Mary wrote to me. Wants to see me again. Oh Mary, what fools we are. What a fool I am.


Arthur rode slowly toward Saint Denis. He wanted to see Mary, of course he did. But at the same time, he didn't. He loved her too much to break her heart. But she needed his help again. Of course he'll help, how could he not?

He stopped off the road before crossing the bridge into the city, took out the letter, and read it again. He sighed as he finished and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, Grace was on her horse in front of him, today wearing a dark green riding habit and mounted side-saddle.

"Good morning, Arthur," she greeted him.

"Mornin'," he replied. He was happy to see her, but it complicated his feelings. He loved Mary, he would always love Mary, but he was starting to feel the same way about Grace.

"Off to see Mary?"

"I'm not even going to ask how you know that," he said.

"Well, you're wearing cleaner and less ratty clothes than usual and you shaved," she pointed out, "Would've thought you'd be happier."

"It's... difficult."

"She asked for help again?"

"Yeah."

"And you're going to help her, right?"

"I don't know."

"Well, of course you are."

"How do you know?"

"Because if you don't, I will never talk or follow you ever again," she joked.

"Oh good, at least it'll be quiet," he chuckled, then sighed.

"I know you still love her so of course you'll help her."

Arthur paused, thinking hard, then asked cautiously, "What if.. what if there was someone else?"

Grace stared at him for a moment. "Someone else in her life? Or in yours?"

He took a deep breath and looked at her. "Mine."

She stared at him for a few moments before speaking again. "You're the only one who can make that choice, Arthur. Good luck."

She rode past him and he headed into the city to meet with Mary.


Saw Mary and the awful Daddy, who has taken to drink, which unsurprisingly ain't improved him a whole lot. What a foul pig he is. Taken to hawking off family heirlooms and cursing the world for it. Still a stuck up son of a bitch.

I don't know.

All I know is that I love her and she both loves and detests me. It never worked before and it won't ever work now, yet it gnaws at me, the idea of it gnaws at me like a sickness.

I've got to give all that nonsense up. I'm an outlaw, a murderer, a man with a code different to ordinary folk, and Mary ain't never going to be for my world. Do I really think I can retire someplace nice and live a normal life with a wife?

Am I a big enough dolt to believe that is possible?


Arthur wandered over to the train platform, sat on a bench, and lit up a cigarette. He leaned forward and regretted that he promised Mary to run away with her when he was able to take care of the gang first. He said he would, but as the words came out, he didn't believe them himself. But did he make the right choice? He tried to imagine leaving with Mary, but he just couldn't. Not anymore.

"I thought you were seeing Mary today."

He looked up to see Grace with a package in her hands. "I did."

"Oh. Are you waiting for her?"

"No. Just left her a bit ago."

"So what happened?" she sat down next to him.

"She needed help with her awful father, so I helped."

"Please tell me you didn't kill him."

"Hah, no, as much as I might have wanted to," he laughed a bit, "He's a very unpleasant man, dug himself so far in gambling and drinking and whoring... uh, if you pardon the term."

Grace brushed it off. "Sounds like a prize. But I assume Mary's mother is no longer around."

"He was trying to sell Mrs. Gillis's brooch, the one she left Mary."

"And you got it back." Arthur nodded. "I'm sure she was happy about that."

"I suppose."

"So why are you now sitting here alone?"

"Well, she asked me to the theatre but I said no."

She smacked him in the arm. "Well, why didn't you go?"

"I ain't never been to a theatre, especially a big city one!"

"So?"

"So, I ain't a theatre person," he looked down.

"All you had to do was go in, sit down, and enjoy the show. Maybe even hold her hand or put your arm around her," she elbowed him with a smile.

"Heh, well, don't think I'll get that chance again."

"Why not?"

"I don't know," he sighed, looking down at his hands, "Promised to run away with her when everything's sorted, but I don't know."

"And when will everything be sorted?"

"We just need the money to leave the country."

