Author's Note: Hoooooooooo boy. Firstly, my sincere apologies for how long this chapter took to come out! I haven't had writer's block this bad in years, and it took 7 entire weeks to finish this chapter despite having the entire thing basically outlined from the start. URGH.
But it's finally finished, and I'm really happy with how it turned out. It's also just over 6.5k words, which is the longest chapter in this fic by far. Hopefully that makes up for at least a little bit of the wait, lol!
Day 13: Getting Anxious for Christmas (plus a secret bonus prompt which I'll reveal at the end!)
Great Plains, WE - December 13, 1910
"And this man's name was what?"
"Cú Chulainn of Muirthemne. He was an Irish warrior," Jack answered. He was only half paying attention to the conversation, thoroughly engrossed in his book while he lay stretched out on his stomach in the back of the wagon. "In this chapter he's defending the kingdom of Ulster from Queen Medb of Connacht's army. She's trying to invade and steal King Conchobar mac Nessa's prized bull, Donn Cúailnge, after she put all his other soldiers under a curse so they can't fight."
John blinked, just taking all of that in for a moment. "You... How did you even get all those names outta your mouth in one go?"
Jack turned to the next page with a tiny shrug. "I dunno. Just comes easy to me, I guess."
The elder Marston blew out a slow breath and shook his head. "Well you're a hell of a lot smarter than me, that's for sure. Maybe you oughta drive the wagon while I read that book of yours for a while - I clearly need to 'broaden my horizons' some more."
"He's smarter than both of us," Abigail said proudly, turning around to look at him.
Jack hunched deeper into his book, his face flushing pink. "That's... I'm not..." He never knew quite how to respond when his parents said things like that, and it usually just got him flustered instead. He suspected that was half of why they did it, actually.
John and Abigail exchanged fond smiles with one another, and John huffed a quiet laugh as he snapped the reins to urge the wagon horses into a faster trot.
The three of them were on their way over to Lone Wolf Stead, planning to pay an impromptu visit to the Morgan-Smiths. John had been out to Blackwater that morning, leaving in the wagon before sunrise with their surplus milk, eggs, and wool loaded in the back to sell. When he arrived back home a couple of hours later, it was with an excited gleam in his eye and a pale cream-colored envelope clutched in his hands. There was no return address except to the post office in Annesburg, but the name "Tacitus Kilgore" was written in the upper-left corner in a messy, looping scrawl.
There was only one person - or, rather, one couple - who would still be writing letters to John under that alias after all these years, and as soon as he'd seen his father pull up to the front porch and noticed the name on the letter, Jack was practically scrambling into the back of the wagon, all but dragging his mother along behind him.
Aforementioned letter now was tucked securely between the back pages of his book, still unopened for the time being (no matter how tempted he was to take a quick peek). Pa and Uncle Arthur had promised each other weeks ago that whoever received word from Dutch and Hosea first would be sure to notify the other immediately, and John said he didn't feel right opening it before his brother got a chance to see it too. Jack didn't mind, though, since it gave them all an excuse to visit Arthur and Charles again. He always loved seeing his uncles, and with Lone Wolf Stead being so close to Beecher's Hope, the two families usually wound up dropping in on each other at least a couple times a month.
Unlike Arthur, though, who had been in Jack's life since the day he was born, he hadn't gotten close with Charles until he was quite a bit older. Charles Smith didn't join the gang until late 1898, one of the very last additions besides Micah Bell and Jenny Kirk. Jack really didn't know anything about him then; at just four years old, he'd had little reason to approach him on his own, and the man generally preferred to keep to himself at the edges of camp, farther out than Jack was permitted to wander.
All he could really remember thinking at the time was that Charles was big, and strong, and he always worked hard, even when the other men were drinking or smoking or sleeping off a hangover instead. He could be scary sometimes, but only when people were mean to him, like Micah or Bill. He'd reminded Jack of his Uncle Arthur that way, fierce and angry if he had to be but gentle and peaceful when given the choice. In spite of how standoffish he seemed, Charles never felt threatening or dangerous, unlike so many of the others.
