There had been a time when life was good, when the money flowed easily, the food came in bountiful and their company was without conflict. Simon once thoroughly enjoyed all the traveling they managed, the new towns they landed in and the people they met.
Simon hated to admit it, but he just wasn't cut out for this lifestyle anymore. And the words Dutch used to keep them hopeful meant nothing when gang members kept leaving or dying out of nowhere. Things had changed.
Still, he owed Dutch. He'd been rescued from the jaws of multiple loan sharks, over gambles he hadn't the money to pay off at the time. To thank Dutch for his involvement, he'd been serving as a cook for over ten years in the Van der Linde gang. Had he returned the favor by now?
Simon would have to make a decision sooner rather than later if he wanted to remain in his same position, as every day they seemed to be getting attacked from all sides. The O'Driscolls caught up with them at Shady Belle, Milton and his men in Saint Denis, and then Lakay. Beaver Hollow seemed safe enough, but for how long?
It wasn't that Simon had never been in fights. He'd been in plenty. After the time he'd spent in the Navy, he'd of course learned a thing or two. Admittedly, the months he'd spent in combat were shorter serving than most assumed, but it'd been enough.
He'd never been much for gunfights to start with. Don't get him wrong. Put a knife in his hand and he could dole out some damage like nobody's business. But what he liked the most about serving in the Navy had nothing to do with the combat.
The truth of the matter was, Simon didn't like the chaos. He preferred the discipline of performing the same tasks in an orderly manner. He liked small chores that could be completed within the day. It left him with a sense of accomplishment at the end of the night. But the fighting? These days, he'd rather be left out of it.
When the bullets started flying from every which way at Beaver Hollow, Simon chose not to pick up a gun. He wasn't about to turn into a target and get himself killed. The same as when Milton ambushed them in Lakay, Simon unashamedly took cover with the women.
This time, he ended up behind his food wagon while bullets struck over his head, cracking the wood frame and shredding the fabric of the canopy. The meat he'd been cutting up was suddenly riddled with metal, making it inedible.
When Simon thought the attack had ceased, Javier announced another group on their way in. Simon's stomach dropped, growing ill as the bitter taste of his chewing tobacco from this morning soured his mouth. Next to him, Abigail crouched, Jack in her arms, his face tucked into her neck for comfort. She was breathing heavily as she'd just come running from somewhere else.
"Momma," Jack whimpered, "I'm scared."
Abigail squeezed him tight, a shine in her eyes as she caught Simon staring. Her cheeks were still tear-stained from crying over Hosea's death. There was panic in those eyes, but she glanced past Simon and it changed to something fiercer.
"We ain't dyin' here," she said with sudden determination.
Abigail stood, abandoning the safety of cover. She lifted Jack into her arms, turned, and started up the hill behind them, fleeing as the others in camp focused their attention on the next set of agents riding in.
Simon watched her a brief second, saw her slow as she struggled with carrying Jack up the hill. She had to set him on his feet and pull him along. It would take them ages to get away.
Simon wouldn't call himself a quick decision-maker, but in this case, the situation made one out of him. His feet were moving before he understood what he was doing. He reached the two of them and scooped Jack up.
Abigail sent him a look of surprise, a clear protest on her lips. But then the gunfire picked up again behind them. She closed her mouth, lifted her skirts and they moved on.
Simon was by no means in the right sort of shape for this activity. But he focused on keeping hold of the boy and climbed.
They reached the top of the hill, but didn't pause. They kept moving, the gunfire cracking from all around them it seemed. They had to take care on the trek through the woods. Broken branches obstructed their path, threatening broken limbs if they were to trip. With Jack along, they couldn't run.
Abigail knew it as well. She chewed her bottom lip, frantically casting her eyes back down the way they came. There was a sight line through the trees where they could spot the road down the hill. They didn't have horses. If they stepped foot on the road, they'd be caught or killed in an instant.
