"You've made stupid decisions before, John Marston, but this little outing has to be one of the dumbest things you ever done."
He and Abigail had just crossed into Lemoyne territory and he'd be lying if he said she was wrong. John wasn't exactly happy to be back so far south again. At least, in this part of the country.
"So you've been sayin' for the last couple of hours," he responded to Abigail. He didn't know why the hell she had followed him in the first place if she was just gonna complain about his life choices the whole way.
She piled on, "And riding back into Rhodes like you don't think no one will recognize you? Real stupid."
"Ain't no one left alive to recognize me." Arthur and the others surely killed off most of the Grays who would know him from stealing them horses. "Besides, we ain't going into town. We're headed straight to the Braithwaite property."
"The Braithwaites," she spat out without hiding her revulsion. "I don't understand why you'd agree to help anyone in that family after what they did to our son."
"The way I understand it, Penelope Braithwaite is just some kid. Probably didn't know nothing about what happened to Jack."
"We'll see about that." Abigail sniffed. "Did Arthur say what this girl wanted?"
"No."
"This better not be some goddamn setup."
"It ain't too late for you to turn around," John suggested sourly.
"No," she replied with expected stubbornness. "I'm here to make sure you don't mess nothing up."
Despite all Abigail's griping and his annoyance at her presence, he knew it actually was too late for her to go off on her own. He'd be a heartless bastard to send her back into the woods unaccompanied. Their trip hadn't involved any encounters with Murfrees on the road, but John had shot dead more than a few of them at Beaver Hollow with Lenny and Bill.
What he'd seen there, the kinds of atrocities those folks got up to, was one of the worst things he'd ever laid eyes on. Corpses strung up, entrails spread across the ground without care, torsos gutted and crucified on a stick, human remains everywhere...
If he pissed Abigail off enough, she'd abandon him for sure, and there was a good chance she'd get herself caught by those freaks. Just the thought of finding Abigail tortured and butchered by them...John swallowed hard. No, he couldn't brood over scenarios like that. It'd leave him too numb to concentrate.
Instead, John kept his mouth shut the rest of the way, even when Abigail continued to berate him, choosing not to respond in case he said something he might fatally regret.
On the edge of the Braithwaite plantation, John slowed Old Boy near a tree and dismounted. Abigail followed his lead, coming up next to him as he removed his spare revolver from his saddle.
He handed it to her, saying, "Here. I ain't expecting you to be hassled, but take it anyway and wait for me here."
Abigail accepted the gun from him willingly enough, tucking it into the waistband of her skirt, but she followed up the action with a combative, "Why should I stay?"
John tried not to snap back at her. He had to bite his tongue to do so and the pain of it still didn't free his tone of his temper. "Why? Can't you just listen to my directions one goddamn time without questioning I know what I'm doing?"
"Because you don't know what the hell you're doing," she shot back. "That's the problem. Arthur sent you down here and you took orders without asking any damn questions."
"This girl's rich," he argued without addressing the issue. "She's a Braithwaite. Arthur said there's money in it. That's all I need to know." Well, Arthur said there might be money in it, some Braithwaite jewels or something, but John wasn't going to disclose that minor detail to Abigail.
"Or maybe it's a fool's errand that'll get you caught for good this time."
"That ain't gonna happen. This will be an easy in and out kind of job."
Abigail placed her hands on her hips, her fighting stance, as she prodded, "Just like the Saint Denis bank was an easy in and out job? Just like wrangling them sheep in Valentine was s'posed to be easy?"
Christ. Was she gonna bring up all the goddamn mishaps he'd been part of? They weren't even all his fault. "What do you want me to say, Abigail? Ain't no job without risk, but the riskiest part of this one is us standing in this field yelling at each other until one of them Braithwaite guards spots us."
He'd raised his voice and she stared him down with pursed lips, unwilling to let it go. He knew he wasn't going to win this one.
"Look," John dropped his hands on her arms, attempting to quell the incoming onslaught of her sharp tongue. "I'll ride in real quick and see what this girl wants."
Her hardened scowl didn't soften any.
John attempted a joke. "If I'm not back in a half hour, you can claim me officially captured and can badger me about it to your heart's content."