Then in 1899 everything fell apart, scattering all of "Dutch's Boys" to the four winds in search of their own fortunes, and Jack hadn't seen Arthur or Charles again for almost three years afterward. The Marstons headed south and began scouting out a place to make their home, finally choosing to settle at Beecher's Hope in the summer of 1900. Meanwhile, the two men traveled wherever the wind took them like a couple of leaves, drifting from town to town and adventure to adventure all over the United States and Canada. Even though they still wrote regularly to tell John and his family of all their exploits, Jack still wasn't sure when - or if - he would ever see his Uncle Arthur again, and he missed him terribly.
By the time they finally did return, early in the spring of 1902, it was with hand-carved deer bone wedding bands on their left ring fingers, a hyphenated surname, and the deed to a newly-purchased parcel of land just a few miles west of Beecher's Hope. Jack was almost eight years old by then, already shy and bookish and introverted, and it had taken him some time to come around to Charles after not having seen him for so long. He didn't avoid him, exactly, not wanting to hurt Uncle Arthur's feelings when he clearly loved his husband so very much. But he also didn't go out of his way to approach him, unaccustomed to meeting new people and more than a little intimidated by the taciturn, mysterious near-stranger who had suddenly become his uncle too.
Charles never forced the issue, seeming to understand Jack's discomfort and even feel some of his own. Instead, he reached out in more subtle ways, a little at a time. From the moment their house was constructed, the pair would frequently volunteer to watch Jack for the day, letting Abigail and John have some much-appreciated time to themselves. They'd take him out riding in the afternoons after the ranch chores were done, Jack and Arthur riding together on Horchata and Charles trotting along beside them on Taima.
There was a pretty little meadow nearby, always bursting with wildflowers, where they'd stop to have lunch whenever the weather was good. And without fail, Charles would pack a bar of chocolate in his every single time. He claimed it was because he had an incurable sweet tooth ("Nothing the doctors can do for me. They've tried everything," he'd once told Jack in a dramatic whisper, making Arthur roll his eyes with a knowing smirk). And yet when it came time to eat it, he never took more than half, usually only breaking off a square or two before claiming he was just too full to eat one more bite and asking Jack to finish it for him so it didn't go to waste. Jack, of course, was so happy to oblige that he never bothered to comment on the obvious lie.
If Jack was reading a book when he came to visit (which he almost always was) Charles would take time to ask him questions about it, giving his nephew his full attention in a way few other adults ever did. Jack would tell him all about dragons and knights and castles and princesses, famous duelists and gunslingers of the Old West, and great detectives solving mysteries in the back alleys of London. And the next time Jack came to Lone Wolf Stead, more often than not he'd find another book from the same author or genre waiting for him on the living room bookshelf.
"I happened across it in town," Charles would say, "and it looked like something that you might like. You'll have to read it and let me know if it's any good." And when Jack did just that, Charles again gave him his undivided attention, listening to the seven-year-old review Penny Dreadfuls like he was the leading literary authority in all of West Elizabeth.
It didn't take long, maybe a few months, before Jack got more comfortable around Charles, and even began seeking out his company on his own. He was fascinated by the man's seemingly limitless knowledge of the natural world, from plants and animals to stones and bones, and the way he could track all manner of wild game using only the smallest signs almost seemed to border on the supernatural at times. He'd been hesitant to ask Charles to teach him about any of it at first, not sure whether the man would be put off by having to answer all of his questions (he knew his endless curiosity got on his parents' nerves sometimes, even though they did their best not to show it.)
Rather than being annoyed, though, Charles had seemed surprised and then downright thrilled, his eyes brightening and an unexpectedly large grin spreading across his face. They wound up spending that entire afternoon walking around the ranch together, picking up feathers and rocks and flowers they found along the way, and Charles talked more than Jack had ever thought possible. He answered every question with an enthusiasm Jack had never seen from him before, showing him how to identify various animals by their tracks and pointing out plants with parts that could be eaten or used for medicine.