"And yet you won't take my money."

"Is it enough to get over 20 people out of the country?"

"Yes."

"I..." Arthur sighed. "I can't take it."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

"So, let me get this straight, you need money to solve all your problems, I have money to solve all your problems, but you won't take that money."

"Well come back with me and give it to everyone!" he stood and said angrily. "I'm sure Dutch will gladly take it off your hands."

"I'm sure he will, but I'm not offering it to Dutch. I'm offering it to you," Grace stood as well.

"Why are you making this difficult?"

"Arthur, with that money, you could help everyone you need to help and then run away to spend the rest of your life with Mary. I'm not the one making this difficult."

"But what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Wouldn't you miss having all that money?"

"I don't need it."

"What would you do if I ran away with Mary?"

Grace shrugged with a small smile. "Find someone else to irritate, I suppose."

"What if I didn't go with Mary?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

Arthur sighed. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just trying to hang onto something that used to be there. And I've spent too long living the way I have."

"What would make you happier? Leaving with Mary or staying with Dutch?"

"I don't know."

"Because you can't see yourself leaving the gang, or because you can't see yourself staying with Mary?"

"Yes... no... I don't know!"

"Sometimes you need to make sacrifices to be happy." Grace started heading down the train platform. She turned to him while walking backwards. "Choose happiness, Arthur. You deserve it. I'll see you around."

Arthur took a long way back to camp, thinking about his conversation with Grace. Should he take her money and run away with Mary? Or should he stay with the gang? As much as he still loved Mary, he couldn't see himself spending his life with her. What would he even do? How would he provide for her? He knew she didn't like his way of life, but how could he just stop?

And what about Grace? How could he just leave and forget her? Would she continue following them wherever they went to next? Or was this going to be as far as she'll go? Or will she just pack up and go off to some far away country he's never heard of and forget all about him?

It was all very confusing and complicated and Arthur didn't know what to do.


A few days later, he rode back to the city, unsure of what his intentions would be. Should he stop by the hotel to see Mary again? Or continue hoping to meet up with Grace?

Maybe he should talk to someone else. He didn't know anyone else in town, other than that monk he met. Brother Dorkins? Where did he say he would be, old church on Gaspar Street? Well, he didn't have any other option. He asked for directions to Gaspar Street and rode there.

Outside the small church, Brother Dorkins and an old nun were sitting with some boys, helping them with reading.

"Mornin'," Arthur greeted them as he dismounted.

"Oh! Sister, my friend, Mr. Morgan," Brother Dorkins introduced him.

"Brother Dorkins told me about the wonderful thing you did," the nun said gratefully, standing to shake his hand.

"Heh, he talks a lot of nonsense, no offense," Arthur said.

"None taken," Brother Dorkins smiled. One of the boys suddenly ran past them. "Hey, stop! That's Sister's crucifix!"

"Ugh, these kids are the worst!" Arthur started after the boy.

"Don't hurt him, please!" the nun yelled after him.

"Meet us at the cathedral, Mr. Morgan!" Brother Dorkins added.

The boy was fast and Arthur quickly lost sight of him. He swore, but kept running in the direction he last saw him. He rounded the corner and saw the kid being pushed up against the wall by another man.

"Where's my watch, you little weasel?" the man demanded.

"I don't know nothing about no damn watch!" cried the boy.

"Last Saturday, I saw you steal it with my own two eyes!"

"Hey you," Arthur approached them, "Why don't you leave the boy alone?"

"What's it to do with you?" the man asked angrily.

"I can hit a lot harder than you, I promise you that," Arthur threatened.

"Alright, forget it," the man let go of the boy with a push, "Little shit ain't even worth my time." He walked away.

"Thanks, mister!" the boy said, running off, leaving the crucifix on the ground. Arthur picked it up.

"Hey, you want some company, mister?" a woman asked from just around the corner of an alley.

"No," Arthur said, brushing the dirt off the crucifix.