"Very funny." She shoved his chest, but without any force. "But bribery won't work if you get your idiot self killed."
He seized the hand she'd rested on his chest and told her solemnly, "I ain't planning on getting killed, Miss Roberts."
Abigail's eyes met his and she swayed his direction a moment, as if she were surrendering to him. But as soon as he moved to meet her halfway, she abruptly snatched her hand back, turned her head and crossed her arms to her body.
A reckless, thrill-seeking part of him nearly wrenched her into his arms anyway and stole himself a kiss from those stubborn, pouting lips. But it probably wouldn't do to meet a young lady for the first time with a reddening slap mark across his cheek.
So he gave up on receiving any affection from Abigail and mounted Old Boy. "Believe whatever the hell you want, but don't move from this spot."
Abigail came around one side of the horse. "This discussion ain't done."
"It is for me. Hiyah!" John squeezed his calves and Old Boy took off west, saving him from another earful.
Goddamnit, that woman drove him mad. Every time he tried to make an effort to get along with her, she raked him over the coals until he couldn't get a word in edgewise. Just why the hell had she even come with?
To make sure he actually came back, John answered himself with full cynicism. Abigail still didn't trust him, like he ain't proved himself ten times over in the last couple of months. He stewed stormily over that as Old Boy trotted down the dusty path that ran along the river.
He couldn't shake his agitation until he found himself strolling up to one of the little cabins situated near the shoreline. There was a blonde young woman sitting out front, engrossed in a book. She wore a top hat and riding clothes, as if she were ready for a journey.
As he drew closer, she had yet to notice him. John stopped walking forward and cleared his throat. "'Scuse me, miss? You Penelope Braithwaite?"
The girl looked up and fear lit her eyes. She froze like a deer in a clearing and asked, light and breathy, as if she were about to faint, "Who are you?"
He raised his hands to calm her down. "Name's John Marston. I'm here on behalf of..." John hesitated, unsure if Arthur had used an alias. Then belatedly realized maybe he should have used an alias. He finished lamely, "Uh...Arthur?"
Penelope's face broke into a smile. "Mr. Morgan got my letter?"
Before John could confirm, she stood, slipped into the little cabin briefly and withdrew a small lady's bag. With anxious steps, she leaned over the edge of the porch, her eyes darting across the yard. "Let's go. We ain't got a moment to lose."
He watched her, wary. "What's the rush, miss?"
Penelope faced him, her eyes wide and teary all of a sudden. "Oh! They killed her. They killed Ms Calhoun, the leader of our suffrage movement here in town."
"Who did?"
"I don't know," she said. "My cousins probably, or Beau's. They're animals. No, worse. Monsters."
"Sounds like," he said. He tried not to agree too adamantly. The families around here were notoriously awful, as they'd come to find out firsthand.
"Can you please take me to the train station?" she pleaded.
"In Rhodes?"
"Yes. Beau—my intended—he's waiting for me there."
Shit. He could hear Abigail yelling in his ear already. But what else could he do? "Alright, miss. Let's head out then."
"Oh, thank you, sir," she gushed happily. "I am in your debt."
"If you don't mind me asking, miss..." John assisted Penelope up onto the back of his horse. "Why ain't this intended of yours here to rescue you?"
"We can't be seen together. A Gray and a Braithwaite? He'd be killed and I'd be sent to a nunnery."
"That so?" John mounted onto the saddle, turning his head to inform her, "I've got my, er, wife with me. We just gonna swing by the edge of the fields to get her and we can be on our way."
"You're here with your wife? How romantic."
John snorted. "I doubt she sees it that way. We've been...arguing."
"Oh? Beau and I never argue."
"Good for you."
As soon as he mentioned Abigail, he realized she was not gonna take kindly to another woman—especially an attractive and younger woman—with her arms tight around his waist.
John sighed. Ain't nothing he could do about it now.
"Surely, whatever the disagreement is, it can be resolved if you two love one another."
John didn't know what he'd call it other than a pain in his ass. Yet, had him wondering again why the hell Abigail had come all the way out here. He felt like he should know the answer.
Behind him, Penelope asked innocently, "Where is Mr. Morgan, sir?"
Remembering the hoops Arthur had been jumping through to try and send Charlotte away the last few days, he answered, "In a heap of his own lady troubles, I reckon."