"You know, aside from Arthur, you're probably the only person who's ever asked me to talk about any of this," Charles had said with a wistful expression on his face, gently pressing the deep black crow's feather they'd been examining into Jack's palm. "I've always tried to learn as much as I could about the world around me, ever since I was a child. It was important knowledge for my mother's people, so it started as a way to keep her memory alive, but I also just find it fascinating. I enjoy getting the chance to share what I know with others too, but most people aren't interested, aside from what they need to know to avoid poisonous berries or catch an animal for their dinner."
He stopped, then, looking sheepish when he realized how fast he was speaking. "Sorry, I'm rambling. I just... I've enjoyed talking with you today, Jack. Thank you."
And that was the moment when eight-year-old Jack finally understood how much alike he and his uncle actually were. All this time, he'd only really thought of Charles as a serious, down-to-earth sort of person who lacked any interests outside of the utilitarian, and he'd even wondered at times if the man only made an effort to spend time with him out of some kind of obligation he felt towards Arthur. But hearing him speak just then, Jack realized that wasn't the case whatsoever. Charles wasn't scary, and he wasn't just some aloof, emotionally-detached stoic. He was naturally sensible and pragmatic, yes, but more than that, he was just... awkward, and a little shy, in exactly the same way that Jack was.
Jack had become quieter and more introverted over the four years since the gang's dissolution, not because he no longer had anything to talk about (far from it), but because he could already sense the way most people seemed to get bored or confused whenever he spoke at length about his very particular interests. Eventually it made him self-conscious enough to just decide to keep his thoughts to himself a lot of the time. After all, why waste the breath and energy telling people about things they clearly didn't care about? He hadn't considered that an adult might feel the same way he did, might be afraid to talk about the things that mattered most to them for fear of being ignored or ridiculed. But clearly Charles did, and at that moment Jack found himself relating to the man in an entirely new way.
"No, don't be sorry!" he said quickly, realizing he'd been silent a few seconds too long. "I've enjoyed talking with you too, Uncle Charles. I'm not sure I'll ever be as good at tracking and foraging as you, but I still like learning about all of it. Umm... Can we do this again, sometime? If you're not too busy?"
Charles chuckled, and he had looked so relieved when he smiled and patted Jack's shoulder that it made his chest feel warm. "Of course we can. Any time you want."
Finally, after nearly an hour spent between reading his book and getting lost in his daydreams while his parents chatted softly in the driver's seat, Jack looked up and spotted the familiar arched gateway that marked the entrance to Morgan-Smiths' ranch. The words "Lone Wolf Stead" were carved across the top beam; below it, in smaller block letters, hung a sign reading "Shêshki Mahwêwa-îki," which was the closest approximation Charles had found when translating the name into Meskwaki. Old Boy and Granite, the grulla Mustang gelding who had taken Rachel's place pulling the wagon while she was in foal, both lifted their heads and snorted as they quickened their pace, no doubt smelling all of the other horses that stood grazing in the nearby pastures.
It didn't take long to spot Arthur and Charles; both men were standing just outside the round pen they used for training yearlings, watching a chestnut leopard Appaloosa trot in smooth circles around the inside. Arthur's arms were draped casually across the top rung of the fence, and his head bobbed in an enthusiastic nod when Charles pointed something out to him. He must have liked whatever it was, because a moment later he gently bumped his hip against Charles's, prompting the man to put an arm around his shoulders and pull him in for a rather heated kiss.
A wolf-whistle from John had the two jumping apart like a couple of teenagers caught necking behind the town chapel, their eyes wide as they realized they'd obviously had company this whole time and not even noticed. "Jesus, Art!" he hollered as they came closer, a shit-eating grin on his face. "What'd that poor horse ever do to deserve havin' to watch Charles kiss your ugly mug? What'd Charles ever do, for that matter?"
"As if you got any room to talk, Wolf-Bait!" Arthur laughed, coughing into his fist and flipping his brother off as John pulled up beside them and brought the wagon to a stop. Charles just shook his head at the pair of them, looking equal parts amused and embarrassed. "The hell are you doin' here, anyway, 'sides harassin' us while we're tryin' to work?"
