with the green door, well they say he sells more than forlorn trinkets."

At first, Arthur just wanted to keep walking and continue his search for Albert, but then he thought about Tilly, young and sweet, and Lenny, who was proud to be the first of his family born outside of chains. If this was happened in Saint Denis, it could happen to them.

The pawnshop with green door was full of goods and trinkets, left on shelves and stacks all around the store, creating almost a maze. But years of casing stores and houses for robbery made Arthur very good at looking past the clutter to find the places people hid their valuables. On first glance, most people wouldn't spot the hidden room or basement, but Arthur's keen eyes picked up the small annex that seemed to only contain a bookshelf. On the floor, however, was a series of scrape marks from the bookshelf being repeatedly dragged out.

The owner, who had been watching Arthur like prey eying a potential predator, said, "Oh, nothing much back there, I'm afraid… just a few old book." Arthur ignored him and tugged on the bookshelf with his right arm. Heavy, it didn't budge. His left arm wasn't much help yet, so Arthur tried a different method.

Drawing his revolver and pointing it at the owner, he said, "I want to see what's behind this bookshelf."

"Nothing, sir! Just the wall!"

"Oh, I don't believe you. Move this shelf! Now!"

The owner scurried over and heaved the heavy bookshelf forward and led the way into the basement. Immediately, Arthur heard several words in what he recognized as Spanish. Two people were chained up in the darkness, and Arthur had to tap down the urge to put a bullet in the shop owner's skull. It wouldn't do for the law to come running.

"Keys," he said, leveling the revolver at the owner again, and a key ring was tossed to him. "Get in that corner now," Arthur said, and then approached the prisoners with a more gentle voice. "It's going to be okay, I'm on your side."

He unlocked the shackles and led the thankful people back to the monk.

"Brother?" he started, realizing he didn't know the monk's name.

"Brother Dorkins, friend."

"Arthur, Arthur Morgan. You were right. I found these two imprisoned in that shop."

"Oh my! Well, they are blessed to have met you, Arthur."

"I don't think they speak much English," Arthur said, but it seemed that Brother Dorkins knew at least a few Spanish words as he began to lead them to the church.

"Hey, you forgot this!" Arthur said, picking up the donation cup.

"Oh, yes. Thank you, I…" Brother Dorkins briefly took the cup, but then tried to give it back. "Here, as payment. For your services. I could not have freed these men myself."

Arthur just shook his head. "Give it to the poor, Brother. I was glad to help."

Arthur watched Brother Dorkins go, not sure where to head himself. The sun was starting to set, and just as he wondered if he should go back to to Albert's apartment, he heard a voice call his name.

For a second, his heart leapt, but then he realized it wasn't Albert's voice. In fact, it was a voice that always seemed to surprise him!

Josiah Trelawny stood in the middle of the Saint Denis street, wearing his usual coat and vest and top hat. On either side of him were two young boys, both with the same dark hair and mischievous eyes. "Arthur, dear boy! It is good to see you since you… left the office."

"Trelawny! I didn't know you were in town." His eyes drifted from the bruises on Trelawny's face to the two boys, but as always, Trelawny was quick on his feet.

"Ah yes, you haven't met my sons. This is Tarquin," he patted the older boy's shoulder. "And this is Cornelius. Have you been staying in the city long?"

"Not too long. I've been staying with a friend." All these years of Trelawny disappearing and reappearing. Had this been why?"

"Perhaps you could join us for dinner. My wife is making jambalaya, and it is the best in the city, let me tell you!"

"Oh, I don't know… I should probably-"

"Nonsense! Come, come, it's right around the corner." Trelawny grabbed Arthur by the arm and led him the rest of the way, climbing a crooked staircase in a back alley to a modest apartment. "We have returned, my dear!" He swept the woman into a kiss, and Arthur let out a chuckle at the embarrassed and disgusted faces his sons put on. "Arthur, this is my wife, Sophia Trelawny. Sophia, my love, this is Arthur from the office.

"It is nice to meet you," Sophia said. She had dark brown hair and dark olive skin that the two boys had inherited. But Tarquin's and Cornelius' faces were all their father. "Josiah never brings by any of his friends. Please sit, sit!" She directed Arthur to the kitchen table. "Did you run into problems on the road as well."

"What?" After a second, Arthur realized she was referencing his cane. "Oh, naw, just an… accident. It will heal up pretty soon."

"Well, that is good news. My poor husband was attacked and robbed! He is lucky not to have been killed!"

Josiah glanced at Arthur, meeting his eye for a brief second. Clearly, there was another story behind his bruises. Arthur said, "Yeah, pretty lucky," and let the conversation drop.

What did continue started to become the oddest evening of Arthur's life. He never suspected that the reason for Trelawny's constant disappearances was a wife and children. And on top of that, one that he suspected didn't know about Josiah's criminal business interests. Thankfully, Trelawny was quick on his feet when Sophia asked about Arthur's work at the office.

"Oh, Arthur here is an expert at land surveying! Knows all about good investments, always steers me right when we partner up. Quite the outdoors man, this one. Of course, he is dreadful at the paperwork. That's where I come in!"