"You sure?"

Arthur looked up at the woman. "Wait, I know you."

"What?" she backed away.

"Mrs. Downes?" Shit. The wife of that man, Thomas Downes, he had nearly beaten to death. He may as well have done seeing as the man had died not too long after.

"Oh no, not you," Mrs. Downes recognised him. "Get away!" She hurried past him.

"But... how? Are you..." he didn't have time to ask any further as she ran to a passing policeman.

"Hey! Help! This man is bothering me!" she cried.

"Aw, shit," Arthur ran down the alley as the policeman blew his whistle and ran after him. When he reached the end of the alley, another policeman blocked his path to the left so Arthur ran to the right, now with two officers on his tail. "Goddamn it," he kept running, trying to shake them.

He ran down another alley when a door opened and someone pulled him inside.

"Hey!"

Grace covered his mouth and put her finger to her lips. Outside the closed door, they could hear the policemen running past. When it was quiet, she removed her hand.

"What did you do?" she asked.

"Nothing!"

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"All I did was recognize the wife of that one feller I, uh, beat for a debt," Arthur suddenly felt guilty. Dammit.

"Downes?" He nodded. "So what if you recognised her?"

"She's working as a, uh..." he couldn't bring himself to even say the word.

"Oh." Grace took a deep breath. "Shit. Where is she now?"

"I don't know, she ran to a policeman, saying I was bothering her and they came after me and I ran."

"And no one got shot?"

"No."

"Well I'll be damned, you can walk through a place without shooting people."

"Shut up," he couldn't help but smile a bit. He looked around and saw they were in an open courtyard with an elaborate flower garden and benches, then realised he was still holding the crucifix, "Oh, I need to go to the cathedral."

"From outlaw to a man of God, who would've thought?" she joked. "So what's with the crucifix?"

"Remember that monk feller, Brother Dorkins? I went to see him and some kid stole this from a nun."

"And is this kid still with us?"

"I didn't touch him, had to threaten some other guy from beating him."

"I suppose you're less likely to beat them when you're not the one being robbed."

"Heh, I suppose."

They turned down a street, "Cathedral's just up here."

They walked in silence until they arrived, going up to the nun who was talking to the priest.

"Mr. Morgan!" she greeted him, "and Miss Bellerose, how nice to see you again."

"Hello, Sister Calderón," Grace smiled warmly

"I got your cross," Arthur handed her the crucifix.

"You didn't!" she gasped and took it gratefully, "I hope the boy-"

"Oh, he's fine, I mean, physically," said Arthur, "Mentally, he's a piece of work, but who am I to say."

Sister Calderón chuckled. "Brother Dorkins was right about you. You are the most wonderful man."

Arthur burst out laughing. "Brother Dorkins is greatly deceived I'm afraid, but I'm happy to help a little."

"Well I'm sure Miss Bellerose agrees with me."

"I sure do," Grace nodded.

"You see, it's just a thing," Sister Calderón looked over her crucifix, "but my mother gave it to me when I was a novice shortly before she passed, you remember, Miss B-"

"I remember you telling me, yes," Grace suddenly interrupted.

"Yes, that's what I meant," Sister Calderón turned back to Arthur, "But you are the most wonderful man."

"Heh, well, excuse me, I won't disturb you any further," Arthur turned to walk away.

"See you later, Sister," Grace said, following Arthur.

"Keep Miss Bellerose out of trouble, Mr. Morgan!" Sister Calderón called after them.

"Hah, keep you out of trouble? I don't think it's you to worry about," Arthur joked as they left the precinct.

"You're the one she called wonderful, I got nothing," Grace laughed, "Anyway, I'll leave you to your day."

"Wait, what, uh, what are you doing today?"

"I have to go to the bookshop."

"Would you, erm, would you like some company?" he asked, feeling strangely nervous.

"I would love some company," she replied with a smile, "You never know when little ol' me might need protecting from all those hooligans lurking in a bookshop."

