Winters are always harsh here, Dutch thought as they had moved from their usual tents to some abandoned mining outfit that Arthur had found in the mountains. They were near Cochinay and he debated going to visit Annabelle with Jack, at least when the weather cleared anyway. And provided Abigail would allow him to do so. There was something comforting about the cold, dark, and bitter winter that made him feel at peace. Perhaps it was because it had been December when she had told him the news, or because it had been a day like this when he said goodbye to his father for the last time and promised to look after his mother. Or maybe it's just watching everything become covered in that thick white blanket and that there's silence this time of year.
"She turned to drink and whoring after you died, as though she wanted to spite you for leaving her with me." Dutch mumbled to himself as he looked out the window of the room he shared with Abigail and Jack. The other women didn't like sharing a room with her on account of the baby, while it was supposed to be his accommodation solely, he couldn't bear the thought of the woman and child being without a bed. Deciding to sleep on a bedroll on the floor instead and allowing them to occupy the room alongside him. Susan had given him a ration of shit over it too, even though he could tell deep down that she was actually relieved that he had insisted they share the room. He would've preferred the peace and quiet, of course, in the event he actually managed to sleep more than a handful of hours but then again, it didn't matter anyway. Considering he still had bouts of insomnia regardless of whether Jack woke him up or not.
It had been awkward at first, with the young mother insisting that he share the bed with them. Though he knew it was more to do with the fact it was a rather sizable one than it was her coming into him, again. He and Hosea often took turns on Abigail's behalf looking after the boy, so it's not like the young woman wasn't aware that Dutch's interest was not at her but her son. Filling the role that John had left behind, though he still seemed to flit between being a doting father and demanding isolation from everyone. Including the small boy and his mother from time to time. It's a painful reminder of what could have been if only luck had been on our side, but I will do my best to not ruin this boy the way that I have ruined the last two.
"Who?" Abigail asked, she had stepped into the room quietly and was going to check in on Jack as he slept. He smirked, he hadn't even heard her come in but perhaps he had been so lost in his thoughts that he tuned out the background noises. Now that she had disturbed his peace, the din of the other gang members talking or eating and the stench of burning tobacco caught his attention too.
"My mother, Greta. I saw her when I was in Blackwater with Susan a long time ago, in passing of course. She looked ill and was walking with my uncle, gently clinging to his arm. She heard I might be there and I guess she came looking for me after all these years. For whatever reason." He replied as he continued to watch the snow slowly settle onto the barrels and wagons outside.
"You never wrote to her after you ran away from home?" She asked, gently picking up Jack from the bed and leaning him against her as she sat down on the bed.
"Annabelle did. She never told me she was doing so, but when we married she decided to write my mother to tell her all about the kind of man I had become. I…wrongfully, read her private letter to the woman out of both curiosity and spite. It was all tender sweetness, of course, nothing but all the good parts of me and completely misrepresenting the worst bits of my personality. I wanted to be angry with her for even writing to the woman, but she always had a tendency to get her way regardless." He exhaled loudly, turning away from the window for a moment. "Are you two getting enough to eat?"
"We're alright, Mr. Van der Linde. Have you…" She bit her lip and clutched her child a little closer to her, "has he...?"
"If you need anything, just say the word and I'll make sure it gets done." He replied quietly, stepping out of the room past her and chewing his lip.
John, that child is already eighteen months old, where are you? Come home, son.
—-
She was sitting at the edge of the cliff, staring out at the lake in the distance and kicking her feet a little as she shivered in the heavy black fur lined jacket that was clearly too big for her. He leaned against the rocks behind him, watching her and smoking a cigar, wondering if she even knew he was standing there staring at her. He longed for her, even after all this time and his own gaze betrayed his thoughts and she seemed to know what he was thinking about.
'You aren't doing what you promised me you'd do, darling.' Annabelle slowly looked over her shoulder, those hazel eyes giving him that stern look she always did when she wasn't getting her way. She was pouting.
"I know, Belle. I'm waiting for our son to come home first." He exhaled on the cigar and she grunted, he knew she was folding her arms under his heavy jacket as she looked back out at the view. She was cross with him now.