However, they couldn't keep this up. Even if Simon didn't have a small child to carry, he would grow fatigued with this pace. Every moment they ran through the trees, they risked tripping and falling, causing more injury. That was before taking into consideration the dangers of just being in these woods. From Arthur and Charles' hunting, Simon knew only too well the sort of game that roamed these parts.
They weren't safe and, to make matters worse, it was starting to rain.
Thunder cracked overhead, startling Jack in Simon's arms, along with another whimper as the showers dropped mercilessly down on them. The road had just become their only option.
"Come on," Abigail said and took the lead, Simon saving his breath instead of disagreeing.
But, really, there was no room to argue. They'd only get lost if they remained wandering the woods. Neither one of them were trackers, but at least they still had the road in their sights.
The hill downward wasn't as steep, but the trees were in close quarters, the ground littered with leaves and branches snapping and crackling at the steps. After a few minutes of the rain wetting the ground, it deafened the sound of their footfalls.
They broke free of the trees, the rain heavier and louder now. Simon glanced down the left path. He wasn't sure how far they'd walked from Beaver Hollow, but he heard no gunfire over the sound of the storm.
The rain had muddied up the road, their feet sinking in, squelching and stickier with every step. His legs were aching and tired from the uphill and downhill escape. Jack was a burning weight in his forearms.
Simon was ready to put Jack on his feet when Abigail grabbed his arm and pointed. "There's a house ahead!"
He didn't ask if she thought it was occupied. They'd either be breaking into an empty home or begging the mercy of the homeowners. As far as he knew, they didn't have weapons to threaten anyone or money to bribe them. The dark house sat on another small hill to climb, but he found the energy because of the anticipation to rest.
Through the downpour they trudged to the house, past a green shuttered well. As they reached the front door, the eaves momentarily provided relief from the rain.
Abigail knocked. They waited, the two of them on edge of what they would find, but panicked enough to try and hide from who could find them.
Abigail rapped on the door again and then dared to turn the knob. It was locked. Either the occupants were heavy sleepers and canny enough to lock their doors, or the three of them were in luck finding an empty house. There was but one way to find out.
"Take the boy," Simon ordered, and handed Jack off to Abigail.
He clutched the doorknob, braced his shoulder and heaved. He stepped back and rammed his weight against the wood. He did this two more times, encouraged when the wood groaned in defiance. One final collide of his shoulder and the door broke open and he stumbled over the threshold.
Simon peered around the room, his eyes having to adjust to no candlelight, gas lamps or fire burning. The storm outside had darkened the sky enough that there was little natural light coming through. The house was one room, with no other connecting bedroom doors. It smelled musty, and felt cold, but more importantly, it was clearly abandoned.
Abigail had wisely waited for his signal before following him in. He waved to her now, saying, "We're good."
"I'm c-cold, Momma," Jack stuttered as they stepped in.
"I know, baby," said Abigail, setting Jack on his feet, but keeping hold of his hand. "We'll find something to dry you off and you'll warm up right quick."
Abigail led Jack to the dresser at the foot of the bed while Simon moved to the window. He peered out, on the lookout for any agents.
Abigail sat on the bed and wrapped a blanket around Jack. She rubbed his arms to warm him up. "Do we dare risk a fire, Mr. Pearson?"
Simon glanced at the fireplace. There was wood stacked neatly to the side awaiting them. But she was right to question it. It could be a risk. Would the Pinkertons take notice? Or would they not think anything of smoke curling from a homestead's chimney?
His eyes moved from the fireplace to little Jack. The boy was pale, soaked through and trembling, but clutching a small wooden train under the blankets. The sight sent his mind back to another boy whose fearful expression had never left Simon's memory.
When Simon and his younger brother went out on their first whale expedition with their father, it had started off as an adventure. They'd survived the ship's tumultuous rocking in the thunderstorm as the waves smashed into them, ready to devour them.