"Oh, work, is that what folk are callin' it these days?"
"Paaaa..." Jack groaned, putting his face in his hands as he felt the tips of his ears burning pink. "Please."
"Yeah, Johnny, not in front of the boy."
"You know what, Morgan -"
"John." "Arthur." Abigail and Charles scolded at exactly the same moment. Arthur and John ducked their heads, duly chastised, and their spouses shared a sidelong glance and a long-suffering sigh between them.
"It's good to see you all," Charles said warmly, turning his attention to the Marstons. He offered his hand to help Abigail down from the wagon, Jack hopping out of the back on his own with his book in hand. "Any specific reason for the visit, or did you just feel like dropping by?"
"Got a letter from Dutch and Hosea when I went to Blackwater this morning," John answered. "Pretty sure it's about when they'll be coming to visit for Christmas, but we didn't wanna open it up without you two. You still got that letter, Jack?"
"Right here, Pa." Jack pulled it from between the pages of his book, holding it up for his father and uncles to see.
"Well then, let's -" Arthur was interrupted by another cough, which quickly turned into a fit of them. He held up a hand and then turned away, hacking into the crook of his elbow for several seconds. Charles's lips thinned in concern.
"You alright, Uncle Arthur?" Jack asked worriedly. He'd hardly ever seen any of the men in his life sick before, with the exception of Hosea's chronic asthma, and it was always unsettling when it did happen.
"Yeah, 'm fine," Arthur rasped, patting his chest and clearing his throat as he finally got himself back under control. "Just gettin' over a cold I picked up on the way home from Annesburg. It sounds worse than it is."
"You been takin' it easy? Gettin' lots of fluids?" Abigail asked, her arms crossed over her chest and an expression on her face that said she already knew the answer.
Arthur shrugged. "More or less. Can't exactly stop workin' just because I'm a little under the weather."
"You could," Charles grumbled, clearly not for the first time based on how exasperated he sounded. "You just won't."
"Uh-huh. That's what I thought." Abigail gave Arthur a withering look that Jack was well-acquainted with, and which stopped any witty retort the man may have come up with in its tracks. "I swear, I've known twins less alike than you and John. You are gonna get in that house right now, Arthur Morgan, and you're gonna sit down and rest. If there are any more chores that still need doin', John and Jack can help with 'em. I'll get supper started, so Charles has one less thing to worry about tonight, and then we can all find out what Dutch and Hosea have planned for their Christmas visit this year."
"You heard the lady," John ordered when Arthur stayed put for a few seconds too long. "Get your ass inside, 'fore she drags you in there by your ear! We've got it under control."
Arthur sighed dramatically, falling into step beside Abigail as she began making her way up toward the house. "That's pretty low, all o' you gangin' up on a sick man like this," he called over his shoulder.
Abigail laughed, taking his arm in hers. "Oh, hush. You brought it on yourself, silly fool."
"Alright Charles, I'm gonna pull the wagon around, then unhitch the horses and put 'em out to graze," John said, smirking as he watched Abigail all but drag his brother up the path. "Then Jack and I can help with whatever you still need done."
Charles nodded. "Sounds good. Thanks, John."
John clicked his tongue twice to get the horses to walk on, and Jack watched him for a moment before turning his attention back to his uncle. "So how've you been, Uncle Charles?"
"I've been well, Jack," Charles answered warmly, pulling him into a quick hug. "Been travelin' around some. Like Arthur said, he and I went up to Annesburg a few days ago to see Mrs. Balfour. We stopped in at the saloon in Van Horn on the way home too, which I'm pretty sure is where he caught that cold. And you? Looks like you're reading somethin' new again. What's it about this time?"
"No, it's not new. It's that one you got me last year - you know, the one with all the Irish folktales?"
"Ah, the one about Cú Chulainn and the kingdom of Ulster, right?"
"Yeah, that's the one." He traced his finger down the embossed gold letters on the book's emerald green spine. "It's one of my favorites."
"I'm glad. I'll definitely keep an eye out for any more like it, then."