'You need to bring him home, beloved. This situation isn't right and you know it. He looks to you for guidance, we're the only parents that boy knows and you are failing him as you are failing me. He wouldn't have run away if you had accepted the girl's pregnancy to begin with! You reacted just the way you did all those years ago right before we rescued him from being hung. Or did you think I would forget?' No, she was furious, he could tell now by the way she was seated and it wounded him a little. He didn't want to argue with her, especially since it was so rare to see her in his dreams these days.
"Belle, I don't want to fight with you. I just don't want what happened to us–" He began as he went to put out the cigar and walk towards her.
'We ran into bad luck, Dutch! We knew that someday our fortunes would reverse and we would have to reap what we sowed! I told you there was no happy ending for us, but there could be for John! You'd deny him the thing we, ourselves, dreamt of having because you're too chickenshit to deal with grief?' She shook her head and scoffed loudly, launching herself off the cliff face and he dropped the cigar to run to her before she fell but when he went to reach her it was too late.
—-
"ANNABELLE!" He woke up screaming, reaching out his hand into the darkness and sweating. He moaned, placing the wayward hand on his forehead and cursing himself under his breath. "Goddamn it Belle!"
She's more than furious with you. And he knew why she might be, Arthur had been right when he had said that Dutch had been playing favorites. No, it's just a dream like all the others. It's my own mind working out my petty bullshit, that's all.
He heard Jack begin to cry out in the darkness, startled by the sudden noise that Dutch had made as he slept on a bedroll near the fireplace in the room. His back ached from the hard floor, the bedroll providing absolutely zero support and he was reminded of the time he slept with Annabelle when she had been ill on the ground. I'm too old for this...
"Shit." Dutch rolled up into a seated position, throwing his blankets off but Abigail was already awake and took her child into her arms to comfort him. Shushing him and gently stroking the back of his jet black hair. "I'm sorry Abigail."
"Don't be. If you hadn't given us your bed, we'd be sleeping out with the horses in the barn like animals. To be honest, I didn't know if you actually slept until now. Though I can see why you don't sometimes. Do you always have nightmares?" She asked as Jack quieted down a moment only to fuss that he needed to be nursed. He turned away, he had spent enough time around the boy that he instinctively could differentiate between the boy's cries. It's a strange instinct, being able to know what that boy wants without him articulating it, I wonder if I would've been the same way with ours.
"Something like that. I was arguing with Annabelle and she decided to throw herself off a cliff. Or rather, she was pissed off and decided leaping to her death in my dreams would drive her point home." He propped himself up with his elbow, leaning his palm against the side of his head and steadying himself with the other forearm as he debated whether or not to tend to the dying fire or not.
"Did it?" She asked in amusement and Dutch half chuckled and half snorted, staring into the glow of the fire for a while.
"It did. I'm going to send Javier to look for John tomorrow morning. Bring him back home. He's been gone too long." He could hear Jack greedily feeding off her and his heart sank a little. I don't want to be here but I can't get up either without feeling like a scoundrel while she's got her tits out. He pushed himself up from the floor and began to deal with the coals in the fireplace, trying to get the pieces of wood that hadn't quite burned to catch flame again with his bare hands.
"He told me a little about her, it's…it's real fucked up how O'Driscoll killed her. If you ever want someone to talk to–" She began in a hushed voice, as though she were afraid he would suddenly snap at her like he had the others over the years from time to time. That wounds me even further, you know, when you all talk to me like I'm some kind of pathetic and weak little heartbroken boy. She died a long time ago, let me be a fucking man and deal with it my way.
"Thank you, but I'd rather never talk about that incident again. No matter how many years it's been now. It happened, she died, and I grieve her in my own way. I have more important concerns right now, like making sure you and the boy are taken care of, the redistribution of wealth, and the gang. I made a promise to her that I would take care of our family and I intend to keep it." He replied coldly, though he hadn't meant to as the log he had been messing with caught fire finally and he scooted back away from the fireplace and settled back onto his bedroll. You keep saying that but you still don't believe it yourself, do you?