"Oh? I really hoped to see him again, to thank him for all he's done for me and Beau."
"And what is that exactly?" Abigail had him curious with all her questioning of this trip.
She listed off, "Why, he bravely drove our wagon into Rhodes with Ms Calhoun and supported our cause to vote. He also so graciously ran letters back and forth between me and Beau when no one else would."
"Did he?" John chuckled. He was going to have to inconveniently bring that up next time he saw Arthur.
As he suspected, as soon as they were in sight of Abigail, who had resorted to pacing in the grass, she zeroed in on Penelope. Her eyes narrowed and her cheeks pinkened in a splotchy way that John had come to recognize as her temper manifesting. At the deathly glare she sent him, he was regretting handing one of his guns over to her.
"Abigail," John introduced when they were near enough, "this is Miss Penelope."
"It's certainly a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Marston." Penelope tilted her head politely.
"Likewise," Abigail responded, surprised a moment before shooting him another dark look when she heard he hadn't the foresight to provide an alternate name to a stranger.
"Miss Penelope's asked for an escort."
Abigail mounted her horse and they started down the road. "So, where you needing to go so urgently, Miss Braithwaite?"
"The train station, if it's not too much of a bother," Penelope answered. "That's where my love Beau is waiting for me."
Abigail shot her attention to him. "What happened to not going into town?"
"This won't take long," he refuted offhandedly. "We'll get her on the train and be out before anyone can get a good look at us."
Abigail rolled her eyes upwards and then asked Penelope, "And this boy of yours is just waiting at the station for you?"
"I told him I'd make it out of there one day soon and today's that day," she told them, her voice all optimism and sunshine.
"How can you know for sure he'll be there?"
"I have his word from his last letter."
Abigail said doubtfully, "That's all you got to go on?"
"Our families won't let us out to meet with each other," Penelope explained. "It's only gotten worse after all that business with Aunt Catherine and my cousins. Did you see the house?"
John coughed, caught off guard. "Uh, yeah."
It'd been burnt down to ashes and he'd been involved with its destruction. It seemed like real long ago now, when the gang had joined up together in solidarity to go after Catherine for taking Jack.
"Ain't you upset about your aunt getting killed?" Abigail asked, as if testing her.
"Oh, no." Penelope shook her head and then paused. "You both probably think that's terribly heartless."
Abigail commented, "I hear Catherine Braithwaite was terribly heartless."
John shot her a warning look this time, not wanting to offend the girl and ruin a possible payout, but Abigail ignored him.
Luckily, Penelope didn't seem to notice their exchange. "Aunt Catherine wasn't the softest of women. Maybe that's why it's been easy to move past her death. But I really believed losing her would bring about change to this town and to our families."
John told her, "Unfortunately, tragedy don't always ensure change."
"I see that now. But after all those Grays were killed in such a massacre, I was hoping for a new beginning. It should have brought everyone together, Grays and Braithwaites."
John stiffened in the saddle. She was talking of the ambush that killed Sean.
"But no. No one wants to start over around here. They all want to hold their grudges, blame each other and stay angry. I can't stand it anymore and I can't live like that."
"Understandable," Abigail murmured in agreement.
"Something good has to come out of all this," Penelope stated firmly. "It just has to. Beau and I, together, we can make things better."
"You're lucky to have each other."
John could practically hear Penelope beaming at Abigail. "We really are."
They slowed their horses when they reached Rhodes. John roved his gaze across the dusty town, wary of the men standing around and idle, but no one seemed interested in their appearance.
"There he is!" Penelope exclaimed when they reached the station building.
Old Boy hadn't fully stopped before Penelope was sliding off the saddle on her own and running up to a young man near the entrance. "Beau, my sweet, my best of men."
Beau responded in kind, "I'm hardly a man at all, but I love you, Penelope Braithwaite."
John dismounted, saw the couple embracing and looked away, uncomfortable with their open affection. For all her talk of being murdered if they were seen together, they sure weren't worried about hugging each other in public.
John glanced at Abigail and noticed her reacting in a similar manner as him, seemingly distracting herself by hitching her horse.
The reunited couple turned to them again. "Would you two mind riding on the train with us a little, just to the first stop?"