But the next morning, Little Edgar had caught a chill and never recovered. His mother had always blamed the pneumonia on the storms, and she was probably right, though the rest of them denied it at the time. His brother had been a little older than Jack was now, but just as pale and frail in the end.
Simon looked away from Jack shivering. There was a small chance this lone cabin would garner an investigation. There was a greater chance of Jack catching a cold. He couldn't have that on his conscience.
"I'll start a fire," Simon said and Abigail brought forth no protest. Perhaps she had similar concerns she wasn't willing to voice.
Simon owned a small matchbox on his person, but it'd gotten soggy and was unusable now. He tossed it onto the pile of sticks already in the fireplace. On the mantel he found another box of matches. He took a moment to get the flames started, patient with it so he wouldn't waste any tinder.
When the flame was steady, Simon lowered himself to the rug. Abigail gathered up Jack and sat him close to the fire, dropping a fur coat over his small frame. She offered to Simon a blanket and wrapped another over her shoulders as she sat behind Jack, pulling him to her for additional warmth.
The blanket she'd given him was dusty, but whole enough, as far as not chewed through by rats or moths. Simon tightened it around himself and focused on breathing steady after their excursion.
The room grew silent, but for the flame crackling in front of them and the thrumming of rain steadily beating on the rooftop.
"There's some canned food on the counter not opened," Simon said, to break the silence. "I can make up a meal once I've warmed up."
Abigail nodded, her eyes closed as she rocked Jack in her arms. Her fingers lightly stroked through Jack's hair, calming him. Jack had quieted down, but he'd never quite resorted to tears in the first place.
She's a good mother, Simon observed. His own had never been much for showing him and his brothers much affection. For most of his life, he'd thought that's just how it was in families. For years, all he'd known was his mother, his father, his brothers and the relentless sea.
When Simon had gotten older, the one person he'd grown closer to in his family was his Aunt Cathy. Aunt Cathy had never had any children, but she'd been kind enough to take an active interest in his life after his mother passed. Sometimes, her letters could be meddlesome, but she always meant well.
Abigail was the only woman he'd ever seen firsthand turn into a mother. He'd seen how it had changed her, from carefree spirit to fretting parent. In fact, there had been a night when they were still at Clemens Point where she'd made her feelings on motherhood abundantly clear.
It was no mystery as to what had prompted her outburst. It'd been a particularly bad night where Jack had been fussy and unwilling to fall asleep easily. She'd been frazzled when she'd joined him, Uncle, Hosea and Arthur at the campfire after she'd finally got Jack to settle down.
She'd stated to them vehemently, "Don't become a mother."
She'd gone on an exhausted diatribe about raising a child not being worth it, that it was a thankless and difficult job. She stated how she hated the pity she received when she struggled.
Despite her frustration with motherhood, Abigail had never struck her boy. She rarely raised her voice even, unless Jack acted out. Most importantly, she gave out as many hugs as the boy sought.
If Simon hadn't misjudged Abigail in those early days, when she'd joined the group as nothing but a whore, he might have attempted to court her proper.
When Abigail's pregnancy first became known, Simon hadn't envied Marston for a moment. Her verbal attacks on Marston were notorious now. He never wanted to be on the receiving end of that side of Abigail.
But he'd been willing to help her some in John's absence. He brought her dinner bowl to her on occasion when she couldn't move about camp as easily. Later, he kept an eye on Jack when he was up to some mischief.
At the start, John had shown no desire in sharing his tent, let alone his heart. Nowadays, the two had seemed to have come to some agreement, the worst of their arguments behind them. And Simon was back to wondering if he'd missed something obvious that had caused their relationship to change into something more civil.
"We waited too long," Abigail said, breaking through his wandering thoughts. "We should've left with John the second those boys broke him from jail."
Simon shifted, feeling awkward, but wanting to comfort her. "You didn't know this was gonna happen, miss."
"I had bigger plans than this," she continued with frustration, "than running from the law and worse."