"Do you think he found someone else? I know he has his problems with my profession but, I don't really have a choice, it's the only thing I'm good at." She replied in a hushed whisper after a while as Jack continued to feed from her, making little grunting noises and grabbing the material of her undress with his hands.
"John is a romantic. He takes after her in that way. He wasn't ready, Abigail, the way I wasn't ready once upon a time. He'll come around, eventually I'm sure, the way I did and realize he needs to choose before life makes that choice for him. This lifestyle, Miss Roberts is not conducive to raising a family and John is fully aware of that. Because it took my family, Hosea's wife, Arthur's family, and Miss Grimshaw's beloved from us. And it will continue to take, and take, and fucking take. Because we failed to make a choice, be outlaws or be family oriented, because you cannot be both. Annabelle knew that and I knew that, and here we are. Still running, still fighting, and still clawing at the dirt for whatever we can take from it." He sank back onto his side, staring at the fire while he spoke in a hushed tone.
"I disagree, Mr. Van der Linde. This gang is a little family, we may be outcast and downtrodden but we are a family. You've gotten us this far, haven't you?" Jack had finally finished and Abigail went to burp him over her shoulder, making sure she had a rag over her back in case he spit up as she gently patted his back. She used a free hand to recover breasts and smirked. "You can look, you know, no need to be a gentleman on my account."
"I'm glad to see you keep the faith. And, I wouldn't want folk to get the wrong idea if they walked in and we were just casually conversing while your tits are out. I get enough shit from some of them already, I'd rather not add 'staring at your boy's woman's breasts' to the list of sins I've committed. There's already enough speculation going on that you and I are intimate, that somehow I'm being a surrogate for the man who left us in more ways than just paternity. Nothing ever happened between us and I fully intend to keep it that way, Miss Roberts. I'm going back to bed." Dutch lay back down, pulling his covers over him and settling back down to attempt to go back to sleep.
—-
"I ain't going back, Dutch." John folded his arms and leaned in the chair, turning his glass a bit.
"That's just too damn bad, Martson." Arthur growled, leaning forward a bit to snarl at the younger man. "Cuz you need to take accountability for what you did to Miss Roberts. The way I had to take responsibility when I got a girl pregnant!"
"John, Arthur has a point. It took us eight months to track you down and I find out you been cattle ranchin' in New Austin. You never write, you never pick up the mail, and now you're going to defy me? I made you, son. You're only alive because I took responsibility for you. Or did you pray that I'd forget that little fact someday?" Dutch snorted, rolling the ashes of his cigar on the brass tray at their table and exhaling through his nose and mouth.
"My mother is the only reason you put your neck out for me." He replied bitterly, snatching his glass and pounding the rye whiskey before slamming it down again.
"Fine," Dutch grumbled, taking another drag and exhaling through his nose, "fine, John. Blame her then, if you insist. But if she were here, she'd drag your sorry ass back to camp by your goddamn ear. Your son needs a father. End of debate. I don't give a shit what sort of life you have here, you have responsibilities elsewhere. You have responsibilities to me."
"He ain't mine. Besides, I'm sure you and Hosea are doing just fine for the little bastard." John rolled his eyes and Arthur shot across the table to grab John by the collar and yanked him over towards his side.
"You stupid mother fucker." Arthur cocked a fist back to strike the young man in the face but Dutch raised a hand and put the cigar back in his mouth. He chewed it a little, adjusting the gold watch chain and smoothing back his hair for a moment.
"I ain't a father. I might've been, but I ain't. Where's your sense of loyalty, John? Hmm?"
"Loyalty?" John scoffed, turning his head to look at him.
"Yes. Your undying faith and fidelity. You abandoned more than just your bastard when you walked away. Do I really need to spell it out for you, son? About the promise you made to me?" Dutch took the cigar out of his mouth, exhaling again and raising an eyebrow.
"I…" John turned away a moment and went to push Arthur's hands off his collar angrily, "will you quit lookin' at me like that, Arthur! I don't know which is worse, you mad dogging me or Dutch giving me a goddamn lecture! How come Arthur, Hosea, Trelawny, and other folks get to come and go as they please but when I do it, you stalk me like a fuckin' legendary buck!"