John wisely held his tongue, letting Abigail answer for the both of them since he was already in the doghouse with her today.
Abigail bit her lip, glanced at the afternoon sun, and eventually replied, "If we can still get back home before dinner, I suppose it's no hassle."
Beau commented, "How can we ever repay your kindness?"
As he and Abigail followed the two into the train station, John muttered, "A few dollars goes a long way."
Penelope asked, "Do you mind buying the tickets so we don't chance being seen?"
Little late for discretion, John thought to himself, while Abigail offered, "Of course."
The two ran ahead to wait on the loading platform outside. Abigail stuck by his side as he pulled out some cash and addressed the ticket clerk.
"Can we get two tickets to Saint Denis, and two round trip?"
"Of course," replied the clerk. "But I'm obliged to apologize about the direct line not running today, sir. Midland Rail is in right now and she heads west before looping back around this way."
"Sure." He figured it didn't matter much as long as the two actually got out of Rhodes.
John swapped his own damn money for the tickets while Abigail observed the couple on the other side of the window. "They really are in love."
"I guess."
She glanced at him. "You don't think so?"
John took the tickets and moved away from the booth. "In a few years, they'll know each other better and see that married bliss ain't all it's cracked up to be."
Abigail drew her shoulders back. "Is that what you think is happening to us?"
"What? No." How the hell had he got this conversation turned against him so quickly? "Just sayin', they're kids. They don't know—"
"John," Abigail interrupted him, clutching his sleeve with one hand and pointing out the window with the other. "Something's wrong."
He turned in time to witness Penelope Braithwaite launching herself onto the back of a man attempting to drag Beau away. Damn, these two really did need help getting free of their families.
John burst out of the station and stopped, deciding which to go after first. One man had was pulling on Beau while Penelope had distracted the other.
"It's Beau's cousins!" Penelope exclaimed with fright, yet still bravely on the back of one of the cousins.
"You ain't leaving town with that inbred!" hollered the man wrestling with Beau.
Abigail went straight to Penelope, tugging on her arm and telling her to let go. Choosing to come to Abigail's aid, John strode over and hauled Penelope off of Beau's cousins without waiting to ask. He pushed her into Abigail's arms and Abigail led her from the scuffle.
Beau got himself into a headlock with the portly cousin and he struggled to fight back. The skinnier, auburn-haired cousin nearest to John turned his focus on him.
"Clear off, partner," John warned. "Leave these folks alone."
"Who the hell are you to be interfering in our family business?"
"Unfortunately for you, no friend of yours."
The cousin put up his dukes, but John wasn't about to waste time and energy on a fistfight. He whipped out his revolver and aimed at the man's head. "Let us on our way or you'll soon have a hole where an eye should be."
The cousin's fists opened up and he raised his palms, immediately calling back to the other, "Let him go, Iain."
Iain had a sturdy stronghold on Beau. "But, Scott—"
"I ain't getting shot over Beau." Scott spared one last glance at John's aimed gun before he started to back up, turned around and fled.
"I'll take that to mean you're cooperatin'," John taunted after him.
"Goddamnit!" cursed Iain before he shoved Beau and scurried away too.
Beau massaged his neck. "Thank you, sir. I've never seen them scare off so easily."
John spun his gun back into his belt. "Gun pointed at your face will bring out the coward of damn near anyone."
He and Beau boarded the train and found Abigail and Penelope halfway down the aisle. Beau dropped a kiss on Penelope's cheek and slipped in next to her.
"Goodbye, Rhodes," Beau told her.
"Hello, future," Penelope returned with a smile as the train started rolling out of the station.
Abigail had been standing and she turned to examine his face. "Did they land any hits on you, John?"
At her unexpected concern, he joked, "Don't tell me you were worried about me."
She scowled. "'Course not."
He felt a smile taking over. "You were worried."
"Shut up. I was not, you idiot." She turned from him and plunked down in the forward-facing seat in front of Beau and Penelope, crossing her arms and glaring out the window.
John wanted to laugh, but he also didn't want to push her into more of a sulk. "Abigail, I ain't hurt. They ran off before anything happened."
While Abigail ignored him, Penelope covered her mouth and pointed out the window. "Oh no."