"Hah, you get all sorts out here."

They walked over to the bookshop and Arthur browsed the shelves while Grace went straight back to the stationery section. He wondered what kind of books she read. Did she read those romances that Mary-Beth loves so much? Or does she read mysteries? Adventure stories? He figured she could probably write her own adventure stories with how much she's traveled so far in her young life.

He headed back to the stationery and saw Grace perusing the journal display. She picked up one journal, flipping through the blank pages, feeling the thickness of the paper between her fingers, and put it back. She repeated it with a few more journals until she found one to her liking. Then she picked out a bottle of fountain pen ink and went to the counter to pay for it.

"May I interest you in a new novel?" the clerk asked.

"What is it?"

He pulled out a thick dark yellow book with a silhouette of a castle on a hill on the cover. "Quite the sensation over in England and only just published here in America. 'Dracula' by Bram Stoker." He handed the book to Grace who flipped through it.

"What's it about?"

The clerk looked around then leaned forward across the counter. "Vampires," he whispered dramatically.

Grace raised her eyebrows the clerk. "So you believe the rumours then?"

"Oh, of course not, th-those are just stories, just like this one," he pointed at the book, looking slightly nervous.

"Uh huh. Well, I'll take it. I need something new to read." She paid for her things and the clerk wrapped them up and placed them in a paper bag. Arthur picked up the bag before Grace could, and they headed out.

"So what was that about vampires?" he asked, "I think I heard Karen and Mary-Beth back in camp talking about people drinking blood, but that's just an old wives' tale, ain't it?"

"Oh, most likely, but people still talk like it's real," Grace said, rolling her eyes. "Allegedly they've found a few dead bodies with their blood drained and marks in their necks."

"What do you think really happened?"

"I don't know, maybe they were strangled to death, and their deathly complexion was mistaken as having their blood drained," she shrugged.

"Huh. So is there anywhere else you need to go?" he asked.

"No, how about you?"

"Nah." He offered his arm and she paused before taking it. As they walked down the street, Arthur didn't care where they went, so long as he was with her.

"So what did you come back into the city for? Scoping out more robbery targets?" she asked after a few minutes.

"Heh, actually I was going to talk to Brother Dorkins, but then that kid stole Sister's cross."

"Oh. What were you going to talk to him about?"

"I- well, it ain't important."

"Or you just don't want to tell me," she smiled up at him, "It's okay, I won't pry."

Arthur was about to speak again but was interrupted.

"Hey, you there!" a man outside the portrait studio called to them. "Care to have your photo taken? Special offer today, only three dollars!"

Arthur and Grace looked at each other. "Sure, why not," he said.

"Ah, wonderful! Right this way!" They followed the photographer into the studio. "You can choose the background and whether or not you'd like to stand or sit."

"I think this one is fine," Grace said regarding the plain background.

"Excellent, a favourite of my clients," said the photographer. "Now if you could stand there, sir, and ma'am if you'd take his arm." Arthur and Grace did so. "Now, are you married, betrothed, or...?

"Oh, no-" Arthur started.

"Married for twenty five years with fifteen children," Grace said seriously before she and Arthur burst out laughing.

"Fifteen? I thought it was thirteen?" Arthur snickered.

"Was it? I must've miscounted," she giggled. Just then there was a flash and a puff of smoke as the photographer had taken the picture. "Wait, we weren't ready!"

"My apologies, ma'am, but you two look so happy I had to capture the moment," he said, resetting the camera, "No charge for that one, of course." When he was ready, Arthur and Grace stood still so their photo could be taken. "Excellent, now if you'll just wait, I'll have this printed immediately."

"Wow, you can print photographs so quickly these days," said Grace when the photographer left the room.

"Yeah, think it'll turn out okay?"

"I'm sure it will," she started looking at the portraits on the wall. "Hopefully we don't look as serious as most of these people. Look at this lady, she looks like she just drank vinegar laced with poison."

