Even now, John values survival. After all, what would be the value of good and bad if you were dead? He learned how to steal, lie and cheat, the art of sweet talk. He learned what things he could and could not get away with. He learned from what he heard, stories of brave vigilantes, ruthless ringleaders and legendary gunslingers. He values it because he wants to live, and the people in the stories, they were survivors. He wanted to survive to know what it would be like to chase the sunset.
He remembers the first time he held a gun – a drunken man decided to humor him a bit and let him hold his gun - and he remembers the feeling clearly. He remembers the cold metal of the revolver, the curve of the hammer against his thumb, the weight of a weapon. For a few moments, he didn't feel so helpless, so powerless against the world. He felt control, the ability to change his future.
And it was a feeling he didn't want to let go of.
John looked out to the desert, waves of heat tumbling on the horizon. Sitting against the back wall of the orphanage, thoughts ran through his head. The horse always hitched by the saloon. A knapsack of food and a few apples for two weeks. All the clothes he could get without drawing suspicion.
His thoughts were interrupted as the door beside him abruptly opened, followed by the quick steps of -
"You've been acting a bit," she declared with no fanfare, "strange, lately, John."
The dust kicked up by her boots as she came to a stop beside him. He looked up and grinned at her, trying his best to look innocent, which failed. He was 17 years old, almost 18; at that point, any attempt of trying to look innocent immediately aroused suspicion. "Don't know what you're talkin' about, Abigail." By then, they had gotten past formalities, four years after they had met.
Abigail, now 14, raised an eyebrow, her hands on her hips. "You're up to something and I don't like it." She said, not falling for his act one bit.
That was their meeting spot, behind the orphanage. Kids liked to play up front, where they could get lost in the crowd and go explore the town, so the adults had to stay in front as well to look after them. The older kids liked to stay inside or sneak off. But they liked the quiet open space overlooking the desert. The wind twanged the clotheslines, covering the clean laundry with desert dust.
He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Heat's screwin' with your head." He stated matter-of-factly, shrugging. He heard her huff and promptly plop down beside him, her dress flying up before settling around her. Lifting his hat, he wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "Might be screwin' with mine too."
"You were born with your head screwed." She snorted, whipping out a handkerchief. Patting her forehead with it, she let out a sigh. "So what are you doin' out here?"
"Thinkin', I suppose." He replied curtly.
She merely hummed before falling back against the wall. They were silent for a while, sitting in the sun like old dogs, before either of them spoke.
"So that Ben's been botherin' me lately." She said, annoyance evident in her voice.
He turned to look at her. "What's he been doin'?"
She waved her hand, as if the matter were insignificant. "Y'know, harassin' us girls like usual. Sayin' some ungentlemanly things and whatnot." She let out another sigh, her head rolling to the side lazily. "But he started botherin' me especially when I told him to fuck off."
"Did you tell any of the sisters?"
She shook her head. "Ben told me he'd get me kicked out if I told." She scoffed. "Can't believe they think he deserves any sort of power in this here establishment. He's a lecher, if you ask me."
John and Ben were on neutral terms. However, John held a secret disdain for him; Ben was disrespectful and crude to a point where it wasn't funny. He was bothersome at times and often tried to convince the younger boys to follow his example, to generally be an asshole. Quite frankly, John didn't like being around him so much, but he was close to his age, two years older, and so they just happened to have to be around each other a lot. After hearing this piece of news, however, his disdain grew tenfold.
He brushed the side of his nose and sniffed. "Is that so?"
"But I can deal with him." She said haughtily.
He highly doubted it. After all, in this case, she wouldn't be the one holding the gun.
"You comin' down with a cold?"
"No."
She hummed again. "Guess you're just tryin' to be like those silly men who ride into town like they own the place."
He looked away, embarrassed, as she hid a smile. Sometimes, he tried too hard to be a hero, even when he didn't have to be.
They stood in the alley between the general store and the doctor's office, smoking as they usually did.
"So I hear you been botherin' the girls." John said, snuffing out his cigarette.
Ben let out a short laugh before he took a long drag. "I wouldn't call it botherin'."
"Whatever you're doin', they don't like it."
He shot a look at John. "Now why would you suspect that?" He threw his cigarette to the ground and leaned forward threateningly, nearly touching the brim of John's hat. "You uh, hear them talkin' about me?"
John didn't back down. "Suppose you could say that."
Leaning back against the wall, he spat on the ground. "That little bitch…" He muttered darkly.
He felt his anger flare. Grabbing Ben by the collar, he pushed him up against the wall. "Listen, you," he growled, "if you try to go on hurt any one of those girls, you're gonna be sorry. You leave them alone, you hear?"
"What the fuck are you talkin'-"
He pushed him harder, his fist against his throat. "You know what I'm talkin' about, friend."
Ben gagged. "Why the hell do you care so goddamn much?" He managed to gasp out. "It's not like you talk much to –"
Realization seemed to dawn on him at that moment and he had the gall to grin. "I knew you had a thing for that Abigail girl."
John dug his fingers into the sides of his throat, drawing out a strangled gasp. "You may have scared her into not tellin', but I'm not scared of a sack of shit like you. I'll tell them and you'll be thrown out." He smirked. "Maybe Sister Alberta will acquaint you with Rosette." Ben's face paled. John let him go, throwing him to the ground. "Or you can just leave them alone. You decide."
Massaging his neck, Ben glared up at him. Saying nothing, he slunk away as John stared at his retreating back.
Men like Ben, he learned, they didn't take those types of confrontations easily.