He nodded, unsure of what to say.
"I was gonna get Jack away from this once and for all."
"You still can," he offered lamely, a poor consolation because their situation right now was dire.
Her eyes filled, an orange glow from the fire reflecting off her tears. "I was gonna get Hosea out too, get him somewhere where he could rest for once."
That, she had been too late for.
Abigail sniffled. "It ain't decent, leavin' him back there in the hands of those awful agents. He deserves a burial done right."
Simon didn't know how that could be accomplished and the silence extended between them again.
"Poor Hosea." Her voice broke as she said his name again. "I guess we should be thankful he wasn't caught up in that attack and shot dead instead."
"It's a damn shame what happened to him," Simon said with a rueful shake of his head. He'd liked the old man, but it wasn't a surprise when his lungs finally done him in. "You got your son out safe."
"Thank you, Mr. Pearson," Abigail said unexpectedly. "I know I ain't always the best of company, but I sure am glad I ain't out here all alone." She reached over and rested a hand on his shoulder.
He bolstered at the praise, straightening. "You're welcome, miss."
She smiled briefly before lowering her hand again. "But what do we do next?"
Simon wasn't much of a planner so he was just as clueless as to their next steps. He hadn't thought to grab a bottle of his Navy rum this time around so he'd be figuring everything out sober.
The night crawled on, the rain slowing to a pitter-pattering against the roof. After a few hours, the room had warmed fully and Abigail moved to the bed with Jack.
They fell asleep shortly, but Simon wasn't tired. He searched the cabinets quietly at one point, picking out what food had been left behind. He also kept feeding the flame one log at a time, keeping the heat of the room.
By the end of the night, the stack had disappeared, only one log remaining from the original pile. He decided to bring in some more before they ran out completely.
He left the house, cautious and watchful of any riders on the road. The rain had slowed to a sprinkle. The morning was fresh and crisp, the wood of the trees permeated the air. The ground was full of puddles, lifting the smell of damp grass.
There ended up being a plentiful supply of logs at the side of the house, but Simon decided to take a stroll towards the woods first. He needed a moment to think is all and he wouldn't walk too far from the house. He had no intention of getting himself lost. Give Simon a compass and a helm to steer and he could make is way north by the smell of the sea air. On land, he didn't know north from south until he recognized a landmark or a town name.
Thinking of Abigail and Jack at the cabin, Simon decided he liked the role of protector. For a moment, he could pretend it was his own wife and son waiting for him in the house and he was outside gathering wood to provide for his family.
He shook himself, recognizing the delusion for what it was. Yet the memory of Abigail's sweet smile and honest gratitude had him to yearning for something more. It hit him hard now, that he was imagining another man's family for his own pathetic daydreams.
God, he was lonely.
Simon couldn't do this to himself. He need to focus on how to reunite Abigail with the man she wanted to be with, not delude himself with false fantasies. He'd never had the opportunity for a serious relationship, despite what he tended to write to Aunt Cathy to keep her questions at bay. Aunt Cathy was always urging him to finally settle down and take a wife. If this fullness in his chest was what it felt like to do just that, maybe he should start taking her suggestions more seriously.
Simon realized then that his problem wasn't all about how the gang was changing. He'd had dreams once, before Dutch coaxed him otherwise, of traveling more broadly and sailing on his own ship one day. But Simon had changed too, and his desires for how he wanted to live out the rest of his life had shifted.
Simon wanted a woman, but not just any woman, but a companion, a partner. A wife. One who wouldn't berate him, but praise him and turn to him for comfort and protection. Someone soft and pleasant like Mrs. Balfour, but strong-willed like Abigail. He needed to find a good woman before it was too late. Some days he thought maybe it was already too late. But he wanted to try, and he'd never find one in the gang.
He'd take Abigail and Jack to Annesburg, drop them off and go his separate way at the train station. Leaving the gang was the only way he was going to find true happiness.