"Heh, this feller looks like he ate his own horse for breakfast and asked for seconds," he pointed to a picture of a very large man. Grace snorted and started giggling. She had to turn away when the photographer returned.

"Here are your prints," he handed a thick envelope to Grace, "I hope they are to your liking."

She removed the photos, each in their own display folder. She opened the first and showed it to Arthur. It was the first one the photographer had taken when they were smiling at each other. Their faces were slightly blurred, but their happiness was undeniable. She opened the second photo. They were still smiling slightly and were far less blurry.

"They're wonderful, thank you," Grace said to the photographer who beamed with pride. Arthur paid for the prints and they left the studio. "So which one do you want?" she asked.

"Um..."

"Or would you rather not keep one? After all, you don't need a picture of another woman when you have that lovely one of Mary," she said sincerely.

"I'll take this one," he said, taking the second print and putting it in his satchel.

"Good, because I really like this one," she looked down at the one of them laughing then put it in her bag she had taken back from Arthur. He held out his arm again and she took it without hesitation. "So, where to now?"

"I don't know, anywhere."

"Oh, I know, let's go this way." She led him down the street.

Arthur barely paid attention to where they were going. The city was busy and noisy, but he didn't mind. He kept thinking about what to do of his growing feelings for Grace. He didn't even know if she reciprocated those feelings, but then, how could she? He was a no-good outlaw, a wanted man in half the country it seemed. It would be unfair to have her involved. He smirked to himself as he realised she was already involved.

"What's so funny?" she asked as they waited to cross the street.

"Nothing, just... have you talked with the Pinkertons recently?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, why is that funny?"

"What'd you tell them?"

"They asked if I knew where you'd all moved, and I said I didn't. Not yet, anyway. Then Agent Ross suggested keeping regular Pinkerton patrols and I said that wouldn't do any good because you're all very smart and you'd figure it out and move on before I had a chance to find out where you moved to in the first place."

"Heh, well, I suppose if we was smart, we'd've kept out of all that business in Rhodes."

"If you were smart, you'd take my money and leave right now."

Arthur didn't reply. He should've taken it when she first offered, however long ago that was. He and the gang could all be free and Sean would still be alive. But then, he wouldn't have Grace with him now. Was he really that selfish to choose her over Sean? Or to choose her over Mary?

"You okay?" she nudged him.

"Hm? Yeah, just thinking."

"About where you'd be now if you already took my money?"

"Yeah."

Before she could reply, a woman sitting at a table at the corner called out to them. "Excuse me, sir, madam! Could I bother you for a minute of your time?"

"Sure," Grace said as they approached her.

"We're trying to raise money to build an expansion to the Quincy Harris Memorial Hall. A shelter for homeless veterans and their families," the woman explained, pointing to a diagram of the proposed expansion, "I also have an album here of old photographs taken during the war, to remind us of the sacrifices made by these fine gentlemen. Could you help? A donation of, say, twenty dollars would get us well on our way."

"Of course," Grace reached into her satchel and placed some money in the donation box as Arthur did the same, "How are you faring so far?"

"Well, we have a ways to go, but I think the photograph album is helping," the woman pointed to the book, "It's important to see the effects of the war on those poor men, especially to those of us who weren't around back then."

Arthur opened the album and perused the photos as Grace continued to converse with the woman. Then one photo caught his eye. It was taken in a field hospital. Bandaged soldiers were sitting on chairs and behind them were the nurses who took care of them. He looked closely at one of the nurses. The resemblance was uncanny.

"Hey, this one looks exactly like you," he pointed out to Grace.

She leaned over for a better look. "Huh. Sure does."

"Oh, did your mother work as a nurse during the war?" the woman asked.

Grace snorted. "Oh good lord, no. She wouldn't have been caught dead doing such a thing."

"But you said you worked as nurse for a few years," said Arthur.