"That so?" Sophia asked.

"Yeah, I like getting away from town, camping under the stars."

"Are you like my husband, also running off and leaving a poor woman at home with the kids?" she asked with a smile and patting Trelawny on the shoulder, a light teasing.

Trelawny, without missing a beat, said, "Now dear, I was under the impression you rather enjoyed having me out of the house!"

"No, not married," Arthur said.

"Really? A nice man like you, no one?"

"Well, there was someone a long time ago, but it didn't end too well."

"Don't give up hope," Sophia said. "There is someone out there for everybody!"

"Yeah, maybe." He hoped Albert was in the apartment when he got back. Though as he watched Josiah and Sophia interact, he wondered what would happen if Josiah ever told her the truth about his job. If she knew all about the money and scams he pulled, would she still love him? Sure, Trelawny never killed anyone that Arthur knew of, but he didn't have to. The gang did the killing for him.

Albert may have heard about the list of crimes Arthur was accused of, but he didn't know the details. Would Albert still be interested in him if he knew about Strawberry?

Later, Trelawny invited Arthur out on a balcony to smoke cigars and talk business. As soon as the door closed, Arthur turned to Trelawny and said, "So, land investment?"

"It easily explains my constant traveling, doesn't it? I don't want Sophia to become involved in my… other business interests. Just in case I am ever caught."

"How long have you been married."

"Oh, almost ten years now."

"And I take it Dutch doesn't know."

"And why should he? You've known Dutch for a long time, Arthur, do you think he would trust my loyalty if he knew about my family?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, Dutch has always demanded loyalty to himself above all else. Having a wife, children? I could see him viewing that as an obstacle."

Arthur wanted to argue against it, over the last few years, Dutch reacted drastically to any thought of someone leaving the gang. When John disappeared for a year after Jack's birth, speeches about loyalty became a regular occurrence. "He wasn't always like that."

"I'm not so sure, dear boy. I always got that feeling from him. The only difference now is that there is more trouble after you lot."

"Is that what happened then?" Arthur said, gesturing towards the bruising on his face. "Trouble after the gang?"

"Yes. Some bounty hunters came knocking, asking questions. Roughed me up a little, though not as bad as I heard happened to you."

"And what exactly did you hear?"

"Hosea told me about those agents in Valentine. He didn't go into much detail, but seeing you now…"

Arthur sighed, rolling the cane in his hand. "It's healing. Slower than I would like."

"Dutch has used your capture as an example of what happens when one of his flock leaves the fold. It has caused a divide, it seems."

"Yeah, Hosea said something similar to me. I'm glad some people are seeing sense, at least."

"And perhaps more will, if this continues. They need to be careful about those two families, the Grays and Braithwaites. I've told Hosea this as well. I'm not certain the job will be as lucrative as it first seemed."

Arthur sighed. Another potential failure for his family. "Well, I trust you'll look into it." They finished off the cigars, and Arthur slowly started gathering his things. "I should really get back to my friend's place."

"Of course, but do keep in touch."

Arthur paused at the door. "You know, I used to think you were a slippery bastard, but…"

"We all choose our faces for a reason, Arthur. And I trust that you won't say anything, as I also won't tell the others where you are."

"Thank you, for dinner, and for everything else."

"You're welcome!"

It didn't take long to walk back to Albert's apartment, but each step Arthur dreaded finding it empty. There was so much he wanted to say, and the thought of not being able to say it to Albert was too much to consider at the moment.

The door was still unlocked when he reached the landing, and he opened it slowly to peak inside, too tense, but his shoulders immediately relaxed when he saw Albert sitting hunched over the kitchen table, back to the door.

"Al?"

Albert jumped and turned, mouth hanging wide open. A few seconds of silence, and then he stammered, "I thought… I thought you had left for good."

"No! No, I actually spent the last few hours looking for you! Well, I did get distracted a little. Where were you, by the way?"

"Oh, just across the way. The Galerie Laurent. The owner is interested in displaying some of my photographs there."

They stared unmoving and silent, then both spoke at the same time.

"I didn't mean to put pressure on you," Albert said.

"I don't want to leave," Arthur said.

"…wait, what?"

"I don't want to leave," Arthur repeated. "I want to stay. I guess, over these last few weeks, I've been feeling the same way."

"Really?" said Albert. "I never thought… most men aren't…"

He kept stammering as Arthur sat next to Albert. He leaned in close, still a little uncertain, but it was Albert who crossed the last few inches and pressed his lips against Arthur's, light, gentle, but enough. And Arthur began to kiss back.

They broke apart after a moment, smiles on both their faces. "Well, I'm glad we cleared that up," Arthur joked. "But I think… well, we still need to talk a little. There's still a lot you don't know about me that you probably should. Some things that are hard to explain."

Albert nodded. "All right. Let's talk."

They stayed up most of the night, and some of the next morning, drinking coffee and eating the leftover pastries. Albert listened and asked questions. Arthur gave honest answers.

And when it was all over, Arthur stayed.