John crouched and leaned over the seats so see what she was pointing at. Outside, several men on horseback were chasing the train, rifles out and trouble written all over them. "You know them fellas?"
Beau informed them, "That's her cousins now."
"I told you," Penelope said unhappily. "They mean to kill us."
This was a lot of family push back for just chasing down some kids in love. John ordered, "Abigail, give Beau that gun. Meet me outside, kid. Ladies, stay here and stay down."
Abigail shot him a disapproving look and her mouth dropped open, but he turned away without waiting for her to object and strode towards the back of the passenger car. They ain't got time to argue when they were being hunted.
The next trailer of the train was a flat car with a few barrels and crates. Before he jumped into cover, John took a second to scope out how many gunmen he'd be against. Two riders were up close and hadn't spotted him yet, eyes searching the windows of the train. He thought he could see another few riding up, maybe half a dozen in total. He was outnumbered, but them sorts of odds had never stopped him before.
John crouched and ran as fast as he could for cover, which amounted to a single barrel and four sacks of grain stacked up. His back against the barrel, he sucked in a breath and released it slowly, gaining his bearings and his focus as he pulled out his revolver.
Then he shot from cover and trained his aim on the two who had daringly gotten closer. Quick as a flash, he pulled the trigger, killing the first with a single bullet to the head. The second Braithwaite spotted him too soon and John flinched back behind the barrel as bullets nicked the wooden planks at his feet.
Once the rider let out a few, John leapt from cover again, took rapid aim for two shots to the bastard's chest, resulting in the thug slipping in an awkward manner from his saddle. John returned behind the barrel, quickly reloading, as it would be another couple minutes before the rest of them caught up to his position.
As he sat there, waiting for the next gunmen to be in range, his backup finally joined him, but it wasn't Beau Gray. Abigail slid in next to him, brandishing a gun.
He stared, mouth agape a moment before he snapped, "What the hell do you think you're doin', woman?"
"That Gray boy doesn't know the muzzle from the hammer," she said, lifting the revolver he'd lent her earlier for protection.
Was she insane? "Hand it over and get your ass back inside."
Abigail pulled back, clutching the gun. "No."
His temple pounded over his left eye like it always did when she got disagreeable. He snarled at her, "This ain't the time for games, Abigail. It ain't safe out here."
"I know that, John Marston," she bit back. "I'm not a goddamn idiot."
"Then get inside before you prove it otherwise."
She glared back. "I ain't leavin' you alone out here."
He lost his window of opportunity to haul her forcibly back in the passenger car as two riders made gains on the train. Before he could tell her to not move, Abigail swung from cover unexpectedly, her arm outstretched as she started shooting with his gun.
She shocked him into momentary inaction. It was only a few seconds he stared, but the impossible vision she made was one he wouldn't soon forget. Her threatening glare shifted from him to the enemy, as fierce as any warrior. The wind caused by the moving train suddenly pried Abigail's hair free from its constraint, her dark mane whipping chaotically across her cheek. He'd never seen anything so glorious in all his life and something stirred awake deep inside him.
"What are you doing, John? You gonna shoot them too or leave it up to me?" she broke through his untimely distraction.
Shit. He was gonna get them both killed. Since Abigail was so determined to remain, John would do the only thing he could do. He'd kill these Braithwaites before they killed her.
With Abigail gunslinging alongside him, the six horsemen weren't as intimidating a threat as they'd first seemed. Since he and Abigail could remain stationary on the moving train, they were more successful in hitting their targets than the men chasing the train who were forced to adjust for the terrain. In less than five minutes, he and Abigail had wiped the hills of trailing gunmen.
When he thought it was done, John stood, surveying the way they came, eyes sharp for any more unexpected arrivals. When it became obvious they were in the clear, he faced Abigail and confronted, "What the hell was that?"
"I've always been able to use a gun, John."
He supposed he'd known that, in theory. There was no surviving in her former profession if she didn't know how to defend herself. He'd just never seen her in action. It wasn't his fault. She didn't show her ruthless side much, probably on account of Jack.
John shook his head, still in disbelief. "Well, you didn't do too bad for yourself."
"I'd prefer just as much to not have done it." She paused and said quieter, "But it didn't seem right leaving you on your own."