"Yes, I did, but my mother would never have gotten her hands dirty, not unless she had to save her precious jewels and dresses," she turned to the woman, "Here, another donation on behalf of all the selfish people who think their own possessions are worth more than the lives of others." Grace put more money in the box.

"Why, thank you!" the woman stammered with a big smile, "That's very kind of you. What are your names? We'll be acknowledging all of our donors on a plaque when the building is completed."

"Arthur Morgan," he said, then looked over at Grace who remained quiet.

"Excellent, Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Morgan," the woman started to write.

"Oh, no, we're not married," Grace interrupted, "I don't need any acknowledgement myself. Just knowing I helped is good enough for me."

"Well, if you insist. You have a great day now."

Arthur and Grace nodded and continued down the street. He offered his arm to her again, but this time she didn't take it. Instead she walked ahead while looking deep in thought. He followed her quietly around the block when she suddenly stopped.

"Hold on a moment," she looked him up and down, "Can you brush off some of the dirt off your pants, please?" He frowned slightly, but did what she asked, wiping off as much dirt as possible.

"Good?" he turned on the spot for her inspection, wondering why she asked him to clean up.

"Almost, you have a few bits of dirt on your face too," she pointed to her own face where the dirt was. Arthur tried to wipe it off, but he seemed to keep missing. After about a minute, she took out her handkerchief, licked one corner of it, and stepped forward to clean the dirt off his face. "There," she poked him one the nose with the handkerchief when she had finished, "You can mix with high society again."

"Hah, I'd rather not," he laughed.

"Well, don't worry, we're not going anywhere too fancy, but the lady there is a bit, well, uppity. Best to at least make some effort to look presentable. So don't take offense if she acts like you're scum."

"Which I am."

"Which you're not," she led the way down the street and around the corner. "Ah, here we are," she said cheerfully. They stopped in front a small café, Le Petit Parisienne. She opened the door which announced their arrival by a small bell above it.

"Bonjour! Bienv-ah," the hostess greeted them in French, then suddenly stopped when she saw Arthur. "Ah, uh, perhaps this is not the place?"

"Madame, I assure you he will behave himself," Grace said.

"But-" the hostess gestured to him, wrinkling her nose.

"Surely you will not deny a poor, starving man some of your delicious food and pastries?" Grace continued, "Look at him! Practically wasting away."

"Hey-" Arthur started when Grace elbowed him sharply in the side.

"And believe me when I say that he was cleaner than this, but I was nearly robbed by a gang of those awful street urchins when he stepped in." Arthur bit the inside of his cheek to keep his composure. "I said I'd reward him with a bite to eat, and I made sure we'd come while the place wasn't too busy." She waved to the empty tables.

The hostess sighed. "Will you be sitting in?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"Yes, I think so," Grace nodded.

"Of course," the hostess tried to smile but instead looked like she could smell something awful as she gestured to a table for them to sit. "Tea or coffee?"

"Tea, please," Grace said, "And do you have those ham sandwiches today?"

"No, only cucumber right now."

"That'll be fine, thank you."

The hostess left to the back as Grace perused the paper menu. They could hear the hostess speaking to someone else in frantic French.

"What was that all about?" Arthur asked quietly.

"Hm? Oh, it's fine. She's complaining about having to clean the table and chairs, but it's not like you're covered in blood today," she said without looking up, "She doesn't particularly like poor people. Or people who aren't French. Or people in general."

"So if we was rich and French, we'd be treated like royalty?"

"Maybe. I'd test that myself, but I'm afraid I speak French with an accent," she set the menu down, "Someone told me I spoke French with a German accent, which I thought funny. But anyway."

"So. 'Wasting away', am I?" he chuckled.

"Better be careful, a light breeze could knock you over," she grinned, "Don't they feed you in that camp of yours?"

"Pearson always makes a huge pot of stew, lots of vegetables, meat, and sometimes fish."

"Oh, that sounds delicious."

"Sometimes it ain't."