He focused on that plan for himself and it was the kick-start he needed to remember an important piece of information.
The night before, Lenny and Hosea had been speaking of a new campsite location. Moon Pond?Moonstone? That sounded right.
Since Simon remembered something of genuine importance, he turned around and started making his way back to the house to tell Abigail.
What he saw when he reached the front of the house stopped him dead in his tracks. Three horses were stationed outside the cabin. A man in a bowler hat sat on one of them, smoking a cigarette and idly waiting for something. Simon fleetingly had the thought that he should hide, and acted upon it, slipping behind a tree.
As Simon watched, two agents dragged out Abigail the front door. She kicked and struggled against their hold. One of the men stated loudly, "We got one, Mr. Milton."
Milton tossed the rest of his cigarette. "Tie her up and we'll take her to Van Horn."
Milton. This was bad, Simon thought in a panic. This was worse than anything.
Simon stood there, not knowing what to do. Frozen in place, he watched them tie her up. He watched them throw her over the back of one of the horses indelicately and did nothing. He stared as they left, still at a loss.
Simon had been given a test and failed as a protector. Abigail must think him the worst sort of coward. He'd let Milton get her and Ja—
A sudden sharp realization hit him. Jack! Had they taken him? Simon's head started buzzing for the answer and he couldn't remember if he'd seen Jack or not.
Simon rushed to the house. The door had been left wide open, all the heat he'd worked to build up escaped. The fire smoldered low. The room seemed empty and Simon began to doubt himself.
"Jack?" he called, heart thumping. "You in here, kid?"
"Mr. Pearson?" a little voice answered, muffled and coming from under the bed.
Simon got to his knees, crouched, and spotted Jack curled up against against the wall. The boy's eyes were wide and scared. With both hands, he clutched his wooden train.
Simon beckoned with one hand. "Come out now. It's safe."
"Where's Momma?"
Simon cringed. "She isn't here right now."
"I want Momma." Jack's lip trembled and tears filled his eyes.
Sweat prickled the back of Simon's neck. His knees pressed sharply on the wood floor. He didn't know how to deal with this. He'd never had to interact with an upset child by himself. He tried to think what would incentivize Jack to come out.
When Simon was a child, bribes had always worked better on him than threats. In his pocket, he drew out a peppermint sweet he'd been saving for after dinner the night before.
"Come on out, Jack. I've got a piece of candy for you."
Jack eyed it cautiously a moment. Then he scooted out and Simon handed it over as he sat up. Jack sucked on the sweet and Simon released a breath and took a moment to think.
They couldn't stay here. They couldn't risk Milton doing another sweep. Guilt flooded him again. Simon had as good as given up Abigail. And Jack? There was only one thing that could be done now.
Simon had to get Jack to his father. He had to find Marston.
Simon took hold of Jack's hand and they left the cabin. They started walking, sticking to the road while Simon tried to think of how they could get to Moonstone. That was his best bet at reuniting Jack with his father.
"I'm hungry, Mr. Pearson," Jack piped up after a few minutes.
Simon's stomach rumbled in agreement. Unfortunately, he hadn't thought to grab anything from the cabin. Not even a can of vegetables.
"We'll eat soon, kid," Simon promised, hoping he wasn't telling a lie.
When it was nearing noon, Simon was no closer to feeding either him or Jack. They were still walking down the road. The only fortunate thing about their situation was there were no agents on the trails they'd been walking.
"Where's Momma?" Jack asked, a question Simon had heard about half a dozen times at this point.
"I'm gonna get you to your Dad," he answered with growing impatience, instead of offering a vague explanation as he had the previous times.
"What about Momma?"
"First, your dad," he repeated firmly
Simon had just decided that it would actually be best if he only got Jack to a city, at least then he could get himself a drink and the kid a meal, when he spotted a man near the shore of the river. He stood in the water, ankle deep, bent over and staring at a pan full of dirt. He had a little table nearby, which demonstrated to Simon the man was a gold seeker. Of more interest, the stranger had himself a mule and a malnourished nag tied to a tree nearby.