That night, a high-pitched scream pierced the silent night. John's eyes shot open and he scrambled to his feet. Adrenaline immediately began pumping throughout his body. Looking around, he saw that the other boys didn't seem to hear. Deciding that he had better things to worry about, he ran out of the room towards the girl's quarters, taking care to make as much noise as he could, starting with the slamming of the door. Sprinting down the hall, he paused momentarily to bang his fist against one of the rooms, which was followed by the clicks of a gun. Skidding to a stop, he grabbed the knob to the room, only to find it locked. He could hear frightened whimpers inside. He swore loudly.
"Do not take the Lord's name in vain, John!" A voice behind him boomed.
Muttering a quick apology, he stepped back. Sister Alberta raised her shotgun and wasted no time in shooting the knob off. More screams were heard from inside. John quickly moved forward and kicked the door open, his heart pounding-
Only to see Ben on the ground, groaning in pain, with Abigail standing over him with a broken lantern.
Relief washed over him. "Jesus Christ, Abigail…"
She dropped the remnants of the lantern with a clatter, dazed and shaking. Taking heavy breaths, she slowly backed away from Ben. John surveyed the room. Books and other trinkets were knocked over, only on one side of the room, closest to where Ben fell. Broken shards of glass from the lantern littered the floor and the faint smell of oil lingered in the room. He saw that one girl's dress was torn. Sister Alberta grabbed Ben by the arm and yanked up him, propping him up against the wall. Sticking Rosette under his chin, she looked him in the eye, sneering at his sorry state. The other kids had woken up and were crowded around the door, watching with sleepy eyes.
"Were you thinking," she muttered dangerously, "of hurting these girls?"
He merely stuttered, blood trickling down his forehead.
"Now," she began, ejecting the shell from her gun and loading the next, "what shall I do with you then?"
He gulped, his legs shaking with fear. She pursed her lips and pulled away.
"I'd rather not have the children see a man killed before their eyes." She sighed, lowering Rosette. "Again, for some of them." Grabbing him by the arm, she walked towards the front door. "I'm turning you over to the sheriff. Perhaps then, you will see the error of your ways and wish I had given you the mercy of dying."
As they walked out together, the smell of urine passed. Looked like Ben really thought he was going to die.
Turning his attention over to Abigail, he saw Miss Judith trying to comfort her. He walked over to them and nodded at Miss Judith.
"I'll take care of her, Miss Judith. Go look after Amelia. She's the one who's needin' the help." He said gently. She stroked Abigail's hair before nodding and going over to the others. He took her place beside Abigail.
He didn't even need to ask her to explain. "I heard someone comin' in." She mumbled groggily, rubbing her eyes. "Then there was screamin' and before I know it, I got a broken lantern in my hands and a cryin' man at my feet."
"How'd you hit him in the dark?"
She shrugged. "Only God knows. Hell, I might've been aimin' at one of the girls to shut 'em up." She let out a tired laugh. "Got lucky, I suppose."
He noticed her hands were shaking. "You did good." He said, patting her on the shoulder. She merely hummed in reply.
Looking up, he saw her staring at Amelia, who was crying, before she turned away. He watched her bite her lip and scrunch her forehead. She clasped her hands together to stop the shaking. He almost thought she was about to cry.
"You alright?" He asked, unsure.
Bowing her head, she rubbed her forehead. "Even here," she sighed wearily, "we're still not safe."
His thoughts wandered farther after that day. The horse. The food. The clothes. Survival, dreams, freedom, safety.
He would think of Abigail's words.
"What do you think of gettin' out of here?" He said out of the blue on a calm spring day, leaning against the wall at his usual spot outside as Abigail dealt with the laundry.
Abigail patted a bed sheet, beating out the dust, paying little attention to him. "Hm?"
"Y'know," John said, shifting onto his other foot. "out of this town? Going to see the world, that sort of thing."
Abigail paused for a moment, her hand hovering over the laundry hanging from the clotheslines, before she pulled the cloth down. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she cocked her head, looking at John. "You suggestin' something?" She asked, hoisting up the basket of laundry, and carrying it over to a nearby bench.
He shrugged. "Just askin' a question."
Pulling out a bed sheet, she tossed one end to John as she held the other. "Foolish, if you ask me."
"Hey now," he laughed, pulling the ends together, "weren't you the one who was talkin' about dreams?"
They folded it long-ways and shook the creases out. "Never said that we should let them get to our heads." She said in a sing-song voice.
"Ain't that what dreams are?" He asked as he handed her the ends. "People thinkin' up fanciful impossible things but followin' them anyway?"
She paused again, idly finishing folding the bed sheet, apparently seeing his point. He grinned.
"We could get out of here." Without even realizing it, he turned his plan into one that would accommodate the two of them.
She didn't answer, continuing her laundry folding.
Finally, after twenty tense minutes, standing with a basket of neatly folded laundry, she sighed. "Well," she said, sounding somewhat defeated as if this whole thing was some sort of psychological battle, "suppose it's better than joinin' a covenant."
"So would you?" He called. She kicked the door open and stopped, throwing a smile over her shoulder.
"I'm not so cruel as to leave you alone if you were to go out into the world." She called back before grinning. "Besides, God knows you'd be a wreck without me." She laughed as she quickly shut the door, narrowly dodging a balled-up pair of long johns. Poking her head out, she added, "You'll be washin' that again, John!"
He could hear her laughter echo down the halls, loud and happy, like firecrackers. He knew she felt it too, the joy that came with the possibility that she still had a chance to find that life she never knew, the one that she might actually want.
And suddenly, the sunset didn't look so far away anymore.
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