"Thanks. Oh! I've been meaning to ask you - Or, well, I was going to ask you last time we saw you, when you and Uncle Arthur helped us put up the tree, but then we all got so busy, and I forgot to ask before you left..."
"Ask me what?" Charles prodded patiently, his gentle interruption stopping Jack's habitual nervous rambling before it could get too far off-topic.
"Do you think you might be able to teach me how to carve things from wood? Like animals? I want to make some gifts for Ma, but every time I try I just end up with a pile of sawdust."
"Of course. It's not too hard, just takes some practice. There's not much left to do out here - just need to groom the yearlings we trained today, check on a couple broodmares who're due to foal soon, and carry some extra firewood up to the house. We can practice carving some pieces of scrap wood after we all have supper and read that letter - that'll make it easier for me to keep an eye on Arthur, too, and make sure he actually sits down for more than a minute."
"Don't worry, Abigail ain't gonna let him outta her sight for one second, now she knows he's sick," John chimed in as he rounded the corner. "I can tell you from experience."
"Can't say I'm upset about that. He needs the rest, he's just too stubborn to admit it." Charles shook his head and sighed, though his lips still pulled up at the corners. "I'm actually glad you all stopped by today. I've got something to give to Arthur a little later - an early Christmas present I picked up this morning - and it'll be easier for me to leave and go get it without making him suspicious if he's got someone else to keep him busy for a while."
"Oh, yeah? What'd you get him, Uncle Charles?"
Charles just winked before turning to make his way toward the barn. "You'll have to wait and see."
Between the three of them, it only took about half an hour to finish the remaining chores, and then they made their way up to the house, each carrying a heavy stack of firewood. Jack and John laid theirs in a neat pile on the front porch, and Jack held the door open for Charles so he could bring in his own bundle, which would be more than enough to feed the fireplace and the kitchen stove through the rest of the evening. Arthur was seated on the living room sofa, leafing through a thick book; the open pages displayed detailed drawings of what looked like different species of flowers. He was bundled up in a thick patchwork quilt, a throw pillow resting against the wall behind his head, and John snorted at the sight as he plopped down into a nearby armchair, earning a glare from his older brother.
"Don't you say a word," Arthur growled, pointing an accusing finger at all three of them. "After you sicced Abigail on me she wrapped me in this goddamn blanket and threatened me with a fate worse'n death if I didn't stay put. I never claimed to be a smart man, but I... hih... h-hih... hitchoo!" He sneezed into the bend of his elbow, sniffling and dabbing his nose with his neckerchief before he continued. "Even I ain't dumb enough to tempt her when she says shit like that."
"Wise choice, there." Charles tossed a couple pieces of wood into the fireplace, adjusting them with the tip of the iron poker until they caught. "Because if you hadn't listened, I wouldn't have stopped her from doing whatever it was she had in mind."
"Some husband you are," Arthur grumbled, trying and failing so hard to fight back a smile that it made his lips quiver. "I'm bein' held hostage in my own home and you're takin' her side?"
Charles laughed, coming closer and pretending to knock Arthur on the head with one of the remaining pieces of firewood before kissing his forehead instead. "Yeah, I know, I'm a real bastard."
At that moment Abigail poked her head through the kitchen doorway, brandishing the wooden spoon in her hand like a deadly weapon. "Arthur Morgan, if you've been up off that sofa, I swear I'll -"
"Jesus, woman!" Arthur huffed, throwing his hands up in the air in mock surrender. "Ain't no need for that, I been doin' what you told me. Keep that thing holstered!"
"He has been, Ma," Jack was quick to add. "We just finished the chores, and Uncle Arthur was still reading his book when we walked in."
Abigail nodded, slipping the spoon into her apron pocket and putting her hands on her hips. "Well, good then. I made potato soup and cornbread for supper. It needs to simmer just a little longer, let the potatoes get a tiny bit softer, but it should be ready in a few minutes. How about we go ahead and open that letter in the meantime?"
"Sounds good to me," John answered breezily, gently pulling Abigail over to sit on his lap and wrapping an arm snugly around her waist. "Anyone wanna place bets on whether or not Dutch started it off with 'My dear Archibald,' again?"