Simon didn't like to think of himself as a thief, but they were making little progress on foot and, honestly, his head was starting to pound after Jack's questions.
"I need you to be quiet for a few minutes, Jackie," Simon whispered and started down the hill, moving carefully and slowly towards the horse and the mule so as not to attract the gold miner's attention.
Up close, the nag was even more ill-looking. Her ribs stuck out under a muddied and patchy coat. Either the man was a poor caretaker, or just as down on his luck as them with no money for feed. Carefully, Simon began unwinding the rope from the tree, the nag not caring in the slightest.
He was so concentrated, he nearly forgot the kid was there beside him until Jack said loudly, "This isn't our horse."
"Shh," Simon hushed him.
But the damage had been done.
The man panning for gold spun around. "Hey! What you doing by my camp, feller?"
Simon, not a fast mover by any means, plucked up Jack, threw him on the saddle, and followed him up, the nag grunting in disapproval at their combined weights.
The other man struggled to reach them, wading through the water, his pace slowed by the flowing river.
"Giddy up," Simon encouraged the wretched horse, taking the reins.
The nag was not a sprinter, and their weight didn't encourage her to speed. If the gold panner was spry, he'd catch them in no time. Luckily for them, the man slipped in the water more than once and he and Jack made it to the road without getting caught.
Somehow they gained enough distance to not be followed down the road, even though the nag trotted a short distance before falling back into a slow-paced walk. Perhaps the man was unable to catch up because he was just as unwell as his horse.
After the thunderstorm the night before, the rest of the day stayed humid. The sun beat down on them and Simon remembered he'd left behind his hat at Beaver Hollow.
Jack eventually stopped asking about food and about his Momma. The boy must have figured out Simon wasn't going to have any answers or provisions for him. His silence was fine because Simon could concentrate on their path. He was worried they'd started going circles in Roanoke Forest, but nothing looked familiar.
When dusk hit, Jack fell asleep in front of him. The nag trudged on, as if used to being pushed to the limit. Mercifully, they came upon a road sign before night made it too difficult to see. He thought they might be close.
Or he'd become delirious. He was tired now, from not sleeping the night before, hungry from not taking anything from the cabin, and sore from riding for so long. But he had to keep on. He had to see this through. Simon followed the path, hoping he was going the right way.
The horse wasn't doing too well either after awhile. She'd begun to tremble and it wouldn't be long before she collapsed under them. The nag slowed even more as the terrain became an incline.
Almost not believing his eyes in the dark, Simon soon caught sight of Bill Williamson at the end of a little path. He turned the nag, exhausted and relieved they were finally in the right place.
"Mr. Pearson!" Bill exclaimed, his shock evident.
Bill followed him in and some of the others became recognizable, but his foggy mind couldn't keep track of everyone he saw. All he could think was that he'd made it. Relief washed through him, and with it the sense that he didn't need stay awake any longer. Black smoke crept the edges of his vision. He started slipping from the saddle. He snapped awake an instant later, but he was suddenly on his feet, Arthur and Javier on either side of him and holding him up.
Simon had made it. He got the boy somewhere safe. It's all he'd been meaning to do.
Marston was suddenly in his face and demanding, "Where's Abigail?"
Simon stared at him, dizzy. He'd gotten Jack here, but he'd messed up mightily with her. He'd left her vulnerable, didn't act when he should have, and it was only through her quick-thinking that Jack was with them here at all.
"I'm sorry, Marston." Simon swallowed, weighted by guilt. "Milton got her."
With that announcement, the last of his strength seeped out of him and he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness.
"What the hell do you mean? Pearson! Pearson! Where is she?"
Van Horn, he tried to answer, but Simon slipped away, exhausted, and unable to explain any more. It would have to wait.