They stood facing each other, unable to break eye contact. Her hair blew wild and free around her face. John wanted to thank her. He wanted to wring her neck for endangering herself. He wanted to grasp her close and crush his mouth into hers...
"Mr. and Mrs. Marston?" called Penelope. "Are my cousins all gone now?"
Abigail looked away first and retreated into the passenger car. John released a long breath, his heart beating hard and fast after an adrenaline rush he was unsure of the origin.
Inside, the other passengers of the car stared at their return, but John didn't give them the time of day as they returned to Beau and Penelope.
"Are you two alright?" Penelope glanced frantically between them with concern.
"Still whole, if that's what you're asking," John answered.
Abigail stopped at their seats and crossed her arms, bestowing Beau and Penelope with her best disciplinary expression. "What is going on with you two? Ain't no way that much hate is for just you two running off together. There's got to be something more to it."
John was wondering the same thing. He added on, " Forbidden love's one thing, but those men with guns? And chasing down a train? That's something else."
Penelope cast a bashful and guilty look around. "You're right. See, we needed to start our life and..."
"Penelope did what she had to do," Beau broke in, coming to her defense.
"And how's that?" asked Abigail.
"Since my aunt's dead, and the rest of them are only going to squander the little inheritance there is, I thought it best I take my share before it was taken from me."
Impressed, John shook his head. "You robbed your own family blind, did you?"
"Like I told you, we needed money to start a new life."
John commented, "Believe me, I'm familiar with the situation."
Penelope said apologetically, "I didn't mean for it to deteriorate so quickly. Beau and I were supposed to be miles away before my family found anything missing."
"Considering the circumstances," John suggested, "I think it might be best if you both get off the train and board a coach on the next stop. Bit slower, but they're clearly watching the tracks for you."
"That might be wise," Beau said agreeably as Penelope nodded.
As they waited for the train to slow and stop into Riggs Station, John glanced at Abigail. She was brushing her fingers through her now loosed hair. His mind drifted back to the image of her standing against the wind, pretty and strong. He'd never seen Abigail that way. She'd always been easy on the eyes, but this was...something more. Free and fierce and confident, at his back and facing their adversaries like she was ready to take on the world. With him.
Once the train completely stopped, he and Abigail led the young couple to the coach nearby. Beau broke from them to inform the driver of their intention to head north and board the Boston line.
As for Penelope, she faced them. "Like Mr. Morgan, you are a gentleman, sir."
"Wouldn't go that far."
"You are," Penelope insisted. She opened her reticule and handed over a sapphire bracelet and a matching ring. "Surely, this will more than pay for your time and assistance today? Both of you."
John turned the jewelry in his hand, saw the eagerness rise in Abigail's eyes. He passed them on to her and told Penelope, "Thank you."
Abigail clutched the jewels in wonder and added, "This will go a long way for us. For our family. Thank you so much."
"You're welcome," Penelope said graciously. "I'll be happy if all the heirlooms of my wretched family can better the lives of others instead of ruining more."
John nodded. "Take care, Miss Braithwaite, Mr. Gray. I'll let Arthur know you got out safe."
"Thanks again for your kindness." The two boarded the coach and waved, Penelope calling a last parting, "I wish you two all the best."
As the coach rolled up the road, Abigail turned to him. "That was interesting, but worth the effort, wouldn't you say, John?"
It was worth the effort, true, but Abigail had doubted this missive from the start. Now that they were alone again and the action of their adventure had calmed, John was back to wondering why Abigail had made the effort to be here at all.
"Why'd you make such a fuss about coming with me?" he asked her bluntly.
Abigail's eyes widened and suddenly she had a hard time looking him in the eye. "It ain't complicated. I wanted to make sure you came back to us."
To make sure he came back.
It was exactly as he'd guessed, but the way she admitted to it, there was a different emphasis. As if...Abigail meant she wanted him, John Marston the man to return safe, rather than accompanying him to only keep him accountable.
While John was stuck trying to reconcile her true motives in his own mind, Abigail worked her hair with nervous fingers, twisting it and posed to put a pin or some other mysterious hair tool to return it to its former severity.
John rested a hand on her arm. "Leave it down for awhile."
Abigail tilted her chin and met his eyes. "It's looks unruly."