"Well, I'm sure it is. I love a good stew."

"Tea and sandwiches," the hostess returned and placed two cups of tea in front of them, while another girl set down a plate of small finger sandwiches.

"Merci, and could we get two of the raspberry jelly tarts?"

"Bien sûr," the hostess and the girl left.

"Wait until you try the tarts, they are divine," she sipped her tea then picked up one of the small sandwiches.

"Never seen sandwiches this small," Arthur picked one up.

"A staple of afternoon tea," she ate her sandwich, "Sometimes you just need a bite to eat, but nothing too much."

They ate in silence until the hostess returned to take away the empty sandwich plate and set down two small plates with a tart on each. She then placed two small forks next to the plates, narrowed her eyes slightly, then headed back. Arthur was about to pick up the fork, but noticed Grace immediately picked up her tart with her hand and took a bite. He did the same and his eyes widened at how delicious it was.

"Told you they were good," Grace said between bites. He didn't reply, but nodded and continued to savour the tart. He was disappointed when he finished.

"Anything else?" the hostess demanded.

"Yes," Grace stood then turned to Arthur, "Could you wait outside for a moment?"

"Sure." He tipped his hat at the hostess who nodded very slightly and headed outside. He lit up a cigarette as he waited for Grace, and made a mental note to try to dress nicer next time he was in the city.

"Here you are," Grace handed him a small paper bag, "I bought two more tarts for you. You can eat them both yourself, or maybe share them with someone special."

"Thanks." By 'someone special', did she mean herself or someone else? He tried to read the expression on her face, but he couldn't tell.

"You're staring, do I have something on my face?"

"Sorry."

"Well, it's starting to get late and I ought to get back before Tuula decides to eat a gator or something."

"Okay. Your horse at the stable?"

"No, she's out at the farm."

"Oh. Can I give you a ride? I left my horse at the old church."

"Sure."

They walked a couple of blocks in silence until Arthur spoke. "Tuula doesn't actually eat gators, does she?"

"Not as far as I know," Grace shrugged, "I've seen her eat a frog once. Might explain why she is the way she is."

"Strange horse, you got."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't trade her for the world."

When they arrived at the old church, Brother Dorkins was outside feeding handfuls of grain out of a small sack to Arthur's horse.

"Ah, Mr. Morgan! We were wondering when you would return," he greeted them.

"Got a little sidetracked after getting back that cross."

"Yes, Sister Calderón told me all about it, and that you had left with Miss Bellerose here," he nodded at Grace, "I figured I'd at least keep your horse comfortable and fed until you came back."

"Thank you."

"It's the least I could do after all you've done," Brother Dorkins pat Smokey on the neck, "Anyway, I best be returning to my duties. Be well."

Arthur tightened up the cinch on his saddle, mounted up, then helped Grace up behind him. She held him around the waist as he urged his horse into a trot. He tried to prolong the ride out, but they were soon at the farm where Tuula was grazing outside of the bull's pen with two farmhands standing near the fence.

"About time you got here!" one of them shouted as Grace and Arthur rode up.

Grace sighed. "What did she do?" she asked as she slid off the back of Arthur's horse.

"Scared the bejeezus out of our bull, that's what," the other farmhand pointed at the bull who seemed to be cowering in his shed. "Jumped the fence, the bull charged her, and she charged back."

"And let me guess, she then decided that the grass is better outside the pen."

"Yep."

Grace looked up at Arthur. "Thank you for the lovely day, but now I have to go have a little talk to my problem child." She glared at Tuula who lifted her head, chewing grass innocently.

"See you later," he said, not wanting to leave just yet, but did anyway.

When he returned to camp, he went straight up to his room. He sat on his bed and picked up the portrait of Mary he always kept by his bed. He loved her still, but he now realised that was in the past. He carefully put the picture away in his trunk, wrapping it in an old shirt so it wouldn't get damaged. He took out the picture of Grace and himself, smiled, and placed it by his bed.