Arthur shook his head, waiting until Charles had sat down on the sofa before scooching closer so he could lean on him and steal some of his warmth. "Ain't takin' that bet; we all know he did."
Jack snickered and pulled the letter from between the pages of his book, ripping the envelope open and pulling out the single sheet of paper inside. "Do any of you want to read it? Or should I?"
"Nah, you go ahead, son. I don't know if the rest of us could do it with a straight face."
"Okay." Jack cleared his throat and began to read. "My dear Archibald -"
"I told you!"
"John, hush!" Abigail hissed.
"My dear Archibald," Jack continued, in his best imitation of Dutch's voice. Given the way his changing voice tended to crack every few words these days, it was hilariously accurate, and the others all chuckled as soon as they heard it. "I hope this letter finds you and your family well. I can scarcely believe the holiday season is nearly upon us again. It seems just yesterday we were all doing our best to evade the cruel summer heat beneath the merciful shade of the trees, dreaming of the day autumn's chill would arrive and spare us from the onslaught of flies and mosquitoes. Yet now, with the snowdrifts standing nearly as high as our cabin roof, I instead find myself dreaming of a tropical vacation! I suppose I shall never be satisfied. Still, perhaps next winter we can visit Tahiti, or Fiji - I hear they're lovely this time of year."
"Oh, Jesus," Arthur groaned. "Not this again. What is it with him and Tahiti? He ain't even been there!"
"Shh," Charles hushed him softly, but even he couldn't quite manage to hide his amusement.
"In any case, Octavius and I can hardly bear the anticipation as we count down these last few dreary days before our holiday visit. We plan to depart around the twentieth of December, and barring any unduly inclement weather, we should arrive in the late afternoon on the twenty-third. Perhaps someday we will finally relent and take the train to Blackwater, but - call me old-fashioned if you wish - nothing quite compares to traveling on horseback through the countryside at this time of year. It may add a few days to the journey, but in my eyes it is well worth it. Ah, but I'm rambling again. I suppose I should sign off for now, so this letter can make it to you before we do. Until then, I leave you with the following: May the season bring you peace and plenty; your barns and cellars never empty; a shot of whiskey and a mug of beer; comfort, warmth, and Christmas cheer. Faithfully yours, Tacitus Kilgore."
Everyone in the room managed to hold it together long enough for Jack to finish reading, but as soon as he finished they all dissolved into peals of laughter, Jack included. He folded the letter back into the envelope, and then handed it over to his parents for safekeeping.
"Well, that was... something," Abigail giggled as she tucked the envelope into her other pocket.
Arthur coughed, clearing his throat before any more could follow. "Dutch is something."
"That poem sounded more like something Hosea would come up with," Charles added thoughtfully.
"I'm sure it was," John agreed, shaking his head. "He was probably standin' over Dutch's shoulder the entire time, givin' him suggestions. Not sure which of 'em decided to go with Octavius for Hosea's alias this time, though."
"Dutch," the rest of them answered without hesitation.
"You know, I ain't even sure why he still writes in code like that. Not like anyone's gonna be reading our mail lookin' for him after all these years. Maybe he just misses givin' speeches at some ungodly hour every morning and this is the next best thing."
"I'm gonna tell him you said that," Jack teased.
John gave him a half-hearted glare. "One word to either of your grandfathers about anything I've said today and you'll be shovelin' shit every morning 'til next Christmas."
"I already do that, Pa."
Arthur snorted from his seat on the sofa, and John glowered at him before responding to his son.
"Where'd you learn to be such a wise-ass, boy? Must've gotten that from your mother."
"On that note," Abigail interjected, standing up and smoothing her dress as she gave John a look, "I think it's about time for supper."
The sun was getting low as they sat down to eat, coloring the scant, wispy winter clouds in shades of salmon and plum. The potato soup turned out to be pretty tasty; it had always been one of his mother's better dishes, in Jack's opinion, and he loved how often she made it for them in the wintertime. Once everyone had eaten their fill, Jack cleared the table while John helped Abigail wash the dishes. Arthur tried to help too, but Abigail noticed and banished him back to the living room immediately. He sulked as Charles ushered him back to his previous spot on the far end of the sofa, tucking the blanket around him before lighting the multicolored glass oil lamps that hung on the walls.