"No," he commented, his voice deepening. "It don't."
She looked her most intimate with all that hair down, draping prettily around her face. This was his Abigail. The one who'd bewitched him originally, flirted for his attentions on a daily basis until she managed to beguile him to her bed. This softer woman who'd lured him in deeper and deeper until resistance was never a passing notion.
John suddenly had the gut-wrenching revelation that he wanted no other man to ever see Abigail this way, lest they fall as deeply and completely as him, beholden to the same wanton possession that encompassed his own mind.
She whispered to him, "Best we get back on the train, John. It'll already gonna be late by the time we make it to Rhodes again."
"Yeah." John's tongue felt heavy, thick and he cleared his throat. "You're right."
On the train, they sat side by side. They remained silent for the longest time, even when the train started moving again and the countryside passed them by.
"Oh." Abigail pulled out his revolver and handed it over. "Here's your gun back."
John stared at the gun in his hands, taking a moment to marvel at how it'd been used today. Abigail had sprung quite the surprise on him. They'd been at each other's throats all day, but she'd had his back like a real partner when he needed one. He didn't know many women willing to jump into a gunfight on his behalf.
"Thanks." He cleared his throat. Abigail looked at him and he was all of a sudden lost on what he wanted to say. "Uh, you think those jewels are enough to...uh..."
"Start a new life?" she asked it with an obvious hopefulness.
John knew she'd wanted it for a long time, probably since Jack was born. But, if it wasn't him denying his family, it was them too poor to embark on anything on their own. "If we can get a pretty penny for that jewelry...maybe...it'll be enough as a start."
Abigail shifted to face him fully. "You really mean that? You're willing to leave the gang?"
"Not exactly sure what we'll do, but I reckon it's time."
Her eyes lightened and she said excitedly, "We can settle down somewhere special, somewhere we've never been, with new names. Maybe even get ourselves a little house, or even a farm—"
"Okay, okay," John laughed. "Don't get ahead of yourself. I don't think a bracelet and a ring is gonna buy us all of that."
"No."
Not wanting to completely disavow her of the budding idea. "But, it's a start."
"I think it's the right way for us to go. I'm tired of this life, John. Ain't you? I'm tired of worrying you won't come back from one of these crazy jobs."
Abigail carried as much fear for herself and Jack as she did for him. Was that love? Or was her coming to his aid when she didn't need to love? He didn't know for sure, but, for the first time, he was ready to take the next step with her.
"Most of all," Abigail continued, swallowing. "I don't want Jack brought up thinking his daddy is nothing but a killer."
For the moment, that's all his daddy was, but John got her point. "Yeah. Me neither."
Abigail leaned her shoulder against his and tilted her head his way. He met her halfway, lightly touching his forehead to hers. In this moment, John felt more in sync with her than he had in months. He completed the feeling of alliance by clasping one of his hands over hers. They stayed in that position for a long time, taking comfort and providing strength to each other at the same time.
XXXXXXXXX
When John and Abigail finally returned to camp, to Beaver Hollow, he didn't know what time it was, but it was still dark and looked like the middle of the night, though it was most likely early morning. He and Abigail might have arrived earlier, but they'd been overly cautious with their traveling once they re-entered the forests of Roanoke Ridge. They'd taken their time watching out for ambushes.
After they left the horses to their own rest by the hitching posts, John rested a hand on Abigail's upper back, walking her towards their shared tent. Yet, when they got close to the fire in the middle of camp, they noticed Hosea sitting with a very much awake Jack.
"Momma!" Jack called and scrambled down, running their way, throwing his little body at his mother's legs.
"Why are you awake, you silly boy?" Abigail scolded as she returned a hug as best she could while standing upright.
"I was waiting for you and Papa."
John's heart clenched and he tousled the kid's hair. "We're back now, son."
Abigail clicked her tongue. "And it's time you get to sleep, young man."
John kissed Abigail's cheek and told her, "I'm gonna sit with Hosea for a little while."
"Don't stay up too long. We've all had quite the day." Abigail clasped his hand briefly, before he made his way over to Hosea.
"Ain't it past your bedtime too, old man?"
"There ain't nothing much I ain't past." Hosea chuckled a little before commenting, "It's a beautiful family you have, John."