"Cause they come back, John. I don't have to fucking hunt them down like animals for six months. We have unfinished business, in case you forgot." Dutch rolled the ashes of his cigar again on the tray, letting it rest there for a moment as he turned his attention to his own whiskey glass.
"Like what, Dutch?" John adjusted his shirt in his waistband and sat back down.
"Colm O'Driscoll. Now I can hold my own, do what needs to be done in order to protect folks like Abigail and Jack from repercussions. But, it sure would be nice if you would return to the fold like a faithful son does when his father comes to bring him home. Or do you want their blood on my hands too?" He raised his lip a bit in disgust and exhaled loudly through his nose, making that sort of disapproving hum that Annabelle used to make.
"You don't need to threaten me, Dutch. You made your point loud and fuckin' clear." He folded his arms and looked away from both men and stared out the window for a while.
"And I ain't." He hissed, retrieving his cigar from the ashtray. "But I can if that's what it takes to remind you of your responsibilities."
—-
"Marston, Dutch wants to see you." The new recruit Lenny tagged along behind Arthur, the pair of them setting off for a fishing trip.
"What now…" He groaned, snapping his book shut and looking over at the canvas tent in the distance. Jack was about four now, and while John was able to occasionally come and go as he pleased, usually his work was interrupted by either Arthur, Dutch himself, or occasionally Hosea.
"You're such a piece of shit, letting that boy and that woman sleep in the damn dirt while you've got a cozy little spot to yourself." Arthur grumbled under his breath thinking that the other man couldn't hear him.
"Mind your business. Kid's probably yours for all I know, he doesn't even look like me." He scoffed, shooting a dirty look at Arthur.
"Yer a fuckin' idiot. Come on Lenny." Arthur put his hand on the young man's back and pushed him towards the trail that led to a nearby creek as John stood up and ambled through the grass towards the familiar tent in the distance.
"Dutch. What can I do for you?" John folded his arms as Dutch uncrossed his legs in his chair and took a drag off his cigar.
"Trelawny wrote to us," he waved at a letter on the table beside him and John bent down to pick it up, "took O'Shea's little sister some time to cross the Atlantic. And we're going to be there to greet her in Blackwater."
"And after?" John asked, unfolding the paper and reading Trelawny's scrawl for a moment before folding it back up and tossing it down where it had been.
"Just like I planned. We go further West, we get ourselves a nice little parcel of land and we stay free." He replied, gently tapping the cigar a moment as he exhaled through his nose and mouth as he spoke.
"Why didn't we just buy that ranch in West Elizabeth? It was perfect. Plenty of space for everything! Is this about O'Driscoll?" John mumbled quietly, looking around a moment before catching the older man's gaze.
"There's time for that and it wasn't far enough, John. We need to get to the very edge of the earth if we want to be free, you understand? As far as Colm is concerned…we've been annoying each other for years now over scores. But I will decide when that time comes. Right now, we just need to get the money and get settled."
"Folks in those parts know you, they wouldn't rat us out Dutch. You're being paranoid again. Annabelle would've–"
"She ain't here, John. You think I don't know what's best for us? People know us on the plains and that's a problem. You really wanna be out in the open, just waiting for the wolves to descend upon us? We shoot folks as need–"
"As need shooting, save 'em as need savin'...Yeah, I got it. I'm just sayin' Dutch, that ranch was perfect. I ain't tryin' to question you or start a heated debate on the human condition or nuthin'." John held his hands up at his side and took a small step back while looking at the ground.
"I am doing what is best for us, son. Where's your faith in me, John? When have I ever let you down? Any of you!" Dutch snapped, angrily puffing on his cigar and staring off in the distance.
"Alright, Dutch! I'm sorry! Fuck, I'm sorry you feel that way!" He shook his head and turned away, retreating back to the safety of the others and leaving Dutch to stew.
'Darling, Beacher's Hope was...'
"Fuck. Off. Annabelle." He snarled under his breath as her voice came to him on the breeze in a whisper. "I've been managing just fine without you."