"Make yourselves comfortable," Charles told the Marstons as they finished cleaning up and filed back into the living room too. "I just need to step outside for a minute. Jack, go ahead and pick us out a couple pieces of scrap wood from the pile, and I'll start showing you how to carve it as soon as I come back in."
Jack did as he was told, picking out a couple small chunks of wood that wouldn't be too badly missed, before settling down into the armchair his father had occupied before dinner. His parents sat on the sofa next to Arthur, John in the middle and Abigail on the other end. John mockingly fluffed the pillow behind Arthur's head, earning a grumpy growl from the older man, but both of them were too full and content to actually bicker.
None of them suspected anything, figuring Charles had just gone to the outhouse to relieve himself. So when he came back inside a few minutes later, it took a few moments for them to look his way - and to see him holding something swaddled in an old, threadbare blanket against his chest. Arthur was the first to notice, and he sat upright immediately, his expression a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
"Charles? What is that? Somethin' get hurt out there?" he asked, already preparing to get up and help if he was needed. The pair of them had been known to nurse injured wildlife back to health on more than one occasion, and Jack had even been allowed to help them a few times himself over the years.
Charles shook his head. "No, nothing like that. It's - hang on, hang on, we're almost there," he said to the creature in his arms, which had begun wriggling furiously at the sound of a new voice. Once he got close enough, he handed the bundle over to Arthur, not letting go until he was sure his husband had a secure hold on it.
Jack stood up and came closer, silently waiting to see what Charles had brought in. Arthur lifted back one edge of the blanket just a bit, and then suddenly he was being pounced on by a tiny puppy as it practically flew out of its makeshift cocoon. It had long floppy ears and big, round brown eyes, with a slightly wavy cinnamon-red coat. One rear paw had two white toes, and there was a white silk ribbon tied in a bow around its neck. Its tail wagged so fast that the rest of its body shook along too, whimpering with unbridled excitement as it stretched up to try and lick every inch of Arthur's face it could reach.
Arthur froze for a few seconds, caught completely off-guard, and then all at once Jack watched him melt like butter, his eyes softening and a delighted smile spreading across his face. "Well, now, lookit you," he cooed to the little dog, holding it more securely in his arms. "Ain't you just a darlin'? Yeah, sure you are. And you know it too, don'tcha?"
"I take it you like her?" Charles asked, a pleased smirk on his face.
"O'course I do!" Arthur answered without hesitation, giving the little pup - and then Charles - a smooch on the nose before setting her on the floor so she could start exploring her new home. She quickly ran over to each of them in turn, standing up on her hind legs until they gave her a pat before moving onto the next person. "She's perfect. But where'd she come from? Was she a stray?"
"I got her from that older couple up the road, the Massingills. One of their Irish Setters had a litter, and they asked if I wanted one of the pups last month when I dropped off the colt we were training for them. They just turned eight weeks old yesterday, so I went to get this one early this morning while you were still asleep. Kept her in one of the empty stalls in the stud barn; since I was the one mucking out in there today, I knew you wouldn't find her."
"You sly dog," Arthur said, and then chuckled when he realized his unintended pun.
"What are you gonna call her?" Jack asked, grinning as the little pup rolled over on her back and stared him down with those chocolate brown doe-eyes until he finally rubbed her belly.
Arthur silently watched Jack play with the pup for a bit, rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully. When she eventually bounded back over to him, he scooped her up again, holding her close so she couldn't accidentally fall. "I wonder..." he murmured, scratching her chest until he found the spot that made her rear leg kick like a rabbit's. "Ha! There it is. Same exact spot would always make Copper kick like that too. And her coat's the same color as his was when he was young... Hmm... What about 'Penny?' May not be too original, but she does look just like a new penny."
"I think it suits her," Abigail agreed, reaching across John to stroke a floppy ear.