John watched Abigail scoop Jack up, squeeze him tight and tickle him into giggles.
"Yeah...they're something special." John took a seat beside him. "How's everything here?"
"Most of it can wait, and we're managing, but..." Hosea's attention drifted across camp, in the direction of the woods. "Dutch has gone down to Annesburg, thinking he can negotiate with Cornwall."
"What?" All the pleasant feelings he'd shared with Abigail disappeared in an instant.
Hosea sighed, weariness overtaking his features. "Who knows? Maybe it's crazy enough to work."
John doubted it. Call him unfaithful, but he'd lost respect for the way Dutch was running things. It had been one of the reasons he'd stayed away for a year. But when he'd joined back up with Dutch, John was seemingly the only to have noticed Dutch's loss of his magic touch to pull off the perfect cons. No one else in camp would hear a word against him.
Hosea continued, "But, more likely, it spells trouble."
"Hell, I coulda told you that," John said before thinking better of it, in case Hosea reprimanded him.
"He's been acting oddly," Hosea replied, rubbing his chin as he thought. "Maybe even before we got to Blackwater, but that's when I first noticed."
"You mean since Micah's joined?" he asked with some resentment.
Hosea held silent a moment. "Or maybe Dutch acting different is the reason he allowed a bastard like that to live among us in the first place."
John eyed Hosea, unsure if he was hearing him right. "What you mean?"
"I've worked alongside Dutch, been partners with him for over twenty years. Sometimes, he gets some queer ideas. I think we all do from time to time, but it used to be easier to make him see that they weren't sound. Easier to talk him out of the more nonsensical ones. I fear that time may be past now."
Hosea's honesty made him anxious and maybe a little fearful. But he joked, "Should I be worried?"
"Trust your instincts, John. What are they telling you?"
To get the hell out of here and as far away as possible before the law bears down on them and it was too late for escape. It was why he was leaning into Abigail's desire to start fresh and away from the gang.
As if to push him to the right kind of thinking, Hosea said with all seriousness, "There are things that happen here a boy shouldn't see."
"I know that," John said impatiently.
Seemingly satisfied at his response, Hosea went on, "Life's a funny thing, John."
"Yeah?"
"I've lived longer than most in this business. Outlived our younger companions: Sean, Jenny, Mac, Davey, Kieran. Even Herr Strauss. God rest their souls." Hosea gave a little shake of his head. "What makes me so deserving of more years than them?"
"I don't know," John mumbled. He didn't like this kinda talk. It always made him uncomfortable.
"I'm not long for this life, John," Hosea told him bluntly, increasing his discomfort.
"Don't say that. We still need you here." John believed that fully. Without Hosea, who would be the wisest one left? Uncle?
"I feel it in my bones when I take a step and in my lungs when I breathe. That narrow escape I had in Saint Denis was one adventure too many for this old man."
"You're still standing," John kept on, as if he needed to convince Hosea of his own longevity. "You got into one scrape. You can survive until we get clear of this mess."
"That's the thing of it, John," Hosea said solemnly. "I don't think there is a way for all of us to survive what's coming, at least not all together. Not anymore."
John heard the sentiment Hosea wasn't speaking out loud, because it was too blasphemous in this camp to speak it out loud: Dutch's leadership was failing.
John had known it for awhile, even if he hadn't wanted it to be true. Unlike everyone else around here, he'd wasn't disillusioned into blindly believing their leader was still in control. John had been witness to too many screw-ups to remain in ignorance.
Months ago, the Blackwater ferry robbery was supposed to have reignited John's faith in Dutch. It was the first real job Dutch had trusted him with since he'd returned. It had been well-planned for a big take, or so he thought. Either way, the promise of the riches to gain was too irresistible. Unfortunately, it'd been bungled in the worst way.
They lost good people in Blackwater, and from there, it had only gotten more catastrophic as the weeks went by, with Dutch making sham promises of a bright future for all of them. They'd nearly lost Jack in the unnecessary meddling between the Braithwaites and the Grays. And after the flop at the Saint Denis bank, where they'd ended up with nothing, John had lost all conviction following Dutch was a good idea.
Dutch was fumbling more and more, but these days, John wasn't the only one noticing.
