Sadie was a much better teacher than Javier. That's for sure.
In the few afternoons you've spent with her, you began to think that perhaps Javier, in his previous attempts to educate you, may have leaned towards coddling you instead of actually teaching you. In contrast with Sadie's no-nonsense, methodical approach, you realised she might be the only one who could truly teach you how to shoot properly. She'd hand you a loaded revolver and, with a fierce glint in her eye, say, "You ain't gonna learn by just lookin' at it, darlin'. Now, hold it steady."
Her lessons took place a good distance from Shady Belle. Somehow, she had an inkling that your self-consciousness in the presence of others would only get in the way of your progress. She made an astute observation, noting that whenever Arthur tagged along, you'd perform worse compared to when it was just the two of you.
With Sadie's help, you began to understand the weight of the Colt in your hand, the heft of the rifle in your arms. She taught you the importance of stance, how to plant your feet firmly on the ground, and how to align your body to the target. Every detail counted, and every muscle mattered. Her instructions were sharp and to the point, much like her aim, and you wondered how the fuck did she learn all these.
She'd stand beside you, her own firearm drawn, and fire a round into a nearby tree trunk, the sharp crack of the gunshot ringing in your ears. "That's how it's done," she'd confidently proclaim, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Now, your turn."
With trembling hands, you'd raise your revolver and squeeze the trigger. In your first few tries, the recoil was jarring, and your shots went wide. But Sadie was relentless, shouting both curses and words of encouragement at you, and on many occasions, you have tested her patience. Nevertheless, slowly but surely, your accuracy did improve, something you never even thought possible.
She'd take you into the woods where you learned to shoot from different positions – standing, crouching, even lying prone in the dirt, the gunshots reverberating through the rustling leaves and the distant calls of birds. Sadie made sure you were prepared for any situation.
During one of your excursions, you finally had a breakthrough. With steady hands and newfound confidence, you aimed your rifle and pulled the trigger, taking down an unsuspecting deer with a single shot - a clean kill. You could feel the rush of adrenaline within you. Hitting a row of cans and bottles was already pretty satisfying, but this one was entirely different.
You turned to Sadie like an eager pupil waiting for her teacher's praise and approval. But you were only met with a stern expression on her face. While that did hurt your ego a bit, deep down, you knew it wasn't disappointment. No, it wasn't that. It was something else. Your eyes met hers, and both of you understood. In the grand scheme of things, should the two of you ever cross paths with Colm O'Driscoll again, this was just the beginning – a small victory in a much larger battle.
The sound of slow, rhythmic clapping interrupted your moment with Sadie. Startled, you turned to see Arthur approaching. A proud grin painted across his face as he clapped his hands together.
"Well, well, look at you." He exclaimed as he gave you a friendly pat on the back. His gesture was meant to be gentle, but he gave it more force than he may have intended, causing you to sway forward slightly.
"Seems like Sadie's been doin' a fine job teachin' ya." Arthur remarked before adding, "It's getting dark. You should head back."
You glanced back at Sadie, mouthing the words 'thank you,' and her stern expression softened into a subtle smile.
As you prepared to take your leave, Arthur interjected once more by saying, "Sadie, you go on ahead. I reckon I'll stay and help our friend here skin that deer."
He looked at you with a wink. "We can give it to Pearson. He's been complainin' about the lack of meat."
"Suit yourself." Sadie nodded and made her way back to the camp.
Arthur swiftly reached for his dagger and handed it to you. He stepped closer, his voice calm and steady as he began instructing you on the process of skinning the animal. With a finger, he pointed out the precise location for your first incision, his tone patient and reassuring.
"Now, darlin', start here," he directed, guiding your hand with his own. "Gotta make sure you're followin' the natural line of the hide. Nice and easy, just like that."
The next several minutes were messy as you made the necessary incisions, but as you struggled, Arthur eventually stepped in. You watched, feeling a mix of awe and disgust, as he expertly removed the hide, revealing the warm, crimson flesh beneath. You had seen your father do it a couple of times on his patients but had never truly gotten used to such sights.
"So, uh, is everything okay between you and, uh, Marston?" he broached the topic cautiously, his hands moving through the bloody mess in front of him.
"I beg your pardon?"
"It's just that he's been asking me a lot about you. Does he know what you've been up to here lately?" He inquired, gesturing in the air with his dagger as he continued working on that deer.
"Uh. Sure. I think I've mentioned it to him." You shrugged your shoulders.
"Sure." Arthur glanced at you, hoisting the poor animal onto his horse. "I think John's just worried about you, is all."
When he didn't hear a response from you, he prodded further, "I think it's good he's spending some time with that kid."
"Yeah. I think so, too." You replied through gritted teeth. You found Arthur's probing or concern (whatever he meant) somewhat grating as you struggled to hide your annoyance.
"Sorry, Ma'am. I didn't mean to pry."
"It's alright."
The crickets chirped in chorus as dusk settled around you. With your spoils from the afternoon in tow, you rode by Arthur's side in silence, hoping he'd put the matter concerning you and John to rest.
"Listen, [Y/N]," he paused abruptly. His fingers lightly touched your arm, imploring you to listen to what he had to say. He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "I just... I think you should consider endin' things with John."
You clenched your jaw, your grip on the reins tightening. "Why are you telling me this, Arthur?"
He let out a weary sigh and fixed his eyes firmly on yours. "Look. John's got a kid now – a family he's gotta take care of. It ain't fair for you to be dragged into his mess."
"And don't you think I know that already, Mr. Morgan?" you finally snapped, "I'm reminded of the fact every single day!" How that exactly came out of your mouth stunned both Arthur and yourself.
You watched John spend more and more time with Jack – and you knew all too well wherever Jack was, Abigail was always there. Your loneliness and jealousy had been silently festering, and you've reached your breaking point, a tempest raging within. The evenings you used to share with John felt empty, much like the space in the bed he used to occupy beside you. He had assured you that he'd only read Jack a few bedtime stories, promising he'd return to your side once the boy had drifted off to sleep. But more often than not, he'd fall asleep in their room, leaving you alone in yours, overwhelmed by desolation.
"Is this what this is all about? The shooting and running off to God knows where?" Arthur shot back, his voice filled with genuine confusion and concern. You had lost track of your own words in the heat of the moment. All you could think about was your desperate urge to escape. You spurred your horse into action, urging it to go as fast as possible, leaving Arthur behind on the trail.
When you reached home, you quickly looked around to see if Arthur had made it back as well - there was no sign of him yet. Secretly, a part of you wished the woods had swallowed him up. Pearson had begun serving dinner, but the conversation earlier had completely spoiled your appetite, so you hitched your horse and made a beeline for your tent, keeping a safe distance from the group that had gathered around the fire.
You closed the flaps behind you and felt a slight sense of relief wash over you. You placed your things on the floor and changed into something comfortable, one that didn't have any bloodstains on it. You crawled to your bed, desperately praying for this day to be over.
Not a few minutes passed, you heard John's voice from the outside. "Hey."
You replied with a weary tone, "What, John?"
"I saw your horse hitched outside, but I didn't see you come in. I brought you dinner."
"I'm not hungry."
"Can I come in, please?" He pleaded.
"I'm tired, John. Can I just talk to you tomorrow?"
The disappointment and hurt were palpable in his silence. You heard his footsteps slowly retreating from your tent, eventually fading into the night.
Warm tears began to fall uncontrollably down your face.