"It'd kinda be like namin' her after Copper too, in a way. He was a good dog," John added, tickling the underside of the pup's white-toed rear foot.
"Yeah, he was," Arthur said softly. "Alright, then. Penny it is. Whatcha think, girl?"
Penny didn't seem to care either way, too busy getting comfortable against her new owner's chest while he cradled her on her back like a newborn. She stretched all four legs into the air and then yawned, the tip of her little pink tongue curling up slightly, before closing her eyes and almost immediately falling asleep.
"Well, if that ain't the cutest thing I've ever seen," Abigail said softly, her eyes a little watery. "I'd say you did good, Charles."
"I'd have to agree," Arthur whispered, beaming up at his husband. "Thank you, Charlie. I love her already."
"You're welcome. And I'm glad, because I do too."
The rest of the evening passed in a peaceful, cozy haze. As promised, Charles taught Jack the basics of whittling, which they continued working on well past dark. The pair of them sat across from one another in a pair of high-backed armchairs, carving rough chunks of wood into various shapes by the flickering light of the oil lamp on the wall. Jack was a quick study, and before long he was already carving his first crude animal figurine - it wasn't pretty, by any means, but it was at least recognizable, and Charles looked proud when he saw how fast he was catching on.
Abigail borrowed Jack's book of mythology and quietly practiced her reading; aside from an occasional tricky word that she needed John's help to puzzle out, she did very well, and Jack was excited to see how much more confident his mother was starting to sound whenever she read aloud.
Arthur hadn't moved an inch after Penny fell asleep on his chest, not wanting to wake her after she'd had such a big and chaotic day. He quietly stroked her fur as her nose and feet twitched in her dreams, and it didn't take long before the combination of a full belly, a warm blanket, and the fatigue of his illness did him in for the day. His eyelids drooped closed, his head slowly falling onto John's shoulder, and a congested snore rattled through his nose as he finally surrendered to the pull of slumber he'd been fighting all day long. The younger man sighed and shook his head, shifting his body a little so Arthur wouldn't get a crick in his neck, and then pulled the blanket over both of them.
The next time Jack looked over at them just a few minutes later, his father was asleep too, head tipped back and mouth hanging open while he snored even louder than Arthur. He exchanged grins with his uncle and his mother, all three of them shaking their heads and stifling laughter at the sight. Seeing his family so happy and relaxed always warmed Jack's heart, and now after receiving his grandfathers' letter, he could hardly stand the wait for their upcoming visit.
"Another week and a half to go," Jack thought as he returned his attention to his whittling, where he was currently carving out the floppy ears of a little wooden dog. "Christmas can't come soon enough."
Notes: The bonus prompt for this chapter was "Christmas Puppy!" It wasn't originally part of the plan for this chapter, but I saw it on the alternate/extra prompt list and thought, "You know what? Arthur's getting a puppy, because he deserves one."
I feel like Charles and Jack's relationship doesn't get explored too often, and I wanted to take the chance to do it here, because I think they're actually a lot alike. The one scene they have together in the RDR2 Epilogue is super sweet, and I wanted more interactions like that for them. Hopefully I did "Uncle Charles" justice here.
As for Charles's name for Lone Wolf Stead, Shêshki mahwêwa-îki, it translates to "One Wolf House."
shêshki = one
mahwêwa = wolf
-îki = house
I do not speak Meskwaki myself and am using a translation dictionary to try and be as accurate as I can, but if I have made any errors, please let me know!
Finally, Hosea's poem in the letter comes from an old greeting in Victorian Christmas cards which he modified to suit his own purposes. The original is:
May Christmas bring thee peace and plenty,
Barns and cellars never empty.
A horn of honest wholesome beer,
Will warm the heart, the spirits cheer.
(Also, I promise Arthur just has a cold/flu, nothing more serious. I too have PTSD every time Arthur coughs, but he's fine!)
Next chapter's prompt is "Getting Snowed In" and features Jake and Sadie Adler in the early days of their marriage. See you then! (And I promise it won't take 7 weeks this time!)